It's late, and I'm waiting for the parents I'm babysitting for to come home. The kids were in bed two hours ago. I've read a few pages of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, cleaned up the house as much as I could, checked most of my Internet hang-outs, and typed a little bit to clear my head.
Then I sat in front of the computer feeling like the most bored individual on earth.
The computer screen laughed at my bland face and shone onto my hand.
Startled, I stared at the hand.
It looked leathery, highlighted in all the creases by the screen-glow, the middle finger ring glinting like old dwarvish gold. Hey, I think, that's unearthly.
Look at how photographic the hand looks--like an old sepia album thing...except they didn't have computers back in the old days. The pinky finger is severed by a shadow. When it curves into a hook, it looks almost zombie-like. Better not look out the open window.
Weird, really weird, what happens to your mind when its working on eight-hour-old caffeine and greasy pizza. Dog tired. Cat in the basement. Bird at home, my home.
Aw, home.
I really miss my bed, and I saw it only half a day ago. Poor thing's probably wondering where I am. I think about this alot, what I want my room--my room--to be like someday. Not just the colors and decorations and layout, but the honest-to-goodness feel of the room.
A lush, purple feel, I think one hour.
And another adjective/color the next.
(This is another rambling, semi-stream-of-consciousness post. I rather like them.)
Do you know what? I am going to be the semi-adult that I am. Why keep up the serious/adult pretense when this is, after all, an anonymous blog (kind of)?
This is what I want for Christmas:
~Julia Child's cookbooks.
~Julie and Julia: book and movie.
~Shoes. I'm on a shoe kick (the puns are always intended).
~A mini-robot.
~Real paint brushes and canvases.
~Art classes.
~A-grade ink pens. The good stuff, sir.
~Silver hair. Wig form or no.
~New curtains for my room.
~Coldplay CDs.
~BITE ME comic and all accessories.
~A magnifying glass.
~A boycott for the new Sherlock Holmes movie/blasphemy.
FIN.
12.07.2009
The Good Things
Greatest Inventions of the World:
- the radio
- ice cream
- faux fur
- jeans
- iPods
- paper
- ballpoint pens
- Christmas lights
- embroidery
- Middle Earth
- the radio
- ice cream
- faux fur
- jeans
- iPods
- paper
- ballpoint pens
- Christmas lights
- embroidery
- Middle Earth
11.23.2009
It's Too Bad.
In everything that's happened today, I have one question:
Why do we feel compelled to say something in the face of tragedy?
One of our pastors died today from thyroid cancer. My family didn't find out until just now, and my mom seems to want to talk until the funeral; Facebook is flooded with R.I.P.'s and everything from people who I can guarantee never said more than two sentences to her.
Maybe I judge too quickly and strongly (something I seem to be doing a lot lately) but people are so awkward and sometimes I wish everyone would just stop talking. Does it ever help? I tried it, talking to people about the bad things in my life, or even the good things (in the hopes that they would last, somehow, attached to my life by the fragile thread of words), but the bad things continue and the good things fade.
It occurs to me that I am a person as much as everyone else--my first impulse was to sit down and write. Or yell.
Music seems inappropriate in the face of my mother's grief (she truly knew and loved her) but I feel that it is one of the balms that life lends us.
I have no right to speak. I learned once, when someone I loved but little knew left and I stood up to speak and felt shunned. Ever since then I really don't feel like speaking or doing anything without thinking it through very thoroughly. It's wise, and every time I don't think it through, I end up on long guilt-trips and in embarrassing situations.
Time has lost all meaning to me. Yesterday seems as far away as three years ago; tomorrow is as long as eternity.
Oh, crap. The irony just hit me--my aunt went into labor today, nearly two weeks overdue. Sometimes I think that God has a sick sense of humor; but I remember the moments when I was awash in His love (Saturday night) and repent.
Jesus! Why pray when You obviously already know the outcome? Why encourage our hopes with prayer services and then snatch her away within five days? Questions, questions. Even when I have my answers, I still have questions.
Good night.
Why do we feel compelled to say something in the face of tragedy?
One of our pastors died today from thyroid cancer. My family didn't find out until just now, and my mom seems to want to talk until the funeral; Facebook is flooded with R.I.P.'s and everything from people who I can guarantee never said more than two sentences to her.
Maybe I judge too quickly and strongly (something I seem to be doing a lot lately) but people are so awkward and sometimes I wish everyone would just stop talking. Does it ever help? I tried it, talking to people about the bad things in my life, or even the good things (in the hopes that they would last, somehow, attached to my life by the fragile thread of words), but the bad things continue and the good things fade.
It occurs to me that I am a person as much as everyone else--my first impulse was to sit down and write. Or yell.
Music seems inappropriate in the face of my mother's grief (she truly knew and loved her) but I feel that it is one of the balms that life lends us.
I have no right to speak. I learned once, when someone I loved but little knew left and I stood up to speak and felt shunned. Ever since then I really don't feel like speaking or doing anything without thinking it through very thoroughly. It's wise, and every time I don't think it through, I end up on long guilt-trips and in embarrassing situations.
Time has lost all meaning to me. Yesterday seems as far away as three years ago; tomorrow is as long as eternity.
Oh, crap. The irony just hit me--my aunt went into labor today, nearly two weeks overdue. Sometimes I think that God has a sick sense of humor; but I remember the moments when I was awash in His love (Saturday night) and repent.
Jesus! Why pray when You obviously already know the outcome? Why encourage our hopes with prayer services and then snatch her away within five days? Questions, questions. Even when I have my answers, I still have questions.
Good night.
11.20.2009
Horoom Mah Hmm
Four books in three days. Not bad, I say!
Went to the library on Tuesday, checked out If I Stay, by Gayle Forman, Wintergirls and Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, The Book of Ruth by Jane Hamilton, and The Hobbit by Tolkien.
Finished Tolkien first, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Started The Book of Ruth and hated it. One chapter in and I was disgusted. If I Stay was gorgeous, as were both of Anderson's books.
Now I am reading Of Rice and Men, the book my brother checked out. Lots of reading this week, not as much writing as I wanted to do (so what's new?). Lots of sad moments this week, but good moments, too. It's been a week--that's what I can say.
So. I am thinking of being secretive and starting a private e-mail account for an anonymous blog, because I can't stand to delete this one. We'll see.
Tomorrow I am playing flag football (maybe. If my team needs a player) and, with the memory of my cringing stomach muscles after doing ten quick push-ups on Wednesday, I am not too happy about the possibility. BUT. I am almost looking forward to it, too. Who knows? Whichever way the wind blows.
I realized that this NaNoWriMo holds no chains for me creatively. Why follow the plotline? Indeed, why even bother to write one cohesive story? Isn't the point of NaNo just to write? Why not just write, then, without worries about 'does this fit with the proposed plotline' and whatnot. Who knows--maybe it will take a curve and turn into one story, after all.
So right now I'm writing about Death, who's actual name is Absalom.
I'm leaning toward a love story.
http://www.johnnywander.com/comics/100
Because every writer needs inspiration!
Went to the library on Tuesday, checked out If I Stay, by Gayle Forman, Wintergirls and Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, The Book of Ruth by Jane Hamilton, and The Hobbit by Tolkien.
Finished Tolkien first, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Started The Book of Ruth and hated it. One chapter in and I was disgusted. If I Stay was gorgeous, as were both of Anderson's books.
Now I am reading Of Rice and Men, the book my brother checked out. Lots of reading this week, not as much writing as I wanted to do (so what's new?). Lots of sad moments this week, but good moments, too. It's been a week--that's what I can say.
So. I am thinking of being secretive and starting a private e-mail account for an anonymous blog, because I can't stand to delete this one. We'll see.
Tomorrow I am playing flag football (maybe. If my team needs a player) and, with the memory of my cringing stomach muscles after doing ten quick push-ups on Wednesday, I am not too happy about the possibility. BUT. I am almost looking forward to it, too. Who knows? Whichever way the wind blows.
I realized that this NaNoWriMo holds no chains for me creatively. Why follow the plotline? Indeed, why even bother to write one cohesive story? Isn't the point of NaNo just to write? Why not just write, then, without worries about 'does this fit with the proposed plotline' and whatnot. Who knows--maybe it will take a curve and turn into one story, after all.
So right now I'm writing about Death, who's actual name is Absalom.
I'm leaning toward a love story.
http://www.johnnywander.com/comics/100
Because every writer needs inspiration!
11.18.2009
Pictures. Yay.
Ian McKellan. Secretly masquerading as Gandalf.
Cate Blanchett might as well be Galadriel.
I can guarantee that Liv Tyler has less cause for concern than Arwen.
Hugo Weaving, when Erestor isn't looking, because he'd never recognize him as Elrond, anyway.
Poor Frodo.11.17.2009
When it is dark enough, you can see the Stars.
Listening to Christmas music on one of my playlists. Nice day today. Finished Unfinished Tales earlier, and just finished The Hobbit. Every time I read Tolkien, I feel as if I've come home. Gandalf is like an old friend, Elrond an old confidante.
Speaking of Elrond.
First time I read The Hobbit was today, and I caught something that summed up my Impossible List in a pithy sentence. Here:
And then, of course, a description of his Last Homely House:
What can I say? Tolkien inspires my dreams. I dream of a house someday with an Elrond-like husband. A house that is perfect, with a bright, clean, green kitchen and a plum dining room.
A serene, delicate, intricately decorated bedroom with a balcony shuttered by breezy silver drapery overlooking a woodsy garden.
Plenty of labors to keep busy with, in estate upkeep and hobby. A stable would not be out of place, methinks.
A library! With walls upon walls of books, art, sculptures, maps, and a crowd of great stuffed armchairs in front of a white, roaring fireplace.
A music room, of course, with a pretty piano and a mandolin and a violin; of course, stacks of CD's or records or whatever stacked asymmetrically around the room. Perhaps I'll kidnap a philharmonic flutist and keep her in a cage hung from the ceiling.
Then there must be an alcove outside, beside a lake populated with a family of swans and herons. Flocks of birds flying about the place, thrushes and swallows and terns. A marble bench next to willows and aspens and pointed firs. Cattails. Turtles. And a stone pathway winding through the trees to the house. Need I even mention the trailing vines, ferns, flowers, herbs, and Spanish moss?
I think that my life has the potential to be lovely. It is already lovingly blessed by my Father in heaven, and somehow, even with my multiple mistakes and character flaws and failures, there is still that little bird of hope that persistently perches in my heart and inspires me to believe that I am bound for a land of Promise, whether that be here or in my Father's house.
And after much searching and reading, I have a favorite Bible passage (excluding Song of Songs): John 14.
And, you know, there really is no other version like the King James version for poetic beauty or resonance. The Message comes close, but the mere dustiness of Old English lends the words an ethereal aroma that seems like a whiff of heaven.
John 14
1 Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.
2 In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.
3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.
4 And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.
5 Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?
6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
7 If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him.
8 Philip saith unto him, Lord, show us the Father, and it sufficeth us.
9 Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father?
10 Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? the words that I speak unto you I speak not of myself: but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works.
11 Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in me: or else believe me for the very works' sake.
12 Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father.
13 And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.
14 If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it.
15 If ye love me, keep my commandments.
16 And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;
17 Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.
18 I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
19 Yet a little while, and the world seeth me no more; but ye see me: because I live, ye shall live also.
20 At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.
21 He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him.
22 Judas saith unto him, not Iscariot, Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?
23 Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.
24 He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father's which sent me.
25 These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you.
26 But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.
27 Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
28 Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I.
29 And now I have told you before it come to pass, that, when it is come to pass, ye might believe.
30 Hereafter I will not talk much with you: for the prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in me.
31 But that the world may know that I love the Father; and as the Father gave me commandment, even so I do. Arise, let us go hence.
Speaking of Elrond.
First time I read The Hobbit was today, and I caught something that summed up my Impossible List in a pithy sentence. Here:
"He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and kind as summer."
And then, of course, a description of his Last Homely House:
"His house was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Evil things did not come into that valley."
What can I say? Tolkien inspires my dreams. I dream of a house someday with an Elrond-like husband. A house that is perfect, with a bright, clean, green kitchen and a plum dining room.
A serene, delicate, intricately decorated bedroom with a balcony shuttered by breezy silver drapery overlooking a woodsy garden.
Plenty of labors to keep busy with, in estate upkeep and hobby. A stable would not be out of place, methinks.
A library! With walls upon walls of books, art, sculptures, maps, and a crowd of great stuffed armchairs in front of a white, roaring fireplace.
A music room, of course, with a pretty piano and a mandolin and a violin; of course, stacks of CD's or records or whatever stacked asymmetrically around the room. Perhaps I'll kidnap a philharmonic flutist and keep her in a cage hung from the ceiling.
Then there must be an alcove outside, beside a lake populated with a family of swans and herons. Flocks of birds flying about the place, thrushes and swallows and terns. A marble bench next to willows and aspens and pointed firs. Cattails. Turtles. And a stone pathway winding through the trees to the house. Need I even mention the trailing vines, ferns, flowers, herbs, and Spanish moss?
I think that my life has the potential to be lovely. It is already lovingly blessed by my Father in heaven, and somehow, even with my multiple mistakes and character flaws and failures, there is still that little bird of hope that persistently perches in my heart and inspires me to believe that I am bound for a land of Promise, whether that be here or in my Father's house.
And after much searching and reading, I have a favorite Bible passage (excluding Song of Songs): John 14.
And, you know, there really is no other version like the King James version for poetic beauty or resonance. The Message comes close, but the mere dustiness of Old English lends the words an ethereal aroma that seems like a whiff of heaven.
John 14
1 Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.
2 In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.
3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.
4 And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.
5 Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?
6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
7 If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him.
8 Philip saith unto him, Lord, show us the Father, and it sufficeth us.
9 Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father?
10 Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? the words that I speak unto you I speak not of myself: but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works.
11 Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in me: or else believe me for the very works' sake.
12 Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father.
13 And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.
14 If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it.
15 If ye love me, keep my commandments.
16 And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;
17 Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.
18 I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
19 Yet a little while, and the world seeth me no more; but ye see me: because I live, ye shall live also.
20 At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.
21 He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him.
22 Judas saith unto him, not Iscariot, Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?
23 Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.
24 He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father's which sent me.
25 These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you.
26 But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.
27 Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
28 Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I.
29 And now I have told you before it come to pass, that, when it is come to pass, ye might believe.
30 Hereafter I will not talk much with you: for the prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in me.
31 But that the world may know that I love the Father; and as the Father gave me commandment, even so I do. Arise, let us go hence.
11.14.2009
Good Tidings and Great Joy
Lots of things learned over the past few weeks..
Little sisters are good for putting ideas in my head.
One hug can give a whole lotta happiness.
Getting it written is more important (right now) than getting it right, regarding NaNoWriMo.
Things like that. It's been a good month, a really good month. It's had plenty of its share of disappointment and sadness, but it's been a good month...maybe because of all that.
AND. AND--Christmas is in a few months!! AND! I might be going to New York City soon!!
Ah, life is good, even though it's often bad. What a paradox.
Little sisters are good for putting ideas in my head.
One hug can give a whole lotta happiness.
Getting it written is more important (right now) than getting it right, regarding NaNoWriMo.
Things like that. It's been a good month, a really good month. It's had plenty of its share of disappointment and sadness, but it's been a good month...maybe because of all that.
AND. AND--Christmas is in a few months!! AND! I might be going to New York City soon!!
Ah, life is good, even though it's often bad. What a paradox.
10.29.2009
Oh Pain
Let me preface by saying that I'm typing with one hand, the other being incapacitated.
I was preparing dinner (pork chops!) ang grabbed a hot skillet. Bare-handed.
It's kind of a cool experience, though, typing with one hand while the other is immersed in a cup of cold water...
Let me conclude by saying that I can't stand politics. They are a constant source of dissension and discontent, and a direct result of the Fall of Man to be sure.
This is exhausting!
I was preparing dinner (pork chops!) ang grabbed a hot skillet. Bare-handed.
It's kind of a cool experience, though, typing with one hand while the other is immersed in a cup of cold water...
Let me conclude by saying that I can't stand politics. They are a constant source of dissension and discontent, and a direct result of the Fall of Man to be sure.
This is exhausting!
10.27.2009
10.25.2009
Another Celebratory Post
In the craziness of this mad, mad world, I have remembered that I am blessed.
10 Treasures of My Life
(1) The three boxes of memories sitting in a dark corner of my closet. Most of my life and thoughts sit mustily in those boxes.
(2) The select favorites in my book collection. They are my FRIENDS, goshdarnit.
(3) My doll collection. Memories of a simpler time, with a simpler Me.
(4) MY ROCKS. Every time I went to the shore this summer, I collected pebbles and sometimes the occasional Rock. They are spiffy and awesome and I love them.
(5) My camera, Denise. She may not be the best or the most professional, but she is faithful and easy to work with. I may love her.
(6) It's not really mine, but the playlists I've developed on Playlist.com. They are a sort of chronicle of my tastes and styles and discoveries.
(7) The Lord of the Rings, Sherlock Holmes, Life, Deadliest Catch, Band of Brothers, and other miscellaneous obsessions I store in my head (I have a tidy little filing system for the mountains of facts I've accumulated). There is something very satisfyingly tangible about trivial knowledge: it gives me the right (because of the countless hours spent gathering said knowledge) to be indignant when moviemakers stray too far from canon...or when family and friends get a name wrong. >:D
(8) An item that was in the pocket of one guy I liked that he gave to me that I in turn gave to someone else because of necessity...but I still keep it in my heart. <3
(9) MY JOURNAL. It is a treasure just because I am so darn protective of it! It's not even funny.
(10) An old, black and white photo of an unknown girl that we found just today in our old black and white photo stash. I dunno--for some reason, her face really stuck in my mind, and I feel like I might as well have known her. I named her Lena (Helen). She is from Odessa.
It was about time for another celebratory post.
10 Treasures of My Life
(1) The three boxes of memories sitting in a dark corner of my closet. Most of my life and thoughts sit mustily in those boxes.
(2) The select favorites in my book collection. They are my FRIENDS, goshdarnit.
(3) My doll collection. Memories of a simpler time, with a simpler Me.
(4) MY ROCKS. Every time I went to the shore this summer, I collected pebbles and sometimes the occasional Rock. They are spiffy and awesome and I love them.
(5) My camera, Denise. She may not be the best or the most professional, but she is faithful and easy to work with. I may love her.
(6) It's not really mine, but the playlists I've developed on Playlist.com. They are a sort of chronicle of my tastes and styles and discoveries.
(7) The Lord of the Rings, Sherlock Holmes, Life, Deadliest Catch, Band of Brothers, and other miscellaneous obsessions I store in my head (I have a tidy little filing system for the mountains of facts I've accumulated). There is something very satisfyingly tangible about trivial knowledge: it gives me the right (because of the countless hours spent gathering said knowledge) to be indignant when moviemakers stray too far from canon...or when family and friends get a name wrong. >:D
(8) An item that was in the pocket of one guy I liked that he gave to me that I in turn gave to someone else because of necessity...but I still keep it in my heart. <3
(9) MY JOURNAL. It is a treasure just because I am so darn protective of it! It's not even funny.
(10) An old, black and white photo of an unknown girl that we found just today in our old black and white photo stash. I dunno--for some reason, her face really stuck in my mind, and I feel like I might as well have known her. I named her Lena (Helen). She is from Odessa.
It was about time for another celebratory post.
A Drifter
More mini muffins. Mumu-fffins, as my brother says. And more Middle Earthian dreams. And, for the first time in my life, a strange and bewildering bordering boredom.
While walking from the car to the home this afternoon, I was pondering what I would do if I couldn't go online. These are my thoughts (roughly):
No computer? That's fine! I have books--
But that's all I've been doing for the past week. I'm sick of books.
Maybe I could go outside?
I could...but I can't go far unless I take my brother, and conversation with him is exhausting sometimes.
And I'm tired from babysitting, even though I didn't do much because of the three kids I usually babysit, one was with his dad, one slept through the hours, and all I had to do was watch the other one. He fell on his Transformer and acquired a bump the size of a jelly bean on his head. Poor, cute kid.
Then my dad took me to Panera Bread and I got a sandwich (and some nasty chips).
(Haha--Lord of the Rings allusion!)
So yes. Back to the boredom. But it turns out I wasn't bored, after all. 'S funny how your day just fills up with little things, and maybe life is like that a lot of the time.
Who knows? Whichever way the wind goes...
While walking from the car to the home this afternoon, I was pondering what I would do if I couldn't go online. These are my thoughts (roughly):
No computer? That's fine! I have books--
But that's all I've been doing for the past week. I'm sick of books.
Maybe I could go outside?
I could...but I can't go far unless I take my brother, and conversation with him is exhausting sometimes.
And I'm tired from babysitting, even though I didn't do much because of the three kids I usually babysit, one was with his dad, one slept through the hours, and all I had to do was watch the other one. He fell on his Transformer and acquired a bump the size of a jelly bean on his head. Poor, cute kid.
Then my dad took me to Panera Bread and I got a sandwich (and some nasty chips).
(Haha--Lord of the Rings allusion!)
So yes. Back to the boredom. But it turns out I wasn't bored, after all. 'S funny how your day just fills up with little things, and maybe life is like that a lot of the time.
Who knows? Whichever way the wind goes...
10.24.2009
A Menagerie of Poetry
The smell of mini banana muffins floods my home, contrasting beautifully with the danky delightful rain outside.
Ever since I've begun reading Heat, I feel sinful using prepackaged pasta instead of pasta fresca.. it is an influential book.
Last night my youth group held a co-ed sleepover but I couldn't go...I was making some dough.
Late one morning I was reading Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and was inspired to write a poem.
Whatever. It may not be true, but it is considerably vindictive.
And then it rained in September (like it's raining right now) and I wrote another poem.
Ever since I've begun reading Heat, I feel sinful using prepackaged pasta instead of pasta fresca.. it is an influential book.
Last night my youth group held a co-ed sleepover but I couldn't go...I was making some dough.
Late one morning I was reading Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and was inspired to write a poem.
If I am wrong in waiting for thee thusly;
If my heart seems too meek for one so learned,
Then thou must re-examine all thy wisdom
And peer behind my masquerade. I have yearned
So oft in twilight violet for one sweet murmur,
Have dreamed ‘twixt fitful slumbers of thy face,
Only to hear thy scorning of my virtue
And thy abandoning of my guarded grace.
Whatever. It may not be true, but it is considerably vindictive.
And then it rained in September (like it's raining right now) and I wrote another poem.
Ah, rain song!
I see you tinkering your dimples
onto the
street,
your simpering pimples on the pagan streets
Sweet water!
trickling around my sinuses into
my heart,
your loquaciousness
lodging aboard
the blood-works of my heart
POUND POUND POUND
tickle.
10.17.2009
Cosmic Colds
Yucky--I feel gut sick. BUT. But I've been on a musician-discovering streak...
Florence and the Machine (their song Cosmic Love is brilliant).
Death Cab for Cutie.
Owl City.
Neutral Milk Hotel.
Other miscellany songs.
Today we went to a book sale at a local library, and I stocked up on books for the next few months. Heaven must be like a library, as one wise man once said.
I've been on a Lord of the Rings icon kick...I've been knitting. I hosted a tea party. I made edible cookies. I volunteered. I read three books in three days. I managed to put off getting truly sick for a week.
As you see, I've been productive...sort of.
But then I procrastinated my school work. I am falling below my memorization quota each day because of chronic headaches. My arm is still strangely lumpy. I might have a semi-stalker. I just spell-checked, and apparently "miscellany" is a word.
And I'm having trouble remembering every-day things, like what people say to me or what I'm supposed to do (more than the average person does, anyway, and this is not like me).
My piano lessons are progressing, even without a proper practice book. I may not be learning any songs, doggone it, but my scales and keys are killer. Now all I need is a regular piano (or a fishy friend with a new one :D).
All right.
Do you know, I'm fond of this blog. There's nothing like anonymity for a deep cleansing.
Florence and the Machine (their song Cosmic Love is brilliant).
Death Cab for Cutie.
Owl City.
Neutral Milk Hotel.
Other miscellany songs.
Today we went to a book sale at a local library, and I stocked up on books for the next few months. Heaven must be like a library, as one wise man once said.
I've been on a Lord of the Rings icon kick...I've been knitting. I hosted a tea party. I made edible cookies. I volunteered. I read three books in three days. I managed to put off getting truly sick for a week.
As you see, I've been productive...sort of.
But then I procrastinated my school work. I am falling below my memorization quota each day because of chronic headaches. My arm is still strangely lumpy. I might have a semi-stalker. I just spell-checked, and apparently "miscellany" is a word.
And I'm having trouble remembering every-day things, like what people say to me or what I'm supposed to do (more than the average person does, anyway, and this is not like me).
My piano lessons are progressing, even without a proper practice book. I may not be learning any songs, doggone it, but my scales and keys are killer. Now all I need is a regular piano (or a fishy friend with a new one :D).
All right.
Do you know, I'm fond of this blog. There's nothing like anonymity for a deep cleansing.
A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
10.03.2009
My God, What Have We Done?
Poop. I sat down to type and all my fancy thoughts evaporated. Poof.
There is this one song by an artist named Lucio Battisti called Emozioni, and it is exactly that. Rarely have I heard such emotion in a singer's voice: real, heart-emotion.
Ah, music. How I love thee.
Oh. I remembered my thoughts, hooray. Today was my town's Fall Festival, and I came home dead tired. The sweet-and-salty Best Darn Kettlecorn is helping, though, with all the sugar.
Which reminds me: I must do the final proofread for my Student Leadership Application paper...over this past week I thought of some revisions I should make.
My thoughts have turned to the contemplations of a perpetually single life of late. Marriage is fine and dandy, but I honestly don't think I could put up with one person for the rest of my life like that...methinks that I would grow to detest them at some point.
But this is a semi-adult speaking, one who has never been married.
But this is a semi-adult speaking, one who has seen and tested marriage and found it to be lacking on the scales of The Grand Scheme of Life.
But it's okay. I'll decide that when the time comes for it, I guess. Poop. The time from now until then is fraught with contempations, though.
Thank God for Tolkien's literary genius that produced my escape from the world.
There is this one song by an artist named Lucio Battisti called Emozioni, and it is exactly that. Rarely have I heard such emotion in a singer's voice: real, heart-emotion.
Ah, music. How I love thee.
Oh. I remembered my thoughts, hooray. Today was my town's Fall Festival, and I came home dead tired. The sweet-and-salty Best Darn Kettlecorn is helping, though, with all the sugar.
Which reminds me: I must do the final proofread for my Student Leadership Application paper...over this past week I thought of some revisions I should make.
My thoughts have turned to the contemplations of a perpetually single life of late. Marriage is fine and dandy, but I honestly don't think I could put up with one person for the rest of my life like that...methinks that I would grow to detest them at some point.
But this is a semi-adult speaking, one who has never been married.
But this is a semi-adult speaking, one who has seen and tested marriage and found it to be lacking on the scales of The Grand Scheme of Life.
But it's okay. I'll decide that when the time comes for it, I guess. Poop. The time from now until then is fraught with contempations, though.
Thank God for Tolkien's literary genius that produced my escape from the world.
9.23.2009
Llamas Like Eggs
If my culinary dreams come true, then I think that I would like them to come true in some foreign jungle city that is indwelt by a large population of llamas. South America, then.
I dream little dreams mostly...they are the most enjoyable, methinks.
10 Things I Want to Do before I Kick the Bucket
1. Have the experience of opening my own mini restaurant.
2. Follow the trail of Easy Company and maybe even meet one of the members.
3. Live in the big city for a little bit.
4. Make the perfect omelet.
5. Subscribe to Better Homes and Gardens.
6. Skydive.
7. Travel. A lot.
8. Visit a bistro in the heart of French country. Befriend the proprietor.
9. Plan someone's wedding and decorate their house.
10. Write a book.
I dream little dreams mostly...they are the most enjoyable, methinks.
9.22.2009
Post One-Double-Oh.
I couldn't wait. I'll postpone the nest post until tomorrow at least, I promise.
I can't believe I got through that. Cheating on numbers 8 and 9 helped.
(Pocket Full of Stars by Nine Black Alps.)
10 Things About Me.
1. If I wear something fancy once, it will not see the light of day for a few months (if not years).
2. I wish I were capable of making humor instead of just appreciating it.
3. I have always wanted a purple knit hat and spiky hair.
4. If I were capable of marriage (which I am highly doubting at this point of my life) (but then again, I don't know much and have little-to-none foresight), and if Elrond were real and available, I wouldn't know what to do. I would be at a perpetual loss for words.
5. As I grow older, I grow more confused..and then I feel young and life is full of clarity.
6. I am afraid of shopping carts to the point where I've developed a sixth sense concerning their presence behind me.
7. I memorize poems for fun.
8. I need a miracle, a star-crossed lover, an arrow in my heart.
9. I need a rainy day, and an endless summer: a pocket full of stars.
10. One of the perks for me about having a relationship with Jesus is eternal life. It's something that I'm so excited for and peaceful about. Do you realize what that means? An eternity to do and experience and be able to learn and think and grow and see and EVERYTHING. In HEAVEN. Frankly, I can't wait.
I can't believe I got through that. Cheating on numbers 8 and 9 helped.
(Pocket Full of Stars by Nine Black Alps.)
In Memory of Post Ninety-Nine.
In celebration of the next post's Massive Title of HUNDREDTH POST, I am doing a hundred questions in sets of ten posts, as follows:
(1)10 Things About Me
(2)10 Things I Want to Do Before I Kick the Bucket
(3)10 Treasures of My Life
(4)10 Most Influential Books
(5)10 Commandments Interpretation
(6)10 Things I've Learned from Blogging
(7)10 Strange, Weird, and Abnormal Things I Would Not Normally Admit
(8)10 Secrets
(9)10 Guilty Pleasures
(10)10 Reasons for loving The Lord of the Rings, Life, Band of Brothers, Top Chef, and House.
Intense, I know.
(1)10 Things About Me
(2)10 Things I Want to Do Before I Kick the Bucket
(3)10 Treasures of My Life
(4)10 Most Influential Books
(5)10 Commandments Interpretation
(6)10 Things I've Learned from Blogging
(7)10 Strange, Weird, and Abnormal Things I Would Not Normally Admit
(8)10 Secrets
(9)10 Guilty Pleasures
(10)10 Reasons for loving The Lord of the Rings, Life, Band of Brothers, Top Chef, and House.
Intense, I know.
Dreams and Wishes
I was listening to Jordin Spark's "Battlefield" while looking at Band of Brothers icons. :D
(Oh yes. New favorite song.)
So I've been going to piano lessons and just began Music Theory today. My teacher is Mr. Vasiliy Kifyak, and he is awesome. It's very entertaining and engaging, actually.
But while I may enjoy music, it's not something as intensely felt as, say, culinary pursuits. It's all good, anyway. I am not going to be hasty anymore, as much as I can help it.
AND I'm re-reading The Lord of the Rings...and it is STUNNING, as usual. Every time I read it, I notice something new to glean.
Muse comes up with some creative song names (and driving melodies). Knights of Cydonia, for example. A great song for an uprising...they also have a song called Uprising which is good for a riot.
Hm. I had a dream Sunday night that shook me, about the church and certain elves and the Antichrist (or something close to it), buses, loneliness, Sunoco, and lots of machine guns. Did I mention the Hispanic (or Indian) preacher? or the BLOOD.
Ahem. I wrote a poem, as I am wont to do in these sort of mental situations.
That's how it felt waking up. The dream is too complicated to go into much detail (especially since I've acquired the habit of making up more details as I slowly return to complete consciousness), but the after-dream feeling was distinct.
As far as dreams (and poems) go, I loved it. It pulled me in and impacted me, leaving me breathless and speechless. It's not often that I can't describe the exact details because they are so ingrained into my brain that it is an immense struggle to de-glaze my mind into some form of literacy. But those are the kinds of dreams I relish.
Yeah. Maybe I am a geek for thinking this, but I dearly wish that Middle Earth was real..or that at least the basic principles of ME were the forces of our world.
The dangers of in-depth literary internalizing.
(Oh yes. New favorite song.)
So I've been going to piano lessons and just began Music Theory today. My teacher is Mr. Vasiliy Kifyak, and he is awesome. It's very entertaining and engaging, actually.
But while I may enjoy music, it's not something as intensely felt as, say, culinary pursuits. It's all good, anyway. I am not going to be hasty anymore, as much as I can help it.
AND I'm re-reading The Lord of the Rings...and it is STUNNING, as usual. Every time I read it, I notice something new to glean.
Muse comes up with some creative song names (and driving melodies). Knights of Cydonia, for example. A great song for an uprising...they also have a song called Uprising which is good for a riot.
Hm. I had a dream Sunday night that shook me, about the church and certain elves and the Antichrist (or something close to it), buses, loneliness, Sunoco, and lots of machine guns. Did I mention the Hispanic (or Indian) preacher? or the BLOOD.
Ahem. I wrote a poem, as I am wont to do in these sort of mental situations.
The dreams flutters
and I am lying face down
upside down
on slabs of cement, still breathing.
Two faces in multiple places
grind their teeth at my memory
and I think—
I think—
My waking head conjures scenarios
in between the shafts of morning light
and I flit open,
my mind a steel trap that leaves the faces
bloody and broken.
That's how it felt waking up. The dream is too complicated to go into much detail (especially since I've acquired the habit of making up more details as I slowly return to complete consciousness), but the after-dream feeling was distinct.
As far as dreams (and poems) go, I loved it. It pulled me in and impacted me, leaving me breathless and speechless. It's not often that I can't describe the exact details because they are so ingrained into my brain that it is an immense struggle to de-glaze my mind into some form of literacy. But those are the kinds of dreams I relish.
Yeah. Maybe I am a geek for thinking this, but I dearly wish that Middle Earth was real..or that at least the basic principles of ME were the forces of our world.
The dangers of in-depth literary internalizing.
9.19.2009
Lessons Learned Fell Great Oaks.
When you are pooped, nothing soothes quite like country music (specifically, Zach Brown Band's Chicken Fried). I tried listening to Muse--I really did. But it was terribly grating.
(But not Coldplay. Coldplay is eternally playable.)
I am pooped.
Two half-days of conference wears a body out, and especially when that body learns by listening and experiencing BOTH. They say that only fools learn by experience, but I think it depends on what you learn.
For example, I learned that friendship is the process of growing. I'd never heard that anywhere before (or if I did, I've forgotten), and learned it purely by experiencing what kind of relationship happens when one person stop growing at the same pace (or in the same direction). It's still a form of friendship, but not...friendship.
And it makes me sad. (But not fully sad--there's that psychological pleasure always in the back of my head when an opportunity to discover things about the human psyche. It's persistent.)
Huh. I think my writing's improving. Must be the continuous journal entries and internalizing (new favorite word--heard it several time during the conference).
WHICH REMINDS ME. I also learned that my youth pastor is not the only one who says "during" dyou-ring. It's kind of funny.
Oh yes.
I love Jesus.
(A lot.)
And I still adore food.
(I'll never unlearn adoring food.)
(At least, I desperately hope not.)
Oh! And The Lord of the Rings, too! That is something that I absolutely LOVE.
(Partly because of Elrond and [among his other elvish attributes] his Eyebrows of Doom.)
Need I even mention Band of Brothers?
(But not Coldplay. Coldplay is eternally playable.)
I am pooped.
Two half-days of conference wears a body out, and especially when that body learns by listening and experiencing BOTH. They say that only fools learn by experience, but I think it depends on what you learn.
For example, I learned that friendship is the process of growing. I'd never heard that anywhere before (or if I did, I've forgotten), and learned it purely by experiencing what kind of relationship happens when one person stop growing at the same pace (or in the same direction). It's still a form of friendship, but not...friendship.
And it makes me sad. (But not fully sad--there's that psychological pleasure always in the back of my head when an opportunity to discover things about the human psyche. It's persistent.)
Huh. I think my writing's improving. Must be the continuous journal entries and internalizing (new favorite word--heard it several time during the conference).
WHICH REMINDS ME. I also learned that my youth pastor is not the only one who says "during" dyou-ring. It's kind of funny.
Oh yes.
I love Jesus.
(A lot.)
And I still adore food.
(I'll never unlearn adoring food.)
(At least, I desperately hope not.)
Oh! And The Lord of the Rings, too! That is something that I absolutely LOVE.
(Partly because of Elrond and [among his other elvish attributes] his Eyebrows of Doom.)
Need I even mention Band of Brothers?
9.15.2009
Dreaming in Cayenne and Paprika.
Yes. So during the last two posts, I spilled milk on the keyboard. Twice.
Thankfully, the flea is clean and my brother had a spare one stashed in his room... and just now I am freed from schoolwork (for a little while--much research and typing still to be done) and housework (at least until my dad comes back and gives the call to arms) and can FINALLY write what's been on my heart for quite a while now.
If God hadn't called me to journalism, I'd dedicate my life to culinary pursuits.
Being a writer, it is hard to be completely and utterly unable to express my heart and my mind... but regarding FOOD, I am incapable of coherence. Almost.
I can grunt and give throaty sounds of pleasure and longing for UMAMI and ACIDITY and SUGARINESS.
Also I am able to mentally scan picture after picture of recipes and salivate over them...Pot-au-fue, Coq-Au-Vin, raspberry charlotte, maraschino cherries (oh sweet star-morsels), Dijon-spiked tender flesh and crisp roasted chicken skin, soulful coulete...the list goes on and on and on--and so do the mental pictures and salivations.
I dream of owning a tiny, cozy place with hearty fare on the New England coast...or maybe in San Francisco or Louisiana...next to a body of water somewhere is my point, with plenty of local flavor. Cliched? Maybe so--but idyllic nevertheless.
Can you picture it?
Sandy, pebbly beaches; slope-roofed weathered walls; steamy aromas of bubbling pink lobsters, and sweet medleys of fat fresh-shucked Galveston Bay oysters and garlicky gold potatoes...
This is the stuff my dreams are made of.
Bustling between kitchen and front, I will resemble the chickens I send out before they were sacrificed for the cause of pleasant survival--plump, full of life, and content.
Because I do not plan on being skinny if I become a chef. A journalist (in my humble opinion) needs to be thin, to keep up with the hustle-and-bustle image; but a chef is expected to have evidence of savoring food in his rotund middle. I would be only to happy to oblige.
My kitchen would smell so delectable, French perfumists would visit and ask to bottle the fragrances emanating from the place to put in little round bottles for the use of desperate housewives (nothing draws a man quite like food).
Also my tables, all fifteen of them, would have seasonal fresh flowers as centerpieces, and no two tables would be alike. Even the tables and chairs would be different!
Ah, but I have grand dreams. Maybe I can do this someday, and write articles as I'm shepherding saffron duck pot pies from the kitchen.
Thankfully, the flea is clean and my brother had a spare one stashed in his room... and just now I am freed from schoolwork (for a little while--much research and typing still to be done) and housework (at least until my dad comes back and gives the call to arms) and can FINALLY write what's been on my heart for quite a while now.
If God hadn't called me to journalism, I'd dedicate my life to culinary pursuits.
Being a writer, it is hard to be completely and utterly unable to express my heart and my mind... but regarding FOOD, I am incapable of coherence. Almost.
I can grunt and give throaty sounds of pleasure and longing for UMAMI and ACIDITY and SUGARINESS.
Also I am able to mentally scan picture after picture of recipes and salivate over them...Pot-au-fue, Coq-Au-Vin, raspberry charlotte, maraschino cherries (oh sweet star-morsels), Dijon-spiked tender flesh and crisp roasted chicken skin, soulful coulete...the list goes on and on and on--and so do the mental pictures and salivations.
I dream of owning a tiny, cozy place with hearty fare on the New England coast...or maybe in San Francisco or Louisiana...next to a body of water somewhere is my point, with plenty of local flavor. Cliched? Maybe so--but idyllic nevertheless.
Can you picture it?
Sandy, pebbly beaches; slope-roofed weathered walls; steamy aromas of bubbling pink lobsters, and sweet medleys of fat fresh-shucked Galveston Bay oysters and garlicky gold potatoes...
This is the stuff my dreams are made of.
Bustling between kitchen and front, I will resemble the chickens I send out before they were sacrificed for the cause of pleasant survival--plump, full of life, and content.
Because I do not plan on being skinny if I become a chef. A journalist (in my humble opinion) needs to be thin, to keep up with the hustle-and-bustle image; but a chef is expected to have evidence of savoring food in his rotund middle. I would be only to happy to oblige.
My kitchen would smell so delectable, French perfumists would visit and ask to bottle the fragrances emanating from the place to put in little round bottles for the use of desperate housewives (nothing draws a man quite like food).
Also my tables, all fifteen of them, would have seasonal fresh flowers as centerpieces, and no two tables would be alike. Even the tables and chairs would be different!
Ah, but I have grand dreams. Maybe I can do this someday, and write articles as I'm shepherding saffron duck pot pies from the kitchen.
My dear, I love you ardently
Adore your charm, the way you look,
I'm captivated by your voice,
I've read with pride your latest book,
And yet I will not marry you
Until, sweetheart, you've learned to cook.
--by a Smart Man.
9.11.2009
Throughout it all, it was a life she thoroughly enjoyed
i kill my keyBaord. i tYpe now BY copY-pasting.
When it rains, I wax poetic. Not that I'm not poetic when it suns, but that's sentimentality for you.
Ah, rain song!
I see you tinkering your dimples
onto the street,
your simpering pimples on the pagan street.
Sweet water!
trickling around my sinuses into
my heart,
your loquaciousness lodging aboard
the bloodworks of my heart
POUND POUND POUND
tickle.
Isn't it strange and pretty? Sort of like rain. That is why I like it.
And I wrote an autumn poem once, too, in August. I shall post it sometime.
Hum-de-dum, let us see.
Jesus has been good to me.
Confirmations, 'piphanies,
Swinging hammocks high in trees.
Stuff a wuffle in her face,
Zupcic sings Amazing Grace.
Wires distorted by oily water,
Fire from heaven burning HOTTTTTTER.
Funky noises late at night,
Boy-scapades burned into sight.
Shouting, crying, dancing, praising,
Jesus' name forever raising.
New York accent tells the story,
Helps to usher in His Glory.
Secrets, showers in the dark,
A Treasurer who likes to bark.
Kittens, diving boards, and tires,
Elevated ropes-course wires.
Spam and soda, baby food--
Kyle Gibson, lookin' good.
This year's trend--a yellow hat;
That was FUEL, and that is that.
Ah, rain song!
I see you tinkering your dimples
onto the street,
your simpering pimples on the pagan street.
Sweet water!
trickling around my sinuses into
my heart,
your loquaciousness lodging aboard
the bloodworks of my heart
POUND POUND POUND
tickle.
Isn't it strange and pretty? Sort of like rain. That is why I like it.
And I wrote an autumn poem once, too, in August. I shall post it sometime.
Hum-de-dum, let us see.
Jesus has been good to me.
Confirmations, 'piphanies,
Swinging hammocks high in trees.
Stuff a wuffle in her face,
Zupcic sings Amazing Grace.
Wires distorted by oily water,
Fire from heaven burning HOTTTTTTER.
Funky noises late at night,
Boy-scapades burned into sight.
Shouting, crying, dancing, praising,
Jesus' name forever raising.
New York accent tells the story,
Helps to usher in His Glory.
Secrets, showers in the dark,
A Treasurer who likes to bark.
Kittens, diving boards, and tires,
Elevated ropes-course wires.
Spam and soda, baby food--
Kyle Gibson, lookin' good.
This year's trend--a yellow hat;
That was FUEL, and that is that.
9.04.2009
A Juicy Life I Lead
Lol. I just read The Fish's blog...only hours apart.
I, also, am going to the mountains with the youth group, and I am heavily excited. Too excited to form any coherent thoughts!
So I'll leave you with a list of a few of my favourite songs describing my EMOTIONS.
Such Great Heights - Iron&Wine
Because everything looks perfect from far away...and also He may have revealed His corresponding shape to my eyes, Glory Hallelujah!
Strawberry Swing - Coldplay
That vibe is my vibe right now. Funky fresh, yo.
I, also, am going to the mountains with the youth group, and I am heavily excited. Too excited to form any coherent thoughts!
So I'll leave you with a list of a few of my favourite songs describing my EMOTIONS.
Such Great Heights - Iron&Wine
Because everything looks perfect from far away...and also He may have revealed His corresponding shape to my eyes, Glory Hallelujah!
Strawberry Swing - Coldplay
That vibe is my vibe right now. Funky fresh, yo.
Zero - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Because I'm gonna get my leather on during FUEL.
And also
Brown Girl in the Ring - Boney M
It's been stuck in my head all day long, even though I'm no black girl and there's no rings anywhere near me. But it's also funky.
FUNKY WEEKEND, HERE I COME.
(Linguistic tidbit: emigrant is used when they're coming from a country. Immigrant is when they're coming to a country.)
8.17.2009
Organizational Skillz
How to Start a Blost (Blog Post).
This is a very good question.
Normal bloggers would upload a picture or two and write about that. I, with my sadly-lacking computer skillz, have yet to upload any pictures to my computer since before the beginning of summer. It is a sad fact because I am quite proud of my pictures. They have a calming quality to them.
Do you know what? School begins in two weeks.
Am I ready? I will be, after I organize some more and let go of some more. And clean some more.
A semi-adult's room is a never-ending Under Construction Zone, but I am going to change that this year.
Hey! Idea.
2009-2010 SCHOOL YEAR GOALS:
~Maintain order
-in schoolwork
-in personal space
-in personal life
`devotions
`exercise
`daily schedule
~Find a part-time job somewhere nice, like Starbucks. Or Barnes & Noble
-balance job, school, church, family, friends
~Refresh room
-put away old collections
-go through books
-go through clothes. Again
-go through storage closet
-go through Memory Box
-let go of Hopeful Clothes
-agree with sister on wall color
-put up separation curtains for closet
-clean carpet
-throw away majority of toys
~Expand extracurricularly
-take saxaphone lessons
WHERE I DRAW THE GOAL LINE
There. Whether I shall accomplish this all within the school year, I will let you know in June.
But I am DETERMINED.
Very determined.
This is a very good question.
Normal bloggers would upload a picture or two and write about that. I, with my sadly-lacking computer skillz, have yet to upload any pictures to my computer since before the beginning of summer. It is a sad fact because I am quite proud of my pictures. They have a calming quality to them.
Do you know what? School begins in two weeks.
Am I ready? I will be, after I organize some more and let go of some more. And clean some more.
A semi-adult's room is a never-ending Under Construction Zone, but I am going to change that this year.
Hey! Idea.
2009-2010 SCHOOL YEAR GOALS:
~Maintain order
-in schoolwork
-in personal space
-in personal life
`devotions
`exercise
`daily schedule
~Find a part-time job somewhere nice, like Starbucks. Or Barnes & Noble
-balance job, school, church, family, friends
~Refresh room
-put away old collections
-go through books
-go through clothes. Again
-go through storage closet
-go through Memory Box
-let go of Hopeful Clothes
-agree with sister on wall color
-put up separation curtains for closet
-clean carpet
-throw away majority of toys
~Expand extracurricularly
-take saxaphone lessons
WHERE I DRAW THE GOAL LINE
There. Whether I shall accomplish this all within the school year, I will let you know in June.
But I am DETERMINED.
Very determined.
8.08.2009
Inspired
Dude. I've started a story (again) and I am in love with it. Something to feel proud of, once again; and I do feel very proud of it, regardless of how unoriginal and small it is. It is tasty.
Right now, I am in the middle of my favorite part of the writing process: planning and rough-drafting. It's exhilarating. Finding perfect-fit names, creating characters, researching... it is great fun. I know that the days ahead will prove to be full of stumbling blocks and un-inspiration, but I am just enjoying it right now.
The rundown: a young professor comes to teach at an English university stuck between the moors and the sea. A giant who spouts poetry left and right is the jack-of-all-trades maintenance manager. They meet, of course, and etc. happens.
It is simple but it is fun to write, and it shall never see the light of day.
(The best kind.)
I've enclosed two poems I've used so far (they should show you what kind of fluffy story its turning out to be, but I don't care. This is where I self-indulge).
Right now, I am in the middle of my favorite part of the writing process: planning and rough-drafting. It's exhilarating. Finding perfect-fit names, creating characters, researching... it is great fun. I know that the days ahead will prove to be full of stumbling blocks and un-inspiration, but I am just enjoying it right now.
The rundown: a young professor comes to teach at an English university stuck between the moors and the sea. A giant who spouts poetry left and right is the jack-of-all-trades maintenance manager. They meet, of course, and etc. happens.
It is simple but it is fun to write, and it shall never see the light of day.
(The best kind.)
I've enclosed two poems I've used so far (they should show you what kind of fluffy story its turning out to be, but I don't care. This is where I self-indulge).
You are a sky of autumn, pale and rose;
But all the sea of sadness in my blood
Surges, and ebbing, leaves my lips morose,
Salt with the memory of the bitter flood.In vain your hand glides my faint bosom o'er,
That which you seek, beloved, is desecrate
By woman's tooth and talon; ah, no more
Seek in me for a heart which those dogs ate.It is a ruin where the jackals rest,
And rend and tear and glut themselves and slay--
A perfume swims about your naked breast!Beauty, hard scourge of spirits, have your way!
With flame-like eyes that at bright feasts have flared
Burn up these tatters that the beasts have spared!"The Eyes of Beauty"
- Charles Baudelaire
(A wild poem, I know, but so rhythmical!)
Have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain:
I have seen the lady April brining in the daffodils,
Bringing the spring grasses and the soft warm April rain.I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;
But the lovliest thing of beauty God ever has showed to me
Are her voice, and her hair, her eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips."Beauty"
- John Masefield
8.07.2009
Have You Met Jonah, My Spiritual Cousin?
SO! The Fine Arts results finally came in, and I am finally able to relax. And the results are GREAT! I love them! They mean I don't have to face any sort of music!
I am happy.
(The doomed story, by the way, was just that - doomed.)
(Best results ever, believe me. I made a mistake that could've meant serious conscience-pricking and getting-to-the-bottom-of-the-matter, so to see that my story didn't make it past cursory scrutiny [which is a bad thing in itself, I know, but beggars can't be choosers] was a tremendous relief.)
So that's how it's going, and I'm going to sleep now.
(Still dreaming chiffon-and-organdy dreams.)
I am happy.
(The doomed story, by the way, was just that - doomed.)
(Best results ever, believe me. I made a mistake that could've meant serious conscience-pricking and getting-to-the-bottom-of-the-matter, so to see that my story didn't make it past cursory scrutiny [which is a bad thing in itself, I know, but beggars can't be choosers] was a tremendous relief.)
So that's how it's going, and I'm going to sleep now.
(Still dreaming chiffon-and-organdy dreams.)
8.06.2009
Come Down Now..
This is such a different tone from the previous post, but that's how it goes sometimes.
Do you know, I am not the eldest after all. My mother told me a few years ago that she lost a baby before she had me...never even knew its gender.
I was so young when she told me and now I can't remember if she cried. But my parents never mention it - in fact, I think that I am the only one of my siblings that knows. I wonder about it a lot, though. I wonder how life would be different being the second child. I wish I knew when it - flew away - so I could maybe - celebrate? commemorate? I don't know.
(My mother wanted to forget that day, so she did.)
But, you remember that connection I talked about with Band of Brothers a few months ago? That same connection - a deeper one, even - is what I feel between myself and my too-precious-for-this-world sibling.
Oh, so many songs are flitting through my head as I write.
I'll Be Seeing You, Bing Crosby.
We'll Meet Again, Vera Lynn.
Old songs - the kinds that play in the back of your mind when you flip through a grandparent's sepia-tinged photo album.
I'm not going to ruminate on this longer. Some emotions are too sweet and bitter to be written down.
Do you know, I am not the eldest after all. My mother told me a few years ago that she lost a baby before she had me...never even knew its gender.
I was so young when she told me and now I can't remember if she cried. But my parents never mention it - in fact, I think that I am the only one of my siblings that knows. I wonder about it a lot, though. I wonder how life would be different being the second child. I wish I knew when it - flew away - so I could maybe - celebrate? commemorate? I don't know.
(My mother wanted to forget that day, so she did.)
But, you remember that connection I talked about with Band of Brothers a few months ago? That same connection - a deeper one, even - is what I feel between myself and my too-precious-for-this-world sibling.
Oh, so many songs are flitting through my head as I write.
I'll Be Seeing You, Bing Crosby.
We'll Meet Again, Vera Lynn.
Old songs - the kinds that play in the back of your mind when you flip through a grandparent's sepia-tinged photo album.
I'm not going to ruminate on this longer. Some emotions are too sweet and bitter to be written down.
I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images and
When we kiss they're perfectly aligned
And I have to speculate
That God himself did make us into
Corresponding shapes like puzzles pieces
From the clay
True, it may seem like a stretch
But it's thoughts like this
That catch my troubled head
When you're away, when I am missing you to death
When you were out there on the road
For several weeks of shows
And when you scan the radio
I hope this song will guide you home
They will see us waving from such great heights
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away
"Come down now," but we'll stay
I've tried my best to leave
This all on your machine
But the persistent beat
Sounded thin upon listening
That frankly will not fly
You will hear the shrillest highs
And lowest lows with the windows down
When this is guiding you home
They will see us waving from such great heights
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away
"Come down now," but we'll say...Such Great Heights
Iron&Wine
Eighty-Seven Rivers
Post Number Eighty-Seven already. Geez....never thought I'd come this far.
(Now is where I start planning what I'll do for the Hundredth Post.)
I'm still floating around in Wedding Planning Land, and it is pleasant. Found the dress I will someday wear and started working out so I could look good in it this morning. :D
My mother and I popped in a Taebo tape and huffed and puffed along to Billy Banks's "Push your butt into the floor!"
Now I am listening to elegant music and warding off an impending cold with hot peppermint tea (never try cold peppermint tea. It is Nastay).
In the midst of all this hum-druminess, I've found serenity.
What did that one Wise Man say? Serenity is found in simplicity?
It is quite true.
Last night, after poring over Modern Bride, I went to sleep and dreamt organdy-and-chiffon-swathed dreams. I woke up at an even 10:thirty, exercised as far as my out-of-shape self could, showered, fed Isaac Jeremiah and put him to sleep, and pined after the trip to Orlando that I could not participate in. Now I am online, my sister is outside, both brothers are sleeping, Papa is at work, and Mama's finishing the bridesmaid dresses.
I was very worried over my Fine Arts story because of a fatal mistake I made (if I make it, I make it unfairly and my FA reputation will be forever tarnished. If I don't make it... well, you know. So it's a lose/lose situation.), but now I am all right.
Oh! It's Thursday!
I don't think I ever mentioned how much I love Thursdays. Sweet Thursdays.
I began a literary thinger a few months ago where I would sum up the entire week since Thursday in a sort of paragraph poem. Haven't done it in a while, but it was sweet while I was still continuing.
It gave me perspective.
But even now, as I think on Thursdays, a delectable taste comes into my mind; a mental bowl of chocolate ice cream, if you will.
Dude - there are so many things to love in life. I'm so glad God has given me the gift of life. It's such a Huge gift! It's insane!
But so lovely.
(Now is where I start planning what I'll do for the Hundredth Post.)
I'm still floating around in Wedding Planning Land, and it is pleasant. Found the dress I will someday wear and started working out so I could look good in it this morning. :D
My mother and I popped in a Taebo tape and huffed and puffed along to Billy Banks's "Push your butt into the floor!"
Now I am listening to elegant music and warding off an impending cold with hot peppermint tea (never try cold peppermint tea. It is Nastay).
In the midst of all this hum-druminess, I've found serenity.
What did that one Wise Man say? Serenity is found in simplicity?
It is quite true.
Last night, after poring over Modern Bride, I went to sleep and dreamt organdy-and-chiffon-swathed dreams. I woke up at an even 10:thirty, exercised as far as my out-of-shape self could, showered, fed Isaac Jeremiah and put him to sleep, and pined after the trip to Orlando that I could not participate in. Now I am online, my sister is outside, both brothers are sleeping, Papa is at work, and Mama's finishing the bridesmaid dresses.
I was very worried over my Fine Arts story because of a fatal mistake I made (if I make it, I make it unfairly and my FA reputation will be forever tarnished. If I don't make it... well, you know. So it's a lose/lose situation.), but now I am all right.
Oh! It's Thursday!
I don't think I ever mentioned how much I love Thursdays. Sweet Thursdays.
I began a literary thinger a few months ago where I would sum up the entire week since Thursday in a sort of paragraph poem. Haven't done it in a while, but it was sweet while I was still continuing.
It gave me perspective.
But even now, as I think on Thursdays, a delectable taste comes into my mind; a mental bowl of chocolate ice cream, if you will.
Dude - there are so many things to love in life. I'm so glad God has given me the gift of life. It's such a Huge gift! It's insane!
But so lovely.
Moon river, wider than a mile
I’m crossing you in style some day
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you’re goin’, i’m goin’ your way
Two drifters, off to see the world
There’s such a lot of world to see
We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waitin’ ’round the bend
My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me
7.31.2009
Metamorphosis
Oh, Life. How educational you can be.
How stunning.
How peaceful.
How peaceful.
How loose.
How uplifting.
How uplifting.
How angry!
How disappointing!
How sad.
How infuriating!
How infuriating!
How lovely.
Chaperoning has changed my heart.
The wedding I went to this afternoon has reaffirmed my resolution to let my personality (and that of my fiance's) flow through our wedding.
Dancing down the wedding aisle to Chairlift's Bruises.
Disappearing during a magician's Grand Finale.
A hand-picked playlist for the reception including Chopin, Heartland, Coldplay, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Various Artists of O Happy Day, Women of Faith.
A Ceremony held in a forest, at the beach, or in Queen of the Snows Church in Squaw Valley (google it).
No receiving line.
Can you tell? This is one of the most beloved and visited areas of my mind.
As for the theme, I don't know that yet. Depends on what my husband will be like. Depends on where we meet, what songs will be special for us, what cities will we have lived in or traveled to, what interests we share..
I'm praying that he loves Band of Brothers because I want to follow the footsteps of Easy Company for a honeymoon.)
(And no, it will NOT be boring. They went through some gorgeous places... Georgia, New York, England, Paris, the Netherlands, Belgium, Austria, Germany...)
Do you know what? The wedding I attended earlier, the couple's first kiss was at the altar. It was unbearably sweet--they were embarrassed! The groom cried while his parents were praying for him.
I want a small wedding--as small as possible. But very pretty. Very elegant, very sweet.
I want a small wedding--as small as possible. But very pretty. Very elegant, very sweet.
I want to put random objects into it--a colored egg here, a Starbucks Chalk sign there. Ribbons! Lots of ribbons. Garden gnomes as centerpieces, maybe; depending on the theme. But there should definitely be gnomes.
And something regarding Lord of the Rings. Maybe Arwen's headpiece.
Oh. Sweet Heavens. And my groom could wear Aragorn's headpiece!
Ahem. Or maybe A Little Somethin' Somethin' from Haldir's Wardrobe. Or Eomer's. Faramir..
GLORFINDEL!
*keels over*
GLORFINDEL! My groom could be dressed in BLACK AND GOLD! Holy crap!
Eek!
*blinks in excitement*
Why did I never think of GOLD before?? It's genius! Glorious! Glorfindelous!
This is a completely different topic from Glorious Glorfindel. This is a tiny poem because I love the beach and sandpipers and lobsters are beautiful.
fly against the sun,
sandpiper,
and search for things-to-come.
eat away the jetty,
lobster,
and devour things-have-been.
7.27.2009
Expectant Preparation
Right now I am wearing a BRIGHT yellow shirt with zippered black capris, a flip-floppy cross pendant, and a bruised knee.
The yellow is because I am on a colored clothing kick right now.
The zippered black is because I feel like a BumbleBee.
The cross is because I must represent.
The bruises are because I fell on a slippery ocean rock.
I am packed! (But I should probably bring some Advil.)
I am camera-less! (Because some bad experiences are never overcome.)
And I have a icon folder BURSTING at the seams, ready to be partially posted as a representatice of all the things and feelings I expect I'll feel this week. (Those will be in Post Next.)
I tried to do handstands for you
I tried to do headstands for you
Every time I fell on you, yeah,
Every time I fell
I tried to do handstands for you
But every time I fell for
permanently black and blue,
Permanently blue for you.
The yellow is because I am on a colored clothing kick right now.
The zippered black is because I feel like a BumbleBee.
The cross is because I must represent.
The bruises are because I fell on a slippery ocean rock.
I grabbed some frozen strawberries
So I could ice your bruising knees
But frozen things they all unfreeze
And now I taste like....
All those frozen strawberries
I used to chill your bruising knees,
Hot July ain't good to me
I'm pink and black and blue for you.
I am packed! (But I should probably bring some Advil.)
I am camera-less! (Because some bad experiences are never overcome.)
And I have a icon folder BURSTING at the seams, ready to be partially posted as a representatice of all the things and feelings I expect I'll feel this week. (Those will be in Post Next.)
I got bruises on my knees for you
And grass stains on my knees for you
Got holes in my new jeans for you
Got pink and black and blue
--Chairlift, Bruises
7.26.2009
Dangerous Sticking Fingers Into Open Outlets
This is a time that I praise the cautious, self-preserving side of my nature.
I am terribly glad I never posted this blog on a site where actual people (read: people I have Real Life Contact with) (excluding you, Fishy, because you are always the exception) could read and weep.
Because now it is Teenager Time, the part of the program where LEGION (because I think I have multiple personalities) comes and sings a silly song. :
Tomorrow I am leaving
And no one seems to notice
(Other than The Fish,
Because she is The Exception).
Today I felt stretched
Like Bilbo said to Gandalf:
"Butter over too much
Crusty bread."
This morning all my confidence
Was gathered up around me,
My fortress in the clouds
That surround my head.
This evening it all shattered
When faced with bulging backpacks
And bulging in those places
Where bulging is unseemly.
TODAY I AM A PIGEON
Flying over FORTRESSES
And SADNESS and
DIS'LLUSIONMENT and
Tiny spots of sunshine
Intervene.
These poems never mention
What the poet really means.
Ah, poetry. The perfect outlet for everything. It's even more perfect when rhyming is thrown out with yesterday's imperfections.
I am terribly glad I never posted this blog on a site where actual people (read: people I have Real Life Contact with) (excluding you, Fishy, because you are always the exception) could read and weep.
Because now it is Teenager Time, the part of the program where LEGION (because I think I have multiple personalities) comes and sings a silly song. :
Tomorrow I am leaving
And no one seems to notice
(Other than The Fish,
Because she is The Exception).
Today I felt stretched
Like Bilbo said to Gandalf:
"Butter over too much
Crusty bread."
This morning all my confidence
Was gathered up around me,
My fortress in the clouds
That surround my head.
This evening it all shattered
When faced with bulging backpacks
And bulging in those places
Where bulging is unseemly.
TODAY I AM A PIGEON
Flying over FORTRESSES
And SADNESS and
DIS'LLUSIONMENT and
Tiny spots of sunshine
Intervene.
These poems never mention
What the poet really means.
Ah, poetry. The perfect outlet for everything. It's even more perfect when rhyming is thrown out with yesterday's imperfections.
7.23.2009
Multi-Tasking is Under-Rated
I am writing a Crossover Fic (Lord of the Rings--Justice League, if you must know), and am never going to let it see the light of day. I dreamed last night that instead of Aragorn and the rest making their final stand against the Armies of Mordor, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Batman made the stand instead. Batman was severely wounded. Superman and Wonder Woman, however, really gave those orcs and Uruk-hai what-for. It was better than Gandalf in the books!
I am listening to Vladimir Vysotsky singing about Pardisial Apples and Chances. If I ever hear a bard equal him, I might just take my chances and search for those paradisial apples. Because he was The Most Ultimate since King David. Who else could sing about the cannibals cooking Captain Cook with the same straight face he presented while singing about the boy who never came home from the battle?
I am fiddling with the lives of my Sims, Lulu and Hawkeye van Gogh. They are married but are complete opposites and do not get along very well. Being Sims, they do not understand the basic principles of marriage...although it is nice that they occasionally stop and blow kisses to each other (but not lately. Lately they've been making angry faces).
I am sniffing the sweet smell of Teriyaki chicken marinade and tasting the sesame oil left over on my fingertips. For the past few nights, Teriyaki marinated chicken has been brewing in our kitchen and settling around our thighs. Oh, the joy of late-night snacks.
I have finished reading Sandpebbles, a book that I never expected to like but am on my way to falling in love with. Maybe I hated it because I could identify with March, the protagonist. The book is full of poetic language and laden with breezy, barefoot oceans. Maybe I didn't like it because it was very obvious in the very beginning that March would marry the widowed Pastor Colin and inherit four children and the memory of Eva, his perfect, dead wife. But I think that I like the book now.
I am going to chaperon Kid's Camp all of next week. I am packing all of this week. Bath mats, air fresheners, snacks, light nights, plastic hangers, Nivea SPF chap stick, bandannas, floppy hats and furry flip-flops...they're all going into my enormous duffel-bag-on-wheels. I plan to be exhausted but fulfilled by the time August rolls around.
I am worried about my farmer's tan because my dress for a friend's wedding in sleeveless and I am heading into a group that puts high stakes in appearance. Sun, shine down and darken my shoulders. :)
I am going to watch Medea Goes to Jail with my family.
I am listening to Vladimir Vysotsky singing about Pardisial Apples and Chances. If I ever hear a bard equal him, I might just take my chances and search for those paradisial apples. Because he was The Most Ultimate since King David. Who else could sing about the cannibals cooking Captain Cook with the same straight face he presented while singing about the boy who never came home from the battle?
I am fiddling with the lives of my Sims, Lulu and Hawkeye van Gogh. They are married but are complete opposites and do not get along very well. Being Sims, they do not understand the basic principles of marriage...although it is nice that they occasionally stop and blow kisses to each other (but not lately. Lately they've been making angry faces).
I am sniffing the sweet smell of Teriyaki chicken marinade and tasting the sesame oil left over on my fingertips. For the past few nights, Teriyaki marinated chicken has been brewing in our kitchen and settling around our thighs. Oh, the joy of late-night snacks.
I have finished reading Sandpebbles, a book that I never expected to like but am on my way to falling in love with. Maybe I hated it because I could identify with March, the protagonist. The book is full of poetic language and laden with breezy, barefoot oceans. Maybe I didn't like it because it was very obvious in the very beginning that March would marry the widowed Pastor Colin and inherit four children and the memory of Eva, his perfect, dead wife. But I think that I like the book now.
I am going to chaperon Kid's Camp all of next week. I am packing all of this week. Bath mats, air fresheners, snacks, light nights, plastic hangers, Nivea SPF chap stick, bandannas, floppy hats and furry flip-flops...they're all going into my enormous duffel-bag-on-wheels. I plan to be exhausted but fulfilled by the time August rolls around.
I am worried about my farmer's tan because my dress for a friend's wedding in sleeveless and I am heading into a group that puts high stakes in appearance. Sun, shine down and darken my shoulders. :)
I am going to watch Medea Goes to Jail with my family.
7.21.2009
Clearer Since the Rain's Been Gone.
This is the only time I will ever write anything about the 17th of July. Here it is born, and here it shall die.
When my affair with Band of Brothers began in 2006, I never expected the men, both portrayed and portrayer, to envelop my SOUL in such a way that I pray for them every time I think of them, cry over them all when one passes, and devour any information I am handed regarding their well-being or their history.
They inspire me to write paragraph-long sentences.
They lift my thoughts to higher things (and sometimes not-so-high things, but this is neither the time or place) and force me to dig for deep thoughts when I would prefer to ignorantly cruise through life.
They are part of what has aged me beyond my sixteen years; but at the same time, they have delved into my personal Fountain of Youth--through them, I've been given the secret of eternal agelessness.
There is tightrope that has been bonded from my heart to the heart of Easy Company that is unexplainable, undefinable, stunningly influential, and all-encompassing.
Often I wish that I had this sort of relationship with Him Who Is Most Important, but my spirituality finds limits. (I believe I'll be spending my life pushing those limits.)
But this is what it is. My mother asked me once, when I was earnestly re-watching Band of Brothers again, Why is this so captivating to you?
I could not tell her that the very seat of my emotions was so entangled in this terrible, swift OCEAN that I had no hope of ever rising to the surface.
Because I'm drowning, asphyxiating; don't want to break this spell that they've created. They're something beautiful--a contradiction--I want to play the game; I want the friction. They gave me freedom, bound and restricted; don't want to give them up, 'cause I'm addicted.
And now I'm sitting next to a mannequin named Karen while The Humble is lying in a mortuary mourned by millions.
When my affair with Band of Brothers began in 2006, I never expected the men, both portrayed and portrayer, to envelop my SOUL in such a way that I pray for them every time I think of them, cry over them all when one passes, and devour any information I am handed regarding their well-being or their history.
They inspire me to write paragraph-long sentences.
They lift my thoughts to higher things (and sometimes not-so-high things, but this is neither the time or place) and force me to dig for deep thoughts when I would prefer to ignorantly cruise through life.
They are part of what has aged me beyond my sixteen years; but at the same time, they have delved into my personal Fountain of Youth--through them, I've been given the secret of eternal agelessness.
There is tightrope that has been bonded from my heart to the heart of Easy Company that is unexplainable, undefinable, stunningly influential, and all-encompassing.
Often I wish that I had this sort of relationship with Him Who Is Most Important, but my spirituality finds limits. (I believe I'll be spending my life pushing those limits.)
But this is what it is. My mother asked me once, when I was earnestly re-watching Band of Brothers again, Why is this so captivating to you?
I could not tell her that the very seat of my emotions was so entangled in this terrible, swift OCEAN that I had no hope of ever rising to the surface.
Because I'm drowning, asphyxiating; don't want to break this spell that they've created. They're something beautiful--a contradiction--I want to play the game; I want the friction. They gave me freedom, bound and restricted; don't want to give them up, 'cause I'm addicted.
And now I'm sitting next to a mannequin named Karen while The Humble is lying in a mortuary mourned by millions.
7.12.2009
There Is Nothing on Television at 6AM.
Hello, nonexistent blogosphere! Long time no type.
The very sad thing is, there is nothing to say, even after postless Months.
Well, let's see. I am missing The Fish, who is on a week's vacation. I am back from my own vacation. Vacation Bible School begins tomorrow, and I am spending the week with pre-schoolers(!). I'm halfway through The Lord of the Rings.
Time Is Running Out by Muse is Stunning.
My favorite fairy tale is Beauty and the Beast.
I wish I had a serious camera (not that Denise isn't serious). (My camera is named Denise because she is sleek and black.)
I have a partially-closed personality and
Did I mention that yogurt is a gift from GOD?
All right, my lovelies. Off to bury myself in Fanfiction and forget my fearsome woes. :D
The very sad thing is, there is nothing to say, even after postless Months.
Well, let's see. I am missing The Fish, who is on a week's vacation. I am back from my own vacation. Vacation Bible School begins tomorrow, and I am spending the week with pre-schoolers(!). I'm halfway through The Lord of the Rings.
Time Is Running Out by Muse is Stunning.
My favorite fairy tale is Beauty and the Beast.
I wish I had a serious camera (not that Denise isn't serious). (My camera is named Denise because she is sleek and black.)
I have a partially-closed personality and
Did I mention that yogurt is a gift from GOD?
All right, my lovelies. Off to bury myself in Fanfiction and forget my fearsome woes. :D
I think I'm drowning,
Asphyxiated
I wanna break this spell
That you've created
You're something beautiful
A contradiction
I wanna play the game
I want the friction
You will be the death of me...
Bury it, I won't let you bury it
I won't let you smother it
I won't let you murder it
I wanted freedom
Bound and restricted
I tried to give you up
But I'm addicted
Now that you know I'm trapped
Sense of elation
You'd never dream of
Breaking this fixation
You will squeeze the life out of me...
Bury it, I won't let you bury it
I won't let you smother it
I won't let you murder it
Our time is running out
Our time is running out
You can't push it underground
You can't stop it screaming out
How did it come to this?
You will suck the life out of me...--Muse
6.19.2009
Nothing
Pfft... Sad things. I glee when I read my previous posts because they are funny in their stereotypical Adolescence. Hilarious, I Tell You.
It is sad, though, how I have to use spell-check every time I spell "adolescence."
It is sad, though, how I have to use spell-check every time I spell "adolescence."
Eat Me.
I am rich in literature once again. The Nest and I went to a homeschool convention where--joy of all joys!--there was Used Book Sale. And for the next hour, I was transported into cheap-printed heaven.
I am filled with glorious feelings.
And YAY people won't forget me! You know those Hello My Name Is tags? I wrote IRRELEVANT, and two people laughed (at me? with me?). It was worth it.
During the car ride there, I was deliriously happy and couldn't stop grinning. Also I talked to one saleslady who complimented my articularity. It made me feel special. :B
(That was a toothy smiley.)
AND (conjunctions will rule the literary world someday) I found myself envying the owner of a certain representative's eye-crinkles.
I am IN AGONY when I see Crinkles.
In fact, I fall in love with every man who has them.
But then I change my mind like a girl changes clothes regarding love, anyhoo, so WHATEV, YO.
The triumphant attitude has carried over from yesterday's late-night ramblings, which I thought it wouldn't, so WHOOP!!
Also!
STACY and CLINTON.
At nine, TLC. I love their snobby humor. I giggle in throes when they fling the poor lady's clothes at the other end of the room or sashay in front of the mirror mockingly and make snobby jokes about the (often trashy) shirt and (hideously hooker-esque) jeans.
As I watch What Not to Wear, I laugh along with them (sheepishly) and at them, as well.
That show is certainly what one could call a Guilty Pleasure (capitalization will also someday rule the world).
AND I WILL INDULGE THIS EVENING, HIP HIP HOORAY.
I am filled with glorious feelings.
And YAY people won't forget me! You know those Hello My Name Is tags? I wrote IRRELEVANT, and two people laughed (at me? with me?). It was worth it.
During the car ride there, I was deliriously happy and couldn't stop grinning. Also I talked to one saleslady who complimented my articularity. It made me feel special. :B
(That was a toothy smiley.)
AND (conjunctions will rule the literary world someday) I found myself envying the owner of a certain representative's eye-crinkles.
I am IN AGONY when I see Crinkles.
In fact, I fall in love with every man who has them.
But then I change my mind like a girl changes clothes regarding love, anyhoo, so WHATEV, YO.
The triumphant attitude has carried over from yesterday's late-night ramblings, which I thought it wouldn't, so WHOOP!!
Also!
STACY and CLINTON.
At nine, TLC. I love their snobby humor. I giggle in throes when they fling the poor lady's clothes at the other end of the room or sashay in front of the mirror mockingly and make snobby jokes about the (often trashy) shirt and (hideously hooker-esque) jeans.
As I watch What Not to Wear, I laugh along with them (sheepishly) and at them, as well.
That show is certainly what one could call a Guilty Pleasure (capitalization will also someday rule the world).
AND I WILL INDULGE THIS EVENING, HIP HIP HOORAY.
The Best Things in Life Are Tasty
I have learned that life is too short to be taken seriously.
So I'm going to stop writing Woes-of-Me.
(I am sure I'll forget this and flee to the keyboard as soon as that Darn Summer Depression hits again, but Whatev. I'm down with this right now.) (Yo.)
Hey! It's been a long time since I mentioned The Pretty, and let me reassure you that he is still as Pretty as he ever was.
The only difference now is that he has a wholelotta new roommates sharing The Pretty House (read: Every actor from Band of Brothers except Cobb.) (And Sobel.) (They are not love 't all.).
Woohoo! Now it is 12:Twenty-Five AM! One and half hours left and this staying up 'til ungodly morning hours will become habitual.
I think I am done for tonight, though. I had High Ambitions of finishing a book about the Trials and Tribulations of the Japanese-Americans of World War Two, but I am sick of issues. Can't people get a grip on some good bread and maybe a little wine (if you are into that sort of thing.) (Which I know everyone secretly wishes they were, if they aren't.) (I know I certainly do.) (Because wine is just COOL, all right?) and just enjoy the nicer sides of life? Because Lord knows the worst sides are presented far too often.
Anyway. This is way too serious (see? Didn't even take ten minutes.) so I am going to sleep now.
Oh. And in case you ignored that link on Lewis's name in my last post, here is the actual poem (you lazy bum, you).
So I'm going to stop writing Woes-of-Me.
(I am sure I'll forget this and flee to the keyboard as soon as that Darn Summer Depression hits again, but Whatev. I'm down with this right now.) (Yo.)
Hey! It's been a long time since I mentioned The Pretty, and let me reassure you that he is still as Pretty as he ever was.
The only difference now is that he has a wholelotta new roommates sharing The Pretty House (read: Every actor from Band of Brothers except Cobb.) (And Sobel.) (They are not love 't all.).
Woohoo! Now it is 12:Twenty-Five AM! One and half hours left and this staying up 'til ungodly morning hours will become habitual.
I think I am done for tonight, though. I had High Ambitions of finishing a book about the Trials and Tribulations of the Japanese-Americans of World War Two, but I am sick of issues. Can't people get a grip on some good bread and maybe a little wine (if you are into that sort of thing.) (Which I know everyone secretly wishes they were, if they aren't.) (I know I certainly do.) (Because wine is just COOL, all right?) and just enjoy the nicer sides of life? Because Lord knows the worst sides are presented far too often.
Anyway. This is way too serious (see? Didn't even take ten minutes.) so I am going to sleep now.
Oh. And in case you ignored that link on Lewis's name in my last post, here is the actual poem (you lazy bum, you).
I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep-
A hidden wood among the hill-tops green,
Full of soft streams and little winds that creep
The murmuring boughs between.
A hollow cup above the ocean placed
Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be,
But woodland light and shadow interlaced
And summer sky and sea.
There in the fragrant twilight I will raise
A secret altar of the rich sea sod,
Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise
Unto my lonely god:
Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers,
The deadening poppies in an ocean shell
Round which through all forgotten days and hours
The great seas wove their spell.
So may he send me dreams of dear delight
And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain,
And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night
To hear the falling rain.
And when he meets me at the dusk of day
To call me home for ever, this I ask-
That he may lead me friendly on that way
And wear no frightful mask.
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