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.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
"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?
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?
Saturday, November 19, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
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?
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?
Friday, November 11, 2011
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".
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".
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, November 4, 2011
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...
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...
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