Merry Christmas (I Love You)

It's December 26th now - how strange. I realize that I've been lousy at writing updates here, and that when I do write them I'm mostly in a horrible mood. This is a fault of mine and I plan to be much better in the future (new year's resolution?). I've actually compiled a list of subjects that I need to address in future posts - just things that have happened in the past weeks, and thoughts that I need to give voice to, and things like that. So rest assured, a proper update (and hopefully one written when I'm in a reasonable mood) will happen soon. Unfortunately for you (at least, those of you who view this blog as your main source of communication with me... if that's anyone...), this future post will probably not arrive until January. My family is off to the mountains for a week, beginning with the sunrise on Tuesday morning. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to this week - seven days of reading, writing, watching movies, and hanging out with some of the people that I love best. Perhaps I'll write said update while there; but as we won't have internet, I won't be able to post it for awhile.

Anyway. This is a very wordy way of saying that I'm alive. Things are interesting. Life has been crazy but it is, above all, good. And, mostly, I am glad that I'm able to recognize that now.

Speaking of which, this was the best Christmas of all the Christmases I can remember. Not in traditional terms of what I would define as "best", either, which is why I think I loved it so much. But more of that with the Future Update of 2012. (F.U.12, for short. aha. ha ha.)

(That really wasn't funny. Oh well. I'm tired.)

That said, I've stayed up until almost 3 and had too many early mornings for far too many days in a row. And we're going to the beach tomorrow morning. And it's almost 1 AM again. Drat! How do the good days escape so quickly? Oh well. It's bed for me at last. If I don't have a chance to write tomorrow, I hope you have a blessed end of this year, and a great beginning of the next one.

In closing, I shall copy a post that I wrote on my facebook the other day that sums up, fairly well, the most important "holiday" feeling that I have felt in this last month of 2011.

To all of the people I love (you know who you are),

I want to say Merry Christmas and God bless you as you enjoy the last few days of 2011. I've been thinking today about how blessed I am to have such fantastic people in my life, and about how rarely people actually say how thankful they are for each other. If I haven't told you recently, I am thankful for you, and for the effect you've had on my life. I pray for you often, especially now that we're heading into a new year. I hope that you follow all of the rabbit trails (even a few holes, if it seems appropriate), finding adventure when you want it and comfort when you need it. Remember to love your family and friends, because they love you. And remember to trust God to handle the things that you can't - because we all have a lot of those things, no matter how "together" we seem to have it.

Thanks for being a part of my life this year, and I look forward to many more crazy adventures next year.

Also, I had a dream about The Dining Room last night, and it struck me that the ending monologue is really quite fitting for this transition between years. So imagine, if you will, a dim stage with a table, four chairs, and two newly lit candles.

Lately I've been having this recurrent dream. We're giving this perfect party. We have our dining room back, and grandmother's silver, before it was stolen; and Charlie's mother's royal blue dinner plates, before the movers dropped them; and even the fingerbowls, if I knew where they were. And I've invited all of our favorite people. Oh, I don't just mean our old friends; I mean anyone that we've ever known and liked. We'd have the man who fixes our Toyota, and that intelligent young couple who bought the Payton house. And the receptionist at the doctor's office, and the new teller at the bank. And our children would be invited, too. And they'd all come back from wherever they are. And we've have two cocktails and hot hors d'oeuvres, a first rate cook in the kitchen, and two maids to serve - and everyone would get along famously! My husband laughs when I tell him this dream. "Do you realize," he says, "what a party like that would cost? Do you realize what we'd have to pay these days for a party like that?" Well, I know. I know all of that. But sometimes I think it might almost be worth it.

To All of Us.

Argh.

I just walked by my mom downstairs and she said something about a funny comment on my facebook page. I laughed and said that I liked so-and-so. She said, "Yeah, but you wouldn't like him if he liked you!" And then laughed like it had been a joke. What really disturbs me about this is that I automatically responded, "True." before I could really think about it. Then I thought about it, and now I feel lousy. I hate this.

Run, Forrest, run.

I really don't like myself today.

Don't really know how to elaborate more than that. I just don't. And unfortunately this isn't one of those "I feel this way but I don't really have a reason to" times. I was trying so hard not to get mixed up in complicated things, but I brought it all on myself and didn't even notice. So not only am I slightly stupid, but I'm also kind of a jerk.

So that's fun.

Also, my right arm feels kind of dead today. Weird.

I wish I could write more, because I've been coming up with things to write about all week. But my arm is inspiring the rest of me and I think I'm going to drink coffee and proof-read my final essay for English class. G'night.

Christmas presents and bad life decisions.

The night before last, I had a dream that it was Christmas day. As I was sitting with my family around the tree, I realized that I had never gotten around to Christmas shopping. In denial, I ran up to my room to search for the presents that I MUST have bought for them... but after like an hour of searching, I came up empty. And then I was too embarrassed to go back downstairs, so I sat up in my room, listening to the rest of my family open the presents they had bought for each other.

As if that wasn't bad enough... the dream right before that was about me dating this ridiculously rich jerk from a ridiculously rich jerky family. I don't know why... he wasn't even good-looking. (paha. ahem...) Anyway, I was staying at their house for Thanksgiving (apparently in my dreams, holidays are bad), and after dinner that night, I went back to the guest house and found that Ami (and her room, in fact) were waiting there for me. She came up to me and took me in her arms and started crying, telling me how disappointed she was in me for dating someone that I didn't plan on marrying.

Sheesh. I need to stop going to sleep... my dreams are too stressful.

"Words that Matter"

This is my attempt at flash fiction (a story in 55 words).

Night air bit into exposed skin and swept the sky clear of any clouds. "What child is this, who laid to rest on Mary's lap is sleeping?" they sang. He remained silently looking upward, as did I. I wanted to say words that mattered, but none came.

Then:

"Did you see that?"

He smiled. "Yes."

So I will follow you wherever you go, if your offered hand is still open to me.

I've been meaning to write here like every day this week, but just haven't had the time. Now that I have the time, I don't feel like writing at all. I feel like I ought to be writing some essay or another, and I also feel incredibly disappointed that I'm too tired to do that. I've been writing so many essays lately... I'm just dry. Even too dry for blogging - how about that?

Right now I'm staying at Ami's, because the lady who usually does is gone for the weekend. Tonight is my last night here - I've only been here since Thanksgiving, but it feels like a long time. This is the first time I've ever slept in this house - I find it funny that I'm the one staying here, since I'm the one who always avoids coming here if at all given the choice. I love Ami... it's just this house that I don't like. I know it's been two years since Papa died, but I still find myself worrying about coming into the living room and finding him lying on a gurney. That is, I did. Oddly enough, the past two days haven't really bothered me in that way. The first night, Ami and I watched the James Bond marathon until 1 in the morning. Last night, though, I came back from Ojai late (about 1:00), and this time Ami was asleep early. She always sleeps with the TV on full blast, or the radio, or something. She also sleeps with half the lights in the house on. (She's left the porch light on ever since Papa died, and it finally burned out on Wednesday. I've got to talk to Dad about getting that replaced.) Anyway, I came back and Ami was asleep, so I figured that I might as well sleep, too. Only suddenly I wasn't tired. So I sat in the living room and looked through all of their photo albums for the better part of the night. It's so weird to me that he's not here. But - and I'm not trying to sound spooky or anything - he's somehow still a very real presence in this house. I don't believe in ghosts, but I do think that it's possible that Papa can see us from Heaven and that he understands what's going on. I don't think that's far out of the realm of possibilities. Almost everything here reminds me of him - I guess that's why I don't like hanging out here, and it's probably why Ami has such a hard time leaving her room. The garage, especially, is so representative of him... it still smells like him. Or maybe he smelled like it... I don't know. They keep the water bottles and coke in there, and I've started saying "hello" to him whenever I go in and see his old car. That would never have occurred to me to do about a year ago, but it's oddly comforting now.

Anyway. Tonight's my last night. The house doesn't bother me in the same way that it used to, but I'll be happy to sleep in my own bed again.

Thanksgiving was lovely. We had almost the whole family (Beth, Jesse and KGB were absent, regrettably) and we had a grand old time. Although early in day it occurred to me that this was very likely my last Thanksgiving at home, and that made it all a bit sad. I've got a 1 in 4 chance of staying in the state, but I've got a feeling that I'll end up at one of the eastern states. Funny. Ours has always been the house where people without families came to for the holidays... and next year, I'll be one of those people, looking for one of those houses. There's something oddly fitting about that, though still sad. Ah well. All good things, you know.

Huh. There are so many lasts and firsts that are happening and are about to happen. I have my first niece. I have my first brother-in-law, and my first (and only) sister-in-law. I'm leaving in a few months for Ireland, only to come back for another few, and then leave again. This winter my family is going again to Truckee - with the exception of the newlywed Muellers - for the last time. The people who have let us use the house there since I was seven years old are finally selling it. My parents are even thinking of moving to another house which might accommodate Ami - though don't worry, I doubt that those plans will ever leave the ground. Too much stuff to move. Still, it would be strange, wouldn't it? They would have a house, the three of them, which would never be home to me or my siblings. Gosh, I do hope they never move... it sounds a bit selfish, I know, but if they did, I'd never be home again. It would be a smaller place with no room for me. The others all had the option to move back home for a while after college, but I don't know if I'll have that. Oh well. I guess that settles it - for better or worse, it's progress.

Oh! I never wrote about this... now for something completely different...

Last Monday was a strangely lovely day. I felt depressed and blah in the morning - took an eternity to find something that I felt comfortable enough to wear, you know how those days are... - and then I went to school. After acting class, my professor asked to see me and my two friends who are in the class with me. He sat us down and proceeded to say, "It's very unusual that we have Christians in this school, and I just wanted to let you three know that you've really made an impression here. So many students here are lost and angry and you can see that. But you guys have this real peace and centeredness about you that I've noticed - and others have noticed it too - and it's beautiful." He actually talked like that for a good five minutes. It was possibly the nicest surprise I've ever had. Oddly enough, though, as soon as we thanked him for what he said, I felt incredibly guilty. I don't really know how to describe it, other than that I wish I was more like the person he described me and the boys to be. It's a strange thing, but I've gotten far worse at taking compliments lately; I just don't believe them. Or I guess, more honestly, I don't think I deserve them. And then I feel horrible for not being good enough to deserve them. Still, it was an incredibly nice thing for my professor to say.

Oh, and then later - that same day, in fact - I was driving a younger girl from mime to a tutoring session (she's in my art class, and has been a bit behind, so Amelia and I planned a work-night outside of class). In the car, we were just talking and joking around and all that, and then she just looked up at me and said, "Oh, by the way, you're on my Thanksgiving list." I asked her what that was, and she said, "Every year I write a list of the things and people I'm most thankful for. You're on it."

Sometimes such nice things happen, and I feel so inadequate when I try to let people know how much they mean to me. I wanted to hug her, for example, but I was driving - so I just said "that's really sweet - thank you," and smiled the rest of the way.

For all the sad things that can happen (and do happen), it's such a frustratingly beautiful world. Frustrating because we can't understand it or what to do with it - but I guess that's part of what makes it beautiful, isn't it?

What we've missed, Lucia.

Kate and I just watched "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir". (I've watched more movies in the past three days than I have in the past three months - no exaggeration. Which is stupid, because I have such a ridiculous amount of things to do. AGH!) ... Anyway. We watched "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir", with Gene Tierney and Rex Harrison (also, George Sanders - creep of a character, but George, you'll always be so strangely fantastic)... and it actually made me feel incredibly sad. I mean to a point it's understandable, because it's a rather sad movie. But I mean, it made me so sad. After Gene Tierney befriends the grouchy-yet-endearing ghost of Rex Harrison (not Captain Gregg, a character, as the movie will have you believe - Rex Harrison is always Rex Harrison, in a grand old Rex Harrison way), he decides to leave her so that she can have a life with the living. So he stops "haunting" her, back when she's good and young, and she grows old - all alone. She never even really leaves the house after he goes away, which really defeats his purpose, I think. He left her so that she wouldn't be alone, but he ended up making her more alone than she ever was with him. That kills me.

And when he goes off, he delivers this grand old monologue to her while she's sleeping, telling her that she needs to find her own way in the world without him and all of that. "You must make your own life amongst the living and, whether you meet fair winds or foul, find your own way to harbor in the end." As a last thought, he tells her that he wishes she could have seen the North Cape, and adds, "What we've missed, Lucia. What we've both missed."

And then I suddenly got to feeling so very lonely. How stupid, to feel lonely for two characters on a screen. Only it's not just those characters or that story that got me... it just made me think about everyone else, and how lonely people can be. It's much more than I or anyone else can even imagine, and that makes me very sad.

This modern thought can get the best of you.

Did I mention the other day that I sent off my first college application? I think I did. I haven't really done anything else about college since, but I need to. There are three more to apply to - except that Torrey has it's own application, so it's really more like four more. Silly Biola. My only California choice. I was thinking about that today and wondering if I narrowed my choices, California-wise, purposefully because I'm tired of California. Lately I've been thinking how nice it is to have my family so close, and friends and whatnot, in a place where you have a history... but I think subconsciously I know that I've still got to get out. At least for a while. Nothing against Biola, but I almost feel like I'm making it hard for myself to stay in California on purpose.

Shoot. If somebody from Biola sees this, that'll lessen my chances of staying even more. Rest assured, Biola-person, that this distaste for California has nothing to do with your school. If I didn't have a great respect for it, I wouldn't be applying.

Now that that's off my chest.

I'm house-sitting again, that place with the crazy neighbor and the smelly pets. Seriously, it's loathsome - the pets, anyway. The dog's odor is nothing short of offensive, and the cat is rather pesky. He wanders around the house crying just to get attention. As someone who is used to taking creatures at their word, I of course have to go and see what's wrong every time I hear him whine in another room. I gave that up a few minutes ago, though. Some creatures are simply loud and annoying. No two ways about it.

Today was a strange day. It started alright, went downhill, plunged into a valley, and then got back on level ground again. I'm in a good enough mood right now - in fact, it was a very pleasant evening. It was just the day that was rough. I don't even know why, really... I mean I woke up in a good enough mood, had an average amount of sleep (I've been at 6 or 7 hours for a while now, which I think is fairly decent for a student, right?). I even ate food today, which is something that often gets overlooked. But somehow right around lunchtime I crashed - not so much physically as emotionally. I have a break for over an hour between classes and all my friends are in other classes at that time, so I usually just spend the break reading somewhere. Today I couldn't focus, though. In my class just before break, I started feeling a little dizzy, and when I got out of class, I felt like I was going to throw up. When Amelia went to her class and I was on my own, I started feeling really frustrated for some reason that I couldn't figure out. I still felt nauseous, too, and for some reason I started feeling like I was going to cry. I sat in my car and tried to read, but I ended up watching planes fly by. It was the strangest thing. Because I don't just mean that I was feeling emotional today. I mean I was genuinely, sincerely and completely distraught. I haven't felt that down in a while. It wasn't fun.

Anyway, I had to wait around at school for over a half hour after my last class got out, so that I could meet Amelia and take her home. When I finally got to MY house, it was almost 5 o'clock and I was dead tired. All I wanted to do was drink some coffee and hang out on the computer. Surprise - power outage in the neighborhood. Mom got home at the same time and we were hungry, so just as I was preparing to give her the sob-story of my day, she suggested that we go out to Carl's Jr. We went together and had it "for here" - I don't remember the last time we did that. It was really nice, too. We're all so freakishly busy and stressed all the time... but it was really nice to just sit there together and eat. I miss that. After dinner, we went over to the house where I'm staying so that Mom could relax and watch TV - since ours still wasn't working. I don't think the power came back on at our place until about 10 pm. Anyway, Kate joined us when she got off of work, and the three of us watched "While You Were Sleeping", and then the newest Narnia movie. Mom left earlier, but Kate just left a bit before 11. I didn't do any homework or applications like I had planned on doing tonight, but I had much more fun with them. I think it helped me get sane again, too. I love my family. I forget sometimes how important that is, but it's true. I love them a lot.

Tomorrow I'm teaching the art class to the little homeschool kiddos with Amelia, and then she's gonna spend the night over here with me. I have a feeling I won't be getting much work done in the next few days. Oh well... sometimes you just gotta let it go for a while.

Whenever I get super stressed, I try to think about Ireland. I just see myself wandering around some rugged coastline or walking over green hills in the rain, and it's an instant fix. I still tend to think of it as too perfect to be real... then I remind myself that I have the tickets, and then I get the same feeling of excited-epiphany. Every time! It doesn't really ever seem normal or like old news. I'm going to Ireland in four months. I'm doing what I've wanted to do since I was fourteen. I may not have much money when it's all over and donewith, but that doesn't really matter. I have tickets!

Alright. It's after midnight and I have a short morning tomorrow. But I'm still not really tired. Maybe I'll just watch "Frasier" for a while... God bless netflix, truly.

Goodnight.

So we will share this road we walk, and mind our mouths and beware our talk.

Jon and Megan got back from their honeymoon last night, and they're coming over later this afternoon. The two of them being here never used to be that momentous an occasion, but apparently once people get married they're "company" and we have to clean the house for them. It's that way with you and Jesse too, Beth. I don't mind cleaning or anything, but I don't like the shift from 'normal inhabitants' to 'formal company'. Not so much has really changed, has it? Anyway, that's what I've been doing today. I was supposed to spend the day working on more college applications, because the early-action deadline is in three days. But I don't think I'm really going to make that one. I spent the morning dusting the house while Mom and Dad were gone. Now they're back and Dad's vacuuming and Mom is spraying everything with Fabreeze. It's a little offensive. I can smell it all the way up here.

I had a strange night. You know those mornings when you wake up knowing every single dream you had, and you think, Wow, I'll have to tell someone about those. Except by the time you actually open your eyes all the way, the dreams are gone. I can only remember one snippet from my dreams last night, and for some reason I was drawing smiley-faces all over my arms. Aside from that, my other dreams must have been doozies, because I woke up all sweaty.

Actually, it's just been a strange week. No, scratch that. A strange semester. People-wise, probably my strangest yet. I get kind of queasy when I think about it all, though, so I won't really go into all of that. I guess right now I'm mostly frustrated with myself. For a long time I was blaming the other parties for all the drama, but these things take two. I saw possible-problems a mile away and didn't do anything to change the path we were headed on. Now I just kind of feel like I'm messing everybody up, and that was really the last thing I wanted to do. Ugh.

Anyway... I also finished Catcher in the Rye just now, and whenever I finish a book that I love I get very depressed. I'm always tempted to stop reading just before the last 2 or 3 pages, because then I won't have to deal with thinking about the book as a whole. If I love a book too much, I don't want to close the cover knowing that it's the last time. Especially if it's a narrative - after being in somebody's head for 300 pages, you don't want to say goodbye. It sounds weird, I know, but it's just what I think about after finishing a book. I always want to turn right back to the first page and read it again, and pretend that I never finished it in the first place. Then I wouldn't have to think about it ending until I got closer to it - then I'd start it all over again. I suppose that's my trouble; trying to trick myself into thinking I don't know something, I mean.

Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?

Why be an English Major? I'll tell you why...

One of my three essays for Wheaton.


My earliest memory is of me sitting at the dinner table, sheepishly telling my family that I had corn stuck up my nose. The memory that follows closely after is of my four-year-old self sitting on the floor next to my mom's desk, watching her fingers hit the keyboard of our new computer as I dictated a story to her. I caught the bug early, and I was writing stories before I could physically do it myself. I've since avoided sticking vegetables anywhere near my nose, but the joy of telling stories has not yet slipped away from me. I am a writer. Maybe not a great one, at least not yet, but it's in my system now and I don't believe that it will ever get washed out.

Literature has always been important in my family; my siblings and I were raised with books on our shelves and often in our hands. We were told that reading was a way to understand people and the world around us, not just a way to get a large vocabulary (although we covered that aspect of it, too). While my three older siblings seemed content with this level of understanding, I suppose I always felt a little dissatisfied when I finished a great book. It felt so one-sided, like listening to a fantastic speaker but never being able to make a response or ask a question. I felt that I had responses to make, and I knew I had questions to ask. So at the age of nine, I took action in the best way that I knew how. I began to write. Every day, every minute, I observed the world and my experiences and thought of how to use them best for my stories. At first I wrote mostly for enjoyment; like most kids, I made a conscious effort to incorporate the most bizarre circumstances I could think of into my "novels". It was fun, but not quite fulfilling.

As I grew older, the purpose of my writing became more specific. I realized that I understood the world best while I was writing about it. Still later came the realization that I understood myself best while I was writing. A friend once told me that all stories are really about their authors, and the more I write, the more I see that this is true. A story is more than a bunch of carefully-chosen words; it is that author's response to the speakers around him - the great ones and the not-so-great ones alike. It's a place for him to explore his questions to whatever extent he desires, using whatever experiences he wants to search for answers. It's a place for him to think and, ultimately, to make others think. I once read a book in which the author called existence in this world a "great conversation" - meaning that everything which takes place is part of an ongoing interaction of lives. No story is an isolated event, just as no human is an isolated creation. I can't think of a better aspiration in life than sharing my thoughts and encouraging others to share theirs by joining this "great conversation".

People.

Let's send them all away for a few months.

There are things that drift away, like our endless, numbered days.

First of all, the song "Passing Afternoon" by Iron and Wine is one of the most beautiful things I've heard in a long time, and also one of the most incredibly sad. Funny how often those two come together, at least in the things that I seem to enjoy. Anyway - it's good, and it's good for you. Look it up.

Things have been crazy around here in the past few weeks. I need to write about it all sometime when I'm not falling asleep... actually, I probably won't do that. Too confusing. Mostly, school is insane, people are... confusing... and kind of stressful... but MOSTLY mostly, Jon is married. Gahh. Yeah. The wedding was on Saturday, and it was absolutely lovely. Everything that a wedding should be. And it was slightly overwhelming to be in a place where so many people that I love so much were all together. I just wanted to hold onto all of them. But at the end of the night, everyone had to go their separate ways... and that was sad. Sadder than usual, in fact. Watching Jon and Megan stand there together, and hearing them referred to as "Mr. and Mrs.", and especially hearing some woman call Jon "Megan's husband" was such a bizarre experience. I've been explaining the feeling to people as best I know how over the past few days, and the closest I can get to it is by telling them that I suddenly feel like I'm either a baby or a very old woman. It switches between the extremes. My siblings and I always were sort of a unit, you know? We all were so close, growing up. In fact, since we all hung out so much, I feel like I kind of grew up when they did. So it's a crazy thing to see them married or having kids, because obviously I'm not doing any of that... which makes me feel weird. If we're a unit, shouldn't I be in the same place as they are? Obviously not. That's crazy. But it's how I feel, subconsciously. So now I'm suddenly realizing that 18 is really incredibly young - as much as I imagine myself to be older, like my siblings, I'm not. I still have college to go through, for crying out loud. I graduated high school last year. I'm a baby, and that's an upsetting realization for anyone. But still I feel like I ought to be in the same place as they are now, since I always was before. Hence the "old woman" syndrome. I'm behind the times! I'm an old-woman-baby! Agh. This can't be healthy.

All that confusingness aside, the thing that makes me most sad is that Jon isn't coming home anymore. I don't know why, but I don't think I realized that before. I've gotten so used to seeing him every morning before school and every night when he comes home from work. I've gotten spoiled, getting to talk to him whenever I wanted. Then the day of the wedding, I had this sort of epiphany, and I realized that there will be times when I won't see him for a whole week, maybe. And that's only for now, while they're living nearby. But they won't always be there, and I won't always be here. Someday months will pass between the times when I see them - maybe years. And that thought is incredibly overwhelming, in a terrible terrible way. I don't want to think about it anymore.

I still need to get a job. It's just so hard to go out and apply again, after my last attempt proved so... not-good. Also, I find it very hard to believe that I would have the time to work. I can't even find a free afternoon to fill out applications! HEAVENS, applications. College. Deadlines are next week. OHMYGOSH. I NEED AN EXTRA YEAR SOMEHOW!

sigh.

I also need to not stress out so much over these things. I mean I need to worry a little, but I shouldn't be having heart attacks like I am right now. It's a tough balance.

One remarkable thing in all of this, though, is that I'm still incredibly conscious of the fact that God is good. And I mean too good, in a way. I'm a little ashamed to say it, but there are days when I'm sitting in class in the middle of the afternoon and I realize that I didn't read the Bible that morning, and I haven't even prayed. And yet, God still listens to me when I do pray, and He still watches out for me and gives me what I need. It's crazy and I don't understand it, and I don't mean this in a perky "Jesus is so cool!" way. I mean I really don't understand it. Why does God waste His time with people who are so ridiculous? I mean I'm glad He does... because otherwise I'd be in trouble. But still. It's humbling and a little offensive and crazy and overwhelming. Most things are, these days. I'm realizing that more and more.

Ooh! An airplane.

Ohhhh... and a car with a loud engine. Whenever a car with a loud engine drives through our neighborhood, I think it's Jon. And then I get really sad when I realize that it's not.

You're gonna have to get used to this stuff, kid.

I want to sleep. Or else hop on a bus and drive out to some random state in the middle of nowhere and sit at a roadside diner, with a hot cup of coffee and someone who will just talk and not ask any questions.

Home, let me go home - Home is wherever I'm with you.

I used to be good at writing regular updates on here. Rest assured that my recent failure in this is not because I've run out of things to say. It's just that things are so ridiculously busy around here that I never have the chance to sit down and write ANYTHING. And when I do, that's when my mind goes blank. Or I'm in too bad of a mood to write, or else I don't want to write about what I'm thinking about. It's a terrible thing. Take right now, for instance. I've seriously got at least two novels worth of things to write about, if I could organize it all intelligently. But it's 12:30 AM, and tomorrow is going to be insane. As is the next day. (WEDDING. GAAALRKNLEKRNLKDFJFDDDDDDD. MY BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED WHAT WHAT WHAT?!!! EXCITEMENT.) Aaaaaaaaaand the next day.... you know, the cycle of insane days doesn't actually end until after Christmas. Seriously. I wish I were joking.

I mean it's a good kind of crazy for the most part... but still. A girl does get tired after a certain point.

And I want to write right now, but my stinking adorable brother wants to show me his suit and bow-tie. And Kate is lying on my bed. And my cat is licking my window-sill, which I hate. Why does she do this?! It makes the most horrible sound. Ohh. Now she's scratching Kate and Kate is whimpering. And Jon will trounce in any second to show off his snazzy cuteness.

I wish life could exist in moments like this forever. I wish we could all live in the excitement of upcoming events, but never actually change a thing.

One of the most comforting sounds of my early highschool years was that of Jon listening to his music behind closed doors, late into the night. For some reason that always comes into my mind whenever he's going to leave for a trip. Just that comfort of knowing he was close, and that he'd be awake for much longer than I would. And now he's moving out. I'm so happy for him, but I think the next few nights will make me sad, without hearing him in the room two doors down.

I agree with Holden Caulfield. It would be nice to keep the things we love in glass boxes like at the museums, so they could never leave us. But that's not very fair, is it? The birds have to fly off one of these days.

I ought to kick the cat and comfort Kate. Oh, and here he comes...

You know, I used to live like Robinson Crusoe, shipwrecked among eight million people. Then one day I saw a footprint in the sand - and there you were.
-Bud, The Apartment

Temples and green dust.

I don't know what my mind is trying to do, but I had another weirdly vivid and stressful dream last night. Describing it really doesn't do it justice... I tried to tell Amelia about it, and I can't figure out how convey the weird feeling it gave me. But here goes.

It was kind of a two-part dream, but with the same people. I was with this group of guys (I knew them in my dream, but now that I'm trying to figure out who they were, I have no idea). We were wandering through this huge swamp (think Dead Marshes), looking for some kind of medieval temple (which was actually built to float, so it was more like a boat) that was called "The Ark of the Covenant". It wasn't the actual ark of the covenant - it was just called that. Anyway, we finally found it, and we decide to go in. Except then the guys decide to stay on the shore and watch for dolphins (dolphins in a swamp - I know), so I went in by myself. I tripped when I walked through the door so I tumbled down into it, and when I stood up I got the weirdest feeling. I can still feel it now when I think about it. The only way I know how to describe it is by comparing it to the mausoleum where my grandpa is buried. Just that feeling of walking alone between marble walls that are holding people inside. I walked in there last year and felt this weird oppressive feeling that terrified me but somehow obligated me to stay. Anyway - the temple in my dream wasn't a mausoleum, but it had that same heavy feeling. I walked through it a ways until I saw this suit of armor, and suddenly I knew that there was someone inside of it. I don't know how I knew that, but I did, so I turned around and ran.

Then the dream sort of switched, and I was sitting with the guys around a table somewhere. On the table, there was this little gray box with weird designs on it, and a fine green dust was floating up out of the top. One of the boys explained to me that the box/dust was a sort of truth detector. So he began saying various words and descriptions about another one of the boys - "blonde", "short", "likes sports" - and if the statement was true about that other boy, the cloud of green dust would get bigger. So this first boy began with harmless descriptive words about the other boy, but then he started getting really deep and personal - I don't remember what he said, but it was all about the other boy's fears and problems and stuff. Things nobody really wants anyone to know (much less talk) about. It was like the Judgement Day, except instead of God there was a little box and green dust. The second boy finally got so frustrated and embarrassed that he left. Then the first boy looked at me and said, "Alright, your turn." And I started panicking because I knew that the box would know everything that was true about me.

And then I woke up. You know, if I somehow could combine all of these dreams of mine, that would be one interesting book.

Suicidal Nazis.

I had the most stressful dream last night. My family, apparently, was Jewish, and we knew that the Nazis were coming through our town (which was still located in Southern California) and that they were going to kill us. So we had to get out of town, and we could only take with us what we could carry in a backpack. I ran around my room throwing things into my school backpack, and for some reason everything I put in there was broken. Anyway. Then a small private plane flew up and landed in our street, and Dad said that he had hired a pilot to fly us out. So we all squeezed in, and the plane took off. Only, instead of flying away to a different city, the pilot turned the plane toward a nearby field and flew full-speed at a barn. We then realized that the pilot was really a Nazi who was purposely going to crash the plane and kill us. And all we could do was watch the barn get closer and closer before we crashed.

Apparently Nazis were also suicidal. Weird.

But still incredibly stressful.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwZ_oFCqfG0&feature=related

One of my favorite bands, singing my favorite hymn. WHAT?!

Couple things.

I was looking at plane tickets last night. LAX to JFK to MAD to DUB. bwahahahaha. Excitement.

I fell asleep on the couch this afternoon and woke up at almost 8:00pm. Epic homework fail.

"Dust Bowl Dance" by Mumford and Sons. aerllkldkfasknrlkrrrr. That's all I'm gonna say about that one.

I see friends shaking hands, saying "How do you do?"

Our English midterm on Tuesday is based on an article that we have to read and then be prepared to write a randomly assigned essay about. What is the article on, you ask? Strangely enough, it's about a woman who delivers pizzas. HAHA. The annoying thing is that she lives in some random state like Delaware or some other countryside/suburban place, so she makes it sound like the most cheerful job on earth. "Driving open roads, listening to music, looking at the stars from my window and thinking about life..." Apparently in her world, stoplights are so infrequent that a "quick driver" can cover more than 20 deliveries and 100 miles in a night. Also, people are incredibly polite to her and tip well. I was chuckling throughout the entirety of this article. Maybe that's how things ARE in Delaware. If they are, I think I may move there just to see. My experience, however, was quite different. I almost want to write a response to that article... but I wouldn't really know where to start.

Speaking of that... place... though, I am forever rid of it! I've been waiting around for a good time to go back and pick up my last paycheck (and hand in my shirt, apron, and cool [pffff] little baseball cap) - and by "good time", I mean a time when the thought of going back didn't make me feel tiny and panicky like a rabbit in a corner. But it's been, what, 2 weeks since I quit? That "good time" was not going to come - I think I knew that, but I was in denial about it. Then today I felt so disgusted with my inability to do anything worthwhile over the last few days, that I decided to just rip the band-aid off. I called and asked if my paycheck was there, and drove over two minutes later. I signed for the thing, handed in my effects (which have been folded on top of my keyboard so that I've had to walk past them every time I go in or out of my room - a blatant attempt to guilt myself into going back and finishing the blasted matter off), and hooted and hollered all the way home. Funny how one act that shows initiative can make a worthless week suddenly feel very victorious. I never have to go back! HA!

...Annnnnd I'm unemployed. I mean I have been for awhile. But now I'm not even remotely affiliated with any company. Yesterday after teaching at Groups, I went all over the county looking for jobs at my number-1 choices. Some of them just weren't hiring, but some of them were.... and I didn't get the jobs. Any of them. (Last night was not a happy night after all of that.) I think it was just the hours - unfortunately my crazy school schedule really has left me with just a restaurant-appropriate schedule. But I'm done with restaurants. There's got to be SOMETHING else out there for me. I still have a few places to apply to before I give up. And once I get to that point, I'll find something else to aim for... no giving up allowed here.

You know, in my defense, the places that rejected me did so through their online applications. If those had been face-to-face interviews with the same questions, I'm pretty sure I'd have a job by now. Not that I'm the most amazing people-person in the world, but in an interview setting, I think I'm much better in person than on a computer screen. I think most people are. Why is everything going online? I hate it! It's not doing any of us any favors.

Backing up a little. Before I metaphorically ripped off the band-aid of Me-n-Ed's, I spent all day helping Kate take school photos for homeschoolers. Well, I didn't help her with any of the photography stuff... I was the assistant, doing all the filing and paperwork and greeting of people. And reading Ezekiel during the slow parts of the day. (Why Ezekiel? Why not? By the way, the whole Valley of the Dry Bones thing? CRAZY. Why does no one talk about that story more?!) Anyway. Kids crack me up - homeschoolers especially. Some kids are just so uncomfortable with getting their picture taken... they just don't know what to do with themselves! Also, the socially-awkward thing. Although I think that's just EVERY kid, regardless of their education experience. And then there are braces. I forget about braces sometimes, but I did have them for 4 years, so I sympathize. But somehow it still surprises me when I see someone smile and reveal a mouthful of metal. Such a weird phenomenon. Metal on your teeth. How do they come up with these things?

I really need to get over this constant tiredness. I can't get anything done when I get home from wherever I've been, because my brain just gets tired and shuts off. And then all I can do is write weird blog posts and make more mix CD's to listen to on my drives.

Speaking of driving, I went downtown tonight to a gallery where Dad had some of his pottery showing. (He was doing a demonstration on the wheel, too... good old Dad. I wish he could do these things every night - I never see him as happy as when he's showing people how to work the wheel.) Anyway. Downtown at night = SKETCH. Flashbacks of delivering pizzas on sketchy streets. I held my trusty old pepper-spray in my hand the whole time I was walking to and from my car. (Did I ever mention the time when, on a delivery once, I had to walk down a really long, dark, CREEPY street downtown, and I accidentally sprayed my pepper-spray and started choking and crying? ...Yeah. That stuff really works. Y'know, in case you had doubts.) It's funny, cause those streets are some of my favorite to drive through in the mornings or late afternoons, especially this time of year. Those streets are some of the only places in town where there are trees that actually change color in the autumn and winter. There's a gothic-style Catholic church on one of the streets, and even though it's new - I think it was built around 1900 - it's the closest thing we've got to a cathedral around here. I've always loved that building - I went there once on a field trip in second grade, but the only thing I remember about the inside is a stained glass window of Jesus standing at a door with a heart on it, knocking and looking a little anxious. This caused my seven-year-old self a bit of concern, and I remember that Mom was very pleased with that discovery. (The discovery that I was a discerning child, that is. Not the discovery that Catholics view election differently than we do.) Anyway - all that to say, I drove by the church on my way home tonight and the stained glass windows were all lit up and I've never seen the place look so beautiful. I almost pulled over and went inside. In fact one of these days I think I will, just to see. I've never been to a mass.

Oy. This week is going to be crazy... I should be doing homework. Or sleeping. Or writing something good. Unfortunately, my poor little fried brain isn't really into any of those ideas. I think I'll end up watching Pushing Daisies.

You know one more nice thing? On my way to the gallery tonight, I stopped at Jack-in-the-Box for dinner, since nobody else was home and I was too tired to cook myself soemthing. I went through the drive-thru, but then I parked in the lot facing the ocean, and got to eat my dinner while watching the sunset.

All things considered, even if today wasn't outrageously profitable, it was a nice day. Funny, the things that make a day good or bad.

Goodnight.

I hear that the stars were so bright; I hear that it was such a sight.

I need to de-clutter my mind. It's frustrating, though, because I haven't been able to write anything good in forever. I've started a few times in the past couple days, just trying to force myself to start with the hope that, once I start writing, something good will come from it. It hasn't. Anyway, not yet. I can't even write a good blog-post... whatever that would look like. I don't actually know... hm. Odd - it never occurred to me to wonder what a blog was for before. Oh well. What I really need is to talk about all of this stuff - to tell it to somebody, or something... but I don't know how. (And no, of course that didn't sound cliche...) But therein lies the difficulty - I'm far too stubborn to go into all of the details of all the ridiculous things going on in my head. This whole paragraph is proof of that. I want to discuss it, but I won't. I don't get me. I bet nobody really gets themselves, though... in fact I think it's very likely that anyone who pretends to understand himself is even more delusional than the rest of us. Poor sucker.

One thing I will say, though, is that my car is having problems and is now in the shop. I don't know how long it'll be there. In the meantime I have to drive the van, which feels like a bus compared to my car. (Today I was turning a sharp corner in the parking lot at school and I drove over the curb. Which was awkward AND, if I'd been in MY car, would not have happened.)

Aggggh. I'm tired. Not sleep-deprivation tired, either. I mean real, worn-out, nothing-left-to-give tired. That feeling came on Monday and hasn't gone away since. Not a great way to start a school week.

I have to work on my English paper. I wrote it the other day, but I have to revise it now, because the first draft was pretty awful. This kinda sucks in itself - I never do "first drafts". I write something and it's done. My writer's block is even spreading to my essays! Ack!

I want to go for a drive. But I CAN'T. sigh.

... all the sudden my room smells like cat-litter. How suspicious.

Anyway - this all really had no point, but I wish it did. I think if I could write a charming, witty, meaningful blog-post, that I might feel better about today. But I'm too tired to think that way. Kind of depressing, isn't it?

This is silly. I need a new game-plan.

Dear me.

I've been getting these awful headaches all day. I say "headaches", plural, because they come for about five to ten seconds and are excruciating, and then they go away.

Sheesh. I don't even know what to do with all that's going on in my head right now.

There but for the grace of You go I.

Sometimes I'm completely overwhelmed and confused about why God answers my prayers. I mean, duh, God is good. But there must be other people who deserve Goodness more. And it's simple, seemingly inconsequential stuff, too. For example, every day of the semester, parking has been a huge hassle at school. Mostly I get frustrated and concentrate only on looking for an open spot - but every single time, without fail, that I've said, "Please open up a spot," a spot opens within two/three minutes. Just ridiculous stuff like that where you're like, God, you didn't have to do that. It's crazy.

I was on your porch last night.

My dad was sick, my mom she cared for him.
Her love, it nursed him back to health.
But me, I ran - I couldn't even look at him,
For fear I'd have to say goodbye.
And as I start to leave, he grabs me by the shoulder
And he tells me...

What's left to lose? You've done enough.
And if you fail, well, then you fail, but not to us.
'Cause these last three years, I know they've been hard.
But now its time to get out of the desert and into the sun;
even if its alone.

That song makes me want to cry. How do people write things like that?

Words that tear and strain to rhyme.

We have so many books in this house. I've been trying to consolidate between bookshelves, in an attempt to make the hallways look more organized... also in an attempt to keep myself busy when I don't know what else I should be doing. I'm so crazily busy all the time, and when I have an evening or a few hours without homework, I don't know what to do with myself. So I spend a lot of time staring at things like a window or the ceiling - which I think is a sign that I either need more sleep, healthier food, or... well, something. I don't know. Anyway - the books. My dad's been collecting them for decades, and while I was going through the shelves, I found some rather interesting things. There are three main categories that he likes: theology, the arts, and revolutions of various countries. It's surprising how many he has on Irish revolutions - Dad's never been too big on the Irish, though I think that's mainly because I took more of an interest in that side of my heritage (from Mom's side) than the German side (his side). There was one book titled "The Improbable Irish", which I loved. He also has books on things like bonsai trees, digital cameras, museum guides and travel books to places he's never been, and a book full of ink drawings and Japanese verse that have been translated into German. I think that was the best find of all.

All of this started because I spent last night building myself a bookshelf. It's one of those really huge ones - taller than I am, and about 2 or 3 feet wide. Unlike my old shelf (which was about half the size), this one has enough room for all of my books and a few other decorative items beside - which, of course, is why I wanted a shelf that big. :) But after moving all of this furniture and boxes and other various junk around, my back is really sore. Oh well. It was worth it.

I realize that I haven't written in a while... I really should be writing more often. Not only here, but just in general. I haven't written a story in months, which is really depressing. I have all these ideas floating around, but I can never hold onto one long enough to keep enthusiastic about it. I also don't allow myself to really get into a project that I know I'll enjoy, because I know that I'll feel guilty for not doing school instead. So I end up doing a million other, more pointless, things - which collectively take as much time as a truly enjoyable project would. How stupid.

Things move so quickly. It's October now, isn't it? Crazy. I'm starting - what - week 6 of school? Halloween is at the end of the month, and Christmas is in two. Jon and Megan are getting married in a month and four days. My baby niece, Kayleigh, was born on this past Monday - I got to meet her on Thursday. I drove down there and back in an afternoon/night, because I didn't know when else I could go. THAT was crazy, by the way. I've seen millions (well, okay, not millions - but a lot) of babies before, but this one was different. I remember her mother being only a few years older than that. As I was holding Kayleigh, I just kept feeling her skin and thinking, wow - you're so new. You've felt so little. Then I started thinking about how different she'll look every time I see her; immediately I imagined myself saying, "You've grown so much since last time I saw you!" and suddenly I felt incredibly old. I wonder if that's how people begin to feel age. When we have a new life to measure against ours.

I need to get another job. I haven't even started looking again, because I haven't had a day to dedicate to the hunt. I need to force myself, though. Maybe Wednesday. Yeah - Wednesday. I'll do it. It's just hard to go and sign my life away again, now that I know how rare and special it is to spend an evening at home. But I just have to keep reminding myself of Ireland. That ticket won't buy itself.

Shoot. I also need to start applying to colleges.

I'm at an awkward standstill with myself. I keep wanting to write, "I wish time would slow down!" but then I remember how often I wrote things like, "I wish this year would just finish already." I guess that means that time is moving at just the right pace, though it may not feel like it at the moment. God knew what He was doing when he invented the clock and the calendar. He still does.

I'm going to wait until Kate comes home to go to sleep - I told her I'd stay up for her. So. Until then, I think I'm going to go through my closet and play dress-up; put on a runway show for the cat.

... don't judge.

By the way, I drank a pot of coffee today. By myself. This is what happens when I stay in the house all day.

Oh....

"Why can't it be just a bit more red?!"

Traffic and bloodhounds.

Last night I had a dream that I was driving down a really long road, and there were thousands of cars stuck in traffic. But instead of stopping when the people in front of them did, everyone just kept going, crashing into each other like they were trying to move traffic themselves. It was like being stuck in a series of those really strong waves that just keep pounding on top of you. And then there was this stupid bloodhound puppy that came into the road. I swerved out of the way for it, but I knew that someone behind me wouldn't. And then I woke up.

Sometimes I don't like sleeping.

You and I have memories

When I was about five or six, Jon and I went to stay at my aunt and uncle's house for the night. I can't remember what the occasion was, but it was just the two of us, and Uncle Todd took us to a car show - and of course I complained the whole time. That part is a little fuzzy - I might have been complaining of boredom, but I think it was because my legs were hurting, the way they always did when I was little. Then we went to Chuckee Cheese's, and I got lost. Later (after I was found, of course), we went back to the house and watched The Hunchback of Notre Dame. By the time we were put to bed on the office futon, I was missing my mom terribly. I was quite a home-body as a child. While I cried myself to sleep, Jon held me, and he still had his arms around me when I woke up.

I can see their eyes;

but tell me something, can they see mine?

Good grief - too much has happened to write about adequately right now. I keep meaning to write here, because I keep thinking of things to write about... but then suddenly it's the middle of the night and I fall asleep before I can do it. Like right now. I'm dozing off and I keep having to retype my sentences because of all the typos. Fun. I did want to write, however, that I quit my job. I've only been there for two weeks, but it quickly became apparent that this was not the place for me. Not only were there some shady things about the place itself, but I just came to realize that restaurant work really just isn't for me. The grouchy, hungry, give-it-to-me-NOW/I'm-the-only-customer-in-the-world people just drove me crazy. I mean, I know people are psychos in every profession... but people are just especially rude to kids in the restaurant business, I've noticed. I have so many ridiculous stories I could tell. But suffice it to say that on Thursday, after I got yelled at by everyone in the world (inside the restaurant AND outside - meaning on deliveries), I decided that I would have to quit soon. Then, the next night while I was delivering a pizza to a sketchy apartment in a sketchy part of town, three middle-aged guys opened the door and invited me in. I declined, politely, and stayed on the porch to get them their change... and they came out and STOOD AROUND ME IN A CIRCLE, all talking at me and joking around and asking if they were giving me enough money... so yeah. I got out of there, awkwardly acknowledged their creepy farewell of "Stay safe!", walked down the street like a freaking half-mile to my car (parking in this city sucks), got in my car, and said, "Yup - I'm quitting."

People are such psychos.

I still have to work a night or two this week, but will be done by this weekend. YAY. Then... yay.... back to job hunting. I've learned my lesson, though. I'm getting a normal-person job at a normal store with normal hours. Or as close to it as I can get.

Also, Amelia and I taught our first Color and Design class on Friday. It was actually super fun. I become a relatively hilarious person when I'm around junior-highers, which is weird and surprising... I think Amelia and I were both expecting to let her play good-teacher and leave the role of harsh-teacher to me. Amelia is the epitome of good-teacher, though... so maybe I'll be the harsh-teacher AND the crazy one. Sounds like a good balance.

I'm so excited about Ireland. I haven't heard back from the family since last week, but they've pretty much guaranteed me a place, and I'm happy. They also gave me a lot of information for volunteer positions with their various church organizations, which is perfect. Exploring on my own/having actual structure when I need it (or when it needs me), sounds fabulous. That might have sounded more selfish than I meant it to. I'm too tired to tell... I didn't mean it in a selfish way. I just mean that having flexibility and options, and the opportunity to be helpful, is awesome-sounding. Yay.

Crap. I have to get up soon. I'm always so tired... but I can never go to bed at a reasonable time anymore. Last night I fell asleep on the couch while we were watching various movies and shows, and everybody left me there! Slightly offensive. Jon came home at almost 3 and he woke me up so that I could go upstairs and sleep in my actual bed. I don't have the drowsy stage of life anymore. I'm awake and then, suddenly, BOOM - I'm out like a light. No warning. I just go through the day knowing that I could, potentially, fall asleep at any time. It's slightly alarming.

Speaking of which, I bet you that I could be asleep in about 4 minutes. I think I'll put that theory to the test. Goodnight, America. Good morning, Europe. Good... existence, Milky Way. 'Atta galaxy.

So, I just want to say.....

I HAVE A PLACE IN IRELAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Conversation with a coworker

Coworker: So what high-school did you go to?
Me: Actually I was homeschooled.
Coworker: Seriously?! ... You know, that actually explains why you're - like this.
Me: What's THAT supposed to mean?
Coworker: No no, it's just that you're - you're like - you're classy. You're not like other girls.


Homeschooled girls for the win.

How sweet to walk in this pilgrim way.

Once again, I am struck by the realization of how utterly weird Mondays always are. Today was rather tame on the Monday-scale, I mean, but in relation to the rest of the weekdays... yeah. Gah, I feel like I always start writing when I know that I should be asleep... but I've been having trouble falling asleep lately, so I usually look at pictures or write on this here laptop until I literally can't keep my eyes open anymore. So if I suddenly get tired and fed up with writing, this post might just disappear abruptly. And I'll probably be the better for it. I'd probably be a reasonable person, if I got a normal amount of sleep a few times a week. But I do not entertain hypotheticals. (The world as it is is vexing enough.)

Every once in a while, usually when I'm feeling particularly tired and prone to these gloomy thoughts, my life flashes before my eyes and I get incredibly depressed about it. Today I was thinking about how much school I have this week (and this semester, really), and how I don't want to go in to work tomorrow - then I thought, I have at least two more years of school, and it doesn't matter what job I have: whatever and wherever it is, I'll have to go in on days when I don't feel like it. There's no escaping that. Then suddenly I realized that school will continue, and work will continue, and I'll be working for the rest of my life, until I retire, at which time I'll be too old to do anything fun. Then I got very sad and tired and hopeless feeling. I usually can think of so many things to look forward to... but sometimes the other things get in the way and sort of overwhelm the rest.

Don't worry; these moods are rare and usually go away in a day or two. Then I'll be back to concentrating on good ol' happy short-term goals, like eating Mexican food sometime this week and finding a night to catch the season finale of Rookie Blue.

You know, there are a lot of people that I really love. I've been thinking about that. I get sad and selfish because they're not here with me, or because I'm not somewhere else with them... but really. How lucky am I to have people to miss?

My cat keeps sitting on my arm. Arg. I don't love her.

If I weren't so tired, I'd go for a drive. I think I said this the other night... hm. I guess that means that one of these nights I should probably just go. I think night-drives are good for me - and delivering pizzas doesn't count.

Hmph - I'm still awake.

If it wouldn't kill me of nostalgia and sadness, I would listen to The Weepies and look at pictures of Ireland. Can you have nostalgia for a place you've never been? WAIT - I've been there! Did I ever tell you that? I don't think I did. Last month on the flight back from Prague to New York, Joseph gave me his window seat (bless you, Joseph.), so I got to watch Europe, the Atlantic, and the coast of Canada and New York for 9 hours. I'd brought books to read, but I only read when we had to close the shades so that people could sleep. Aside from that, I listened to my ipod on shuffle and looked out the window for the whole time. When we flew over England, Waterloo Sunset came on, and I thought that was pretty serendipitous. Then, at the exact moment when the clouds parted and I saw the coast of Ireland, the True Grit version of Leaning on the Everlasting Arms came on. It was the most beautiful moment; my eyes actually started to water. It was just perfect.

Alright. I'm going to close my eyes and try to trick myself into thinking I'm asleep. I need to wake up in 6 hours. The Texas Ranger presses on.... alone.

A-dios.
:)

Lucky to have been where I have been.

Oh, I feel sad right now. Not for any reason, particularly... I mean, there are a lot of things going on in life right now, and most of them are rather challenging... but then, that's pretty normal, I'm coming to realize. I came upstairs to work on a 5 page essay that I have to turn in on Tuesday (and by the way, I have no idea what my thesis is yet...), but I ended up looking at pictures from our trip to the Czech Republic instead.

I miss this.




I feel like I'm in a doorway right now - a large doorway, leaving a room that I know and stepping out toward a porch and then a street, and I have no idea what's there. There are a few notions floating around in my head... just possibilities that would seem appropriate. But nothing for certain. Some things just seem so connected to other parts of my life that they HAVE to be right - but that could just be pure conjecture on my part. It's impossible to tell right now... and that's frustrating. And apparently a recipe for making me feel sad and somewhat lonely on a Sunday evening when I should be doing something else.

Wow. I'm a vague person.

The winds of change are blowing wild and free;

you ain't seen nothing like me yet.

I really should be asleep - but six hours will work for tonight. Last night (Friday, that is), I started work at 6:00 and got home at 1:30am. That was massively unpleasant, especially because I thought I'd be home at 11. It's so depressing to stand in a restaurant at midnight and look around after a huge party has just left, knowing that the task of cleaning up and closing the place falls on you, one other coworker, and the manager. Oh, we were a merry group. Not.

But anyway - that was yesterday. Tonight was actually much better, at least, easier. I only made three deliveries, though, so the rest of the time I was scrubbing dishes and folding pizza boxes... which kinda sucks, not going to lie. I also have to work Sundays, which reaallly sucks. I tried to get out of it but I can't, at least not until the owner hires another driver (if he can ever find another one without a DUI.). But the main thing about tonight that was good was that it was a slow night in the restaurant, so I got to go home at 9. That's kinda the thing I'm realizing that I really don't like about this place, though - you never know how long your shift is going to be. I've been asking my coworkers about that, and they're all just kinda like, "Yeah, I guess we just leave whenever he says we can." Which isn't a good answer, I feel. Well, we'll see how things go.

OH. You know what's lame? I washed my car yesterday (a long process, because of the fussy paint I have on it - hose it down, wash it, hose it again, and the pour distilled water over it and dry immediately so that it doesn't spot.... ughhhh). And then last night it rained. So now my car is all spotty again. GAH. Oh well. At least it looked nice for a night.

OH!! You know what's exciting, though? The baby shower for my NIECE is tomorrow. I'm psyched about this. She'll be coming pretty much any time in the next two weeks, I hear. I've known what I want to get our little KGB for a long time, but I haven't been able to track one down yet... I'm taking a last stab at it tomorrow after church, though, so we'll see. Beth, if you're reading this, don't get sad because I'm a procrastinator. I'm not. I've been diligently seeking! It's just that I haven't been diligently, well, finding. But I won't give up. :)

Man, I could really go for a steak quesadilla from Baja Fresh right now.

The moon is aaaalmost to where I can see it from my bed, but not quite there yet. Maybe two more nights. I really miss seeing it; it was so comforting on all those nights when I could.

Goodnight, moon.

So much for that.

I went to sleep at 1 and woke up at 8. Ohhhh well. Coffee, car-washing, homework, menu-memorizing. Then back to work at 6. I'd appreciate prayer, if you think of it. There's a lot going on in this head of mine and getting lost at night and making apologetic calls/direction-requests to angry customers doesn't sound like a lot of fun right now.

When I am weak, then I am strong.
My God shall be my strength.
He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness." Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

Oy.

Most hectic 24 consecutive hours of my life. I woke up 20 minutes before I had to leave for my geography exam, got in the car and my 'check engine' light turned on, (drove to class anyway), took the test, sat through the world's most frustrating philosophy discussion/class debate, went to another long class, got home and took the quickest shower recorded in time, went to my first day of work, and spent until 10:45 feeling like the world's stupidest person. And getting insulted by rude customers. Oh, customer service.

I made $12 in tips, so that's something.

And the baseball cap doesn't look nearly as stupid as it could.

But I'm working the next two nights and I'm so. freaking. tired.

And I didn't have a food today.

I'm going to bed and sleeping until tomorrow night's shift.

Let's get rich

and buy our parents homes in the south of France. Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance.

Oh, I should be asleep. I have a geography test first thing in the morning, and it's a long day after that. Also, I start work tomorrow night. (I went out and bought the khaki Dickies today, so it's official.) I'm tired, but I don't think I could sleep right now. Too much going on in this head of mine. First of all, I've been waiting for weeks for the moon to be in the right position so that I can see it when I lay on my bed, but it's been stubborn and unsociable. It's coming closer, though. Tonight I can see it if I sit on the foot of my bed. Tomorrow or the next night, perhaps. Suki sure enjoys sitting on the windowsill and looking at it, though. Of course, she also likes licking the windowpane. Weird animal.

I want to go dancing right now. Really badly. You know, that was one thing I really appreciated about Czechs - lots of them are really accomplished ballroom dancers. Dancing with someone who knows what they're doing really makes a difference.

I think that if I didn't have a test in the morning, I'd go for a drive right now. Drives make things better when I'm lonely.

You know something, we're all a lot more like each other than I think we allow ourselves to think. Just something I've been noticing lately.

Hm, I just saw a plane fly by. That's nice. Sometimes I randomly hear a train-whistle, too - which is weird, because I'm not really near a train station. I mean there's one in town, but it's rare to hear evidence of that. What's that line from "It's a Wonderful Life"... about the three most exciting sounds in the world? I can't remember them all... but I know train whistles were on there somewhere.

I'm so glad it's fall time. (Well, almost.) I'd be happy if it could be autumn all year long - there's just something inherently good about it. Maybe it's the spiced hot drinks, the scarves and boots, the coolness settling in at nights, the red that creeps into the trees... definitely a combination of all of those and more, though. Speaking of red in the trees, that's how most people tell if it's autumn or not - except in California, we don't really get seasonal colors. BUT, I've discovered a row of trees on the road to school that does change color in the fall-time. I noticed them last year, when they started turning red about this time, and stayed that way until early spring. And I'm talking bright red. They're beautiful! I wish we had more of those.

Well. I should try to sleep now. I'd like to say that I'll probably be awake for a while, and will just be staring out the window, thinking my thoughts and waiting for the moon to pass me by.... but in truth, I'll probably fall asleep within five minutes. In times like these, my laziness outweighs my artist-temperament.

Go listen to "Passenger Seat" by Deathcab for Cutie.

I wonder what other people are doing right now. It's so weird to think that it's tomorrow in some places, and various other times everywhere else... but it's RIGHT NOW, everywhere. Kind of a distant, but oddly comforting, feeling.

Goodnight.

Or, good morning.

Wherever you are, make it good.

Sleeping with a book-blanket out at sea.

From my journal during my break today. I wish I could also put a picture of the cool bicycle-dude I drew next to it. But that part you'll have to imagine.


What a weird world. I'm in the reading room in the library, and 3 out of 5 people I look at are plugged into ipads via headphones. It's like the TV rooms in Fahrenheit 451, except less invasive, which is almost worse. It's sneaky. They're in their own weird little universe of 2D-fiction, which is busily tricking them into taking it for 3D-reality.

Geography scared me today. All this talk about fault-lines, and valleys moving 18 feet in 45 seconds. California will be in the sea one day - actually, not even California as a whole. Only where I live.

(HAHA, I just sneezed really weirdly and tried to play it off like it didn't happen. I mock people like me all the time.)

I dropped journalism, by the way.

But yeah - so the world is moving at all of these crazy speeds, and all of these crazy forces are "ripping the Earth apart" (as my professor so calmly put it). So I'm afraid of the world now, and I'm weirded out by my philosophy class, so I'm afraid not only of physics but also of metaphysics..... gah. I have to keep reminding myself of Sund's diagram about fear and comfort and boundary-pushing, because otherwise I think I'd take the easy way and hide in my room and only come out for Christmas.

Everyone here is so suspicious. Aaaaaand I'm sneezing again.

HA! If I write "I'm sneezing", I don't sneeze.

I'm sneezing. I'm sneezing. I'm sneezing. I'm sneezing. I'm -

Damnit.

Baseball caps?

I have a job!!!!!!!!!!

Rather remarkable how it happened, really. I set out today, dressed to the nines, with the intention of searching till I found a place that would hire lil old me. I first went in to a pizza restaurant nearby that I'd never really thought of working at - but I thought, why not wet my feet with a place I don't really care about? Well, long story short, it turned out that they'd just lost their driver (delivery-man, in less glorious verbiage), and the hours of that particular driver would work perfectly with my strange schedule. So I did apply to a few places, but I pretty much have a guaranteed spot there. I'm going to be cross-trained, the manager said, so I'll be an official driver, but if I'm a quick learner, I'll also be working in the kitchen and serving. All I have to do is bring in my paperwork tomorrow or the next day, and I'll start training.

I'm pretty psyched about this. So is the rest of my family - except my stinking older brother, who is angry about the fact that they hired a girl as a delivery-man. Because, let's face it, there are some pretty sketchy places around here. But I'll deal with it. I'll deal with it because I'm GOING to Ireland, and I'll do what it takes to get there. Oh, which reminds me, I finally wrote to the pastor in Ireland. He said they'd be happy to have me, and he's asking around to see if he can find somebody who will rent a room to me. Things are moving! It makes me happy.

The downside of this job is that I have to wear a polo shirt and a baseball cap. Some people can pull those off, but I just never thought of myself as the type. Oh well. It pays.

Gym, textbooks and cigarettes.

When I wear my glasses, I feel like I should be working in an office in the 30's or 40's and smoking a cigarette, like the whole cast of Goodnight and Good Luck. I don't know if this is true, but my film teacher said that Clooney chose only actors who could smoke. Which makes sense, because everyone in the movie smokes the whole time. But then, my teacher also said that the Ian McKellen version of Richard III was set in the Elizabethan Era - then he corrected himself and said that it was during the George V/Edward/what-is-going-on-in-England crisis, which (according to him) took place before WWI. I know the man is intelligent, but sometimes he gets his facts a little crossed.

... I suppose the smoking-actor thing isn't too much of a stretch, though.

I'm so tired. I kind of failed at today - at least, the part of today that I had set aside for going to the gym. See, I spent all day in class, and then had to go to an audition for a play that I can't be in (probably for moral reasons as much as scheduling ones). It's just required for my acting class that we go through the audition process. I'd planned to go to the gym after that, but by then it was after 3 and I was tired and hadn't eaten all day... which keeps happening, by the way. I need to learn to REMEMBER to eat. Food is good. Anyway - so instead of going to the gym, I took the long way home and intended on doing homework once I got there. Well, I've been here for an hour, and all that I've managed to do is drink a coke (actually not even - I'm halfway through that process) and eat a bowl of pasta. Not exactly good brainfood. I've got to read philosophy for tomorrow, and then read books for English (that I don't have yet) and write two pages in answer to some questions for that reading. I'm kinda screwed. I'm so tired of being a step behind! Which is pretty much the story in most of my classes... because most of my books haven't come yet, so I haven't been able to do my homework. Sounds nice, I know - but that just means that once my books DO come, I'll have a whole mountain of homework to do. Doesn't sound really fun to me.

And I need to job hunt on Friday. Ew.

All I want now is to finish my homework and eat a lot of unhealthy food. Or maybe just the second part of that. Dad left two packs of sour-straws on my desk (my favorites) and I finished one whole pack in like five minutes. So now I've got a headache. Aaaaaaaaaand I'm drinking coke? Nothing I do makes SENSE!!! Agh!

... I need to go to the gym.

Shoot.

I had a dream last night that I was getting married to some 30-something year old square named Chris. He was incredibly well-meaning, but incredibly dull, and halfway through the dream I realized that I couldn't even remember his name. My family kept telling me how happy they were for me, and all of the boys I knew were standing outside, kicking trees and glaring at me.

I'm not even kidding.

My dream-self ego is rather large.

The butterfly in the cathedral

One day during the hiking week in the northern Czech Republic, I was walking with one of the boys behind our group. We were going through these big hills on the way back to our cabin, on a nonexistent trail far above the little town in the valley. Further up on the hill we were on, we saw a little chapel that looked about 100 years old, so we ran up to investigate. (Well, he ran. I followed at a more normal-person pace.) He called down to me that it was "a Catholic place for Mary", and as I was nearing the chapel, he turned away from it and walked down the hill a few yards, stopping there to wait for me. He had his back to the chapel.

"There's a butterfly," he said when I came back down. "It's trapped inside."
I told him that the butterfly would probably be alright - if it could get in, it could get out.
"No," he said, "The opening is too far away and small. It will not find it. It will die."

I'm not sure why this affected him so much, but it did. The way he said "it will die" was just so... sad. Like he felt that he had killed the butterfly himself, just by saying the words. I guess it's just that butterflies are so fragile, and we hate to see fragile things get broken. I can relate - last semester after a really hard day, I was walking up to Amelia's from school, and I saw a dead hummingbird on the sidewalk. For some reason it was one of the most depressing things I've ever seen.

Anyway. After that episode with the butterfly I realized that I should write a story called "The Butterfly in the Chapel" - except change 'chapel' to 'cathedral', because it sounds better and gives the butterfly a smaller, more delicate, more trapped feel. I just need to come up with an organized story for it. Fragile things make for good stories.

Ifactifice.

I must be a frustrating person to communicate with. I get annoyed over the stupidest things and decide not to write back, just because. Or I don't write back because I feel like it's too important to deal with. (weird, I know.) OR I mean to write back, and I think about what to say so much that I begin to assume I've already written back. The second scenario is the most frustrating. For me, anyway. I want so badly to say the right thing, and I'm so afraid of being uninteresting or unimportant or just.... average. So I find myself disregarding the whole matter entirely, and leaving the people I want to impress hanging. I don't make sense. agh.

There's this passage in Everything is Illuminated (which I finished on the plane to Prague, and which broke my heart into a million pieces, and which changed how I view pretty much everything about writing and storytelling, and which I can't in good conscience recommend but I hypocritically LOVED [and hated, because it was true])... and it talks about words that have been made up for various things. I loved this one.

IFACTIFICE:
Music is beautiful. Since the beginning of time, we (the Jews) have been looking for a new way of speaking. We often blame our treatment throughout history on terrible misunderstandings. (Words never mean what we want them to mean.) If we communicated with something like music, we would never be misunderstood, because there is nothing in music to understand. This was the origin of Torah chanting and, in all likelihood, Yiddish - the most onomatopoeic of all languages. It is also the reason that the elderly among us, particularly those who survived a pogrom, hum so often, indeed seem unable to stop humming, seem dead set on preventing any silence or linguistic meaning in. But until we find this new way of speaking, until we can find a nonapproximate vocabulary, nonsense words are the best thing we've got. Ifactifice is one such word.

I wish we could communicate that way.

And I need you more than want you.

Soooo.... hi. I am a sheepish person for not writing sooner. I should have, because I've had a lot of time to do a post of good length... but summing up a month is just too daunting. I've been back for a week exactly (well, almost exactly... our plane didn't land until a bit after 8:00.), which is so, so strange. In a way it seems like it's been an eternity since we all ate our last meal together in LA at In-n-Out, watching Delta's and Southwest's swoop over us to land or fly away as they pleased. But in another way, I can't believe it's been that long. I still find myself thinking about what time it is in Prague, and what the people that I came to love there are doing. The worst is when I do that and realize that it's 2 or 3 in the morning there, and they're all sleeping. Somehow that fills me with an incredibly lonely feeling. Apparently the 307 million people who live in this country aren't enough to keep me company.

sigh. As I said, daunting. So I'm not really going to try. Besides, right now I'm tired and could use a cup of coffee and something mindless, like a Rookie Blue episode. Today was my first day back at school, and it was a good day, all things considered. I only had one class and I got to hang out with friends the rest of the time. Tomorrow will be a longer day, but that's mostly with friends too, so it's all good. VC just isn't intimidating anymore. I used to worry every morning before going to school; I even hated walking across campus. The situations there haven't changed - people are still high, still creeps, and everything from bagels to textbooks is overpriced - but my tolerance for discomfort seems to have risen considerably, so I survive. I hope that spirit carries over with me in the next few weeks while I'm looking for a job. Yikes.

Anyway. In short, the trip was very good. It was really different than last year - some things were definitely better, and some things were definitely worse. Other things were eerily similar, so dealing with them for a second round was a good challenge. Last year I had an impossible time adjusting back to life here; I really came into my own over there, and I got the whole independent/I'm-my-own-person-and-hey-it's-cool/I-can-conquer-the-world! travel bug. This year was a bit different with my parents there... it worked out well, but it wasn't quite the same independent feeling as last year. So this year was more about the relationships. I feel like our team made a lot of strong friendships with each other and the Czechs (I know I did, anyway). So, for me, that was the hard thing about leaving. But Facebook is doing an alright job of keeping us in touch. I really do want to go back, though - I don't know if I can do Team Praha again, because they're not doing it for two years and I don't know where I'll be in two years. But maybe I can get over there on my own, like Jon did. Because that would be really cool.

Oy, I could go to sleep right now. I think I'm going to drink some coffee and watch some tv and fall asleep like the old woman that I am.

Seriously, I feel so old today. How atrocious.

I guess it all comes down to them, cause they're up in the air.

How strange. I'm leaving home today and flying out tomorrow morning. Actually we're leaving in 3 hours from here. I'd intended, one of the nights this week, to write a post that adequately worded my jumbled up thoughts about this upcoming month, but I didn't have a chance to. There's so much to do and to think about, and the more I do, and the more I think about, the more I realize how utterly unprepared I am. And I don't mean this in a carefree, who-knows-what'll-happen-so-let's-enjoy-the-adventure way. I mean that I am literally and completely unprepared for this trip. I've been feeling very unworthy of all of this. And I know that's a lame, downer sort of attitude to have when one is setting out on an adventure... but honestly, I'm scared. In one sense, I don't know what's coming, because that's just how life is. But on the other hand, I know that there are certain situations that WILL come up, and I don't know if I'm ready for them. And that's scary.

Part of me thinks that this is a fitting way to start an adventure, though. Maybe not a good way, but a fitting one. Tough, but maybe more beneficial, if I can pull it off. Of course, it won't be ME pulling it off, I know that. In fact that's what I'm counting on. I'm so small and unprepared and can't possibly hope to do anything on my own. I guess all that I can do is hope to be a good tool for God to do whatever He wants with. There's no easy, if-I-do-this-then-the-trip-will-be-fine fix... but if I can be open to letting God use me and try my best, I guess that's the best that anyone can do.

So yeah. I'd really appreciate prayer for that. Pray for a silly girl to grow up and grow closer to Jesus. I've been realizing how pathetically in need of all of that I am.

I'll see if I can write updates every now and then. It's going to be strange, being away from all the connections around here. But you know what, it's good. Every once in a while we need to get away and turn the volume on life down. It's like being in the mountains at night for the first time when you've grown up in the city, and looking up to see the stars clearly. I remember that feeling so well from last year - so many revelations and things that I'd never thought of or felt before. I only hope I can see that clearly this year.

One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eyes.

I'll be back in 3 weeks. :)

Longer than the road that stretches out ahead.

My earliest memory of life on this earth is of my family sitting at the dining room table, and I'm feeling a bit panicked. After sitting in uncomfortable silence for a while, I say, "I think I have a problem here", and point to a piece of corn that I stuck up my nostril.

I also remember waiting to leave for the park on my sixth birthday. We lived on a cul-de-sac and I discovered that it echoed quite nicely on that street. "Ladybug!" I shouted, over and over. And over and over, my echo would come back: "Ladybug!" I was wearing a blue and white checkered shirt with daisies on it.

I remember being picked up and skated off of the rink by Sonny the ref. on skate night, after a teenage boy had knocked me over. Sonny asked me which man was my father and I pointed him out with my unbroken arm. I remember being in the ER after that, but I can't remember leaving the building or getting my skates taken off.

Mom used to put a tupperware cup on our cheeks to collect our tears when we would cry. When we finished, she would hand the cup to us and tell us to drink it. She called it Alligator Soup.

The last time I wrote a bike, I was eight. I was trying to get over my 'childhood' fear of them - actually, Dad was trying to get me over my fear of them. I didn't mind a distance between us. But Dad made me ride up and down the street until I could do it without complaining. I never rode a bike after that day, though, because even if I stopped complaining to HIM... I never got over the insecurity of being on two wheels.

I think that of all my memories, the one that makes me the saddest is the day that Mom took me to LA to see Grandad in the hospital. It was the last time that any of us ever saw him and I don't know why she took only me. I don't remember much of that visit at all, but I do remember that Mom read to him out of the Bible. She sat on a chair near the bed, and I sat in a chair near the window, watching with polite curiosity. He'd been sick for a long time, and had lost a lot of weight and grown a shaggy beard. I remember thinking to myself that he looked something like what Noah must have. (I don't know why I picked Noah... maybe we'd just read about the flood in Sunday school or something.) Hazy as all that is, the memory of walking down the hall and back to our car is incredibly distinct. I was aware of the fact that Mom was crying, and I remember looking up at her and whispering (so that I might not offend anyone else), "Who was that man?"

One day during lunch hour, Dad picked me up from school and took me to the optometrist to pick up my first pair of glasses. I walked back onto campus with him and looked up at the big trees that stood over the lunch-yard. I was astounded that the green blob was actually made up of individual leaves.

Around Christmas one year, it rained steadily for almost a week. Kate and I went to the park to collect pine cones and leaves for a wreath that we were making, and it was - of course - raining like crazy. Instead of collecting things like we'd intended to, we laid on top of picnic tables in the middle of the park and talked for an hour.

Last summer in Prague, we took a stroll on Charles Bridge in the middle of the night. I can still see the moon above St. Vitus Cathedral, and how the statues of the saints looked, silhouetted against the sky. But I especially remember two swans that swam below the bridge, slowly and consistently together. And I thought, This must be love. Love of a city, love of a person, love of the world, love of life. How lucky am I to have seen it?

Sadness of a Closed Door.

I get such headaches lately. Only they're not really headaches... it's sort of this pounding, nauseous feeling, like how your head feels when you get motion-sickness. But I'm not sick from motion, because I'm not moving. Maybe it's stable-sickness, or whatever the opposite of motion is. Immobility-sickness. There you go. I'm sick from not going anywhere, and of not having anywhere to go. I lock myself up here in my room in the hopes that it'll make me study or work or do any of the things I should be doing to improve myself or help myself or help other people. But I end up on facebook, or playing music, or reading sad books, or writing sad stories. I realized last night that all I seem to be able to write are sad stories. Odd, because I'm not really a sad person. Well, sometimes. Actually, I don't even know if "sometimes" covers it - but I also don't know that you can say you're one type of person or another for sure, all the time. I don't think that anybody would fit any kind of category 100% of the time. I do know that it's bad for me to be in my head this much, though. The worst part is that I've gotten comfortable here, and the thought of getting out of my head is overwhelming. I've started wearing my old glasses again, in the hopes that they will help me. I don't think that they do, but they give me some kind of action to take, and that helps. I'm so tired. I sit here with my head aching, telling myself that if I go somewhere, the sickness will go away. Tomorrow, I tell myself. I'll go tomorrow.

Just a bit more red.

How strange... I just walked into my room and expected to see the strand of colored Christmas lights and holly leaves around my window. I don't know why, but I was completely caught off guard when I didn't see it there. My mind is either six months ahead or six months behind... or maybe several years ahead, or, more likely, several years behind. I've been thinking about old things a lot lately. I've been thinking about the things in my room, because my room is the one thing that I can control, and how I'm bored with it and would like to re-decorate. Or at least move some furniture around - you know, maybe throw some of it out and get new and interesting stuff. Today I came up and looked around, telling myself that I would find one thing to throw away. A big thing, too, not just a pile of junk. I started with a little table by my rocking chair, then my rocking chair, then my nightstand. I don't play the keyboard much anymore, unless it's to tune my guitar by. I use my desk often, but could live without it. My bed would be missed, but eh. If I had to leave it, I would. Then I realized that the only things in my room that I would keep would be my bookshelf and a large black and white photograph of Paris in the 1930's that hangs above my desk. At first this realization made me feel excited - I can throw it all away! Then I realized that I would have an empty room if I did that, and that would look even worse. So now I'm stuck with all of this useless junk that I don't love or need. Funny: basic furniture now equals useless junk. This is me acting out against all of the clutter that has taken over our house.

I'm reading Everything is Illuminated, and though a large majority of it makes me laugh out loud, the rest of it breaks my heart. The chapters where he's talking about his great-great-etc.-grandmother, Brod, especially. I read this passage just now and it made me want to run out and find someone to read it to. But I couldn't think of anyone to go to. How sad is that?

Brod discovered 613 sadnesses, each perfectly unique, each a singular emotion, no more similar to any other sadness than anger, ecstasy, guilt, or frustration. Mirror Sadness. Sadness of Domesticated Birds. Sadness of Being Sad in Front of One's Parent. Humor Sadness. Sadness of Love Without Release.
She was like a drowning person, flailing, reaching for anything that might save her. Her life was an urgent, desperate struggle to justify her life. She learned impossibly difficult songs on her violin, songs outside of what she thought she could know, and would each time come crying to Yankel, I have learned to play this one too! It's so terrible! I must write something that not even I can play! She spent evenings with the art books Yankel had bought for her in Lutsk, and each morning sulked over breakfast, They were good and fine, but not beautiful. No, not if I'm being honest with myself. They are only the best of what exists. She spent an afternoon staring at their front door.
Waiting for someone? Yankel asked.
What color is this?
He stood very close to the door, letting the end of his nose touch the peephole. He licked the wood and joked, It certainly tastes like red.
Yes, it is red, isn't it?
Seems so.
She buried her head in her hands. But couldn't it be just a bit more red?
Brod's life was a slow realization that the world was not for her, and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming, always producing and hoarding more love inside her. But there was no release. Table, ivory elephant charm, rainbow, onion, hairdo, mollusk, violence, cuticle, melodrama, ditch, honey, doily... None of it moved her. She addressed her world honestly, searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew that she had within her, but to each she would have to say, I don't love you. Bark-brown fence post: I don't love you. Poem too long: I don't love you. Lunch in a bowl: I don't love you. Physics, the ideas of you, the laws of you: I don't love you. Nothing felt like anything more than what it actually was. Everything was just a thing, mired completely in its thingness.

Strange how things that I read seem to relate to what I've been thinking about in the past few days. Or maybe I project my thoughts onto what I read. Maybe both. Strange how that happens, isn't it? Really good books, I think, can be taken to mean completely different things - not just from person to person, but from day to day and mood to mood. You find and identify the things that you've been thinking about. Realizations like this make me want to read every good book at least five times. One good book, read five times, could be like reading five completely different books. It's all limitless. Sometimes it blows my mind.