Trying Valiantly To Gain Three More Pounds

I had an unfortunate encounter with marzipan when I was about 14 or 15, and to this day, I cannot stand the mention of the stuff.

But apparently it's now being made into mini-cheesecakes which are sitting in abundance on a platter in my kitchen. (We of course have the talents of Washington and Lee University's pastry chef at our full disposal, so we eat quite, quite well.)

The Reward

"For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it would come over her, If he were with me now what would he say? - some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward for having cared for people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning - indeed they did."

Grey's Anatomy

I am writing to you from a newly RAM'd computer. Sadly, it doesn't help the internet move any faster -- I come from a generation that's obsessed with fast, with now now now me me me, with doing ten thousand meaningless things all at once to distract us from the fact that nothing we are doing has any value whatsoever (though we're starting to claw away at your dominance, Older Generation); and I absolutely cannot stand to wait. I have things to do. IMPORTANT things. Now now now me me me.

But who else should I be focused on, if not me? I am my biggest responsibility. I was given this body to take care of it. I was given this life and these talents to see what I would make of them. And if you don't stop to think about yourself, to soul-search and reeeally consider what's going on inside the ol' cranium, you're going to mess up. (Unless, I don't know, you had perfect parents and a perfect education that was perfectly intellectually stimulating and nurturing and your relationship with God is perfect and you're okay with all of that. I mean, maybe it's possible.)

Which is why I don't think I can watch Grey's Anatomy any more. Okay, stick with me. Grey's Anatomy. It's a tv show, and it's one of my guilty pleasures that I sit down and watch and have lots of feelings and relish the inner turmoil a bit, and then go on to live my day, not really thinking about it too much. I'd never really recommend it to anyone as "good television," because it's not, but when people tell me they like it, I don't start thinking there's something wrong with them.

Moving on to why I don't think I can watch it anymore: Because the one doctor, Dr. Grey (the protagonist, I'm sure you're aware) had to choose between two men. And her choice revolved around Man 1, who is sexy and fun and a neurosurgeon, etc. etc., but who, um, maybe was already married when he started dating Dr. Grey and didn't tell her, and then got back together with his wife instead of signing the divorce papers and continuing his relationship with Dr. Grey like he said he would. And a bunch of other stuff (like calling her a whore). He complicates her life. Man 2 is sweet and caring and, while emotionally-baggaged, clearly dealing with it well and healthily, and he brings Dr. Grey's roommate lunch when said roommate is absolutely devastated, and he's just an all-around superb guy. And...he does not complicate her life. He helps her put her life back together after Man 1 breaks it. And in the end? In the end, Dr. Grey chooses MAN FREAKING 1!

WHY?

Why why why why why why why?

Do you know why? Because she loves Man 1. Because he is the guy for her. DO YOU KNOW WHY HE IS THE GUY FOR HER?? Not because he's the best candidate, but because she's dark and twisty and has daddy issues and drinking problems, and nothing about her leads me to believe she is in any way healthy. So instead of fixing what is wrong inside of her, and being single for a while, and finally choosing Man 2, because, um, DUH, she chooses Man 1, and he will hurt her so so badly, and it's going to be terrible.

But that's not the way the tv show presented it. It was like, duh she loves Man 1 more, and who cares about issues and doing what's best for yourself and for others, WE DON'T WANT PEOPLE TO GET OVER THEIR ISSUES OR EVEN CONFRONT THEM, IT'S LESS FUN. As if that were the only acceptable option. What has our ideology spiraled into if that is possibly okay? Is anyone else at all worried? Because I am. And this? This is just television.

Pooetry

In honor of tonight's Lit Mag poetry reading (that I was absent for, along with, oh, the rest of the university), I would like to share a poem I wrote with you.

It is called "Goldfish."

something, something goldfish
and something about shiny gills
and their food
but they died, and their gross, swollen bellies are bobbing around in their bowl
poor goldfish

I wrote it mocking one of the bad poetry submissions from years previous. Because honestly, the submissions in general are pretty lame, so the Lit Mag itself tends to be pretty weak. Also, the creative writing professor doesn't know the correct meaning of "prose." PROSE. That's kinda basic for, like, writing, no?

I Can Be Scary For A Petite Blonde Girl, Kinda

Here is why dying would be bad for me:

No more physical body.

I could not throw things, smash things, pull my hair, scream, tumble down on the floor, weep, jump up and down in a frenzy, slam doors, or tear paper into tiny bits. I would be reduced to my bitter thoughts, and how wildly they would escalate without a physical release I do not know.

But I am not built for this type of confinement. I know, I know, I should learn to bridle all my passions, etc. But. I would much rather act like a 14-year-old. I'm being serious. Given the choice between learning moderation and balance and tranquility, or raging with all the juvenile passion of a hormonal child, I would pick the latter--because oh, what a glorious display of emotion. Oh how far away I am from ever being at the point of contentment with anything, and therefore being okay with heaven, ever.

But at least I'm interesting. And at least I'm aware of what I should be doing. And I haven't actually thrown one thing, except for maybe knocking my purse off of a table just a little.

See You Space Cowboy

I feel pretty terrible right now. As in, I don't even have any idea what to feel or how to feel or why to feel, or any of it.

I woke up yesterday feeling like that (because I went to sleep feeling like it), and I decided to do something to snap myself out of it. So I watched some Cowboy Bebop, because that always makes me happy. Except it was the end of the series, and the group broke up, and I was emotionally involved, and I HATE IT WHEN GOOD THINGS END.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

Which may be why I feel pretty terrible right now.

You've Had A Birthday, Shout Hooray

Kristin's laying on my bed as I type this. She's admiring my fish, I think. I'm just happy to have her here in town.

Jaela stuck her head in the bedroom tonight to tell us it was the Bishop's birthday, and that he was downstairs in the ice cream shop. Kristin and I went down to wish him happy birthday, and he bought us ice cream (the man is so incredibly generous--he got us to accept his offer by telling us how happy it would make him to let him buy ice cream for us). Then he asked me to get my violin and play a song for him, which I did, and the Pences sang, and Zeb got his guitar and sang. The Bishop's wife came over to talk to Kristin and me, and it was all just generally quite merry.

If there is one thing I can say about that man, it would have to be that he truly looks inside of people to see the good contained therein, and he highlights it, for everyone. I just hope he knows how loved he is (which he should--I told him flat-out, to which he responded with a big hug).

How Do You Pronounce Pecan?

I had pecan pie for the first time ever tonight.

I am becoming a true southerner.

(I even told Charlotte that I'd never had any because "my Momma never made me any" -- that's right, I said "Momma.")

Fo Rizzle

I made ghost brownies today (if you don't know what that means, you're clearly not loved enough to be the recipient of said ghost brownies), and I thought I'd bring some to a friend of mine to celebrate his pretty okayness. I was told that ghost brownies aren't suitable to a pretty okayness celebration, but who am I to listen?

So I brought the brownies into his place of business, which happens to be the computer store across the street from my apartment, and we chatted a bit. And then I was kicked out. KICKED OUT of DMD Computers.

I am so beyond awesome, do not even try to keep up with me. ALl you suckers who think that getting kicked out of Wal-Mart is hot stuff, you are small fry, and I'm playin' in the big leagues.

Also, Jeremy is (please please please) coming to SVU because it's beautiful and the East Coast and I'm here and we can go on adventures together.

The Story of How My Roommate And I Almost Became Forest People And Other Amusing Tales, Or, Escape From The Were-Deer

I am what you would call a "hiking fiend." Meaning that a few days ago, I got the idea in my little noggin to go on a hike, so I Googled some things, and the prospects before me so caught my attention that I had to go hiking THE VERY NEXT DAY, and every day after that I possibly could. Am I obsessed? Yes. Are you surprised? Of course not.

So it won't surprise you that I went on another hike today, this time with my roommate Audrey. I picked a longer trail this time, because Audrey is obsessed with fitness, and I want to be obsessed with fitness. I figured six miles would be a good length, so I decided on the Cold Mountain trail.

Well and good. We went, found the parking spot easily, and began the hike. The views were absolutely stunning. We took picture after picture after picture, and ran around through the thistle looking for more views (and also maybe there was a little chasing of some kind of small furry animal that I decided was a chipmunk). We reached the peak of Cold Mountain and started back down through the woods, figuring this was the easy part and we'd be done soon.

Oh how foolish we were. First of all, we had counted on some switchbacks going down, the same as on the other side of the mountain that we'd ascended. No dice. Actually, we descended for only a little bit before the trail started climbing again. And climbing. And climbing. And climbing some more until I cursed the woman who bore me for bringing me into existence only to end my days by climbing some interminable mountain peak that I didn't even remember being on the hike synopsis.

Actually, come to think of it, that should have been my first clue.

Well, finally it tipped off and we started going back down. Quickly. Pretty much straight down the mountain. I have blisters on the front of my toes from the strain of the descent. Steel-hearted mountain goats with football cleats would have found another way around, I'm certain. Although I hope they would have come out from the trees and nibbled shyly at my fingers while I stroked their long, tufty fur. But maybe I've been reading too many fairytales.

Anyway, at some point, I entered into that stage of just not caring. I didn't care if I went too fast and lost my footing and went stumbling down the mountain. AT LEAST I WOULD BE OFF OF IT. When it began to grow dark, I realized that the trail was taking far, far, FAR too long to just be six miles. We'd been walking for days. We had mistakenly begun the trail that never ends, AND WE WOULD DIE, ALONE, IN A MOUNTAIN GOAT-LESS WILDERNESS.

Finally, FINALLY we saw an old woman hiking toward us. She told us that 60 E was near and went on her way.

That should have been my second clue. We did not park off of 60 E. We turned down a road and then another, gravel road and traveled for miles to get to the parking lot where my car and heat and salvation were located.

We came out on 60 E. There was no car. AND I HAD NO IDEA WHERE WE WERE.

So we called people. We called my mom to look up a map and at least tell us where in God's great universe we were, so at least we could walk in the right direction. Finally Jaela answered, and I basically told her to get onto 60 E. and drive until she found us. And she did. And she found us. And we were saved. And then we had a little (a lot) of difficulty finding my car, but we did and drove down the mountain and kissed the sweet sweet ground of Buena Vista.

I still have no idea exactly what went wrong, though.

Help Me?

Audrey's in the kitchen right now ranting about how dirty the house is and how dirty we are.

So I'm hiding in the bedroom, afraid.

And sometimes...sometimes, I pretend like I'm not one of the "dirty ones," that everyone else is, but certainly not me, so that her wrath will not descend upon me and wither me at the stalk, or whatever. But a confession: I'm just as dirty as everyone else. My bed's not even made right now. And she has to share a bedroom with me.

Ah, to be mortal. And to be living in a constantly-expanding universe that moves toward entropy.

Autumn Hiking

Today I went on a hike. That sounds simple, right? You put on some sturdy shoes, head to the woods, and walk around for a bit, huffing and puffing your way through nature.

I suppose I did all of that (except I do not huff and puff, thankyouverymuch), but the hike was so much more than that. So much more complex. Of course, I WOULD make hiking into some type of metaphor, or catharsis, or whathaveyou.

The hike brought immediately before me all the reasons I was strangling in Utah. The climate was odd, the season changes weren't as vivid and beautiful, the plant life was different, even the sky looked different. Here, I just fit. I can sit on a bench by a waterfall, overlooking an autumnally-bronzing mountain chain, and I can breathe in the stillness, and the oneness, and the sense of something grander and divine -- and I can feel, finally, at peace.

All of the small miracles I have witnessed unfolding before my eyes these past few weeks have spoken to me of the rightness of my being here, of my return homeward. Do you know, I had never felt déjà vu before in my life? I had déjà vu-like symptoms, but all that meant were that synapses were misfiring in my brain and it was time for me to go to bed. Three times in the last month, however, I've had the prickly sense of rightness, of I've-done-this-before-ness wash over me; maybe I'm only just becoming the right person at the right time in the right place.

Pity it's taken me twenty-one years to get here. But it's a joy that I've made it at all, as I'm sure some never do.

If Internet Hearts Were Golden Stars

Matt: I'm going to Shenanigans* now.
Me: But Matt, what will I do without you?
Matt: You're a woman.... Knit something.

You see why I cannot hang out with Art and Matt and JJ? This is how it is, all the time. Except I'm usually throwing in suggestions about killing all girls with pens/forks. (Sometimes I get confused, and I mean to say pens, but I say forks instead, for some odd yet unknown reason.)

Ahh, the <3 I hold for these boys.

Also: I've officially picked my ward enemy, and boy is it a doozy. She may have actually, quite literally, moved me to profanity today. Don't judge me until you've met her, and faced her onslaught of ignorant, insipid, mean-spirited drivel.

* a university comedy club

A Sunday Narrative

The other day I was walking out of my apartment to my car so I could go to church. (I go to church, regularly, because I am a good girl.) As I was walking along Main Street, which I live on, a car came down the road, and a middle-aged man inside the car waved at me. My first thought was, Gross, some creepy stalker who sees me at work has recognized me despite my lack of kitschy yellow uniform, and he is now waving at me.

And then in the next instant I recognized Dr. Jones in the car, and I realized that my favorite philosophy professor was waving at me, and I'd better wave back, because he's kinda the reason I transferred here. So I did, and then enthusiastically pointed it out to Jaela; I suppose to make her jealous. Pretty much everyone has a non-romantic crush on Dr. Jones -- I defy you to take a class from him and NOT love him. And the fact that he was waving at me? Golden.

I just hope he doesn't Google himself and find this blog entry spouting off his praises, because that could get a little awkward.

I Just Know That [He] Warms My Heart

My jaw literally fell open when I read that. Where do people come up with opinions like that? But honestly, it was exactly what I needed to hear, instead of telling myself that I am psycho, or broken, or whatever else the ol' inner dialogue has been coming up with lately.

I guess that's the difference between someone who believes in me, and someone who will just let me beat myself up because...it's fun to watch, maybe?

Sometimes

I view my Myspace profile just to listen to my profile song. Even though I have it in several forms on my computer.

Is that weird?

And I'm Thinking I'd Prefer Not To Be Rescued

Is it just me, or are there other people out there who just cannot summon the will to go out on grand adventures when they feel they look like crap? Please tell me that I'm not alone. Or are you all just beautiful all the time, you creepy, stange, robot-people who are reading my blog right now? I hate you. It's the jealousy surging out, prompted by the knowledge that I barely slept last night, so the dark circles are ringing my eyes, and the stress is leaving its mark on my skin, and I'm pretty sure I'm extra yellowy-pale from fatigue/coming down with a cold, and I haven't showered since I'm not quite sure when, and I just worked a long shift in a job that doesn't exactly improve my appearance, and just STOP ASKING ME TO GO DO SOMETHING, OKAY? I would rather curl up in my bed, here, with my electric blanket, and my stuffed rabbit, and this darkness, that covers all my imperfections and leaves me blanketed and safe.

Which I'm sure makes me look like a Grinch. Thank heavens for people like Jennifer who love me enough to put up with me through everything and still want to hang out with me when I feel like coming back to life. Thank heavens I have friends who keep on asking me to do things, even when I turn them down and disappear and become suddenly scarce. The truth is, I don't know how to deal with everything, but I'd rather confront it than cloak myself in smiles and fun and gadding about town, so I'm always with a crowd, and so the crowd and their needs and feelings shut out my own. I'd love to be with you -- but I need to be on my own, and often.

Maybe you could come visit me in my own world sometime.

Who's That? Black Cat? Big Bat? Come To Get You!

I'm going to be a bat for Halloween. Weeks ago the idea suddenly popped into my head, and I fixated on it immediately, heaven knows why. I mean, I like bats. I like the little bat-things that pop up in that version of Warcraft. I like the little bats on the wrappers of the Reese's Halloween Pumpkins. I like doodling bats on spare bits of paper when I'm bored during class. I guess I just like the idea of bats, but it was never enough for me to beg a family member to buy me a pet bat for my eventual twenty-fifth birthday, like someone I know.

So, anyway, this being a bat for Halloween. I ordered some bat wings from a costume store online, and they came today. I've been flapping around in them, even though they need to be ironed to look like anything but a wad of wrinkly fabric I have strapped to me for the oddest of reasons. I just hope that Halloween comes in soon and kicks off the Feast Season with a bang.

Oh, and: I know I'm supposed to talk about my feelings and be open, etc. etc. but I woke up so angry and focused this morning from a dream I'd had that it frightened me, and I've been trying to calm myself all day. I'm exhausted, and I don't want to feel anything else for a while.

A Return

One of my bigger disappointments with myself is my recent neglect of this blog. I just feel like I have so much to say, but it's all so scattered, it's a lot easier for me to throw my keys against a window and develop a stress-related illness than to actually process anything.

So instead of blogging, I've gone on a few soul-searching drives, and had a good, GOOD many soul-revealing roommate talks, and I've obsessively (of course...everything I do involves obsession) researched myself on the internet. Not as in Googling my name, because that certainly would be unfruitful, but more researching about me, and about people like me, and why we do the obsessive, crazy, dumb stuff we do.

For instance, today was a day off of classes for the entire university, so I had the morning free. I spent the morninbg cleaning a friend's living room. And here was the thought process, I kid you not:

If I clean the living room, maybe they will notice, and then I will be noticeable. I hate being forgotten.

And they will keep liking me and wanting me to hang out.

And when I didn't have enough time to finish everything I wanted to clean, because I had to put food into my body at some point:

I am such a failure.


Except now I have Jaela in my life, and she makes me feel like less of a freak. She even put a name to our particular disorder, which has been unbelievably relieving. I look forward to the day when I can actually feel normal again.