Dain Is Cold-Hearted

OK, you caught me.  It's been almost 20 days since I last wrote a blog post, without reason or warning, and you're feeling small and abandoned.  You're not even sure if you want to read this post anymore, not when Dain is so gosh darn mean and she leaves you out in the cold for twenty days at a time.

Yeah, all right.  Maybe I was kind of a jerk.  I could have called or something.

Hay Rambler

This morning we had a little adventure.  We went for a drive at around 8am and found these giant hay bales that we just had to take pictures of...

Actually, no.  My friend Mia wanted to do a photo shoot because she loves photography, so my friend Megan and I agreed to help her out.  Great friends we are, right?  It was only about 50 degrees when we went out in search of a location, seeing as it was 8:30am.  We stopped halfway to our planned location because of said giant hay bales that were sitting along the roadside.  Mia took her pictures, I was schooled in the art of modeling (apparently there's an art to it that I didn't know about), and we retreated back to the car before we could freeze our fingers and toesies off.

What else have I done today?  Nothing, really.  I just finished watching Pride & Prejudice, my favorite movie, and it was splendid as usual.  I was jumping up and down by the very end, bugging everyone.  

This weekend has been slow coming.  Maybe it's the changing seasons, but I've been in a downer mood for practically the whole week, and it makes the days drag on and on.  I find myself thinking about everything and anything.

I've been thinking about this blog.  I've always felt weird about having a blog, even though it's nearly been a year now and you'd think I'd be over talking about myself at this point.  Nope, I'm not.  It's still weird and I still feel conceited and uncomfortable when I blog, sometimes.  Every now and then.

Sometimes I think I'm a bit too forward here.  As I've said before, I don't proofread these things.  Whatever I write down is what ends up on the internet, published beneath my name.  A pretty big deal when you get to thinking about it.  Anybody can read this stuff.  And am I writing for a cause or purpose?  No.  I don't even know who reads this anymore.

I get comments every once in a while about my blog from people that I don't expect, which is the only reason why I keep going.  For whatever reason, you guys keep reading this stuff.  People I hardly know read this stuff.  I'm very flattered, by the way.  :)  Even when I ramble on about nothing, you come back and read the next time, hoping it's better.  I don't know why.

I'm sorry my week hasn't been interesting, readers, and I'm sorry my brain is so fried that I'm having a hard time stringing words together.  This is one heck of a semi-complaining rambler, so I'm going to cut myself short before I say anything too embarrassing.

Thanks for reading.  Thanks for sticking by me.  Thanks for being my friend.  I really appreciate it.  I shouldn't feel lonely or sad, now should I?  Nah, I've got you!

Goodnight, reader.  Sleep tight.

Little Baby Princess

I've had a lot of these moments since coming back to school:

You know you missed my GIFs.

But now that it comes to the point where I can put them in my blog, I've forgotten them all.

:\ Sorry.

I can tell you that I'm having an awesome time back at school, although it means classes and homework and things like that.  As much as I love my family, it's good to be out of the house.  

So, instead of telling you stories about my adventures, I'm going to talk to you about a movie I recently rewatched.

The Princess Diaries.

Boys, run now, because this is and always has been a movie for teen girls.  There is love and kissing and girl problems and cats and dresses.  All things for a rollicking good time at a chick movie night.

With that disclaimer out of the way, let us continue.

I love that movie.  If you're not my Facebook friend or managed to dodge my obnoxious Dr. Pepper high a few nights ago, then perhaps this is news to you.

Let me repeat that statement.  I.  Love.  This.  Movie.

I love Princess Diaries because I feel like Mia every day of my life.  Fifteen years old with all of the insecurities and awkwardness of that age.  In short, although I'm nearly twenty (now THAT'S weird to think about), I feel like a fifteen year old a lot of the time.

I have a lively face.  I make lots of strange facial expressions.  People often comment on the faces that I make.  I'm not particularly bothered by it, although I do feel like a fool at times.  Maybe if I acted normally, didn't say strange things or squeak when I laugh or have weird facial expressions, I wouldn't feel that way.  If I was normal, I wouldn't have half as much fun as I do.  

The number one thing I want right now is a princess makeover.  Ask anybody who's been forced to hang out with me during the past few days, and they will tell you that I want a princess makeover.

^ That is a princess makeover.  That's what I'm talking about.  I've been lucky to avoid the "bushman eyebrows" gene, as well as the frizzy hair, but I know that I could still use a good, old-fashioned princess makeover. What fifteen year old doesn't dream of going from Mia Thermopolis to Princess Amelia of Genovia?  We've all got things we wish we could have an expert change for us to make us a princess.

The good thing is that I'm no longer fifteen years old, and I know that I don't need a stylist to make me beautiful.  I'm a princess whenever I say I am.  Bite me.

One thing I wouldn't mind about princess training: dance lessons.

Also, posture and grace.  I need some serious work in those departments.

My walk is both of those at the same time.  And that scene with the Hermes scarf at the dinner table?  I desperately need that.

Most of all, little baby me inside of almost-twenty me wants this.

Something that little baby Mia Thermopolis, fifteen year old me feels is invisibility.  I really was invisible.  I hid in corners and wondered why nobody wanted to talk to me.  I cried at night because I thought that everyone hated me.  Good thing that almost-twenty me sees the part I played in my own demise.

I still feel invisible sometimes, but I know that it's my own doing.  I am fully in charge of how people perceive me.  Want to keep them away?  Put out the "go away" vibe, don't make eye contact, hide in a corner.  Keep moving when people start to approach.  It's pretty easy.  It's really easy for a fifteen year old who doesn't trust herself around other people.

Confidence is the most attractive attribute anyone can have.  Confidence straightens your back, makes you look taller, in charge.  Confidence doesn't let you hang back because you're afraid that you might say something weird or you look ugly today or you'll trip over your own feet while you walk.  Confidence doesn't care.  Confidence doesn't give a hoot.  Confidence tells you you're a princess, even if nobody believes it but you.  Confidence keeps you from over-thinking and ruining good things out of fear.

Basically, I guess what I would like to tell you girls is that you're all princesses.  Maybe you're like me, and you've still got a little baby Mia Thermopolis inside, with bushman eyebrows and a fear of public speaking so strong that it makes you ralph.  Maybe she's always nagging you, through every conversation and every movement.  Well, it's time to give her a princess makeover.  It's time to tie her to the chair with a Hermes scarf until she agrees to learn how to work with you.

Didn't mean to wax Motivational Coach on you.  Bottom line, go see Princess Diaries.  For the first half hour, have bonding moments with Mia Thermopolis like I did.  Say to the TV, "THAT IS TOTALLY MY LIFE."  Watch it to the end, through the part where she's laying in the rain in her car, feeling invisible.  Bond with her then, too.  Then put the movie away and go on with your life.  

Come talk to me.  I'll make weird expressions and squeak when I laugh, but I promise we'll both laugh often and maybe I'll even make popcorn for us.  We'll have a good time.

A rollicking good time.

Today, I made things.

TODAY:

I tried to wink.  Also, I did not make those shoes.

Because I am eternally lazy and can't even spare the words to tell you what happened.

I'm packing to go back to school.  Well, more like preparing myself mentally for it.  I'm leaving for my grandparents' house in Illinois next Monday, and I'm going straight from Illinois to Virginia.  Cramming writing and other things in at the last minute.

Sorry this post is so bogus.  Maybe I'll do a better one tomorrow, if I'm not packing.

...I won't be.  I already know it.

Elephant, I Think You're Beautiful No Matter What They Say

It's been a long time since I've posted, but that's only because I've been waited for something good to talk about, something that really grinds my gears or makes me smile.  I get bored with the trivial stuff as much as you do.

First things first: a little promotion, but don't you dare skip it!

I know I've talked about these guys to you before, but their EP is coming out in two weeks, which means that I'm super stoked, which means that you get to hear about them yet again.

They call themselves

(Oh yes, I did just make that.  Oh yes, I am a geek and don't mind sharing it.)

And the truth of the matter is, they are not only fantastic musicians, they're fantastic people as well, so I wanted to give them a shout-out.

Here's a taste of their music, if you've forgotten:

This one is called Two-Toned.  (I was totally there for this)

If you think that sounds awesome, which it does, here's some places you can find them:

Facebook

Blog

Twitter

And I do hope you go find them, and I hope you follow their Twitter and blog and like their Facebook page, because you'd be doing me a huge favor.  And them, of course.

But now, on with the show!

I'll keep it short today.  I only wanted to talk to you all about body image.

You guys know how I am.  You've stuck with me through a lot, through times like this when I lay my insecurities out on the table for you and times like this when I do a *big reveal* about myself that's actually not so surprising.  Then there's times like last week when I try to give you something, whether it be a new perspective or just a simple "cheer up, Charlie".  Then of course, there's fodder and fluff in between.

I'm open when it comes to me.  If you asked me a question (which you NEVER do...  You never talk to me at all, you little stinkers), I would answer it as honestly as I could.  As long as it's only me and my life you're asking about, I feel no need to hold back.  I want you to know that I'm a real human being with real problems, the same as you.

I don't know why people pretend that they are perfect or that their life is bliss.  Humans are flawed and imperfect, it's a fact of nature.  We fail exponentially at perfection.  Still, we crave it.  You can see that craving  in the way we live and the things we surround ourselves with.

Why do women wear makeup?  We wear it to hide or lessen flaws, to accentuate some things so that they overshadow others.  As The Postal Service puts it, "everything looks perfect from far away".  We literally draw, paint, and dab on a layer between us and the world.  That keeps us, the real us, a little bit further away from everyone else.  It keeps us safe.  At this point it has become a norm, and you'll be stepping outside those boundaries if you don't wear it.  Stepping outside of the boundaries is unsafe, it leaves room for the unknown to come and hurt us.

I don't know what you think when you see those women, the ones stepping outside of the bounds.  I see beautiful people that don't feel it necessary to compete on that level with the world.  It simply isn't important to them.  I see warriors who fight their instincts every morning to "make themselves presentable".

Maybe that's what you think.  "She must've woken up late.  She must've been too lazy to do her hair this morning."  You make up excuses for her.  Why else would she be walking around uncovered, undone?  Must be a mistake, a fault.

Why does anybody need to make themselves presentable?  Yes I understand the need for basic hygiene.  That's a matter of health.  That's different from what I'm talking about.

I'm talking makeup, hair, clothes, jewelry.  The things that we cover ourselves with each and every day.  Why?  Who gets to create the image that we all model ourselves after?  Why are we letting others determine what is "right" and "acceptable" for us?

Why are we hiding?

I saw a picture today.  It was a fashion photograph like any other.  There was a thin, porcelain-skinned girl in perfect focus.  That's it.  Just her face, her big blue eyes rimmed in mascara that someone else put on her, brown hair pulled up and out of reach by a stylist.  I saw it and it's just one of thousands of images that I'm inundated with every day.  Perfection, they're telling me.  This is what you should look like.

For some reason, it got me thinking.  I know my knee-jerk reaction to those photographs.  Why else do I surround myself with them?  I want to be her.  I know that she is beautiful and I want to look just like her.  I don't know if that's been trained into me, to see an image and want to embody it, but I'm always left aching, because I will never be that girl.

Well, I'm training myself out of it.  My first reaction is still to crave, to compare.  I'm trying to teach myself that I don't want to be that girl in the photograph.  I'm slapping my hand away.  Why?

I'm tired of letting someone else set the standards to which I measure myself.

Aren't you?  Aren't you tired of feeling inadequate?

We can't change the world.  I'm sorry if other people have told you differently.  You can't get everyone else to stop giving you a look when you let your hair be loud and proud instead of ironing it out or spraying it down or at least putting it back, for Pete's sake woman that's a mane.  Dude, you need a haircut, you've got an afro.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with that.  Keep that fro.  Lose the mascara.  Stop letting some team of people in an office somewhere tell you that your legs need to be skinnier, your skin needs to be smoother, you need to be younger.  They laugh at the people who do what they want with themselves.  "Of course, you can step outside the lines, but you'll be a social pariah and that will make you feel badly about yourself.  You'll run back to us, to the norm.  Just wait."

Let's leave them waiting.  Look at those pictures they wave around and realize that they've been crafted.  That's not reality.

Crave reality.  Take away your layers and show the world that you are real.  Perfection isn't your goal; happiness is.  Join a nudist community, if that's what you want.  Lose the highlights and concentrate on getting your hair healthy again.

Actually, don't let me tell you what to do.  Make your own happiness.  The greatest human peace comes from  joy that relies on the inner instead of the outer.  Stop the comparisons, stop hiding yourself because it's what people do.  No, what people do is laugh and have the lines on their face to show it.  They fall down and get scars on their knees.  They have crooked teeth and pores and they get into fights.  Life isn't perfect.  We aren't perfect.  Stop trying to fix yourself, to erase your mistakes from your life.  They are as much a part of you as the happy times.  They have created you.  Magical, beautiful, wonderful you.

If you don't like who you are, don't force yourself to become something because you think it's what people are.  If anything, force yourself to accept your faults and your strengths.  If it's an unhealthy habit, drop it.  If it's a quirky habit, cherish it.

Don't be afraid to step out of the boundaries.  Don't be afraid to show yourself for your flaws as well as your gifts.  Start a movement.  Quit buying into another's idea of beauty.  Start asking for reality, not perfection.

Do not let another person define you or your happiness.

Be happy, be healthy, be magical, be honest with yourself and others.  Amazing things can and will happen.  I believe that.

Think Outside The Box

Today I got eleven hours of sleep.  I don't even know...  I didn't think that was possible for me anymore.  Usually my body wakes me up after six or seven hours.

Not today.  I'm so proud.

I've been getting some wonderful, gorgeous feedback recently, mostly because I asked for it.  It's surprising, actually, because I know that before I started my blog, I was never really into reading them.  I thought they were super boring and I wondered why anyone would ever write one.  Then I vowed not to be one of those people (so much for that).

By now, even if you haven't been reading this blog for a long time, you've got to know how much I enjoy writing.  It's been a part of my world, albeit a secret part, for a very long time.  I never thought that I would go so far as to include blogging in my secret writing life, but here I am, writing a blog entry and not hating it.

There are lots of things that I could talk about today, although I feel myself waxing philosophical after breaching the "secret writing life" topic.

I think my first order of business is to thank everyone for their comments, emails, and general feedback.  I know I'm not the only blogger who has felt like they were talking to thin air at some point, and unfortunately, blogging is very dependent on readers.  If nobody reads the blog, the blog might as well not exist.  That's the thing about writing in general.  If nobody is going to read it, why are you bothering to write?

Anyway, thanks for talking to me.  It's interesting, because some of the specifically mentioned blog posts, the ones that people liked the most, were the ones that I felt the most out-of-control writing, without a clear purpose in mind.  That's when I resort to my fiction writing skills, I think.  Perhaps I should be doing that more often.

A synopsis of my life since the last time I posted:

• school.
• watched Pride and Prejudice after downing a Dr. Pepper.  My mouth couldn't hold back all of the happiness.  If you want to see me at my very giddiest, pop in Pride and Prejudice and sit back.  I'm such a girl when it comes to that film.
• After Pride and Prejudice, I was so happy that I went outside to our common yard and danced and ran around like my little sister does when she's excited.  Unbounded glee, that's the only way I can explain it.
• I fell for the first time while I was longboarding.  Couldn't avoid a gravel patch, and it sucked the board right out from beneath me.  I kept laughing for at least ten minutes.
• two essays in two days.  I didn't manage my time very well.
• played around on Gina's guitar, Ellie.  The fingertips on my left hand are still numb.  It feels weird when I type.
• Went to Donny T's with Ashbell, which was freakin' delicious, and we talked all about our future.  I told her some secrets in Hardee's.
• Yesterday, Ashbell and I walked up to the Fields at twilight, just because.  We got up there and were talking about our lives as movies, because up at the fields it felt like we were smack in the middle of a movie scene.  Somehow, we started to make up a story about us at the Fields, and we kept creating it all the way back to her house.  It was the most fun I've had in a long time.  I love being able to share the creative experience with people.  I loved that I could say something ridiculously girly and she just kept running with it.
• We watched Donny St...  Johnny St... Billy St...  Oh, it's Charlie St. Cloud?  Nope, I still don't care.  I really hated on that movie.  (Can't hate on Zac Efron, though.)



Tell me you can hate this face.  It doesn't count if you're a boy, because that's just the  jealousy talking. ;)

I want to talk to you about my secret writing life, but I feel like it'd bore you.  I know my life is already pretty boring, and I make you read about it, so I don't want to double bore you with pontifications (I know that's not a word, but I like it better than pontificates, so suck it up) about writing.  Just thinking about that makes me bored for you.

I will say that I write every day, even when I don't put a pen to paper or fingers to a keyboard.  I think that everyone does.  We write every time we make up what-if scenarios or allow ourselves to wonder.  I don't know why there is such a negative connotation attached to fiction for so many people.  They look down upon it with a self-righteous sneer; "fiction," they say, as if it's a smashed celebrity sprawled out on the red carpet.  Distaste and arrogance.  A little breath of laughter that says "I can do better".  That's their fiction.  "Excuse me, I'd rather read about child armies in Africa, real things, than this drivel."

Don't be one of those pseudo-intellectuals who never picks up a novel.  Don't think you're better than the person putting their what-ifs and wonderings on paper or online.  Every person creates fiction, whether you write it down or not.  I firmly believe that.  And I don't see anything wrong with reading or writing it.  

The wonderful thing about fiction is that it can be entirely real.  I can write a novel about child armies in Africa without ever mentioning children, wars, or the African continent.  Some of those kinds of novels are thinly veiled.  The author might not mention child armies in Africa, but their main character is a baby lemur who is kidnapped and forced to spy on the lemurs in another part of the baobab tree.  We could pretty easily trace that to Africa, and replace baby lemur with African child, spying with toting an MP5 and marching with thousands of other kidnapped children, and there we have a novel about child armies in Africa.

The other wonderful thing about fiction is that it doesn't have to be real.  I can write a novel about kidnapped baby lemurs and nobody can tell me not to.  Nobody can say "well that's not real" and discredit my novel.  Well, it's fiction, of course it's not real.  Where's the harm in creating something that's not "real"?

Another wonderful thing about fiction is that it can be whatever you want it to be about.  Perhaps I'm writing a novel about a kidnapped baby lemur, and I'm thinking "thinly-veiled book about child armies in Africa".  But you read it, and you're thinking "bildungsroman about learning to fight against corruption".  Or you're thinking "kidnapped baby lemur in a baobab tree".  I love that about fiction.  It's not real, which is the whole point.  It can be interpreted however you want it to be interpreted.  

The real question is, why not create?  Why not write down those what-ifs, and add in a fictional best friend and follow the story out to the happy end?  Why not share what you're thinking?  Why not paint a picture, sing a song, write a book, cook dinner?  Why not have a baby?  Why not?  We have this incredible opportunity to create.  We can create worlds that don't exist, people that will never live, but more than that, we can create people who will live.  We can take chicken breast and some pasta and make a meal that can be enjoyed.  We can make a home from a pile of wood and nails.

We can create.  Isn't it wonderful?  We can create, and we can enjoy other people's creations, we can share community and culture and learn from each other.

Learn from yourself.  Learn what you can do.  Appreciate creation in all its forms.  Don't discredit someone's work because they found the words to describe their wonder, and you couldn't.  Don't discredit fiction because it isn't real.  Reality is transitory.  Reality is laying in your bed, trying to fall asleep one minute, and running from the mafia the next.  Willingly forgo reality.  Sometimes you need to step outside of the boundaries to see what is really real.

In Your Eyes

Just woke up from a lovely two hour nap (an hour longer than it was supposed to be), so pardon me if this ends up being a wee bit odd. 

Don't you dare judge this music video.  I love this song.

Look at the first comment that somebody made on this video:

This was a man that had a truly core understanding of humankind. I am so sad that he didn't find the true deep love with another in this world. Perhaps he was only here to suggest how much more there is out there. If anyone is reading this, if you love someone, let down your guard and let it be. Then, you can truly say you've done all you can do to find the love that he sings of, and of all the great artists in the world that continually asks us to find.

Isn't that a little bit of wonderful?  I mean, Peter Gabriel is still alive, and somebody seems to be confused about that, but that mix up doesn't change the sentiment of the comment.  Just replace all of the past tense and you'll get this:

This is a man that has a truly core understanding of humankind. I am so sad that he hasn't found the true deep love with another in this world. Perhaps he is only here to suggest how much more there is out there. If anyone is reading this, if you love someone, let down your guard and let it be. Then, you can truly say you've done all you can do to find the love that he sings of, and of all the great artists in the world that continually asks us to find.

 I added a little emphasis that time.  I especially like this line: "If you love someone, let down your guard and let it be."  I know that, too often, I let my pride and my personal issues get in the way of sharing my love with friends, family, and just everybody that I meet.  Sometimes I'm scared or I don't know how to show it, but I really shouldn't let that stop me, should I?  Who knows how many great minds I could find if I was a little more loving and a little less cowardly.

ANYWHO,
it's time for me to go to wrestling practice.

If anybody who is reading this feels neglected by me, tell me.  I don't even care if we've never had a real conversation, you just somehow stumbled on my blog and want to be my friend.  Tell me!  I want to talk to you, I want to be your friend.  I promise.

Okay I really have to go.  Loveyou BYE!

Words About That Great International Holiday, Valentine's Day

Well, my dear noodleheads, it's that day again.  Valentine's Day.

I'm not going to spend a whole post talking about Valentine's Day, because, frankly, all I care about is the candy.  I've never been on a romantic, candle-lit dinner date on Valentine's (...ever, actually), never been presented with a gift of expensive jewelry, never had an anonymous valentine slipped in my mailbox.  The last part might be a good thing.

Today, I woke up to the gift of candy just inside my doorway.

"GOOD MORNING, BEAUTIFUL!" it shouted at me as I stumbled to the door.  There was a wee baggie for me and each of my roommates, and no morning had ever greeted me so happily.  Needless to say, my day started off well.

Finding this made it even better.

Miraculously awake for my 9 o'clock class, I sat through a mind-numbing 50 minutes of history on America and the Enlightenment, glancing at the clock every five minutes.  It makes my eyesight fuzzy sometimes.

After my history lesson, I trotted to the dining hall to devour some nourishment, quickly gaving up on my wrestling goal to be 105lbs by Friday.  I ate two bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios, a poppyseed muffin, and an omelet.  And drank some water.  I probably won't even make it to 112 at this rate.

Then I came back to my room and ate all of the candy from this morning, which tasted partially of soap, partially of chalk, and partially of delicious, delicious chocolate.  It's a gorgeous 60 degrees Fahrenheit outside, which only added to my happiness.  That's how my wonderful morning came to a close.

What do I have to look forward to today, then?  Homework, wrestling practice, denying myself the relief of gorging on dinner after practice.  :(

And then Valentine's Day will be over, just as uneventfully as usual, and it will be Tuesday, February 15th, and all of the unsold V-Day candy will go on sale but because I'm a poor college student I won't be able to get any.  I'll just salivate unattractively until I get pulled away by some sympathetic soul, and I'll sigh and complain, and then it'll be over.

Another day over, and a new one just begun.


Oh hey, I did just write a whole blog post about V-Day.  Would you look at that.

Flashback.

I'm listening to an old Good Charlotte album, one that I loved when I was thirteen (The Young and the Hopeless, if you wanted to know) and remembering all of the songs that I used to listen to obsessively, indulging myself with a plate of nachos.  Simple Plan is next on the list.

I've gotta say, I've come a real long way from all the punk and rebellion.

This was the summer before 9th grade.  Yes I was a theater geek.  Get over it.

Far left is me.  I still have those socks.

Far left is me again.

lol guess which one is me.

Imagine that, I'm on the far left again.

HOLY CLOSE-UP.

LOLerskates.

the camera loves me.

Let's play a game.  It's called Find The Dain.  Now you click on this link and watch this treasure of a video, and I will give you a few hints.

1) The Dain is in the front row, on the right side.

2) The Dain is in view at least 3/4 of the time.  Maybe the cameraman had a crush on her or something.

3) The Dain hasn't gained much weight since 8th grade.  Look for the super skinny girl.

4) The Dain has orange-yellow flowers and leis.

http://www.mtlaurelschools.org/hmsperformingarts/Shows/spring06/kalaevid/enchanted_shores.html

Still don't believe my awesomeness as an eighth grader?  Well check out Hit-the-Deck Flora from Fancypants and the Swan, summer after eighth grade.

1) The Dain has a yellow bandana, red pants, and a blue shirt.

2) In the Yo-Ho dance, The Dain is the last person on the right.

3) In the Can Can, The Dain is Can-Caning next to the parrot.

Yo-Ho

http://www.mtlaurelschools.org/hmsperformingarts/Shows/summer06/Fancyvid/YoHo.html

Can Can

http://www.mtlaurelschools.org/hmsperformingarts/Shows/summer06/Fancyvid/CanCan.html

I hope  you believe me now.  It's right there: all the proof you could ever ask for.  I was awesome.

I don't know what happened since then, but at least we all know that I've kept the drama queen attitude.

:)

That was me.  Who were you in 8th grade?  Who are you now?  Are you where you want to be?

Getting High, for D.A.R.E. Kids

"And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom. "

I don't know how big of a movie-goer you are, or if you've ever ventured to the gritty side of cinema, where you can find films like Fight Club, based on the novel by Chuck Palahniuk.  I don't know if you're the type of person that sees actors reciting lines and pretending to be people they are not, or if you live every moment from beginning to end credits.

Me, I'm the type to get sucked in.  I allow the characters to talk to me and pull me close so they can show me exactly what they're saying.  Films are often an experience for me, a chance to suspend my time in reality for a while and become a silent observer.

For the first time this weekend, I finally watched Fight Club all of the way through.  Don't worry, I'm not going to divulge any spoilers or give a movie review.  I just want to tell you about my really odd episode that was a direct product of watching that movie.

The film is basically about an open rebellion against the trap of consumerism, and the extremist actions that a group took to fight it.  Of course there's a lot more to it, but the point of this blog, like I said, is not to tell you all about Fight Club.

After the film ended, I immediately noticed a change that had come over me.  I felt completely...  Well actually, I wrote it down.  Here's what I wrote:

"Just finished Fight Club for the first time.  It kind of blew my mind a little.  I was completely fascinated.  Made me really want to read the book.

I'm going to try and explain how I'm feeling before it goes away.

I feel completely... singular.  I feel like no human interaction can interrupt this state.  I am completely my own.

I have no worries or fears or joy.  I just am.  Whatever happens, happens.  I don't care either or any way.

Physical pain doesn't matter.  Life is gritty and ephemeral.  Emotions come and go.  Nothing is lasting but this confidence in myself, that I can handle literally any situation I am presented with right now and do it gracefully, artistically, effortlessly.

I am the epitome of blank, moving space.

I like this feeling, but it won't last, and I think that's a good thing.

Still, I am."

Basically, it was like I had just taken drugs.  I was high off of an idea, and even though I recognized that it wouldn't last, I let it carry me through at least an hour.  I was in Walmart and stood for half an hour by a giant pile of movies, rooting aimlessly through them, studying the covers, reading the synopsis on the back.  I didn't think about anything at all.  I felt like I could start smashing glass and the same cool would keep my skin from wrinkling in any expression of emotion.

Like all highs, the low at the tail end was staggering.  The confidence and contentedness had faded, and I was left alone with the emptiness that had been beneath it all.  The more I returned to my thoughts, the more my void of emptiness began to fill with negativity: loneliness, regret, self-degradation, fear, sadness.  I was hardly a human, let alone a companion for the friends that I was supposed to be having fun with.

With a single blow, I brought the night crashing to a sour end.

I've never taken mind-altering substances, so my simile from three paragraphs ago was just an assumption, an assimilation of knowledge that I had garnered about drugs.  I'm happy to say that I have no idea what the difference between this emotional high and a literal high is, or if they're even compatibly similar alterations.

Whether they're comparable or not, I don't know whether I'll be submitting myself to the clutches of Fight Club any time soon.  My brain aches for it, the superhuman lack of emotion and the self-confidence, but it's a dirty, malformed line to follow.

That's it; my confession of the week, my blog post of the day.  I am an impressionable college kid who gets high off of Fight Club and then submits the blogosphere to her emotional analysis of it.  Sorry, everyone.

But hey, you wanna know what's going on in my head, right?  Well, here it is.  A flash of raw.

Pr0crastin8er

While I procrastinate cleaning off my bed, I might as well write a blog, eh?

First off, if you haven't noticed the little links above this post, you should check them out.  Just a few new pages I added to spice up my blog a wee bit.  I also added a new response system at the bottom..  I'd appreciate it if you just clicked one, so I can know when you creeping creepers that don't follow my blog have read a post.  ;)

As I mentioned, I am currently procrastinating cleaning up the Christmas mess that I've been sleeping with for over a week, now, and by procrastinating that, I'm also procrastinating packing.  Packing for what, you ask?  To go back to school, of course.  Any day now, I'll be zooming back to my dorm room, ready to start a new semester.

Am I scared?  No, not really.  3 of my 5 classes next semester will be English classes, which, if you couldn't tell by now, is sort of my favourite.  And the other two are history, which is my second favourite.  I also have a few things to clear up, such as the French portfolio that I need to do for the last two credits of my foreign language requirement, and I want to try and focus on incorporating writing back into my life.  It's intimidating when I look at it in a huge list like that, but I'm not worried.

I haven't much else to talk to you about, sadly.  I'm just getting ready to spring into action, winding myself up with cleaning and laundry and the thought of saying goodbye.

I hate that part.  The goodbyes.  I'm the worst at them.  I would rather walk away and hide than say it.  In fact, I've done that before.  I do anything I can to avoid them, because when I don't want to let people go, there are never words enough to make the parting any easier.  And then I'm just left standing awkwardly, completely unfulfilled, watching them walk away.  It's a complete loss of control, and I can't deal with that.

There's no point in thinking about them, now.  I'll just clean off my bed (finally), get organized, maybe write or read, and listen to Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley as my lullaby.

A Herd of Word Nerds

Alright, alright, you've caught me.  I'm writing another blog.  I know that I'm not so good at these things.  Don't expect another one for a while, either.  Maybe I'll write one or two over break.  We'll just have to find out.

I'm not going to do another one of those "let me talk about (insert broad topic here) for the next 5 years", have no fear.  I felt kind of guilty about the last one, so I added pictures to make it more interesting.

You know what's silly?  Or maybe not so silly.  The first thing that I did when I visited home over Halloween weekend was play the piano.  The first thing that I did when I stepped in my house over Thanksgiving Break was play the piano.  And I bet that the first thing I do when I go home after finals is...  You've guessed it.  Play the piano.

I never realized how much I love to play until I didn't have the luxury of playing whenever I wanted.  We were without a piano for quite a few years, and it absolutely killed me.  I found myself staring enviously at other peoples' pianos, wishing that I knew a cool enough song to play in front of other people.

I've always been a music lover.  Actually, more like a music collector.  I love experiencing new sounds and musicians and putting it all on my computer so that I can listen to it whenever I want.  I love being able to listen to hours of music that I don't recognize on my own iTunes.  Thank you, One Track Mind, largehearted boy, Said the Gramophone, and especially, Blalock's monthly Indie/Rock Playlist , for meeting all of my indie music needs.  There's your shout-out.

But, I didn't know that I actually liked to play, as I said, until I couldn't.  A few months before I left for college, we got a new piano, and I loved it.  I started listening to all sorts of pianists again, searching for sheet music that I thought I might be able to play.  Some songs, I found, I learned, and I loved.  One song I discovered that my hands were physically unable to play.  (That was such a bummer.)  Other songs, I can only worship from afar, so to speak.  Maybe, some day, I'll be able to play them.

Now what is the point of that story?  I don't know.  I just wanted to tell you.  I bet that many of you didn't even know that I play an instrument, let alone am in love with it.  Just like many of you didn't know that I write, let alone am in love with it.  Now that I think about it, there's probably a lot that you don't know about me.

I am writing constantly, without pen and paper.  I am in an eternal state of composing.  When I get bored, I write stories in my head.  I make up situations and dialogues and try to describe things that I see.  I know I'm a word nerd; I'm perfectly okay with it.  I treat it as an art, not just a means of self-expression.  Sometimes the creation is just as exciting as the finished product.

If you're ever wondering why I have such a strange expression on my face, now you might know the reason.  Because, in my little world, something awesome is happening, or something awful, something dramatic that could only happen in a book or movie.  Or maybe I'm just saying the things that I really want to, the things that you'll never get to hear.  The things that even I don't know what I'm thinking sometimes.  And that happens a lot.

This is the world of Dain.  Hop aboard, enjoy your stay!