Soo...I just went on a me date to go see Avatar. And by "just", I mean "yesterday" or technically "day before yesterday" since it's 12:57 a.m. on Christmas morning. Merry Christmas!
You know, I've felt for a long time like a soul in the wrong world. Watching Avatar seriously made me fervently wish that reincarnation happens. It honestly does feel like I've been alive before. I want to believe it's true so badly, and suspend my disbelief of anything that I can't see proof of. I can't tell you how much of a war I am waging on myself over this subject. I just want to believe. Why? Because my entire life, I've felt like I don't belong here. I've felt like my own being belonged to a whole different set of customs, a whole different set of things that I consider normal, a whole different set of behaviors that are acceptable. I feel like an anomaly in the human way. And I know how this sounds, but the kind of culture that feels right to me closely resembles that of the Na'vi. Even their jewelry, the style of their hair, their clothing...that is beautiful to me. Skinny jeans and tank tops are not beautiful to me. Nature makes sense to me. The smell of it, the feel of the ground under bare feet, treating it with respect because it is your mother, the place that protects you from the sun and that grows the food that you eat. The place where you experience everything. Now, as for putting it past that, and assuming there is an actual life-force to be worshiped, I don't know. Nobody does.
I will probably not ever know what it is that I am really after. Is it that I'm just bored with earth and humanity? Is it just that I read too much sci-fi? Or is what I've felt my entire life real? Do I have a soul, and does it belong somewhere else? Have I been alive before? Is that why I was born acting like a thirty year old? I am so starved for adventure. I don't want to be a grown up. I don't want the adventures that grown ups have. The only adventurous thing that grown ups do is buy a new rug for the living room. They seem to give up on really living. They lose their hearts for animals and for other human beings, and get jobs that pay and buy new furniture and coddle it like a toddler. How do I keep myself from losing this? Where can I find adventure? I feel like I was born for danger. And you know what? I think everyone feels that way. I think that's why we love books like Harry Potter, where the person assumes that they are so average, until one day they find out that they were destined to save the world since the moment that they were born. I think we all strongly identify with that. So why is that? And why do we always lose it?
This sounds silly, but maybe I should join the armed forces. Because honestly, I am not afraid. I am a fighter. I was born to be one. If I think someone is breaking into my house, my heart pounds with excitement, not fear. I get still, and I listen, so that I can determine what I should do. And honestly? I smile a little bit. Because I want to fight. I want to be a protector. I realize that this isn't a traditional female role. We are the ones being stuffed into a closet and told to hide. I don't want to hide. I want to protect. I want to protect because I am not afraid. And call me old fashioned, but protecting something that I love seems like such a preferable way to die. I don't want to die in a nursing home, pooping my adult diaper. But that is how things are in this culture. That is what people dream of. That is why they pay a million dollars in the hospital to treat their sickness. So that they can die in a nursing home surrounded by strangers, so weak that they can't run anymore. They can't stand. I would never, ever want that. I am so thankful for the fact that I am now old enough to be listened to. That I am fully grown, so that I can use my body. I don't ever want to be a reduced to a child again, powerless and weak. I am so thankful to be at a point where I know for a fact that I can do anything, as long as I am given an opportunity. And I am very good at convincing people to give me an opportunity.
To give another example of a culture that I am extremely familiar with and that I identify with, take wolves. Wolves and any other canine...I understand them. They operate in a similar way that humans do, except humans have overrun their natural instincts with all sorts of strange new things. With wolves, there is an alpha. There is a beta. This is true with humans as well. If you look hard enough, you will find them. You will know. There are the ones who eat last. The smaller ones. The ones who do not run as fast, and are not as successful. The order is only changed once established if there is a fight. You have to prove that you are stronger and more deserving of the position. There is no bitterness, only acceptance. And acceptance is easy when you understand that you don't have to be the alpha to be an integral part of a functioning pack. As a lower ranking member, you are just as key to the pack's success. An alpha is the protector. The alpha is always the first to be hurt, the first to challenge. They eat first because the other members respect them and the things that they do to protect those that cannot protect themselves. As for me...I think I'd be the female alpha. I still feel like I want to defer to a strong, healthy and dominant man, but at the same time I would not lower my head to anyone else. I'm extremely strong and able, very dominant with incredibly strong protective instincts.
ANYWAY, I'm tired of talking about this, because I've talked about it for years and it never gets me anywhere, really. Maybe one day I'll find out that I wasn't crazy all of these years.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Brush My Teeth With A Bottle of Jack
It's hard to lose someone. Anyone at all. They don't have to be someone you loved dearly for it to shake you to your core when they're gone. The last time I saw Jake, He was calling to me from across the quad, motioning for me to come talk to him. I'm too painfully awkward to just walk up and strike up a conversation. I say hello exuberantly, and I keep walking into the building. I saw the look on his face, like he was disappointed that I didn't come over and talk. I remember thinking, "Man, I haven't talk to him in so long, I can't believe he still puts forth the effort to say hello to me. What a nice kid."
Unfortunately there is never any sign delivered from the hands of god to tell you that this is the last time you'll be seeing them, and that they won't be breathing anymore, and that they won't be doing the awkward little things that they do anymore. And that you should prepare yourself, because soon, you're going to get dashed in the face with cold water. You're going to realize with horrendous clarity that he really doesn't exist any more, no matter how silly that sounds. That death really is that quiet and quick. It could've been me. It could've been Adam. It could have been any person in this world that it would have torn me apart to lose. What if it had been?
As much as one person tries to describe the feeling, it's all for naught. No matter what you do, you will forget what mortality feels like eventually. And so will I. And I'll keep wasting days away not saying the things that I want to say. And I will keep hiding. And I will keep pretending. I will forget that there is no time for that.
But for now? That dash of cold water has woken me up. I need to live. I need to be honest, most importantly. I can't keep holding my tongue for fear of the consequences. Death is the only consequence to worry about, to keep in mind.
Maybe I will find that joy and adventure. Maybe I will be honest some day. Lord knows all I really want is a one way trip to Neverland. I love people. I love excitement. I love new love. But life can't stay that way forever. That's what they tell me. That's what everyone tells me.
I am trying not to be so pre-occupied with being a kid again. But for a second, I'll indulge myself, because I haven't given myself the opportunity to do so. I wish I could remember life before sex. Before alcohol. Before boys didn't have cooties. Before I had to figure my life out. Before I had to make so many big decisions. Before I second guessed myself. Before people died. Before people died because they chose to go away from me. Before people took advantage.
But this is my life, and I am so god damned, fucking DETERMINED to see to it that I can find it worth living. Determined to find joy on the regular. Determined to make my life bigger than just my body and my mind. Determined to leave things better than I got them. Always.
Now if I could just ever get to sleep. Ever. Please Jesus.
Unfortunately there is never any sign delivered from the hands of god to tell you that this is the last time you'll be seeing them, and that they won't be breathing anymore, and that they won't be doing the awkward little things that they do anymore. And that you should prepare yourself, because soon, you're going to get dashed in the face with cold water. You're going to realize with horrendous clarity that he really doesn't exist any more, no matter how silly that sounds. That death really is that quiet and quick. It could've been me. It could've been Adam. It could have been any person in this world that it would have torn me apart to lose. What if it had been?
As much as one person tries to describe the feeling, it's all for naught. No matter what you do, you will forget what mortality feels like eventually. And so will I. And I'll keep wasting days away not saying the things that I want to say. And I will keep hiding. And I will keep pretending. I will forget that there is no time for that.
But for now? That dash of cold water has woken me up. I need to live. I need to be honest, most importantly. I can't keep holding my tongue for fear of the consequences. Death is the only consequence to worry about, to keep in mind.
Maybe I will find that joy and adventure. Maybe I will be honest some day. Lord knows all I really want is a one way trip to Neverland. I love people. I love excitement. I love new love. But life can't stay that way forever. That's what they tell me. That's what everyone tells me.
I am trying not to be so pre-occupied with being a kid again. But for a second, I'll indulge myself, because I haven't given myself the opportunity to do so. I wish I could remember life before sex. Before alcohol. Before boys didn't have cooties. Before I had to figure my life out. Before I had to make so many big decisions. Before I second guessed myself. Before people died. Before people died because they chose to go away from me. Before people took advantage.
But this is my life, and I am so god damned, fucking DETERMINED to see to it that I can find it worth living. Determined to find joy on the regular. Determined to make my life bigger than just my body and my mind. Determined to leave things better than I got them. Always.
Now if I could just ever get to sleep. Ever. Please Jesus.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Ana, darling
Man, this is a topic that I don't even want to write about. But I know that it's better to talk about than to hide from it.
I was just looking through some old family albums. Well, let's start with saying how extremely critical of a grandmother I have. Every time I see her, any time any of my cousins see her, she comments on how much we weigh, whether good or bad. She was a beauty queen in her day, and always wishes that she could still look like that. She used to do everything it took to be skinny, and thinks other people should do the same. She thinks people are failures and cannot be living an optimal life if they do not look like Jennifer Aniston. I say all this, but I do love her. But it's hard to believe someone who says they love you and missed you, when the second third they say is something ilke, "Ohhh your thighs are gettin' big!".
So I struggled with anorexia for a long, long time. Since I was seven years old, and started noticing that all of the older girls at camp were looking in the mirror and asking if they looked fat. I hadn't really known before then that weight was something that you worry about, but I immediately hopped on the train. It made me feel older to be concerned about my weight, to restrict my eating, to starve myself.
I was looking through some old albums where I was in a "skinny stage". What truly makes me sad about those times is that people in my family look back on those pictures and comment on how good I looked, and how I should want to get back to that size, and how they used to be proud of me because all of the boys were noticing me. In the pictures I just look like a normal, pretty skinny, lanky 8 year old. But I was 12 and 13. When my body was supposed to be sprouting hips and boobs and becoming womanly in shape, I looked like a little boy. But all I could hear were the people telling me how fantastic I looked, how I should keep doing what I was doing. They didn't know that what I was doing was sucking on ice cubes so that my stomach pains would become a bit more bearable. What I was doing was competing with myself to eat the least calories that I could. What I was doing was eating a handful of popcorn a day.
And now, despite everything my beautiful boyfriend tells me, despite what I have tried to tell myself, I can never quite get that voice out of my head, telling me that every second that I live outside of that lifestyle is disgusting, is unacceptable to my family. That I just grow uglier and fatter by the day. I have wide hips, I am a solid woman now, which I think on some good days is beautiful. But I cannot help but doubt myself when society tells me that this image is unacceptable. That it never landed anyone a job in the beauty industry. That normal women can never...have whatever it is that is worth having.
Though ana's voice is a little quieter now that I have Adam whispering wonderful things in my ear, I do remember the days where I desperately wanted her back. I wanted the comfort of waking up with a growling stomach, because that meant that I hadn't eaten the day before. I remember the complete happiness I felt when I had managed to beat my record of days without eating, without anyone noticing. Because to people like me, that was real success. The money you earned or the awards you won didn't have a thing on completely controlling your most primal urge. That is where I have lived the majority of my life, in that place. To be outside of it now...some days I'm convinced that it is only my own personal weakness that keeps me away from ana. That I just don't possess the willpower to deny myself food. That I am weak.
It changed the course of my life forever. There has not been a single meal where I have not thought about how many calories I was putting into my body. I'm not entirely convinced that there will ever be a meal where I do not.
But right now, and for the next few years I'll wager, I'm going to be fighting that battle every day. Diets inevitably turn into starvation. I am a competitive person, and I cannot keep myself from eating certain things without at least trying to keep myself from eating all together. Exercise is the same. If I start out trying to be "healthy", and going to the gym three days a week for 20 minutes of cardio and some weights, in three months I will be going the gym for an hour and a half of intense cardio every single day, plus weights. So for now, I am working on my exercise. I am going every other day, thirty minutes of cardio and an hour on weights. I hear this is a pretty normal routine. But every day I find myself trying to fit maybe 50 more pull ups in there, maybe I could add another machine...but I have to stick to it. I promised myself that I would not change the routine and make it harder until after Christmas.
But anyway, I'm tired. There is my battle. I don't really want your insights, not this time, I just wanted you to know.
I was just looking through some old family albums. Well, let's start with saying how extremely critical of a grandmother I have. Every time I see her, any time any of my cousins see her, she comments on how much we weigh, whether good or bad. She was a beauty queen in her day, and always wishes that she could still look like that. She used to do everything it took to be skinny, and thinks other people should do the same. She thinks people are failures and cannot be living an optimal life if they do not look like Jennifer Aniston. I say all this, but I do love her. But it's hard to believe someone who says they love you and missed you, when the second third they say is something ilke, "Ohhh your thighs are gettin' big!".
So I struggled with anorexia for a long, long time. Since I was seven years old, and started noticing that all of the older girls at camp were looking in the mirror and asking if they looked fat. I hadn't really known before then that weight was something that you worry about, but I immediately hopped on the train. It made me feel older to be concerned about my weight, to restrict my eating, to starve myself.
I was looking through some old albums where I was in a "skinny stage". What truly makes me sad about those times is that people in my family look back on those pictures and comment on how good I looked, and how I should want to get back to that size, and how they used to be proud of me because all of the boys were noticing me. In the pictures I just look like a normal, pretty skinny, lanky 8 year old. But I was 12 and 13. When my body was supposed to be sprouting hips and boobs and becoming womanly in shape, I looked like a little boy. But all I could hear were the people telling me how fantastic I looked, how I should keep doing what I was doing. They didn't know that what I was doing was sucking on ice cubes so that my stomach pains would become a bit more bearable. What I was doing was competing with myself to eat the least calories that I could. What I was doing was eating a handful of popcorn a day.
And now, despite everything my beautiful boyfriend tells me, despite what I have tried to tell myself, I can never quite get that voice out of my head, telling me that every second that I live outside of that lifestyle is disgusting, is unacceptable to my family. That I just grow uglier and fatter by the day. I have wide hips, I am a solid woman now, which I think on some good days is beautiful. But I cannot help but doubt myself when society tells me that this image is unacceptable. That it never landed anyone a job in the beauty industry. That normal women can never...have whatever it is that is worth having.
Though ana's voice is a little quieter now that I have Adam whispering wonderful things in my ear, I do remember the days where I desperately wanted her back. I wanted the comfort of waking up with a growling stomach, because that meant that I hadn't eaten the day before. I remember the complete happiness I felt when I had managed to beat my record of days without eating, without anyone noticing. Because to people like me, that was real success. The money you earned or the awards you won didn't have a thing on completely controlling your most primal urge. That is where I have lived the majority of my life, in that place. To be outside of it now...some days I'm convinced that it is only my own personal weakness that keeps me away from ana. That I just don't possess the willpower to deny myself food. That I am weak.
It changed the course of my life forever. There has not been a single meal where I have not thought about how many calories I was putting into my body. I'm not entirely convinced that there will ever be a meal where I do not.
But right now, and for the next few years I'll wager, I'm going to be fighting that battle every day. Diets inevitably turn into starvation. I am a competitive person, and I cannot keep myself from eating certain things without at least trying to keep myself from eating all together. Exercise is the same. If I start out trying to be "healthy", and going to the gym three days a week for 20 minutes of cardio and some weights, in three months I will be going the gym for an hour and a half of intense cardio every single day, plus weights. So for now, I am working on my exercise. I am going every other day, thirty minutes of cardio and an hour on weights. I hear this is a pretty normal routine. But every day I find myself trying to fit maybe 50 more pull ups in there, maybe I could add another machine...but I have to stick to it. I promised myself that I would not change the routine and make it harder until after Christmas.
But anyway, I'm tired. There is my battle. I don't really want your insights, not this time, I just wanted you to know.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
I Have to Repeat Myself
I seriously cannot say this enough. I like it when people argue with me. I will clarify, because some strange people that I don't actually know comment on my blogs in ways that I don't see as constructive.
First of all, if you are going to argue with me, Mr. John Dermot, have an actual argument ready. You'll see that telling me how sub-par my itty bitty blog is is not considered an actual argument. "I just expected more" also does not seem to get at any real point, nor does it express any real view or argument.
Please, for the love of god, do not bother commenting on anything I've written with these things:
1.) The idea that what I'm writing is scientific in any way. This blog is a brainstorm. Sometimes it is a hair brained, eccentric and often inaccurate brain storm. It is not a scientific research paper. The word "musings" comes to mind.
2.) An attitude. Listen to this now. If you want anyone to listen to your brilliant counter argument, order at a restaurant, or recounting of your day, LOSE YOUR ATTITUDE. It immediately makes you unsavory, it immediately makes me lose respect for you, and most importantly it immediately makes me lose interest in whatever it is that you are saying. Given that you, John Dermot, are a stranger, you are starting off on uneven ground as it is. Do not make a first impression like that.
This is a safe place for me to share my thoughts with other people. Do not make me turn this into a private blog. I enjoy letting people read my silly musings, but if I keep getting e-mails about strangers bitching like little girls on my comments page, I will do it.
To the rest of you, well met and I look forward to some actual arguments that encourage me to learn and re-think the world around me.
First of all, if you are going to argue with me, Mr. John Dermot, have an actual argument ready. You'll see that telling me how sub-par my itty bitty blog is is not considered an actual argument. "I just expected more" also does not seem to get at any real point, nor does it express any real view or argument.
Please, for the love of god, do not bother commenting on anything I've written with these things:
1.) The idea that what I'm writing is scientific in any way. This blog is a brainstorm. Sometimes it is a hair brained, eccentric and often inaccurate brain storm. It is not a scientific research paper. The word "musings" comes to mind.
2.) An attitude. Listen to this now. If you want anyone to listen to your brilliant counter argument, order at a restaurant, or recounting of your day, LOSE YOUR ATTITUDE. It immediately makes you unsavory, it immediately makes me lose respect for you, and most importantly it immediately makes me lose interest in whatever it is that you are saying. Given that you, John Dermot, are a stranger, you are starting off on uneven ground as it is. Do not make a first impression like that.
This is a safe place for me to share my thoughts with other people. Do not make me turn this into a private blog. I enjoy letting people read my silly musings, but if I keep getting e-mails about strangers bitching like little girls on my comments page, I will do it.
To the rest of you, well met and I look forward to some actual arguments that encourage me to learn and re-think the world around me.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Long Overdue
Well, I'm finally sitting down to write about men and women. I have been thinking about this topic for so long (topic being what differentiates a boy from a man, a girl from a woman). But a few months ago I really felt like I came across an answer. The thing that got me thinking about this was when I looked around, I knew people who were 27 who were women. I also knew people who were 27 who I considered girls. Why? The same goes for males.
Here are my two answers. The first thing that needs to happen in order for you to become a man or a woman (aside from you being at least in your 20's) would be the absence of any adolescent angst. And there is a lot of things to be angsty about. This is when you honestly start caring less and less about how people view you, about appearing a certain way, about making a certain statement with your looks. I noticed this change within myself (though I am far from being a woman) when I realized that I really don't want my labret piercing anymore. I used to like it because it was different, it looked good. It was my way of proclaiming my differences. I used to have blue hair for the same reason. Now? I don't need it anymore. I don't need to proclaim my differences at first glance, because I am extremely confident in the fact that you WILL notice that I am different when you talk with me. Also, my piercing made certain people not want to listen to me. They judged my words from the get-go, shading them a certain way because I had facial piercings. I would never want that. I know now that what I have to say is the most important aspect about me. I would never want someone to not give my words the respect and attention that they deserve because they see me as some punk street kid.
Secondly, I think that selflessness is what constitutes a real man. Take my dad, for example. I know without a doubt that there is nothing on the face of the planet that my dad would not do to help me out. Nothing. He drove eight hours to Panama City over night because my sister had the flu or something at cheerleading camp. He stops whatever he's doing to bring my spare keys to me when I lock my keys in my car. He didn't knock my intolerable ass out on the street when I was a lost little druggie in high school. He pays for me. He takes care of me. He does the same for anyone he cares about. No distance is too far to drive. No amount of physical labor is too much to bear. I started comparing his example to other real men that I know, and found this to be the case in each and every one. Selflessness is what really transforms us from boys into men, from girls into strong women. It is because we would give anything we can to be there for someone else. It seems cliche, but I know as a 19 year old girl, I am nowhere near this point. It is no small feat, and it can't be taught.
Anyway, the next topic is John Mayer's new album, Battle Studies. I haven't listened to it at all yet, but I looked up the lyrics this morning and read them all. I feel so sorry for him. The entire album is about Jennifer Aniston, and how she completely destroyed so many things for him. It seems like he fell in love with her right as he was convincing himself that he could never love at all...and he became in awe of her, and how she moved him, and how she had changed him from this selfish being into someone who was aware and in love and happy. But apparently there was one key element that neither of them could fix. I have no idea what it is, but it must've been terrible for both of them. You're so right for each other except for this one little wedge that ends up making it to where you just can't be together. That is the most painful kind of love, and so many other people have been there. All of his songs were so sad. He used really simple language, and a few rhymes, so that the lyrics themselves seemed kind of juvenile at first, but the heart behind them and the way he phrased certain things made you see that he was being honest, and that he was honestly lost. Read them yourself, you'll see. His album is called Battle Studies.
We all go through relationships that just can't seem to stay together, no matter how tightly we hold them close. It really is like a shakespearian tragedy playing out in the every day man's life. We all know. We've all been there. It's a universal sorry that doesn't ever get better, just easier to deal with. I think it's a beautiful thing. You've got the world's shoulder to cry on, John Mayer. :)
On a COMPLETELY SEPERATE NOTE, I can't wait to go home tomorrow. And I can't wait for Adam to fly to Houston on Friday, so that I can show him where I grew up, and who I was then. I couldn't stop telling him all of the places that I'm going to show him...my old high school, the mall, all the places that I used to explore with my dog, the place where I fooled some man into thinking that I was blind...
Good times.
Here are my two answers. The first thing that needs to happen in order for you to become a man or a woman (aside from you being at least in your 20's) would be the absence of any adolescent angst. And there is a lot of things to be angsty about. This is when you honestly start caring less and less about how people view you, about appearing a certain way, about making a certain statement with your looks. I noticed this change within myself (though I am far from being a woman) when I realized that I really don't want my labret piercing anymore. I used to like it because it was different, it looked good. It was my way of proclaiming my differences. I used to have blue hair for the same reason. Now? I don't need it anymore. I don't need to proclaim my differences at first glance, because I am extremely confident in the fact that you WILL notice that I am different when you talk with me. Also, my piercing made certain people not want to listen to me. They judged my words from the get-go, shading them a certain way because I had facial piercings. I would never want that. I know now that what I have to say is the most important aspect about me. I would never want someone to not give my words the respect and attention that they deserve because they see me as some punk street kid.
Secondly, I think that selflessness is what constitutes a real man. Take my dad, for example. I know without a doubt that there is nothing on the face of the planet that my dad would not do to help me out. Nothing. He drove eight hours to Panama City over night because my sister had the flu or something at cheerleading camp. He stops whatever he's doing to bring my spare keys to me when I lock my keys in my car. He didn't knock my intolerable ass out on the street when I was a lost little druggie in high school. He pays for me. He takes care of me. He does the same for anyone he cares about. No distance is too far to drive. No amount of physical labor is too much to bear. I started comparing his example to other real men that I know, and found this to be the case in each and every one. Selflessness is what really transforms us from boys into men, from girls into strong women. It is because we would give anything we can to be there for someone else. It seems cliche, but I know as a 19 year old girl, I am nowhere near this point. It is no small feat, and it can't be taught.
Anyway, the next topic is John Mayer's new album, Battle Studies. I haven't listened to it at all yet, but I looked up the lyrics this morning and read them all. I feel so sorry for him. The entire album is about Jennifer Aniston, and how she completely destroyed so many things for him. It seems like he fell in love with her right as he was convincing himself that he could never love at all...and he became in awe of her, and how she moved him, and how she had changed him from this selfish being into someone who was aware and in love and happy. But apparently there was one key element that neither of them could fix. I have no idea what it is, but it must've been terrible for both of them. You're so right for each other except for this one little wedge that ends up making it to where you just can't be together. That is the most painful kind of love, and so many other people have been there. All of his songs were so sad. He used really simple language, and a few rhymes, so that the lyrics themselves seemed kind of juvenile at first, but the heart behind them and the way he phrased certain things made you see that he was being honest, and that he was honestly lost. Read them yourself, you'll see. His album is called Battle Studies.
We all go through relationships that just can't seem to stay together, no matter how tightly we hold them close. It really is like a shakespearian tragedy playing out in the every day man's life. We all know. We've all been there. It's a universal sorry that doesn't ever get better, just easier to deal with. I think it's a beautiful thing. You've got the world's shoulder to cry on, John Mayer. :)
On a COMPLETELY SEPERATE NOTE, I can't wait to go home tomorrow. And I can't wait for Adam to fly to Houston on Friday, so that I can show him where I grew up, and who I was then. I couldn't stop telling him all of the places that I'm going to show him...my old high school, the mall, all the places that I used to explore with my dog, the place where I fooled some man into thinking that I was blind...
Good times.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
SOOOOOOO
HYPERRR!!!!
I just got done raiding for four hours, and everyone + dog piled into my car (dog got window seat and Zack had to sit in the trunk). Marble slab = closed, so we went to Walgreens.
Coffee Toffee Heath Bar Crunch = good mood = hyperactivity
+ = + - + +
Life is good. I have lovins. I have ice cream, even if I ate it wayyyy too fastttt.
Blood sugar = ohmigawd
Less ice cream + more sit ups = health = Amber you should get on that = maybe later
That's about all I really have to say. I would go read, but I lost my book. But I finally found my phone! It was lost in a skirt that I had worn at the dog park.
Just learned that most of my extended family is going to be donating their time on Thanksgiving. Which means that I won't be seeing them.
If I could pick the perfect rest of my life, it would look like this:
-Check the mail, get an acceptance letter from Hogwarts.
-Go to Hogwarts.
-Make friends for life that are all brave and good and interesting.
-Go back and finish college with the secret and amazing knowledge that I am a witch.
-Secretly do witchy things when the muggles aren't looking so that I can smirk to myself.
-Go on a cruise to Italy, Egypt and the general Mesopotamia area.
-Buy a house with a red door and a huge backyard that my adopted kids and massive dogs can get lost in and have adventures before they find out that they are great witches and wizards.
-But first find out that I am the only one who can save the world, and then I do it amazingly, against all odds. And with a lot of good kisses and fabulous dresses involved.
-Buy English Mastiffs. And Rottweilers. And German Shepherds. And other massive dogs.
-Discover Atlantis.
-Start a business that revolutionizes every industry it dabbles in.
-Cuddle kittens.
-Die.
-Be reincarnated as something really good, like a jaguar. Or a tree.
What does yours look like? Eh?
I just got done raiding for four hours, and everyone + dog piled into my car (dog got window seat and Zack had to sit in the trunk). Marble slab = closed, so we went to Walgreens.
Coffee Toffee Heath Bar Crunch = good mood = hyperactivity
+ = + - + +
Life is good. I have lovins. I have ice cream, even if I ate it wayyyy too fastttt.
Blood sugar = ohmigawd
Less ice cream + more sit ups = health = Amber you should get on that = maybe later
That's about all I really have to say. I would go read, but I lost my book. But I finally found my phone! It was lost in a skirt that I had worn at the dog park.
Just learned that most of my extended family is going to be donating their time on Thanksgiving. Which means that I won't be seeing them.
If I could pick the perfect rest of my life, it would look like this:
-Check the mail, get an acceptance letter from Hogwarts.
-Go to Hogwarts.
-Make friends for life that are all brave and good and interesting.
-Go back and finish college with the secret and amazing knowledge that I am a witch.
-Secretly do witchy things when the muggles aren't looking so that I can smirk to myself.
-Go on a cruise to Italy, Egypt and the general Mesopotamia area.
-Buy a house with a red door and a huge backyard that my adopted kids and massive dogs can get lost in and have adventures before they find out that they are great witches and wizards.
-But first find out that I am the only one who can save the world, and then I do it amazingly, against all odds. And with a lot of good kisses and fabulous dresses involved.
-Buy English Mastiffs. And Rottweilers. And German Shepherds. And other massive dogs.
-Discover Atlantis.
-Start a business that revolutionizes every industry it dabbles in.
-Cuddle kittens.
-Die.
-Be reincarnated as something really good, like a jaguar. Or a tree.
What does yours look like? Eh?
I like to talk.
I really have no idea what I'm going to talk about. I've been thinking like crazy since my last post, and I keep telling myself that I'll sit down and write about it, but when I'm finally sitting in front of a computer, I've got nothing. Side note- I need to stop spilling things on my keyboard, so that my quotation marks and the letter "u" aren't so difficult to press.
Anyway, I am now sitting here, determined to milk something out of myself. First, a topic that I'm sure will offend some. I am very sorry that it will, honestly, but at the same time, life is too short to not act on your convictions, and it's definitely too short to be lying to others constantly about what you believe so that they will accept you (they'll accept you anyway). So, I'm going to go there: homosexuality.
Now then. The issue CONCERNING homosexuality that I'm going to address today is whether or not being gay is something that you are born with. My argument is a simple one...and not one that I can see being refuted with solid evidence (there is so little on this subject, I wish there were more).
I firmly believe that being gay is not a choice. I believe that it is not just something that you acquire. Why do I believe this? Because that is what people who are gay tell me. That seems like a pretty simple statement, but this is where some people get a little mixed up. Who, exactly, are the people that are telling us that homosexuality is a choice that one makes? People who are not gay. Well, if you don't have a first hand account, how can you tell us for sure that it is a choice? Because my religious beliefs or personal convictions tell me that homosexuality is not something that you just "are". (This is not my own opinion...for the slowest of you, I am stating the opposing argument). (This is me talking again) I have never, ever, seen an argument that went further than that. So let me summarize. You are telling me that millions of people world wide, not only in this "hippie" generation but in every generation before us since the beginning of the homo sapien, are lying? All of them? (Granted, you may get a few gay or lesbian people who have made the CHOICE to become gay or lesbian because of past issues with the opposite sex, but these people are all retarded and should not be paid any attention to)
They are all lying and plotting against us in their deceitful, gay little hearts, just to confuse the world and throw it into a state of sin? WHYYY? Why would they do that? And why in the WORLD should I listen to you when you tell me that being gay is a choice, when you are not gay? Why should I believe that people who actually ARE gay, who would KNOW first hand, unlike YOU, are lying to me? Every last one?
For an example, I have never had chemotherapy, thank goodness. But I do know and have read account of people who have had chemotherapy. They all say that it is a painful and traumatic experience, that leaves you incredibly nauseous. And of course, I believe them. Why? Because they would know, and I wouldn't. It's not too difficult of a concept. But if you are not buying anything that I'm saying, and your counter argument has anything to do with a personal religion, please don't bring it up here. It is a pretty futile attempt, and we will just have to respectfully agree to disagree on that bit.
Whew. Anyway. All I'm saying is that for most people, being gay could not possibly be a genetic thing because you just could never be gay. You can't comprehend what it would feel like to be attracted to your own sex. And usually, unfortunately, it ends there in your mind. I'm challenging you to trust in the word of millions of your fellow humans. Don't hate. We're moving past racism, past sexism, we're seeing the error of our ways when it comes to prejudice. So let's keep moving forward.
On an entirely different note...I still cannot decide what I want to do for a living. Forensic anthropology is so amazing. It is so easy for me. I am a visual learner, so having a skeleton that I can look at, examine and label is right up my alley. Most of the field is based on visual recognition. On the other hand, I know my future is some how bound up with dogs. I love my dog, and I refuse to leave him at home whenever I want to do anything besides taking him to the dog park. I want to have him with me at work. He is part of my family, I love him, and I think it's unfair to keep him cooped up in an apartment while I'm out living my life. So in that way, a doggy day care would be perfect. He could come with me to work, play with other dogs, and I would be caring for animals that I love.
I would also really, really be interested in owning a corporation (starting my own, of course). When I look at companies like Nestle and Time Warner, I see big empires that want to milk money out of every field of interest that they possibly can. I'd like to own a big corporation simply because I am interested in so many things, and I feel like I could honestly better so many different types of businesses. Side note- Adam's cat is trying to eat a glass cup right now. He is literally chewing on it. ANYWAY, a few industries that I'd like to get involved with would be the weapons industry (comfortable and light weight weapons and ammunition for our armies, who have so many heavy things to carry)...I'd like to pursue interior design, game design, I'd like to be an author, I'd like to get into the news business (because I am sick an tired of stations claiming to be fair and unbiased...cough CNN cough FOX cough), I'd like to design vehicles based on what people actually need in their cars today. I'd like to get involved in the pet industry, because there are too few foods for my dog that are on the cheap end while also following several healthy guidelines. I'd love to design furniture and clothing. I would like to dabble in landscaping. Ahh...the insanity that is the creative mind.
Anway, I have to go to PetsMart to buy some expensive dog food, so that my dog actually gets the nutrition he needs instead of four cups of brewer's rice and corn meal a day.
Anyway, I am now sitting here, determined to milk something out of myself. First, a topic that I'm sure will offend some. I am very sorry that it will, honestly, but at the same time, life is too short to not act on your convictions, and it's definitely too short to be lying to others constantly about what you believe so that they will accept you (they'll accept you anyway). So, I'm going to go there: homosexuality.
Now then. The issue CONCERNING homosexuality that I'm going to address today is whether or not being gay is something that you are born with. My argument is a simple one...and not one that I can see being refuted with solid evidence (there is so little on this subject, I wish there were more).
I firmly believe that being gay is not a choice. I believe that it is not just something that you acquire. Why do I believe this? Because that is what people who are gay tell me. That seems like a pretty simple statement, but this is where some people get a little mixed up. Who, exactly, are the people that are telling us that homosexuality is a choice that one makes? People who are not gay. Well, if you don't have a first hand account, how can you tell us for sure that it is a choice? Because my religious beliefs or personal convictions tell me that homosexuality is not something that you just "are". (This is not my own opinion...for the slowest of you, I am stating the opposing argument). (This is me talking again) I have never, ever, seen an argument that went further than that. So let me summarize. You are telling me that millions of people world wide, not only in this "hippie" generation but in every generation before us since the beginning of the homo sapien, are lying? All of them? (Granted, you may get a few gay or lesbian people who have made the CHOICE to become gay or lesbian because of past issues with the opposite sex, but these people are all retarded and should not be paid any attention to)
They are all lying and plotting against us in their deceitful, gay little hearts, just to confuse the world and throw it into a state of sin? WHYYY? Why would they do that? And why in the WORLD should I listen to you when you tell me that being gay is a choice, when you are not gay? Why should I believe that people who actually ARE gay, who would KNOW first hand, unlike YOU, are lying to me? Every last one?
For an example, I have never had chemotherapy, thank goodness. But I do know and have read account of people who have had chemotherapy. They all say that it is a painful and traumatic experience, that leaves you incredibly nauseous. And of course, I believe them. Why? Because they would know, and I wouldn't. It's not too difficult of a concept. But if you are not buying anything that I'm saying, and your counter argument has anything to do with a personal religion, please don't bring it up here. It is a pretty futile attempt, and we will just have to respectfully agree to disagree on that bit.
Whew. Anyway. All I'm saying is that for most people, being gay could not possibly be a genetic thing because you just could never be gay. You can't comprehend what it would feel like to be attracted to your own sex. And usually, unfortunately, it ends there in your mind. I'm challenging you to trust in the word of millions of your fellow humans. Don't hate. We're moving past racism, past sexism, we're seeing the error of our ways when it comes to prejudice. So let's keep moving forward.
On an entirely different note...I still cannot decide what I want to do for a living. Forensic anthropology is so amazing. It is so easy for me. I am a visual learner, so having a skeleton that I can look at, examine and label is right up my alley. Most of the field is based on visual recognition. On the other hand, I know my future is some how bound up with dogs. I love my dog, and I refuse to leave him at home whenever I want to do anything besides taking him to the dog park. I want to have him with me at work. He is part of my family, I love him, and I think it's unfair to keep him cooped up in an apartment while I'm out living my life. So in that way, a doggy day care would be perfect. He could come with me to work, play with other dogs, and I would be caring for animals that I love.
I would also really, really be interested in owning a corporation (starting my own, of course). When I look at companies like Nestle and Time Warner, I see big empires that want to milk money out of every field of interest that they possibly can. I'd like to own a big corporation simply because I am interested in so many things, and I feel like I could honestly better so many different types of businesses. Side note- Adam's cat is trying to eat a glass cup right now. He is literally chewing on it. ANYWAY, a few industries that I'd like to get involved with would be the weapons industry (comfortable and light weight weapons and ammunition for our armies, who have so many heavy things to carry)...I'd like to pursue interior design, game design, I'd like to be an author, I'd like to get into the news business (because I am sick an tired of stations claiming to be fair and unbiased...cough CNN cough FOX cough), I'd like to design vehicles based on what people actually need in their cars today. I'd like to get involved in the pet industry, because there are too few foods for my dog that are on the cheap end while also following several healthy guidelines. I'd love to design furniture and clothing. I would like to dabble in landscaping. Ahh...the insanity that is the creative mind.
Anway, I have to go to PetsMart to buy some expensive dog food, so that my dog actually gets the nutrition he needs instead of four cups of brewer's rice and corn meal a day.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Too Tired To Complete My Thoughts
Man, I am so extremely tired. I have no idea why. I got eleven hours of sleep last night, and I am still a zombie. And no, it's not because I slept for too long, because I already thought of that. This feels different. I get this way sometimes, usually only for a day or so. I feel like my head is filled with cotton, and that the connection between my brain and my mouth is extremely weak. It's pretty funny to watch me run around like this...I feel and look extremely drunk. It's really aggravating.
I just went to Walgreens (stop telling me that it isn't a word, blogspot!!! Walgreens is a pivotal part of our society...it deserves to be recognized as a word) to pick up some crayons, colored pencils, a sketch pad and some markers. I wanted to tell the lady checking me out that I was buying them for my niece or something, because all of the things I bought said "beginners" on them, and came with new "easy grips for young, unsteady hands" etc...No, I don't have Parkinson's, I just know that I would like to draw with bigger crayons. A'IGHT??
ANYWAY, I'm trying my best to sketch out a few scenes from my book, so that as I'm writing about them, I can see the details of the room, the angles of the entrances and exits, etc...and I am really, really, REALLY disappointed to note that my drawing skills have not improved since the last time I drew something, around fourth grade. I seriously thought that I was a decent artist, considering the last time I drew something, it was good for a fourth grader. Now, my drawing abilities have not changed, and I am somewhere close to exceptionally bad as a twenty year old. You would honestly think that I took a hammer blow to the occipital lobe the way I put things down on paper. I can't explain it, and if I was any less embarrassed I would scan my drawings onto this blog to show you how confused of an artist I am, but I am not any less embarrassed, so just use your imagination.
I really have absolutely nothing to give you as far as life lessons go. I have a huge headache, my brain stem is stuffed with cotton, and the boys in this room are playing Modern Warfare 2 so loudly that...well, they are just loud. I don't want to complete that thought.
Okay, maybe I do have something to offer. A few days ago I posted a facebook status about how little girls are jonesing after the Jonas Brothers before they can even wear bras, etc.. etc...Well, I am still amazed by this. I realized as I was walking somewhere in the quad that I would give anything, ANYTHING to play with sticks all day, or to be swooped up by Peter Pan and flown off to Neverland for some adventure. It's so strange. We have things so mixed up. When I was 12, I was so worried about boys and straightening my hair and buying thongs. Now that I'm in college, all I can think about is how desperately I want adventure. Any adventure. I feel like someone plucked me out of someone else's imagination and flicked me into this boring ass planet, where men and women wake up every morning, drink coffee, go to work. Every day. And the days that they don't have to work, they are pre-occupied with thoughts about how glad they are that they are not at work, or about how upset they are that they have to work the next day. The brainwashed half of me (har har, they only got half of me!) really is just fine with this idea. I am quite content sipping coffee every morning, browsing the web, going to school, browsing the web some more, and going to sleep every night. But the part of me that I honestly recognize as my own spirit, the one that doesn't have anything to do with my surroundings, is terrified of this idea. It screams at me that it's not right. Sometimes it even feels like I wasn't meant to be in this century. Maybe even on this planet. Maybe it's my incredibly evolved consciousness, feeling the rift between it and my physical body and needs. Most of life on this planet revolves around trying to survive. Eating, sleeping, making money so that all of these things are possible. But my consciousness is not satisfied with being housed in such a rudimentary body.
I am going to make myself crazy. I just want to live in a cartoon like Treasure Island (the newest one, by Pixar or one of the other companies that are indistinguishable from Pixar). He wind surfs. Except he doesn't do it on water. He literally surfs the currents in the wind. And he finds good friends, that all love him and go on the adventure with him. He discovers a lost planet. He goes into space.
I am seriously so jealous I might cry.
Back to web surfing.
I just went to Walgreens (stop telling me that it isn't a word, blogspot!!! Walgreens is a pivotal part of our society...it deserves to be recognized as a word) to pick up some crayons, colored pencils, a sketch pad and some markers. I wanted to tell the lady checking me out that I was buying them for my niece or something, because all of the things I bought said "beginners" on them, and came with new "easy grips for young, unsteady hands" etc...No, I don't have Parkinson's, I just know that I would like to draw with bigger crayons. A'IGHT??
ANYWAY, I'm trying my best to sketch out a few scenes from my book, so that as I'm writing about them, I can see the details of the room, the angles of the entrances and exits, etc...and I am really, really, REALLY disappointed to note that my drawing skills have not improved since the last time I drew something, around fourth grade. I seriously thought that I was a decent artist, considering the last time I drew something, it was good for a fourth grader. Now, my drawing abilities have not changed, and I am somewhere close to exceptionally bad as a twenty year old. You would honestly think that I took a hammer blow to the occipital lobe the way I put things down on paper. I can't explain it, and if I was any less embarrassed I would scan my drawings onto this blog to show you how confused of an artist I am, but I am not any less embarrassed, so just use your imagination.
I really have absolutely nothing to give you as far as life lessons go. I have a huge headache, my brain stem is stuffed with cotton, and the boys in this room are playing Modern Warfare 2 so loudly that...well, they are just loud. I don't want to complete that thought.
Okay, maybe I do have something to offer. A few days ago I posted a facebook status about how little girls are jonesing after the Jonas Brothers before they can even wear bras, etc.. etc...Well, I am still amazed by this. I realized as I was walking somewhere in the quad that I would give anything, ANYTHING to play with sticks all day, or to be swooped up by Peter Pan and flown off to Neverland for some adventure. It's so strange. We have things so mixed up. When I was 12, I was so worried about boys and straightening my hair and buying thongs. Now that I'm in college, all I can think about is how desperately I want adventure. Any adventure. I feel like someone plucked me out of someone else's imagination and flicked me into this boring ass planet, where men and women wake up every morning, drink coffee, go to work. Every day. And the days that they don't have to work, they are pre-occupied with thoughts about how glad they are that they are not at work, or about how upset they are that they have to work the next day. The brainwashed half of me (har har, they only got half of me!) really is just fine with this idea. I am quite content sipping coffee every morning, browsing the web, going to school, browsing the web some more, and going to sleep every night. But the part of me that I honestly recognize as my own spirit, the one that doesn't have anything to do with my surroundings, is terrified of this idea. It screams at me that it's not right. Sometimes it even feels like I wasn't meant to be in this century. Maybe even on this planet. Maybe it's my incredibly evolved consciousness, feeling the rift between it and my physical body and needs. Most of life on this planet revolves around trying to survive. Eating, sleeping, making money so that all of these things are possible. But my consciousness is not satisfied with being housed in such a rudimentary body.
I am going to make myself crazy. I just want to live in a cartoon like Treasure Island (the newest one, by Pixar or one of the other companies that are indistinguishable from Pixar). He wind surfs. Except he doesn't do it on water. He literally surfs the currents in the wind. And he finds good friends, that all love him and go on the adventure with him. He discovers a lost planet. He goes into space.
I am seriously so jealous I might cry.
Back to web surfing.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Happiness is a Creep
So I've been writing a book lately. It reminds me a lot of The Cell (with J.Lo) and LoTR...of course. I don't want to get too much into it, because that is not the main point of this blog. But honestly, it's been a pretty creative few months.
Creativity = Insanity
I feel like I turned some sort of knobby in my head that loosened the floodgates. I can't turn it off. I see a thousand possibilities in every idea I come up with. Writing a book is the craziest thing I think I have ever done. You quite literally start tabula rasa style, and build up an entire universe. Any universe. Anything goes. And that doesn't just mean that I can make my characters as bitchy or as obsessed with The Beatles or whatever as I want, it means I can make my main characters slimy reptiles floating through the cosmos is the twenty second dimension. Or I can create an entire universe that doesn't allow you to say the word "blueberry". Or whatever. I can create languages, hammer out the complexities of their society and the societies of their world, create physical laws...I can create something out of nothing. I am god.
...No I'm kidding (kind of, remind me to talk about The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown ((and if you just groaned aloud I'm going to punch you.))).
I just had a nice argument with myself about if writing a novel is indeed creating something out of nothing, and I decided that it isn't. I am creating the words and ideas for my stories, for even my most eclectic of universes by using my brain's functions. UNLESS somehow I come up with an idea that is so abstract and insane that nothing I have ever experienced with my six hundred and twelve senses has influenced it in any way. But still, I suppose I am still producing these abstract and insane ideas with electrical synapse magic. So I guess it still doesn't come from nothing.
I'm glad you got to witness me arguing with myself. I should mention that if you disagree or have any comments whatsoever on whatever I say in my blogs, comment! I really, really love to argue. All that I ask is that you give me logical explanations of your point of view, rather than unfounded feral cat bitch fits.
I guess maybe I should introduce myself, just in case somehow someone reads my blog that doesn't already know who I am. Call me Wendy, because real names on the internet are creepy. I am 20, I live in Texas, I go to a university. I like to politely disagree. I have a lab mix, Fawkes, who is about 9 months old, and a cat, Mia, who reminds me of a disabled child. She's extremely cuddly and loving, but when you aren't looking, she poops on my bed and pees in the four corners of every room. I really love animals, I plan to either work with dogs when I grow up (NEVER!), or dabble in some counseling if I decide that I can endure another billion years of school. I also am incredibly fond of gross exaggeration. I am a stickler for grammar, I enjoy reading and spelling really big words correctly and using them in sentences. I raid every night on WoW. I am a lovely little bouquet of contradictions, here for you to enjoy.
Oh...so about happiness. That was the title of this blog, after all. I forgot. I've recently found a nice little pocket of it. It's not the new love, wild parties, good friends kind of happiness. It's the quiet, early morning coffee, daily dog walk with my boyfriend, good book in a comfy bed type of happiness. I have a routine, which I never thought I would enjoy. I feel old, and a little guilty for enjoying a stable life so much. I keep panicking a little bit, thinking, aren't people my age supposed to be getting wrecked at parties? Don't older people look back and wish that they had done more when they were young, don't they wish they could have their youth back so that they can live it up like they used to? Should I not be so stable and predictable? Shouldn't I be wearing tight dresses and dancing all night? But instead, I wake up at seven every morning, even if I don't have class. I drink coffee and read whatever is laying around my coffee table for an hour or so before I got work out. And then I go walk my dog with my boyfriend down a few really long, country roads with cows and honeysuckle hanging from the fences, and we talk about my book and his philosophy classes. We watch movies, we go on dates, we honestly love each other. And I am so, incredibly happy. Happier than I think I have been since I was a kid making up all sorts of balogna with my cousins in my grandparent's pool. It creeped up on me. Last I remember, I was an unstable, hormonal teenager with no sense or direction. Somehow I woke up one morning with an incredible compass, and starting walking in the right way with resolution. It's a much deeper happiness than just running around going to parties with friends. I can hardly explain it. But I think I like it.
Anyway, I have to go to the dog park, but I'm sure I'll be back rattling away later tonight. Once I get my motor running, it's hard for me to shut it off.
<3 Wendy
Creativity = Insanity
I feel like I turned some sort of knobby in my head that loosened the floodgates. I can't turn it off. I see a thousand possibilities in every idea I come up with. Writing a book is the craziest thing I think I have ever done. You quite literally start tabula rasa style, and build up an entire universe. Any universe. Anything goes. And that doesn't just mean that I can make my characters as bitchy or as obsessed with The Beatles or whatever as I want, it means I can make my main characters slimy reptiles floating through the cosmos is the twenty second dimension. Or I can create an entire universe that doesn't allow you to say the word "blueberry". Or whatever. I can create languages, hammer out the complexities of their society and the societies of their world, create physical laws...I can create something out of nothing. I am god.
...No I'm kidding (kind of, remind me to talk about The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown ((and if you just groaned aloud I'm going to punch you.))).
I just had a nice argument with myself about if writing a novel is indeed creating something out of nothing, and I decided that it isn't. I am creating the words and ideas for my stories, for even my most eclectic of universes by using my brain's functions. UNLESS somehow I come up with an idea that is so abstract and insane that nothing I have ever experienced with my six hundred and twelve senses has influenced it in any way. But still, I suppose I am still producing these abstract and insane ideas with electrical synapse magic. So I guess it still doesn't come from nothing.
I'm glad you got to witness me arguing with myself. I should mention that if you disagree or have any comments whatsoever on whatever I say in my blogs, comment! I really, really love to argue. All that I ask is that you give me logical explanations of your point of view, rather than unfounded feral cat bitch fits.
I guess maybe I should introduce myself, just in case somehow someone reads my blog that doesn't already know who I am. Call me Wendy, because real names on the internet are creepy. I am 20, I live in Texas, I go to a university. I like to politely disagree. I have a lab mix, Fawkes, who is about 9 months old, and a cat, Mia, who reminds me of a disabled child. She's extremely cuddly and loving, but when you aren't looking, she poops on my bed and pees in the four corners of every room. I really love animals, I plan to either work with dogs when I grow up (NEVER!), or dabble in some counseling if I decide that I can endure another billion years of school. I also am incredibly fond of gross exaggeration. I am a stickler for grammar, I enjoy reading and spelling really big words correctly and using them in sentences. I raid every night on WoW. I am a lovely little bouquet of contradictions, here for you to enjoy.
Oh...so about happiness. That was the title of this blog, after all. I forgot. I've recently found a nice little pocket of it. It's not the new love, wild parties, good friends kind of happiness. It's the quiet, early morning coffee, daily dog walk with my boyfriend, good book in a comfy bed type of happiness. I have a routine, which I never thought I would enjoy. I feel old, and a little guilty for enjoying a stable life so much. I keep panicking a little bit, thinking, aren't people my age supposed to be getting wrecked at parties? Don't older people look back and wish that they had done more when they were young, don't they wish they could have their youth back so that they can live it up like they used to? Should I not be so stable and predictable? Shouldn't I be wearing tight dresses and dancing all night? But instead, I wake up at seven every morning, even if I don't have class. I drink coffee and read whatever is laying around my coffee table for an hour or so before I got work out. And then I go walk my dog with my boyfriend down a few really long, country roads with cows and honeysuckle hanging from the fences, and we talk about my book and his philosophy classes. We watch movies, we go on dates, we honestly love each other. And I am so, incredibly happy. Happier than I think I have been since I was a kid making up all sorts of balogna with my cousins in my grandparent's pool. It creeped up on me. Last I remember, I was an unstable, hormonal teenager with no sense or direction. Somehow I woke up one morning with an incredible compass, and starting walking in the right way with resolution. It's a much deeper happiness than just running around going to parties with friends. I can hardly explain it. But I think I like it.
Anyway, I have to go to the dog park, but I'm sure I'll be back rattling away later tonight. Once I get my motor running, it's hard for me to shut it off.
<3 Wendy
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