As I lay in bed the other night, not quite ready to fall asleep, I went through the meager photo gallery on my phone. I deleted a few pictures and reset my wallpaper with a picture of a picture of my aunt's cat dressed as James Bond I'd taken a couple weeks ago when we were visiting my grandmother over Christmas. The picture that had previously graced my phone background since the beginning of December was one featuring a quote my friend Erica had forwarded to me in light of a low point at the end of the semester.
Because of the quote wallpaper, I had had to delete the text banner I'd had on my phone. So, naturally, when the cat James Bond picture was put up, I went back into my settings to reset the banner. What I've always wanted to have--but never have had the space for because the banner is limited to a certain number of characters--is "Keep each other safe. Keep faith. Goodnight," the closing to Potterwatch in the Harry Potter books (which was thus adapted by the amazing PotterCast as their closing). Shortening it to just "Keep safe. Keep faith" was still too long. I tried fitting the simplified phrase in again in the hope that it would somehow fit, but to no avail. So, as I'd had to do before, I typed in "Keep faith" and hit save.
The last year and a half has provided its share of both high points and low points. For the most part, I feel in close to the same place as I did in my last post; things seem much more complicated while I feel simultaneously better equipped to understand what makes up my anxiety and depression. In August I started grad school, which has improved things to some extent. My experiences thus far have provided an enormous but not unexpected amount of challenges, but overall I feel happy. Fall semester was rough, but I feel stronger for it.
And yet new anxieties have set in alongside those that were there last year. While I find myself more hopeful, I'm navigating new and different concerns, and it has continued to take its toll in the form of anti-peptalks and nights I cry myself to sleep. I haven't been writing as I've wanted to, as evidenced by the fact that my novel is still comprised of character notes and freewriting in addition to the lack of posts on this blog over the last year. It's been hard to overcome the negative head spaces. That's not to say that I haven't been writing, because I've done some solid writing, especially since school started. I'm thankful for it. But despite this, I know I have a long way to go, both with writing and everything else in life, because the funk has seemed to slip into everything else, too.
Last week was New Years. I spent it with the old roomies. It was a fantastic holiday following a much better Christmas than last year, and it was good to just be and catch up with my friends, most of whom I hadn't seen in months. I talked to them about what had been going on, about school, the quarter-life crisis, my fears, worries, everything. One of the girls pointed out, "You have to stop looking at it negatively; it's not that you have a long way to go. It's in how far you've come already."
Truth be told, I haven't had much faith in myself or in my own abilities lately. I didn't really realize it until New Years, when I was spending quality time with my friends and making up resolutions for 2014. The combination of anxiety and depression has manifested itself into my insecurities and made things so much harder, and I've let all the negative thoughts carry me off into the void. What I've realized in the last week, though, is that it's that faith that needs to be restored. Things don't have to be perfect. Things will work out. Little by little, I am gaining confidence, and I can't let the insecurities of today that have built up with those of years past break down the strength I have.
I chose the "Keep Faith" banner because I liked the simplicity of it. It can mean many things beyond the context of the Potterwatch message. It is a daily reminder that I need faith in every way, keeping it close. It is the way I will navigate the dark days, and the way that I need to allow myself the benefit of the doubt. It is how I will love myself fully and unconditionally. It is protection. It is hope.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Two Things: "Perks" and "The Casual Vacancy"
I know I haven't mentioned it in awhile, but I've been obsessively awaiting the Perks of Being a Wallflower movie. According to the official FB page, the movie opens in wide release on October 5, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it will be at the local theater. I was asked to write a blog post over on WORDY by Nature, the Sigma Tau Delta blog, about the movie. The first part is up, and I gush a whole bunch about it. The second part will be a review, once I've had the chance to see it. Check it out if you're interested. The Sigma blog is awesome, so at least poke around to see what's on the website.
The second thing I should have mentioned at some point earlier--and, frankly, haven't really had a chance to since things have been so crazy--is that J.K. Rowling's new book came out today.* I am SO FREAKING EXCITED to read it; I feel like I've been waiting for many, many years for another Rowling novel,** and it's so surreal that it has finally been released. I don't have my copy yet; I ordered it a few weeks ago, and it should be coming in the mail in the next week.
This is the first time I've ordered one of her books via Amazon, and it's KILLING ME because all I wanted to do today (as I was dealing with a fridge malfunction, writing a yay/nay post over last week's Glee, running errands, and doing other little things around the apartment) was sit and read The Casual Vacancy straight through. My roomie went to the bookstore this morning to pick up her copy, and so the first thing I saw when I entered the living room this morning was the red and yellow cover with that looming X. Needless to say, I felt very much like I did when I was awaiting my copy of The Fault In Our Stars back in January and she'd gotten hers first: I was impatient. And a little sad.
Honestly, I don't think I will ever not be excited for a J.K. Rowling release. This one was a different experience; it was weird getting a synopsis back a few months ago, because details were kept so secret before each HP release. I definitely miss the book release parties, though. I'm really thrilled to hear the positive reviews that have been released so far (though I haven't read any yet because I don't want to be spoiled too much), and I'm so intrigued by the few tidbits of information about the book that I've allowed myself to read up on. And I absolutely LOVED watching this interview. There's a reason she's one of my favorite authors of all time. J.K. Rowling is AWESOME.
And so, I go back to waiting for the book's arrival, as well as Perks. I feel like I've been waiting a LOT lately.
*As I write this, it's still officially September 27 in this time zone.
**Deathly Hallows came out 5 years ago. I can't believe it's been five years. I mean, there was Tales of Beedle the Bard in between, but...you know what I mean.
The second thing I should have mentioned at some point earlier--and, frankly, haven't really had a chance to since things have been so crazy--is that J.K. Rowling's new book came out today.* I am SO FREAKING EXCITED to read it; I feel like I've been waiting for many, many years for another Rowling novel,** and it's so surreal that it has finally been released. I don't have my copy yet; I ordered it a few weeks ago, and it should be coming in the mail in the next week.
This is the first time I've ordered one of her books via Amazon, and it's KILLING ME because all I wanted to do today (as I was dealing with a fridge malfunction, writing a yay/nay post over last week's Glee, running errands, and doing other little things around the apartment) was sit and read The Casual Vacancy straight through. My roomie went to the bookstore this morning to pick up her copy, and so the first thing I saw when I entered the living room this morning was the red and yellow cover with that looming X. Needless to say, I felt very much like I did when I was awaiting my copy of The Fault In Our Stars back in January and she'd gotten hers first: I was impatient. And a little sad.
Honestly, I don't think I will ever not be excited for a J.K. Rowling release. This one was a different experience; it was weird getting a synopsis back a few months ago, because details were kept so secret before each HP release. I definitely miss the book release parties, though. I'm really thrilled to hear the positive reviews that have been released so far (though I haven't read any yet because I don't want to be spoiled too much), and I'm so intrigued by the few tidbits of information about the book that I've allowed myself to read up on. And I absolutely LOVED watching this interview. There's a reason she's one of my favorite authors of all time. J.K. Rowling is AWESOME.
And so, I go back to waiting for the book's arrival, as well as Perks. I feel like I've been waiting a LOT lately.
*As I write this, it's still officially September 27 in this time zone.
**Deathly Hallows came out 5 years ago. I can't believe it's been five years. I mean, there was Tales of Beedle the Bard in between, but...you know what I mean.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
To Cure a Restless Mind
The dog next door has taken to barking nonstop at different points of the day. His name is Lucas. He's a tiny little thing, light brown curly fur, with so much of it his eyes are hidden most of the time I've seen him. He has a blue cast on one leg, and you can tell when he's outside because amongst the cute little pitter patter of his feet, there's the occasional thunk of plaster on wood. He's a sweetheart, and whenever I see him with his owner when I'm out and about, I stop to give him a scratch behind the ear.
Sometimes he whines, sometimes he barks. We can hear him from the other side of the kitchen wall. His owner has apologized profusely for the sound. I told her it's okay; dogs will be dogs.
We live on the second floor of our tiny complex. Our neighbors below us are Korean (I used to work with one of them), and I often hear him singing, mostly in the morning just after I step out of the shower or in the afternoon right before dinner. He has a clear voice that's quite soothing to listen to.
There's a married couple on the ground level that like playing a downsized version of badminton in the tiny parking lot. I've seen them most often at dusk, as the atmosphere makes everything glow orange and red, and when things have calmed from the day. They stand about twelve feet apart, batting the birdie back and forth. The woman is beautiful. She has long black hair that she wears pulled back or in a long braid that reaches to the backs of her knees. Both she and her husband came over to meet Emma's dog once as we were chatting in the parking lot. They are very nice people. Everyone we've met here is.
We hear conversations in Chinese next door on the other side, late into the night. It's those times I wonder how much they can hear from our apartment.
I play music sometimes around midday when I'm making lunch or doing the dishes. My roommate has a laugh that could easily carry through walls. I tend to yell a bit when I get excited about something, as does my roommate. I watch a lot of movies on the DVD player, and I often wonder if the volume is too loud.
In those moments when I sit in our living room, thinking too much about all the things that are happening, the things that are worrying me, I notice these little things. I keep thinking about Harriet the Spy and how Ole Golly was always encouraging Harriet to write down everything she saw if she wanted to be a writer. And yes, Harriet was spying on people. But what she came to realize was that as a writer, she was less of a spy and more of an observer. It's the little things that you notice, how everyone has their own way of eating tacos, for instance, or the strange things people put into their shopping carts at the grocery store.* The way light comes through the window in the early morning, how people talk to one another in church as opposed to how they interact at a party or in intimate conversation. It's anything and everything about growing up and living in a new town or in your own hometown. The smell of your grandparents house, or the memories that float in the back of your mind without explanation. It's making sense of how crazy life seems at two in the morning or when your emotions are so overwrought and wrung out you're not sure where to go. As writers, as artists, as people, we are always noticing things. It's proof of the complexity of life, how things are continuously changing, and how it goes on.
We are observers of the world, of the unique life experiences we have. All we need to do is notice them. It's one reason we're compelled to create. We're always on the search for some kind of understanding.
*A few weeks ago, I saw a man pushing a cart entirely full of chicken. I think they might have been leg/thigh combinations.
Sometimes he whines, sometimes he barks. We can hear him from the other side of the kitchen wall. His owner has apologized profusely for the sound. I told her it's okay; dogs will be dogs.
We live on the second floor of our tiny complex. Our neighbors below us are Korean (I used to work with one of them), and I often hear him singing, mostly in the morning just after I step out of the shower or in the afternoon right before dinner. He has a clear voice that's quite soothing to listen to.
There's a married couple on the ground level that like playing a downsized version of badminton in the tiny parking lot. I've seen them most often at dusk, as the atmosphere makes everything glow orange and red, and when things have calmed from the day. They stand about twelve feet apart, batting the birdie back and forth. The woman is beautiful. She has long black hair that she wears pulled back or in a long braid that reaches to the backs of her knees. Both she and her husband came over to meet Emma's dog once as we were chatting in the parking lot. They are very nice people. Everyone we've met here is.
We hear conversations in Chinese next door on the other side, late into the night. It's those times I wonder how much they can hear from our apartment.
I play music sometimes around midday when I'm making lunch or doing the dishes. My roommate has a laugh that could easily carry through walls. I tend to yell a bit when I get excited about something, as does my roommate. I watch a lot of movies on the DVD player, and I often wonder if the volume is too loud.
In those moments when I sit in our living room, thinking too much about all the things that are happening, the things that are worrying me, I notice these little things. I keep thinking about Harriet the Spy and how Ole Golly was always encouraging Harriet to write down everything she saw if she wanted to be a writer. And yes, Harriet was spying on people. But what she came to realize was that as a writer, she was less of a spy and more of an observer. It's the little things that you notice, how everyone has their own way of eating tacos, for instance, or the strange things people put into their shopping carts at the grocery store.* The way light comes through the window in the early morning, how people talk to one another in church as opposed to how they interact at a party or in intimate conversation. It's anything and everything about growing up and living in a new town or in your own hometown. The smell of your grandparents house, or the memories that float in the back of your mind without explanation. It's making sense of how crazy life seems at two in the morning or when your emotions are so overwrought and wrung out you're not sure where to go. As writers, as artists, as people, we are always noticing things. It's proof of the complexity of life, how things are continuously changing, and how it goes on.
We are observers of the world, of the unique life experiences we have. All we need to do is notice them. It's one reason we're compelled to create. We're always on the search for some kind of understanding.
*A few weeks ago, I saw a man pushing a cart entirely full of chicken. I think they might have been leg/thigh combinations.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Quarter Life or Thereabouts
Shortly after I started dating him, I spent an entire Saturday with my first boyfriend at his house. It was a good day; he made me spaghetti, my favorite meal, minus the mushrooms because I didn't like them. That was one of the first days I ever shot off fireworks other than sparklers, and we just talked, and it felt nice to be able to do so. At that point, we had only been dating for about a month and a half, and because he lived so far away, things were still pretty new. He lived in a pretty small town, and so the two of us and his little sister drove over to the next town to get fireworks. We picked out the firework pack we wanted, paid for it, and we made our way to the nearest gas station to grab something to eat.
He finally mustered up the courage to take my hand as we were walking around. He dropped it, however, as soon as his sister screeched, "Ew, you guys are holding hands?!" and he didn't try holding my hand again for the rest of the day.
I've been watching a lot of The Office in the last three weeks. One of the last episodes I finished was the one where Phyllis and Bob Vance get married. It was a great episode. I was happy for Phyllis. Michael drove me nuts, as per usual. I was appalled at his actions.* I would be absolutely mortified if anyone acted that way at my wedding.
Things have seemingly become more domestic over the last year. My friends' Facebook posts have fallen into this category, ranging from wedding plans to baby announcements and the like. Even watching shows like The Office and Ugly Betty over the last few weeks has been eerily reflective of the job search as I've waited to hear back from potential employers. These things aren't bad. I'm thankful for them--I'm just not yet used to how grown-up everything seems all of a sudden.
I think about that spaghetti Saturday every once and awhile. The thing that taints it is, of course, the ex's reaction when his sister saw us holding hands. At the time, I was embarrassed, too. I thought that maybe things were always like that at the beginning of a relationship. We'd only been dating for just over a month, after all. I felt ashamed for wanting to hold his hand. And it was such a beautiful day, too.
What I realize now, many years later, is that it was stupid for him to react that way. I was hurt, though I didn't want to admit it at the time. The memory leaves a bad taste in my mouth; there was so much I didn't realize at the time that was wrong with the situation and, ultimately, the relationship. It was good that it ended, because the weirdness didn't end there.
One of my best friends, Amanda, is getting married next year, as is my good friend Nicole. I'm excited to be there to be a part of both of their special days.
I don't know if I'll ever have the opportunity to get married, and to be honest, I've never thought much about it. I mean, I have, but not to the same degree you'd expect of a young woman in her twenties. There are few things I'm absolutely sure of, regarding little details of what right now seems like something distant. When I told Amanda that I wanted this song** as part of my ceremony, her face lit up and I knew her excitement was due to the fact I haven't really talked about stuff like this very often; I'm usually pretty quiet/negative about it. But, I knew that if I ever get married, that was the very song I'd want to play. It says everything I could never be able to express.
I have a lot of feelings about it all, and I don't talk about it much. I know that I don't want a Michael Scott there to ruin anything about it, because I know exactly how I'd feel about my wedding day. It's too important, and too precious.
*As annoying as he can be, however, he's such a brilliant character. I can't help but simultaneously love and hate him.
**Here's the original.
He finally mustered up the courage to take my hand as we were walking around. He dropped it, however, as soon as his sister screeched, "Ew, you guys are holding hands?!" and he didn't try holding my hand again for the rest of the day.
I've been watching a lot of The Office in the last three weeks. One of the last episodes I finished was the one where Phyllis and Bob Vance get married. It was a great episode. I was happy for Phyllis. Michael drove me nuts, as per usual. I was appalled at his actions.* I would be absolutely mortified if anyone acted that way at my wedding.
Things have seemingly become more domestic over the last year. My friends' Facebook posts have fallen into this category, ranging from wedding plans to baby announcements and the like. Even watching shows like The Office and Ugly Betty over the last few weeks has been eerily reflective of the job search as I've waited to hear back from potential employers. These things aren't bad. I'm thankful for them--I'm just not yet used to how grown-up everything seems all of a sudden.
I think about that spaghetti Saturday every once and awhile. The thing that taints it is, of course, the ex's reaction when his sister saw us holding hands. At the time, I was embarrassed, too. I thought that maybe things were always like that at the beginning of a relationship. We'd only been dating for just over a month, after all. I felt ashamed for wanting to hold his hand. And it was such a beautiful day, too.
What I realize now, many years later, is that it was stupid for him to react that way. I was hurt, though I didn't want to admit it at the time. The memory leaves a bad taste in my mouth; there was so much I didn't realize at the time that was wrong with the situation and, ultimately, the relationship. It was good that it ended, because the weirdness didn't end there.
One of my best friends, Amanda, is getting married next year, as is my good friend Nicole. I'm excited to be there to be a part of both of their special days.
I don't know if I'll ever have the opportunity to get married, and to be honest, I've never thought much about it. I mean, I have, but not to the same degree you'd expect of a young woman in her twenties. There are few things I'm absolutely sure of, regarding little details of what right now seems like something distant. When I told Amanda that I wanted this song** as part of my ceremony, her face lit up and I knew her excitement was due to the fact I haven't really talked about stuff like this very often; I'm usually pretty quiet/negative about it. But, I knew that if I ever get married, that was the very song I'd want to play. It says everything I could never be able to express.
I have a lot of feelings about it all, and I don't talk about it much. I know that I don't want a Michael Scott there to ruin anything about it, because I know exactly how I'd feel about my wedding day. It's too important, and too precious.
*As annoying as he can be, however, he's such a brilliant character. I can't help but simultaneously love and hate him.
**Here's the original.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Top of the World Without Flashlights
On the day of graduation back in May, after a rousing and hilarious game of Apples to Apples, my roommates and I and the remainder of our party guests decided to go to Top of the World* so that Abbey, Emma, and I could see it before we were "officially done" with undergraduate. So, we piled into two cars and followed Amanda up the hill to the outlook point.
Top of the World, if I'm explaining correctly, is a scenic outlook at the top of the tallest point in Manhattan. The hill can easily be identified by 'MANHATTAN' in very large letters that has been put into the side of the hill. Visitors can sit and observe the view from the letters, or take various trails that lead down the hill. The night of graduation was the first time I'd ever been there, so I was especially excited though I knew that it was probably the last time I'd get to spend time with Abbey before she left for Chicago.
Once we'd parked and realized that we'd forgotten flashlights--it was after dark--Amanda led us to the Manhattan sign, were there were two couples enjoying the view,** and we took a moment to enjoy the city at night, from Wal-Mart over to the other side of Tuttle Creek Boulevard.
"There's another place that I should show you, c'mon," Amanda said, leading us back up the path and into brush.
My phone was my only light source, and as soon as she headed what seemed in the dark as off the path, I got really nervous. Regardless, I followed Heidi and everyone else down another short path and up onto a wide expanse of concrete surrounded by trees. Here, we couldn't really see a good view of Manhattan because of all the trees, but we could see the stars. Granted, we couldn't see a lot because of the lights from the city, but there were a few that shone brightly enough for us to catch a glimpse of them.
There was a rustling in the brush bordering our viewpoint. Then there were noises. My scaredy-cat side thought we were minutes away from being attacked.
"Are you okay?" I asked Heidi, who was nearby.
"Yeah."
The others became louder. Emma and Amanda scoffed at the sounds, and Abbey was jumping around. Alisha was talking about Darren Criss. I stepped closer to Heidi.
"Seriously?!" I finally called out. It wasn't funny anymore. "This is immature. We are in college. GOD."
Amanda came over to me and placed her hands on my shoulders. "Heather, it's just those jerks we interrupted earlier. We are not going to be attacked. They got mad that we interrupted their make out session, and they're trying to get back at us."
"I KNOW," I shrieked. "But I have an overactive imagination that's going crazy right now. This is why I can't handle horror movies."
We made our way back to the outlook point by the parking lot, giggling, talking, and making jokes while trying to soak up every last delicious moment of what had been an amazing, wonderful day. It had been, truly, the best day, and as curfew came at 11pm, I was devastated that it was over. We said goodbyes to Abbey, exchanged hugs with one another and went our separate ways.
This summer, as far as I can remember, was probably the one that went by the fastest. I read a lot, worked, fine tuned my resume, applied for a few jobs. Packed. Moved into a wonderful little apartment that puts the Tiny Blue Room to shame a hundred times over. Classes have been in session for about two weeks, and it's been so incredibly strange not to be going on to campus. As I wait to hear from the jobs I applied for, I am trying to keep my head in the mindset of what I want to accomplish. Graduation day was so long ago, but it feels like it just happened. I'm thankful for the break, but I know I'll be ready to get back into the groove once graduate school gets here.
How strange time is.
*To this day, I'm not sure if it's officially called Top of the World or Manhattan Hill. For the sake of continuity in this post, I'm going to refer to it as Top of the World.
**They were making out. We were being loud. It was awkward.
Top of the World, if I'm explaining correctly, is a scenic outlook at the top of the tallest point in Manhattan. The hill can easily be identified by 'MANHATTAN' in very large letters that has been put into the side of the hill. Visitors can sit and observe the view from the letters, or take various trails that lead down the hill. The night of graduation was the first time I'd ever been there, so I was especially excited though I knew that it was probably the last time I'd get to spend time with Abbey before she left for Chicago.
Once we'd parked and realized that we'd forgotten flashlights--it was after dark--Amanda led us to the Manhattan sign, were there were two couples enjoying the view,** and we took a moment to enjoy the city at night, from Wal-Mart over to the other side of Tuttle Creek Boulevard.
"There's another place that I should show you, c'mon," Amanda said, leading us back up the path and into brush.
My phone was my only light source, and as soon as she headed what seemed in the dark as off the path, I got really nervous. Regardless, I followed Heidi and everyone else down another short path and up onto a wide expanse of concrete surrounded by trees. Here, we couldn't really see a good view of Manhattan because of all the trees, but we could see the stars. Granted, we couldn't see a lot because of the lights from the city, but there were a few that shone brightly enough for us to catch a glimpse of them.
There was a rustling in the brush bordering our viewpoint. Then there were noises. My scaredy-cat side thought we were minutes away from being attacked.
"Are you okay?" I asked Heidi, who was nearby.
"Yeah."
The others became louder. Emma and Amanda scoffed at the sounds, and Abbey was jumping around. Alisha was talking about Darren Criss. I stepped closer to Heidi.
"Seriously?!" I finally called out. It wasn't funny anymore. "This is immature. We are in college. GOD."
Amanda came over to me and placed her hands on my shoulders. "Heather, it's just those jerks we interrupted earlier. We are not going to be attacked. They got mad that we interrupted their make out session, and they're trying to get back at us."
"I KNOW," I shrieked. "But I have an overactive imagination that's going crazy right now. This is why I can't handle horror movies."
We made our way back to the outlook point by the parking lot, giggling, talking, and making jokes while trying to soak up every last delicious moment of what had been an amazing, wonderful day. It had been, truly, the best day, and as curfew came at 11pm, I was devastated that it was over. We said goodbyes to Abbey, exchanged hugs with one another and went our separate ways.
This summer, as far as I can remember, was probably the one that went by the fastest. I read a lot, worked, fine tuned my resume, applied for a few jobs. Packed. Moved into a wonderful little apartment that puts the Tiny Blue Room to shame a hundred times over. Classes have been in session for about two weeks, and it's been so incredibly strange not to be going on to campus. As I wait to hear from the jobs I applied for, I am trying to keep my head in the mindset of what I want to accomplish. Graduation day was so long ago, but it feels like it just happened. I'm thankful for the break, but I know I'll be ready to get back into the groove once graduate school gets here.
How strange time is.
*To this day, I'm not sure if it's officially called Top of the World or Manhattan Hill. For the sake of continuity in this post, I'm going to refer to it as Top of the World.
**They were making out. We were being loud. It was awkward.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Things Jelani and I Talk About
A few months ago, Rebecca Makkai gave a reading on campus as part of the English department's Visiting Writer Series. The selections she read to us were very good, and her responses during the Q&A session were really interesting (her characters were so thoroughly three dimensional, as it seemed from the snippets she read to us, and good character development is something I really admire).
As usual during these sorts of events, I sat with my good friend, Jelani*. Every once and awhile, he will lean over to tell me something about whatever it is we're watching or listening to, or something he finds interesting. During Rebecca Makkai's reading, Jelani made a noise of recognition. I looked at him, curious. He paused, and I offered my notebook to him.**
Humbert is the name of the, uh, main character in Lolita, he wrote along the long side of the page.
Ah. Well. I responded. A minute or so went by, and then I added, I need to read that book. I haven't yet.
make sure it's the annotated version. the footnotes really enhance the experience.
In a good way or bad way?
very very good. you will need the novel in your right hand, a dictionary in your left in order to make it through that book, btw
Coolbeans. Noted. Will do.
it's perversely one of the best books ever written.
Then, later, when Makkai confirmed that she slipped many literary allusions, including Humber from Lolita, in to her book, The Borrower, I gave him a nudge, and pushed my notebook over toward him.
Yay you!
*He leaves bits of brilliance and intellectualism on The Hype Weekly, and bleeds genius and, on occasion, whimsy, on his personal blog. I also owe him about a billion Poetry Nights at Auntie Mae's. I should probably get on that.
**We have had a lot of conversations over the years, and while most are verbal, there have been a few that have taken place on paper.
As usual during these sorts of events, I sat with my good friend, Jelani*. Every once and awhile, he will lean over to tell me something about whatever it is we're watching or listening to, or something he finds interesting. During Rebecca Makkai's reading, Jelani made a noise of recognition. I looked at him, curious. He paused, and I offered my notebook to him.**
Humbert is the name of the, uh, main character in Lolita, he wrote along the long side of the page.
Ah. Well. I responded. A minute or so went by, and then I added, I need to read that book. I haven't yet.
make sure it's the annotated version. the footnotes really enhance the experience.
In a good way or bad way?
very very good. you will need the novel in your right hand, a dictionary in your left in order to make it through that book, btw
Coolbeans. Noted. Will do.
it's perversely one of the best books ever written.
Then, later, when Makkai confirmed that she slipped many literary allusions, including Humber from Lolita, in to her book, The Borrower, I gave him a nudge, and pushed my notebook over toward him.
Yay you!
*He leaves bits of brilliance and intellectualism on The Hype Weekly, and bleeds genius and, on occasion, whimsy, on his personal blog. I also owe him about a billion Poetry Nights at Auntie Mae's. I should probably get on that.
**We have had a lot of conversations over the years, and while most are verbal, there have been a few that have taken place on paper.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Ground Control to Major Tom
So this post really isn't about David Bowie. But as crazy as things have been in the last week, as they are likely to be until move-out day on Friday, the countdown seems especially appropriate (even if it really isn't in the grand scheme of things).
As I write this post, I am sitting in a laundromat, glancing up at the dryers every thirty seconds like the crazy person I have surely become. Just outside the front door of the facility is a fancy silver sports car with a Batman plate on the front. I can't help but think of seeing the new movie just two days ago, and, by extension, the tragedy in Colorado that took place the same day. A young couple sits two tables down from me, the boy reading Catching Fire while his girlfriend fiddles with her phone beside him. Others come in and out, carrying a helluvah lot less laundry than I did nearly an hour ago.
My basement-dwelling roomies discovered what they think is a pretty mild case of bed bugs this morning, and though I personally do not live in the basement and use a mattress cover, Iwanted needed to take precautionary measures.
It's not really fun to have to deal with stuff like this. And though Emma told me that, if it absolutely had to happen, she's glad it happened so close to us getting out of that blasted house, I was still nervous and frustrated that it had to happen at all. I just don't handle stress well. I couldn't think straight when my mom called earlier; I felt especially bad about it because I haven't had the chance to talk to her in a week.
And so now I've found myself at the laundromat with twenty dollars-worth of quarters in my pocket (long story short: I should have gotten change from the twenty, first). The HG fan and his girlfriend have since left, interestingly enough, in the sportscar/Batmobile. All of my clothes are now in dryers. I feel gross from having worked and then battled the heat to bring my stuff across town. In my haste, I didn't quite understand that 25 cents equals 9 minutes of dryer time, and thus more quarters meant more time. Along with saving time and money, I could have also saved dryer space.
And then there's everything else. Moving, of course. The job search I've put on hold, briefly, so I can move without completely losing my head. And then there is the continued news from Colorado. What a terrible thing to have happened. It breaks my heart to know that things like this actually do happen. People actually set out to hurt others. Why, I don't know. But I'm praying for the victims and their families.
Also, I haven't eaten dinner yet. This is Major Tom.
As I write this post, I am sitting in a laundromat, glancing up at the dryers every thirty seconds like the crazy person I have surely become. Just outside the front door of the facility is a fancy silver sports car with a Batman plate on the front. I can't help but think of seeing the new movie just two days ago, and, by extension, the tragedy in Colorado that took place the same day. A young couple sits two tables down from me, the boy reading Catching Fire while his girlfriend fiddles with her phone beside him. Others come in and out, carrying a helluvah lot less laundry than I did nearly an hour ago.
My basement-dwelling roomies discovered what they think is a pretty mild case of bed bugs this morning, and though I personally do not live in the basement and use a mattress cover, I
It's not really fun to have to deal with stuff like this. And though Emma told me that, if it absolutely had to happen, she's glad it happened so close to us getting out of that blasted house, I was still nervous and frustrated that it had to happen at all. I just don't handle stress well. I couldn't think straight when my mom called earlier; I felt especially bad about it because I haven't had the chance to talk to her in a week.
And so now I've found myself at the laundromat with twenty dollars-worth of quarters in my pocket (long story short: I should have gotten change from the twenty, first). The HG fan and his girlfriend have since left, interestingly enough, in the sportscar/Batmobile. All of my clothes are now in dryers. I feel gross from having worked and then battled the heat to bring my stuff across town. In my haste, I didn't quite understand that 25 cents equals 9 minutes of dryer time, and thus more quarters meant more time. Along with saving time and money, I could have also saved dryer space.
And then there's everything else. Moving, of course. The job search I've put on hold, briefly, so I can move without completely losing my head. And then there is the continued news from Colorado. What a terrible thing to have happened. It breaks my heart to know that things like this actually do happen. People actually set out to hurt others. Why, I don't know. But I'm praying for the victims and their families.
Also, I haven't eaten dinner yet. This is Major Tom.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Moments
When I was a junior in high school, we had an assignment in English class that required us to find a song that best represented any of the ideas of Transcendentalism. After going through all my CDs, I finally decided on "Parklife" by Blur, which to me best represented connecting to nature.* Jackie, one of my classmates, picked a song called "I Woke Up In A Car" by Something Corporate. I was so caught up in it, I had to ask her what the artist was and wrote it down in a margin in my notebook.
The song is really good. Some people might write it off as being too "emo" or [insert complaint here]. But honestly? It's a solid, well-written, well-produced track off of a strong album. I get annoyed with really particular classifications when it comes to music; music is far too diverse to allow for any accurate placement. Some songs pull from too many directions, and I really, really hate it when people use a song's "classification" as a reason against it, as if it's not worthy of our time because it falls into a certain category. But I digress.
I didn't get a copy of the song until shortly after my high school graduation, and since then I've listened to it over and over, repeating it on mixes and getting lost within its lyrics and musicianship and pure awesomeness.
I've been up and down over the last week. I've been trying to find ways of cheering myself up; I read Lola and the Boy Next Door over the weekend, and while I was cheered up reading it (because it's so, so good), I still cried at the end because it affected me so. I finished This Full House and loved it, but also cried at the end for different but related reasons. Work, as usual, provides me five hours daily to mull everything over. And over. And over. It's rough being inside one's head for too long. I was driving myself crazy. I hate finding myself in a funk; I have such a hard time pulling myself out of it.
"I Woke Up In A Car" came up on my iPod earlier tonight at work, and it must have hit me at just the right moment. The song talks about the joys of embracing the unknown, of finding peace with oneself in the moment. I don't know if I could survive without some kind of structure, but I like the idea of allowing myself liberation in the moment. I was reminded that the funk will lift.** The next couple years will be interesting, and will likely allow me these moments. And I'm so ready for them.
So, all in all, I'm not feeling 100% better. (I need Earl Grey.) But I am feeling marginally better.
*I remember obnoxiously singing along with it in class; if anyone reading this now happened to be in that hour, my apologies. I don't think I understood the difference between socially okay and socially obnoxious.
**I hate how sappy this sounds. *sigh*
The song is really good. Some people might write it off as being too "emo" or [insert complaint here]. But honestly? It's a solid, well-written, well-produced track off of a strong album. I get annoyed with really particular classifications when it comes to music; music is far too diverse to allow for any accurate placement. Some songs pull from too many directions, and I really, really hate it when people use a song's "classification" as a reason against it, as if it's not worthy of our time because it falls into a certain category. But I digress.
I didn't get a copy of the song until shortly after my high school graduation, and since then I've listened to it over and over, repeating it on mixes and getting lost within its lyrics and musicianship and pure awesomeness.
I've been up and down over the last week. I've been trying to find ways of cheering myself up; I read Lola and the Boy Next Door over the weekend, and while I was cheered up reading it (because it's so, so good), I still cried at the end because it affected me so. I finished This Full House and loved it, but also cried at the end for different but related reasons. Work, as usual, provides me five hours daily to mull everything over. And over. And over. It's rough being inside one's head for too long. I was driving myself crazy. I hate finding myself in a funk; I have such a hard time pulling myself out of it.
"I Woke Up In A Car" came up on my iPod earlier tonight at work, and it must have hit me at just the right moment. The song talks about the joys of embracing the unknown, of finding peace with oneself in the moment. I don't know if I could survive without some kind of structure, but I like the idea of allowing myself liberation in the moment. I was reminded that the funk will lift.** The next couple years will be interesting, and will likely allow me these moments. And I'm so ready for them.
So, all in all, I'm not feeling 100% better. (I need Earl Grey.) But I am feeling marginally better.
*I remember obnoxiously singing along with it in class; if anyone reading this now happened to be in that hour, my apologies. I don't think I understood the difference between socially okay and socially obnoxious.
**I hate how sappy this sounds. *sigh*
Monday, June 18, 2012
Treading and Geraniums
When my upstairs roomie came back from work today, I greeted her with a big smile and threw my arms out. "I AM MAKING US DINNER," I announced.
She gave me a worried look.
"What?" I asked her, my smile falling. "Seriously, it'll be good. And it'll use up some of the stuff from the freezer so we don't have to move it next month. I called my mom and she gave me a recipe suggestion."
Her face didn't change at all.
Ultimately, I screwed up the baked potatoes. I forgot to poke them, and they were still a little hard in the middle. I had to reheat mine in the microwave. The chicken was kind of dry (though I encounter this problem whenever I heat up/bake chicken), but the salsa and seasonings tasted all right. My roomie didn't say anything about how she felt about the meal, only answering with an indifferent "fine" when I asked her how the chicken was.
I came out of the experience knowing that my roomie thought my cooking skills were appalling.* But I suppose it doesn't matter that much.
I leave the Tiny Blue Room in a month and a half. The room after the Tiny Blue Room will likely be the same size or even smaller. I don't trust my memory of how big the room really is. It will be, after all, a mere corner of the apartment I'm moving into with my roommate. There is much I have yet to pare down, and it's already halfway through June.
Life after something so ingrained is almost bizarre. Everything seems so much more domestic, much more alien to the senses. The plants need to be watered. Walking the dog doesn't have to be a chore. Cooking is suddenly something that can actually be done, most of the time, but mostly it seems nearly impossible. Time between, before, and after work shifts must be used wisely. Evenings have become open. What is this strange stasis I've found myself in?
The crazy thing is that it's not really a stasis at all. It's more transitionary. I'm trying to adjust myself to the schedule of a graduate. A lot of my college friends have moved: Crystal is in Indiana, Whitney and Abbey in Illinois, others have or soon will be returning to their respective hometowns or new homes in far off places. I've just started the job search and will soon be diving into the grad school application process. Time seems to work differently, now. Things don't work per semester in the real world. I wonder if it's more by season, or perhaps the days meld together in one big clump and the only way to know the date is by the weather when you leave for your lunch break.
I know I'll be glad to get back into the learning mode whenever I start grad school. But for now, I'll enjoy writing, drawing, and adjusting to this new life. Especially evenings like tonight, in which Amanda suggests making pina coladas and indulging in both chips and salsa and mint chocolate chip ice cream. Which, of course, is a delicious combination.
*With that being said, another of my roomies tried the chicken and liked it. When I make the recipe again, I'll know what to do and what not to do.
She gave me a worried look.
"What?" I asked her, my smile falling. "Seriously, it'll be good. And it'll use up some of the stuff from the freezer so we don't have to move it next month. I called my mom and she gave me a recipe suggestion."
Her face didn't change at all.
Ultimately, I screwed up the baked potatoes. I forgot to poke them, and they were still a little hard in the middle. I had to reheat mine in the microwave. The chicken was kind of dry (though I encounter this problem whenever I heat up/bake chicken), but the salsa and seasonings tasted all right. My roomie didn't say anything about how she felt about the meal, only answering with an indifferent "fine" when I asked her how the chicken was.
I came out of the experience knowing that my roomie thought my cooking skills were appalling.* But I suppose it doesn't matter that much.
I leave the Tiny Blue Room in a month and a half. The room after the Tiny Blue Room will likely be the same size or even smaller. I don't trust my memory of how big the room really is. It will be, after all, a mere corner of the apartment I'm moving into with my roommate. There is much I have yet to pare down, and it's already halfway through June.
Another of my roomies, Amanda, brought me back a geranium from her work a few weeks ago. She works in a flower shop and has been bringing back ferns, flower arrangements, and just today, a Venus fly trap, for us to enjoy and care for. I was excited about the geranium. I've been trying not to over-water it and pulling off the browning leaves every few days. When we move, I want to put it just outside our door so it can enjoy the fresh air.
The crazy thing is that it's not really a stasis at all. It's more transitionary. I'm trying to adjust myself to the schedule of a graduate. A lot of my college friends have moved: Crystal is in Indiana, Whitney and Abbey in Illinois, others have or soon will be returning to their respective hometowns or new homes in far off places. I've just started the job search and will soon be diving into the grad school application process. Time seems to work differently, now. Things don't work per semester in the real world. I wonder if it's more by season, or perhaps the days meld together in one big clump and the only way to know the date is by the weather when you leave for your lunch break.
I know I'll be glad to get back into the learning mode whenever I start grad school. But for now, I'll enjoy writing, drawing, and adjusting to this new life. Especially evenings like tonight, in which Amanda suggests making pina coladas and indulging in both chips and salsa and mint chocolate chip ice cream. Which, of course, is a delicious combination.
*With that being said, another of my roomies tried the chicken and liked it. When I make the recipe again, I'll know what to do and what not to do.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Bullet Points
- The Glee season finale was good for the first thirty-five minutes. It was excellent, in fact, until that point. And while I appreciated the twist with Rachel, I was frustrated with what was left out of the episode before we saw Rachel through the end. It had to be a writing or editing issue. Meh. I might talk about this more in another post, but this is not the time and place for that. Soon, though.
- As I write this post, I am alternating between typing and making pancakes. Pour, type, flip, type, move to plate, pour, eat newly made pancake, type, etc.
- In the last four days, I have had two school nightmares and one pregnancy dream. The school nightmares have been pretty standard, though I don't know how much longer they're going to follow me around, since I've graduated...
- Life as a graduate is nice, but also really odd. More on this later.
- I've been slowly going through my belongings, really trying to pare everything down and get rid of the clutter. I've sold back some movies and books, and have gone through my clothes at least twice to pull out some stuff to take over to the Salvation Army, but I still feel like I have so much stuff. It's insane.
- I feel like I've been incredibly lazy in the last week and a half. I've already have had at least two silent freak-outs and have tried writing things down in a list or two, but the problem is that I have two separate lists when I really should have one. I really need to keep tabs on what needs to be done.
- While I was waiting for my car in the shop, I spent the better part of yesterday reading*, something I hadn't done in a long time. I finished a book called Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader by Anne Fadiman and another called Someone Like You by Sarah Dessen. I hope to do a thoughtbox for both soon (as well as one for Mockingjay, which is long overdue). I like this part of the real world. I mean, realistically, I know that I won't always have a free day to do things like that, but it's nice to have even the smallest bit of time to read. Now, if only I can just get myself into a schedule...
- The more flexible schedule is going to take some getting used to.
*I'm a slow reader, so any reading time is precious to me.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Parallels
I like to believe that things tend to come full circle. Or, at least, most of the way around.
During my first week of college classes, I was trying to adjust to the work load. I spent my first day of my history class nodding and nodding and nodding at everything the teacher said when talking through the syllabus. I was devastated that by that Friday, I hadn't finished reading Pride and Prejudice for my first English class (entitled "The Novel"). I did eventually finish the book, about three weeks later, and loved it.* Everything was bright and strange and weird. I'd also fooled myself into thinking that riding my bike to class and getting up at 6:30 every morning was how I was going to spend my time every day of every semester.
This past week was my last official week of classes as an undergraduate. On Monday, I spent a good three hours working on my final illustration project (an illustration of Emma Watson that turned out a lot better than I thought it would), fighting exhaustion from only a few hours of sleep the night before. On Tuesday, I finished up the drawings for my final drawing series as well as the illustration project, and made it home early enough to watch the new Glee episode with Alisha. On Wednesday, I tried to focus my attention on the rough draft of my drawing thesis paper, and wrote late into the night, as has been my tendency with papers. Thursday was a blur of a critique in drawing, which promptly turned into a nightmare when I got frazzled trying to navigate Photoshop and InDesign while working on my portfolio in BFA studio. I called my dad to wish him a happy birthday, angry at myself for not being as talkative as I would have liked.
Friday was my last official day of class. Work was work. Someone brought up Scooter Girl before Advanced Fiction and a thousand memories of my first years in the dorms came rushing back to me. We ate cookies (beautiful, delicious, non-alcoholic confections called 'cookie shots') while singing loudly to the tune of the graduation march while my Creative Writing professor handed out congratulatory cards from the English department to those who were graduating. And then she said her goodbyes, we did TEVALS, and it was done.
As I was walking through the quad on my way back to my car, I witnessed, finally, a group of the tight-rope walkers. And I wanted to cry.
I went to Hunter's and Vicky's BFA reception. Their work in the gallery was INCREDIBLE. The English banquet later that night was beautiful and the finality of the semester really started to hit me. I was simultaneously lamenting the end of everything I'd grown to love over the last few years and eager to dive right into the next step: writing, reading, working, prep for grad school, the freedom from stress. Bittersweet, and understandably so. Being surrounded by friends and teachers and people who loved many of the same things I loved was the perfect way to end the semester. I'll miss it.
The more I think about everything I've experienced over the last six years, the more overwhelmed I become. I feel like I've been experiencing emotions I don't even have names for. But enough sentimentality.**
And then there was this afternoon, when I got a call from one of my oldest college friends, Jenna, as she was in town for the day and wanted to get together with Prairie and I. I met them at ColdStone, our favorite place to go together. We used to go there regularly the first few years of college before we got busy (nearly every Tuesday, when you could get a second Like It for $.25 with a student I.D.). Jenna gave me my graduation present, a gift card for ColdStone, and I ordered my usual, as was the tradition: Cookie Doughn't You Want Some, with extra napkins because it gets messy.
*I'm a slow reader. And that week I was really, really overwhelmed.
**I'm terribly sorry about the sap. I'm working on it.
During my first week of college classes, I was trying to adjust to the work load. I spent my first day of my history class nodding and nodding and nodding at everything the teacher said when talking through the syllabus. I was devastated that by that Friday, I hadn't finished reading Pride and Prejudice for my first English class (entitled "The Novel"). I did eventually finish the book, about three weeks later, and loved it.* Everything was bright and strange and weird. I'd also fooled myself into thinking that riding my bike to class and getting up at 6:30 every morning was how I was going to spend my time every day of every semester.
This past week was my last official week of classes as an undergraduate. On Monday, I spent a good three hours working on my final illustration project (an illustration of Emma Watson that turned out a lot better than I thought it would), fighting exhaustion from only a few hours of sleep the night before. On Tuesday, I finished up the drawings for my final drawing series as well as the illustration project, and made it home early enough to watch the new Glee episode with Alisha. On Wednesday, I tried to focus my attention on the rough draft of my drawing thesis paper, and wrote late into the night, as has been my tendency with papers. Thursday was a blur of a critique in drawing, which promptly turned into a nightmare when I got frazzled trying to navigate Photoshop and InDesign while working on my portfolio in BFA studio. I called my dad to wish him a happy birthday, angry at myself for not being as talkative as I would have liked.
Friday was my last official day of class. Work was work. Someone brought up Scooter Girl before Advanced Fiction and a thousand memories of my first years in the dorms came rushing back to me. We ate cookies (beautiful, delicious, non-alcoholic confections called 'cookie shots') while singing loudly to the tune of the graduation march while my Creative Writing professor handed out congratulatory cards from the English department to those who were graduating. And then she said her goodbyes, we did TEVALS, and it was done.
As I was walking through the quad on my way back to my car, I witnessed, finally, a group of the tight-rope walkers. And I wanted to cry.
I went to Hunter's and Vicky's BFA reception. Their work in the gallery was INCREDIBLE. The English banquet later that night was beautiful and the finality of the semester really started to hit me. I was simultaneously lamenting the end of everything I'd grown to love over the last few years and eager to dive right into the next step: writing, reading, working, prep for grad school, the freedom from stress. Bittersweet, and understandably so. Being surrounded by friends and teachers and people who loved many of the same things I loved was the perfect way to end the semester. I'll miss it.
The more I think about everything I've experienced over the last six years, the more overwhelmed I become. I feel like I've been experiencing emotions I don't even have names for. But enough sentimentality.**
And then there was this afternoon, when I got a call from one of my oldest college friends, Jenna, as she was in town for the day and wanted to get together with Prairie and I. I met them at ColdStone, our favorite place to go together. We used to go there regularly the first few years of college before we got busy (nearly every Tuesday, when you could get a second Like It for $.25 with a student I.D.). Jenna gave me my graduation present, a gift card for ColdStone, and I ordered my usual, as was the tradition: Cookie Doughn't You Want Some, with extra napkins because it gets messy.
*I'm a slow reader. And that week I was really, really overwhelmed.
**I'm terribly sorry about the sap. I'm working on it.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Things
Life during the last month, some instances of which are in bullet points.
- Our BFA reception was a few weeks ago, and it was lovely. I think I might have some kind of social anxiety, though, as there were a lot of people and I was very nervous and overwhelmed because it. We had a good turnout, and I was so happy that people were able to come see the show.
- I'm very glad the show is over, but senioritis has hit me hard in the last week, and I still have a few things to finish up. I'm trying to stay motivated by not thinking about how in two and a half weeks, I will be graduating.
- Today is one of those days in which music sounds really good. Which is nice, of course, because on Monday and Tuesday all I wanted to do was skip every song that came up on my shuffle.
- As graduation approaches, I am feeling two different emotions: first, a sense of relief after what I've been able to accomplish and excitement at what is to come. I've never not been a student before in my life. This next year off (as I apply for graduate programs) should be interesting. Second, an oddly muted sense of sadness and nostalgia, because I fucking love this campus. The people I've met and the faculty I've been able to learn from and the things that I've discovered about myself and my interests and life in general in addition to everything I've learned....That little part of me looks at things like how beautiful campus looks at this time of year and the experiences I've had in English and Art classes and Sigma Tau Delta and the place I've been to because of K-State and the sidewalk chalking and things like that, and suddenly all I want to do is curl into a little ball in the middle of the Quad and cry. Six years. I can't believe it.
- I love thunderstorms, but not when the chance of tornadoes are involved. For about eight hours on the Saturday before last, I was convinced we were going to get hit, and hard. I went through my things, pulling things I wanted to ensure wouldn't get lost/damaged in the worst-case scenario and put them all into bags and toted them down to the basement. (My problem is that I over-worry. I tend to get carried away sometimes.) Luckily, we didn't have much worse than wind and other severe thunderstorm conditions.
- I feel like I've experienced nearly every emotion known to man in the last four weeks. That's spring semester for you.
- I had the urge to draw for kicks last night as I was looking for reference for my last illustration project, and it made me so incredibly happy, because that means I haven't learned to hate drawing. THE LAST TWO YEARS IN DRAWING HAVE NOT MADE ME HATE IT. I think this calls for a celebration!
- Last night's Glee was especially good, but it made my heart hurt, like, a lot. Before, of course, things got better in the end (I was really head-over-heels in love with the episode). So many feelings as of late....
- Two things I have been (somewhat) silently obsessing over: My So-Called Life and One Direction. MSCL is wonderful. Seriously: a teen drama that features realistic, subtle drama, lovable characters, and the main character of Angela, who is insightful and wonderfully imperfect. The only show that I feel justified in comparing it to is what I've seen of Degrassi, but even then the two seem different to me. It's completely unlike anything I've seen, and so, so much more interesting and wonderful than a lot of the stuff I've seen on TV lately. As for One Direction...I can't seem to quit them.
- This is the grooviest song/video I've ever heard/seen. In fact, Gotye's "Making Mirrors" album is beautiful.
- Last year around this time I wrote about the tight-rope walkers. I haven't seen many ropes this spring, but I have seen tons of hammocks strung between the trees. I imagine it's quite peaceful.
- I am really, really going to miss my creative writing class.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Another Quick Word...
Once again I am here, and have much I'd like to talk about. But I have much to do and not a lot of time to spare while trying to fight the urge to procrastinate (which I have already failed at doing at least three times this morning). One of these days I'll get around to talking about Spring Break* and Beatle cover bands and talks with my sister and how much I loved and want to gush about the Hunger Games film and, finally, Mockingjay (both of which I will address soon...)
But...my show hangs in two weeks and I am trying not to loose my head in trying to balance readings and artist statement drafts and ways to hang my work and InDesign things and maybe drawing if there's time to spare. I can't believe it's almost here...
In the meantime, though, I leave you with one of the grooviest, coolest songs the Beatles ever did. Happy Tuesday.
*Edit: Also The Fault in Our Stars, which I finally had the chance to read last week during break, and ultimately loved and cried my eyes out over and really, really want/need to do a thoughtbox over. Did you know that Peter Van Houten is not a real person? I googled him, and he and his book, are not real. Mind = blown.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
The Dog In The Road
Yesterday, when my sister and I were coming back from a trip to Wal-Mart (something we do a lot when we're both home for breaks), we decided to take a back road to get home. It's a road we use a lot when we're heading to Wally World or Pizza Hut, both of which are located on the east side of town. It passes by a Berean church, a few residential areas, the Catholic cemetery, and a retirement home, and we often find ourselves cursing the frustrating but understandable 30 mph signs; it's so easy to cruise on the stretch at 45 without realizing. The stretch allows us to avoid turning onto the highway at a high traffic area.
"So I have a song to play for you," Heidi said, scrolling through the lists of songs on her iPod. She tapped her finger on the screen and set the player on the dashboard, reaching to adjust the volume. "I don't know if you've heard this before or not."
"Oh really?" I asked, tilting my head. As soon as I heard the opening notes, I glanced over at her and back to the road in front of me. It was Gotye's "Somebody That I Used To Know", a song I'd played over and over since she had introduced it to me weeks ago. "I have heard this, actually. Remember? You posted it on my wall?"
"Oh yeah," she said, and cracked a joke (at that point we were in a pretty silly mood).
We passed the cemetery and turned onto the second leg of the route, a hilly stretch that passes by the church and the retirement facility. The closer we got to the church and North Street, though, we started to notice something in the roadway.
"What is happening?" Heidi said, in her usual tone of a statement rather than a question. "What is that? Is that a dog? A person crouched over?"
"I don't know," I said, slowing down and coming to a complete stop about ten feet away. It was a brown and white dog, and it was picking and pulling at a section of roadkill that had been sitting in our lane. "Ugh, that's so gross. What should I do?" I checked the mirrors to see if there was someone behind me, and then ahead to see if there was anyone coming from the opposite direction. There was no one.
"Honk at it," Heidi said.
I did. The first time, the dog didn't do anything. I waited a few seconds for it to move, and then hit the horn once more. The dog just looked up at us, a string reaching from its mouth to the half of roadkill it was picking at that was now hanging an inch from the ground.*
We yelled in disgust, shielding our eyes. Heidi laughed a little. "Oh my God! Is this really happening right now?!" she said.
"Why did you do that?" I yelled at the windshield in direction of the dog, who had ducked his head and resumed its picking. I honked again, two sharp blasts, hoping that it would scare the dog into moving off the road. It didn't.
"Heather, you have to move around it," Heidi said.
"No! The last time something like this happened, the raccoon got spooked at the last second and ran directly into the line of my tires. I don't want to risk hitting the dog if we try to move around it."
"Seriously?" Heidi sounded more annoyed at the situation than at my story. She looked back at the dog. "MOVE!" she yelled. The dog looked up at us again, disinterested.
"What do I do?!" I thought about the possibilities we had. I could reverse down the road a bit, turn into the church parking lot, and go back to the highway, turn right, and head back past Lakeview and Hardees to head home. That was a lot of work, but I did not want to hit the dog--I would never get over it. "Heidi, get out and see if you can shoo it off the road and I'll move the car and then you can get back in..."
"No. Heather, we have to move. You're going to have to move around it--"
"I don't want to!"
"It'll be fine. I don't think it's going anywhere. Just go slowly."
I sighed and then crept forward keeping an eye on the dog and the road ahead. "Watch the dog," I said, turning the wheel to the left a little to change over into the other lane. "Keep an eye on it."
"I know. I'm watching. Just go slowly," she said.
I watched the dog from the corner of my eye as we moved around him, scared that it would get spooked and run in front of my car. I remembered Dad telling me about the dog he'd had as a kid that got hit by a snowblower, and the kid who'd hit it coming to the door in tears to let him and my uncles know.
But as we creeped along beside it, the dog picked up his meal in his mouth, and casually walked around the back of the car safely to the side of the road.
"Really?" Heidi cried. "Did you seriously just do that, dog? Just walk away?"
"Did that seriously just happen? Like, how does that even happen?" But I was relieved.
This morning when we were heading back on the same route coming back from Wal-Mart (Mom asked us to pick up some drinking water), Heidi looked over at me from the driver's seat. "Hey. Remember that one time?"
"That we saw that dog? Yes. I do." I said.
*I apologize for how graphic this is. It was disgusting. I felt like I was in a movie.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The Worst Block of All
Drawing and I have always had a strange relationship. It's rare for me to be completely satisfied with a drawing, and I get discouraged easily. If something isn't looking right, or if I'm not connecting to the process, or even when I feel like all I'm doing is slapping media on to the paper, I shut down. And when that happens, I get really discouraged.
It started the week leading up to my birthday. I knew I wasn't making enough work (something that tends to come up a lot in talking with my drawing professor), but I was still waiting to hear word on a studio space. Thus, I hadn't had a lot of time (or, frankly, motivation) to make as much work as she had wanted me to. The weekend of my birthday, I made five drawings in addition to the two I'd started earlier that week, and I got so frustrated with myself and the unresolved status of a studio space and my upcoming show to be in the mood for any sort of discussion about my work. But, of course, on Valentine's Day, my professor wanted the class to have a critique of the eight drawings I'd done. I wanted to cry. I crossed my arms a lot and didn't pay much attention to what was being said, responding with a resounding "I honestly don't know" to every question asked of me. That same day I found out that because there wasn't a particular space for me to use, I'd be able to use the watercolor studio, a fairly public space for art students, as a studio space. That made me want to cry more, though I understood that the circumstances were beyond anyone's control. Everything combined together made me feel the worst I've ever felt as an art major. What was the point of drawing if all I could contribute was poorly-executed mixed media drawings that failed to connect with my artist statement? Where could I go?
I didn't draw anything for a week. This past week, however, was a little better, though the procrastination has seemed to worsen. I started two drawings that I have yet to finish but haven't had the energy or desire to do so. I started using the watercolor studio, but froze up when other students came in to work on their watercolor assignments or other homework as they waited for their next studio or art history class. I get nervous with other people in the room when I'm drawing. I hate the feeling of someone "looking over my shoulder" and my arm stiffens up and I'm uber conscious of my mark-making. I feel like I can't focus nor let everything go and just draw. It's horrible.
One guy in particular came in on Tuesday, and literally walked up to where I'd taped up the drawing across two drafting tables and was waiting for the gesso I'd applied to dry. He started asking me questions: "What are you using on this?" "Why did you choose to use the gesso with the charcoal?" "How do you like working this big?" And as nice as this guy was, I couldn't help getting secretly annoyed that he was asking me so many questions I wasn't prepared to answer. As far as my bad drawing side was concerned, he was a gawker and I would have given my drawing hand to be anywhere other than in the watercolor room at that very moment.
I feel like I've been drifting in every direction in the last few weeks. Graduation, unresolved studio space issues, the BFA show, preparations for the Sigma Tau Delta Convention, my unwanted but unrelenting senioritis, and the upcoming drawing portfolio all BFA seniors are required to turn in upon completing their BFA show...I've been so distraught I even entertained the idea that I was regretting becoming a drawing major. The other day I tweeted* about how annoyed with myself I'd been because I'd left some of my drawing materials at home, and ultimately that I felt my BFA show (which goes up on Easter Sunday) will suck. Almost immediately after I tweeted this, my friend Hunter, a painting major and fellow graduating senior, responded with:
It was quite a wake-up call, and I told him so later that day when I saw him.
I don't think I'll ever be able to shake my low drawing self-esteem. I've toted it along with me against my will for a long time, managing to overcome it once and awhile (those are the good drawing days). I just want to be making drawings that I'm satisfied with, and thus far, it hasn't worked out that way. And frankly, of all the times for me to experience such a terrible bout of artist's block, this is the worst possible time for it. I cannot afford to be lost this close to the culminating event of my pursuit of a BFA degree.
Last spring, Heidi sent me the link to this song, hoping that it would help me find the understanding I needed.
Have I mentioned how incredible my sister is?
*I hate emotional tweeting, but I realized I've been doing it unconsciously as of late. Alas.
It started the week leading up to my birthday. I knew I wasn't making enough work (something that tends to come up a lot in talking with my drawing professor), but I was still waiting to hear word on a studio space. Thus, I hadn't had a lot of time (or, frankly, motivation) to make as much work as she had wanted me to. The weekend of my birthday, I made five drawings in addition to the two I'd started earlier that week, and I got so frustrated with myself and the unresolved status of a studio space and my upcoming show to be in the mood for any sort of discussion about my work. But, of course, on Valentine's Day, my professor wanted the class to have a critique of the eight drawings I'd done. I wanted to cry. I crossed my arms a lot and didn't pay much attention to what was being said, responding with a resounding "I honestly don't know" to every question asked of me. That same day I found out that because there wasn't a particular space for me to use, I'd be able to use the watercolor studio, a fairly public space for art students, as a studio space. That made me want to cry more, though I understood that the circumstances were beyond anyone's control. Everything combined together made me feel the worst I've ever felt as an art major. What was the point of drawing if all I could contribute was poorly-executed mixed media drawings that failed to connect with my artist statement? Where could I go?
I didn't draw anything for a week. This past week, however, was a little better, though the procrastination has seemed to worsen. I started two drawings that I have yet to finish but haven't had the energy or desire to do so. I started using the watercolor studio, but froze up when other students came in to work on their watercolor assignments or other homework as they waited for their next studio or art history class. I get nervous with other people in the room when I'm drawing. I hate the feeling of someone "looking over my shoulder" and my arm stiffens up and I'm uber conscious of my mark-making. I feel like I can't focus nor let everything go and just draw. It's horrible.
One guy in particular came in on Tuesday, and literally walked up to where I'd taped up the drawing across two drafting tables and was waiting for the gesso I'd applied to dry. He started asking me questions: "What are you using on this?" "Why did you choose to use the gesso with the charcoal?" "How do you like working this big?" And as nice as this guy was, I couldn't help getting secretly annoyed that he was asking me so many questions I wasn't prepared to answer. As far as my bad drawing side was concerned, he was a gawker and I would have given my drawing hand to be anywhere other than in the watercolor room at that very moment.
I feel like I've been drifting in every direction in the last few weeks. Graduation, unresolved studio space issues, the BFA show, preparations for the Sigma Tau Delta Convention, my unwanted but unrelenting senioritis, and the upcoming drawing portfolio all BFA seniors are required to turn in upon completing their BFA show...I've been so distraught I even entertained the idea that I was regretting becoming a drawing major. The other day I tweeted* about how annoyed with myself I'd been because I'd left some of my drawing materials at home, and ultimately that I felt my BFA show (which goes up on Easter Sunday) will suck. Almost immediately after I tweeted this, my friend Hunter, a painting major and fellow graduating senior, responded with:
STOP IT Stop complaining, stop doubting, and#GetYourShitDone If I, THE KING OF PESSIMISM, am telling you to stop, do it#believe
It was quite a wake-up call, and I told him so later that day when I saw him.
I don't think I'll ever be able to shake my low drawing self-esteem. I've toted it along with me against my will for a long time, managing to overcome it once and awhile (those are the good drawing days). I just want to be making drawings that I'm satisfied with, and thus far, it hasn't worked out that way. And frankly, of all the times for me to experience such a terrible bout of artist's block, this is the worst possible time for it. I cannot afford to be lost this close to the culminating event of my pursuit of a BFA degree.
Last spring, Heidi sent me the link to this song, hoping that it would help me find the understanding I needed.
Have I mentioned how incredible my sister is?
*I hate emotional tweeting, but I realized I've been doing it unconsciously as of late. Alas.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Birthday
On my ninth birthday, I was sick*. I insisted on going to school, though, because I had a birthday party after school that day, and I didn't want to cancel it. (Also, I've always hated missing school.) There was also a magic show at school that day, and I got called up to help perform a magic trick that involved pulling out a classmate's underwear. When the magician asked what my name was, I more or less croaked it because I was slowly losing my voice.
Yesterday was my 24th birthday. My parents came into town on Friday night and took me out to dinner. They brought me waffles, spaghetti, and cheesecake. I spent the majority of yesterday running errands or drawing (more of the former, however--I headed out to do errands late morning). My original plan for the weekend was to go home to spend some time with my mom and dad, but since I hadn't had the chance to get some serious drawing done, I needed the weekend to work. I was pretty bummed yesterday, to be honest. I had to remind myself that as far as birthdays go, it wasn't bad at all. I just didn't want to be stressed, and I was.
But it was a good day. I had the chance to see my parents the night before (they gave me a Coca-Cola cookbook, which I'm pretty sure is one of the greatest things in the universe, along with a few other things including a book about the Harry Potter movies and the soundtrack to the broadway cast soundtrack to How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying). I bought myself the Monster Ball DVD and put it on when I was drawing. I browsed the Dusty Bookshelf and bought three books with some of the birthday money I got from my parents. My sister called me to sing me 'happy birthday'.
And I spent the evening of my 24th birthday with friends at the 6th Annual K-State Drag Show. I didn't have to think about schoolwork or anything related to it. I just lost myself in the music and each amazing performance. I knew the moment when a mother sitting near the front brought her one year old up to the edge of the stage, and the toddler held out a dollar bill to the performer, that this is what would become part of making this birthday unique. The birthday I drew and went to my first drag show.
Happy February.
*I think it was my ninth birthday. I was in second grade.
Yesterday was my 24th birthday. My parents came into town on Friday night and took me out to dinner. They brought me waffles, spaghetti, and cheesecake. I spent the majority of yesterday running errands or drawing (more of the former, however--I headed out to do errands late morning). My original plan for the weekend was to go home to spend some time with my mom and dad, but since I hadn't had the chance to get some serious drawing done, I needed the weekend to work. I was pretty bummed yesterday, to be honest. I had to remind myself that as far as birthdays go, it wasn't bad at all. I just didn't want to be stressed, and I was.
But it was a good day. I had the chance to see my parents the night before (they gave me a Coca-Cola cookbook, which I'm pretty sure is one of the greatest things in the universe, along with a few other things including a book about the Harry Potter movies and the soundtrack to the broadway cast soundtrack to How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying). I bought myself the Monster Ball DVD and put it on when I was drawing. I browsed the Dusty Bookshelf and bought three books with some of the birthday money I got from my parents. My sister called me to sing me 'happy birthday'.
And I spent the evening of my 24th birthday with friends at the 6th Annual K-State Drag Show. I didn't have to think about schoolwork or anything related to it. I just lost myself in the music and each amazing performance. I knew the moment when a mother sitting near the front brought her one year old up to the edge of the stage, and the toddler held out a dollar bill to the performer, that this is what would become part of making this birthday unique. The birthday I drew and went to my first drag show.
Happy February.
The cake my roommate Alisha made for me for my birthday. She had me blow out the candles on Friday afternoon before my parents came. They were arranged in the shape of a lightning bolt. 'Twas awesome.
*I think it was my ninth birthday. I was in second grade.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The Terrible Tuesdays
I actually really like Tuesdays this semester; I have my drawing and BFA exhibition classes, and I have time to work on stuff without having to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn to get ready for work.
But today is not a good day. After a weekend of work combined with meetings combined with fitting in drawing whenever I could and trying to finish a slow moving first draft of the first of three short stories for my writing class this semester, I woke up with a bad feeling. It was doom, or some sense of it.
I don't know if it's the prospect of Valentine's Day next week, or the fact I won't be able to visit my parents over the weekend like I'd hoped (my birthday is Saturday). It might be both these things plus my stressing over waiting for a studio space plus the paper I should have gotten about four weeks ago. And the fact that I set up my BFA show on Easter Sunday. I try not to look at it in the sense that everything is working against me this semester, but it's really hard not to.
All I know is that when this song came on my iPod, closely followed by this one, I really had to try not to start bawling my eyes out. I hate getting overly emotional about stuff; I can hardly stand being around myself. It's like my rational side puts up with the comforting one for only so long, and then all I want to do is tell myself to get a grip and then just walk away and get a cup of Earl Grey to calm my nerves.
Perhaps I should try doing just that. Hmm.
P.S. - "Slow Me Down" by Emmy Rossum, for your Tuesday.
But today is not a good day. After a weekend of work combined with meetings combined with fitting in drawing whenever I could and trying to finish a slow moving first draft of the first of three short stories for my writing class this semester, I woke up with a bad feeling. It was doom, or some sense of it.
I don't know if it's the prospect of Valentine's Day next week, or the fact I won't be able to visit my parents over the weekend like I'd hoped (my birthday is Saturday). It might be both these things plus my stressing over waiting for a studio space plus the paper I should have gotten about four weeks ago. And the fact that I set up my BFA show on Easter Sunday. I try not to look at it in the sense that everything is working against me this semester, but it's really hard not to.
All I know is that when this song came on my iPod, closely followed by this one, I really had to try not to start bawling my eyes out. I hate getting overly emotional about stuff; I can hardly stand being around myself. It's like my rational side puts up with the comforting one for only so long, and then all I want to do is tell myself to get a grip and then just walk away and get a cup of Earl Grey to calm my nerves.
Perhaps I should try doing just that. Hmm.
P.S. - "Slow Me Down" by Emmy Rossum, for your Tuesday.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
One of Those Cliche End of 2011 Posts...
I think this year was one of the only years that I slept soundly Christmas Eve. I woke up once during the night when I heard the ringing of a bell, and though I knew it was not what I thought it was, there was a brief moment in which I wondered if, after all those years, I'd finally had some kind of evidence of Santa Claus. The semi-concious mind is a fascinating thing.
A lot has happened in the last year. I became a proud godmother. I have settled into the Tiny Blue Room. I read some of my poetry in Pittsburgh, PA, where Jessica, Kelsey, Laura and I hung out with other English majors, basked in all things English-y, and ate sandwiches topped with french fries. I discovered a lot about drawing and what it means to me personally and in my work. I've thought a lot about the future, and in the process learned a lot about myself and how I want to live my life. I went to see the final HP movie with my sister and my best friends. I was sorted into Ravenclaw on Pottermore. I tried my hand at nonfiction and found another mode of expression that I connected to, learning many things about myself in the process. I completed the requirements for both my French minor and English major. I am three art classes away from graduation. And I started this blog.
I have a lot of thoughts. But now is not the time.
Favorite Books Read in 2011
The Television Cool Point Award 2011
A lot has happened in the last year. I became a proud godmother. I have settled into the Tiny Blue Room. I read some of my poetry in Pittsburgh, PA, where Jessica, Kelsey, Laura and I hung out with other English majors, basked in all things English-y, and ate sandwiches topped with french fries. I discovered a lot about drawing and what it means to me personally and in my work. I've thought a lot about the future, and in the process learned a lot about myself and how I want to live my life. I went to see the final HP movie with my sister and my best friends. I was sorted into Ravenclaw on Pottermore. I tried my hand at nonfiction and found another mode of expression that I connected to, learning many things about myself in the process. I completed the requirements for both my French minor and English major. I am three art classes away from graduation. And I started this blog.
I have a lot of thoughts. But now is not the time.
Favorite Books Read in 2011
- Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins
- The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
- The Sky Is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson
- The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick
The Jury Is Still Out Award 2011
- Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (Thoughtbox coming soon...)
- I Kissed A Girl, 3x07 of Glee
Favorite Glee Episodes Aired in 2011
- Silly Love Songs 2x12
- Born This Way 2x18
- Prom Queen 2x20
- I Am Unicorn 3x02
- Asian F 3x03
- The First Time 3x05
The Television Cool Point Award 2011
- Every single episode of Modern Family, one of my favorite shows ever.
- The First Time, for many reasons.
Favorite Movies
- Super 8
- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2
- Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows
Music (does not mean it has to have been released this year...)
- Florence + The Machine, "Ceremonials"
- Alanis Morissette, "Jagged Little Pill"
- Madonna, "Madonna"
- Lady Gaga, "Born This Way"
- Coldplay, "A Rush of Blood to the Head"
- Panic! At The Disco, "Vices and Virtues"
- Freelance Whales, "Weathervanes"
- Jessie J, "Who You Are"
- Adele, both "19" and "21"
See you in 2012. I'm off to knit and continue with my Glee marathon to ring in the New Year.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Happy Christmas (early)
Christmas is my favorite holiday. I love the joy, I love the love that seems to travel around, I love the music, and I love the tradition (and non-tradition) of it all. I especially love the story of the Nativity, and how simple and complex and wondrous it is. And the angels! Nearly everything about Christmas is special to me. I also love how Christmas takes place around the time of Hanukkah and Kwanzaa and New Years. Happy Holidays indeed.
I have a lot of really good memories that I associate with this time of year, and all of them--good and bad--mean a lot to me one way or another. My favorite Christmas movies include the Charlie Brown Christmas special (anyone catch the reference in Glee's Christmas episode last week? So awesome.), It's A Wonderful Life, and White Christmas. I tend to associate Harry Potter with Christmas--even though it is appropriate any time of the year, there's just something about it around Christmas that makes it seem extra special. I love the memories I have of being up at my grandparents' house, because the experience itself is so much what Christmas has become for me. It doesn't totally feel like Christmas to me when we're not there. I mean, I know that things will change--and have already changed--but the feeling, the joy, I think, will remain the same.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy Kwanzaa. Whatever it is that you do to celebrate these wintery months, much love and joyous tidings to you and your family.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
The Weekend Before Dead Week
I'm tired. I'm annoyed that I feel like I've learned very little in my art history class because of the online lectures--a structure I don't do well with. I want to write more nonfiction but I have to wait until I have other things finished first. I feel like my French Lit teacher thinks I'm an idiot because I have a hard time speaking in French (I don't have time to think it out in my head), even though he probably doesn't. I have a lot of drawing stuff to do before Wednesday and because I don't have any kind of studio space in which to work, I'm having a hard time motivating myself to do anything at the house because I have to work in the dining room and there's TV and my roommates are usually here...
I've discovered as time goes on that I feel very uncomfortable with other people in the room when I'm drawing. It's like someone reading over your shoulder. I can feel the eyes on the drawing.
I've always had that discomfort, though. I'm fine in studio classes when we're drawing as a group until someone comes to walk around to see what everyone else is doing--that's when I get nervous and I feel my arm--and the mark-making--become really stiff. When I make rounds, I can't stand in one place too long because I don't want to do that to anyone else.
Perhaps all the time I spent holed up at home in my room in high school turned me off to any sort of ability to handle any normal social interaction. My extreme lack of confidence with drawing doesn't help, either.
But enough worrying and stressing. Linkage of interest:
First, this beautiful, wonderful ad.
Second, this video celebrating the awesomeness of free speech with quite a few awesome authors (including Sarah Dessen and John Green *cue major fangirling*).
Things I Need to Do Before Christmas:
I've discovered as time goes on that I feel very uncomfortable with other people in the room when I'm drawing. It's like someone reading over your shoulder. I can feel the eyes on the drawing.
I've always had that discomfort, though. I'm fine in studio classes when we're drawing as a group until someone comes to walk around to see what everyone else is doing--that's when I get nervous and I feel my arm--and the mark-making--become really stiff. When I make rounds, I can't stand in one place too long because I don't want to do that to anyone else.
Perhaps all the time I spent holed up at home in my room in high school turned me off to any sort of ability to handle any normal social interaction. My extreme lack of confidence with drawing doesn't help, either.
But enough worrying and stressing. Linkage of interest:
First, this beautiful, wonderful ad.
Second, this video celebrating the awesomeness of free speech with quite a few awesome authors (including Sarah Dessen and John Green *cue major fangirling*).
Things I Need to Do Before Christmas:
- finish my Christmas shopping
- make serious headway in my Nano novel, considering I haven't touched it in a month
- clean the Tiny Blue Room, because everything's pell mell at this point
- reread The Outsiders (which I've been meaning to do for a long time)
- finish the last few things of schoolwork I need to do before the end of the semester on the 16th
- do some hardcore studying for my French final
- get my hair cut (or something...)
Two more weeks. I have to keep reminding myself that there's only two weeks left.
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