"I can't help you, if you don't let me,

you're here to live, just be, don't forget me."

-Macklemore (The End)

Looked into her eyes I could see myself.

Don't tell me this hurts less than a broken bone...

I've followed all the rules. I kept my mouth shut and opened it when appropriate.

Sometimes my life feels like a poorly reffed soccer game.
I've played clean, and showed good sportsmanship, yet the referee still decided to call a foul and give me a yellow card for no reason.

I had two options.
1. Turn around and keep playing the game. Tighten my laces, adjust my shinguards, and wipe the grass stains off my shorts.
2. Argue with the ref and risk the possibility of receiving a second yellow card for dissent.

Dissent is not the way to go.

Although I play soccer and yes, this is a possible scenario... this is an analogy to my life right now.
I've stayed in-bounds, shared the ball with my teammates, and put away a few goals myself, but life isn't allowing me to win. I imagined myself raising the trophy and having it all to myself. I looked forward to the future when I could call myself a champion. We could share this experience together.

I do play soccer, and yes this is all real. But this is an analogy to my life in general.
We would've been the perfect team.
I'd pass the ball and get the assists, you'd shoot the ball and score the goals.
But right now I'm sitting the bench and you're the all-star.

Maybe I'll get my chance.
Or maybe not.
Who knows.

-J.Stamos.

Monkey.

For those of you who read my blog, I'm going to continue to post until I leave on my mission so stay tuned...


I wish I read and commented on everyone's blogs so they would read mine.
I wish I had the time to read everyone's posts and then read their last one and be surprised by who it was. #realtalk.
I wish that I had a reason to write besides the fact that I want to be heard.

I write to vent, to reveal, and to create.
But that writing isn't meant for others. No one knows I write daily, things that are so creative that I impress myself.
I don't really want to reveal my ideas, thoughts, and opinions with others though.
I don't want their opinion.

I wrote things I was willing to share on this blog.
I wrote... things that come from my second heart, but maybe not my first heart.
First heart is shy.
First heart is quiet, but definitely has an opinion.
Second heart is loud, and isn't scared to tell people what he thinks.

You read my past and you listen to second heart.
I like second heart.
But I love first heart.


MEET FIRST HEART.

umm.... hi.
welcome to my.... house. my home is being built right now, this is my house. there is a difference.
i don't know exactly what to say, and i'm overwhelmed with delight. we may have different definitions of delight though.
my heart is full of letters and pumps words through my veins.
one time i wrote a poem about a monkey on my back.
here.

"I woke up one day and noticed something funny

and different.

There was a monkey on my back.

He didn't say much and was a constant burden.

I didn't want anyone to notice the monkey on my back.

I wore thick sweaters, and hoodies to cover up the monkey.

Go away monkey.

Eventually I became immune to his presence, and warmed up to the little fellow.

He wasn't so bad. He told me his name was John.

I embraced John and welcomed him into my life.

John was the monkey on my back.

One day John disappeared without a departing word.

But he left a note:

I was only on your back because you had a chip on your shoulder.

I liked the flavor of your chip.

Once you befriended me your chip was gone.

-Monkey

I now realize that not only was John a second burden,

but the monkey on my back,

had a monkey on his back."

-J.Stamos. -N.Walton.

J.Stamos. also known as...

I'm not an easy person to read.
I come across as intimidating and mysterious, and I'm not sure why.
If you don't know me I'm sure you think I'm a punk, but obviously you just don't know me.

Those that know me, know that I never shut up.  I always have something to say and a lot of the time I speak before I think.

They know that I am kind, and friendly and always have a smile on my face.
You don't realize that sometimes I just paint a smile on my face like a clown, and put antiperspirant deodorant on my eyes to stop myself from crying.

Everyone knows I have facial hair and assume that I'm super-mature, but they don't realize I choose to be immature because it's more fun like that.

I'm self-conscious about my appearance, but I don't let people realize this.
My self-esteem is usually hovering around average or above, which means I have an arrogant-essence.

I'm not one to sugar-coat around things.  I'm straight-forward and if you don't like my bluntness, then you should probably stop asking my opinion or saying something that makes me express my opinion.

I'm really good at hiding my feelings about other people.  I could have a crush on someone and they'd never know, or I could respect you like none-other and you think I look down on you; irony.  You've always been an example, I just might never tell you this.

I'm a question, and I'm full of answers.
I take nappy-naps on the weekly because night-time is the best time to have fun.

I don't have much more to reveal because I'm tired and didn't get a nappy-nap today.

I'm Nate Walton, and I approve this message.

-J.Stamos.

Sorry not sorry.

I'm sorry I never post pictures on my blog, it just takes to much time.
I'm sorry I'm so insecure about everything, even though you can't see it.
I'm sorry I'm apologizing about things no one really gives a whoot about. Unless you were an owl; I'd just want you to find the center of a tootsie-pop.

I feel bad I can't please everyone. What's worst of all, I can never please myself. I'm not sure if it's my high expectations, or the fact the I put too much weight on my shoulders along with the backpack full of stones.
And each stone has one word written on it, but these words are in another language I can't translate.
It's like giving a baby a violin and telling it to play Beethoven. And yes, I realize he didn't play violin but you get my point.

Sometimes it feels as though the only thing my parents appreciate about me is that I always finish the empty boxes of cereal, even if there's only two bites left.

I'm sorry I can't hang out tonight, but I already made plans with the girl I told I was insecure about my arm-hair to. I just feel more comfortable around her.
The problem is I'm even more comfortable around the girl who I don't tell my insecurities to because I know she doesn't care. She sees me for who I am. She is down-to-earth and just, gets it.

I'm sorry I haven't answered your phone-calls lately, but you've been such a dick to one of my best-friends that I don't want anything to do with you.

I'm sorry my posts are so broad and jumbled and confusing.
I always imagine them as a beautifully dyed Easter egg, but they just end up being brown because I added too many colors.
Brown isn't bad.
You just got to dissect the colors yourself, find the true interpretations and the blueprints are laying around somewhere gathering dust.

I'm sorry not sorry.

-J.Stamos.

Just a thought.

I've watched dozens of people with near-perfect lives complain and complain about small difficulties.

They complain about things like not having enough time to get ready for the day, and a pony-tail is a rough-day.

They complain about things like their younger siblings borrowing their clothes without asking and running out of chocolate milk.

I'm not saying my life is difficult and hard, nor am I saying it's perfect.

I'm not saying I've never complained about something meaningless and stupid either.

But as I watch people who've gone through hell and back act happier than these other people, I'm so confused.

One of the happiest girls I know had the experience of watching her dad ditch her family for another woman.

One of the happiest guys I know got his girlfriend pregnant at age 18 and had to figure out a life he wasn't prepared for.

One of the happiest girls I know lots BOTH her parents to a murder-suicide.

Don't complain about your broken iPhone or your scuffed-up kicks.

If these people who've been through the lowest-lows are still always able to put a smile on their face, so can I, and so can YOU.

Happiness is an essential key to enjoying life.

We just need to focus on the good things.

-J.Stamos.

I remember those times.

I remember when I was playing on the trampoline with my dad and little brother. Jumping like crazy. Maybe too high because before I knew it, I was lying on the black rubber tramp crying. Sprained thumb. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when I was in mid-air heading a soccer ball into the net for a goal. Scoring like crazy. Maybe too much because before I knew it, I was lying on the blue plastic tiles in a cold futsal arena crying. Broken foot. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when my Grandmother died. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when my brother was in the hospital running tests to see whether or not leukemia was his fate. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when I decided to end things and she said screw you. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I now watch my mother's face turn red and eyes swell up any time I mention me leaving for two years. As I hugged her and handed her a rose and said I love you, she began to cry. Last home game. Senior year. I needed to keep composure because kick-off was in ten minutes. And she stood in front of many today bearing testimony to ME. Crying. It's only two years mother. Yes I leave in 37 days, but we can do this together. And I used to think I knew what pain was.

-J.Stamos.

How to steal someone's heart.

And I'm not sure if I'm the best example.
And I'm not sure if these instructions will be helpful.
And I'm not sure whether or not instruction is what you need, but here.

First you must cut one straight line below the left pectoral (or breast), then cut one perpendicular line at each end.
Second you must peel skin to the side. Proceed to the next step by finding some clean pliers.
Third you must break approximately three ribs, and avoid the temptation of grillin' them up along with BBQ sauce.
Fourth you must find a magnifying glass and examine the heart. Is it pure? Is it beating? How fast?
Fifth you must quickly remove heart from body and place in clean bag. Throw bag over shoulder. Start running.

Make sure you never get caught, and you never give it back.
And I'm not sure if I'm the best example.
BUT.
That is how to steal someone's heart.

And I never steal hearts.

-J.Stamos.