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 today i feel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label today i feel. Show all posts
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Saturday, February 9, 2013
New Year
I haven't posted anything in awhile. Mostly it's due to a very busy few months, with starting a new job and trying to pull graduate school application materials together in time for their deadlines. I haven't even finished reading anything since reading The Giver back in October.
But it's also due to a lot of other stuff.
The only thing worse than the quarter-life crisis is depression on top of the quarter-life crisis--and hell, it might even be the same thing. My grandfather passed away the day I started my current job, and since then, I've been in a bit of a funk. Much of November was spent in grief and the stress from trying to get the hang of everything at work. By the beginning of December, I was finally getting things for grad school applications in order when a mild-health issue arose, which led to one of the longest weeks of my life.
On Christmas Eve and Christmas day, I was incredibly weepy. I thought a lot about holidays passed, feeling horrible that I wasn't with my grandmother and my aunt for the holiday and trying to be thankful that I was working full-time, a grand change from the unemployment of two months before.
Then came crunch time for applications and various apartment issues, which lead into the part of depression that included all the wrong kinds of self-peptalks:
I spent a couple days with Brandi, Leah, and Cassie last week when we went to see Lady Gaga again, and for four days I felt really positive about everything. I'd just finished turning in the applications, I was out of the Little Apple for a couple days, and the thrill of seeing Gaga live is always such a beautiful boost in happiness and positivity. Upon my return, however, the feelings came rushing back. I worried that I bored the other girls, that I said stupid things that made them hate me, that I annoyed them. On top of it, I realized a few weeks ago that the last time I'd seen my grandmother and my aunt was back at my grandfather's funeral.
At the moment, it doesn't feel as heavy as before, which I hope is a good sign. I even did a little writing this week--not a lot, but it's a start. I stopped by the library earlier today to pick out a couple books to read, and I'm trying to look forward toward the Sigma Tau Delta convention. I am a writer, and I'm trying desperately to make myself believe it again, because I'm worried that I've forgotten it.
But my birthday is on Monday, and I fear it's going to destroy me like it did last year (aside from the drag show we went to, which was a wonderful pick-me-up). Valentine's Day is coming up, too, and my attitude toward the holiday has changed dramatically in the last few years; I cried myself to sleep in the last two years because everything was too much. I'm trying not to let things overwhelm me.
Things will eventually look up. I know they will. But right now, at this moment, I just feel so unsure. It's like I don't know what I want anymore, though I know I do.
It comes down to trusting in the right words, but all I can find are the wrong ones.
But it's also due to a lot of other stuff.
The only thing worse than the quarter-life crisis is depression on top of the quarter-life crisis--and hell, it might even be the same thing. My grandfather passed away the day I started my current job, and since then, I've been in a bit of a funk. Much of November was spent in grief and the stress from trying to get the hang of everything at work. By the beginning of December, I was finally getting things for grad school applications in order when a mild-health issue arose, which led to one of the longest weeks of my life.
On Christmas Eve and Christmas day, I was incredibly weepy. I thought a lot about holidays passed, feeling horrible that I wasn't with my grandmother and my aunt for the holiday and trying to be thankful that I was working full-time, a grand change from the unemployment of two months before.
Then came crunch time for applications and various apartment issues, which lead into the part of depression that included all the wrong kinds of self-peptalks:
How can you think you'd actually thrive in graduate school? Let's be real. You did, what, one day of Nanowrimo, and look how you've screwed yourself over. You're always on Tumblr or Facebook, wasting time. You will quit. You'll go into debt. You're a fool for thinking this is where you're meant to be. All you'll ever be is right where you are now: a fucking failure working a job paying minimum wage. You want to get out? Get real. You're too afraid to go anywhere. You're wasting your time.
And look at everyone else. They're settling down, with good jobs and families ever growing. When was the last time anyone looked at you? Everyone is always telling you to be confident, and you've failed at that just like everything else. You can't even properly change yourself. The one boyfriend you've had didn't even kiss you in the year and a half you were together. You want to know why that is? Because you're disgusting and you act weird. He told you you were too perfect. The ones you fancy will always be looking the other direction. You're a fake. Give it up, because you'll always be stuck. Alone. Remember: single forever. That was your superlative in the yearbook. You were so effing naive.Needless to say, I've been feeling incredibly inadequate as of late; too many complicated emotions with too much stress from too many directions. It's gotten to a point where I can't even remember how I was so wide-eyed and eager back after graduation. I feel lost.
I spent a couple days with Brandi, Leah, and Cassie last week when we went to see Lady Gaga again, and for four days I felt really positive about everything. I'd just finished turning in the applications, I was out of the Little Apple for a couple days, and the thrill of seeing Gaga live is always such a beautiful boost in happiness and positivity. Upon my return, however, the feelings came rushing back. I worried that I bored the other girls, that I said stupid things that made them hate me, that I annoyed them. On top of it, I realized a few weeks ago that the last time I'd seen my grandmother and my aunt was back at my grandfather's funeral.
At the moment, it doesn't feel as heavy as before, which I hope is a good sign. I even did a little writing this week--not a lot, but it's a start. I stopped by the library earlier today to pick out a couple books to read, and I'm trying to look forward toward the Sigma Tau Delta convention. I am a writer, and I'm trying desperately to make myself believe it again, because I'm worried that I've forgotten it.
But my birthday is on Monday, and I fear it's going to destroy me like it did last year (aside from the drag show we went to, which was a wonderful pick-me-up). Valentine's Day is coming up, too, and my attitude toward the holiday has changed dramatically in the last few years; I cried myself to sleep in the last two years because everything was too much. I'm trying not to let things overwhelm me.
Things will eventually look up. I know they will. But right now, at this moment, I just feel so unsure. It's like I don't know what I want anymore, though I know I do.
It comes down to trusting in the right words, but all I can find are the wrong ones.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
The Terrible Thursdays
My sister, Heidi, has received multiple texts and phone calls from me this week as things have happened, both good and bad. So earlier today, she posted this video, "Somebody That I Used To Know (feat. Kimbra)" by Gotye, on my wall as a break from painting flowers.*
And I was moved. It was the exact thing I needed to hear, and so beautiful. It's not just creative inspiration (for lack of a less possibly cliche way to say it), but also an example of how wonderful Heidi is. She always knows the right thing to say, the perfect advice to give, the right song to hear when your day is the worst of all. I am so very blessed to have the best sister in the world.** I don't know how I'd be able to get through each day without her. She's my best friend.
*The subject of my rendering project for my illustration class.
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 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.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The Issue with "Breaking Dawn"
So I just got back from seeing The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1 with Mom. I have many thoughts.
First, though, a little background/disclaimer.
I did not want them to make Breaking Dawn into two movies. I thought it was a foolish idea, and that the decision itself was purely for the purposes of making more money, and not necessarily for the sake of the story itself. I was convinced putting it into two parts would ruin it, would make it into some kind of joke, and I didn't want that at all. This is my problem, though: I honestly feel that BD does not have a story that can carry out through two parts. Not that the story is bad--because it certainly isn't. I just feel that BD's story is not complex enough to warrant two parts. Like in Eclipse, there is a heckuvah lot of wait time in BD. Don't get me wrong--I love the book. I love its quirks, I love the way the plot is structured overall (albeit how effing weird some parts are), and it's a lovely close to an entertaining and unique-ish romance. My dearest wish was that they'd treat it like they did with Eclipse and cut down on the annoying let's-sit-here-and-talk-while-we-wait time (leading to a battle that does not really take place, in all honesty) and make it into a cohesive, exciting story for film. The wait time won't work cinematically, and I was not sure they could achieve that with BD if they made it into two parts. Needless to say, I was incredibly miffed when they announced it would split. They would have to prove to me that the decision was worth it.
Now that that's out of the way, on to the first part itself. (I should also clarify that it has been awhile since I read the book, so please pardon me if I misremember anything. I really should reread it soon, especially for part 2...) Major spoiler warning.
After finally seeing Part 1, I still don't know how to feel about it. I'm interested in the idea that this part focused on the "conflict" with the Quileutes, while the brief scene we get during the credits suggests that the overlying conflict in part 2 will be with the Volturi. This, I thought, was a good decision, but even then, the conflict was mostly driven by Jacob: the wolves were fine, and then they were angry, and then Jacob left, and they were angry with him in addition to the Cullens....I couldn't remember when Jacob takes official position as Alpha, and I spent much of the last half of the movie wondering when it was going to happen. (When does it happen?) I wasn't sure what to do with it all, though, and I couldn't remember enough from when I read the book to be sure either way. I was pleased, however, to see that they hadn't seemed to divide the point of view between Bella and Jacob. The scenes in La Push and those in Forks seemed cohesive and flowed really well with one another. I did, however, miss Leah explaining her perspective from being the only girl in the pack, but I wonder if they're going to address that in part 2.
I was very pleased with the first half of the movie. The wedding and honeymoon were beautifully done, and I really found myself caught up in it. I cracked up during the speech montage at the wedding (Emmett's and Jessica's were my favorites), and I adored the post-coitus montage during the honeymoon. I thought Bella's attempts to seduce Edward were funny, and they felt very Bella-like to me. It was also really cool to see them doing things: swimming, hiking, playing chess (though I did roll my eyes a little). I really felt their love and adoration for one another. One of my favorite sequences is when Bella realizes she may be preggers, from when she makes the chicken to when she calls Rosalie for help. I felt there was a lot of tension during this sequence, and I got chills watching the scene where Edward asks the woman who comes to clean about what she knows regarding what's happening to Bella.
I also really liked the scene where Edward and Bella are discussing the possibilities if Bella does die--which seems likely at that point in the movie--and Edward's outburst. This scene/sub plot was really well handled with the perfect amount of tension. Edward's anguish was palpable: he was facing the possibility of losing his reason for living, and no matter what Bella said--nor the responsibility of taking care of their unborn child--could make up for the fact that he knows he couldn't handle losing her. I thought this scene was a nice parallel, of sorts, to the scene in which Edward hears the baby's thoughts. Beautifully done, and I really felt the emotion the scene was carrying. (What can I say? I ship Edward/Bella forever and ever.)
I hated the wolf-telepathy part, as well as how they handled Jacob's imprint. The wolf-telepathy is something I can understand being very difficult to translate without it seeming campy. But it really was. I sat there for its duration feeling embarrassment for the first time ever watching a Twilight movie. It was too much. I almost wish the pack was in their human form for that scene, thought admittedly it would have taken away from the importance of Jacob declaring his independence/authority in the pack and the significance of it taking place when he's in wolf form. As for the imprint, I don't think it had the oomph it needed. Again, I understand the difficulty of translating it in a way that makes sense onscreen, but the montage didn't do it for me. I didn't feel like Jacob's whole world had shifted. All in all, it was an incredible disappointment.*
I don't know how I feel about the inside-the-body montages. It definitely warrants a second viewing. I did like how you see a snippet of almost-dead-Bella in pain followed by a shot of her lying there, calm and internalizing the agony. The birth scene in general is something I'm undecided on; I LOVED the tension and emotion when Edward is trying to save her, and I could really feel Jacob's misery when he believes her to be dead. But wasn't Carlisle supposed to be there? Or am I remembering incorrectly?
They ended about where I thought they would--I feel like there wasn't a lot of surprise in regards to the split point, to be honest. It's been awhile since I've read the book, but I could see some of the logic in ending it right after Renesme is born. I was surprised, however, that they went as far as to show the moment right as Bella finishes transforming. I thought they'd save that for part 2, but the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of leaving that as a cliffhanger. It holds a lot of tension and mystery.
Ultimately, I feel like I can't really have an opinion about this movie until I've seen part 2. I still feel like there's not going to be enough genuine plot to make it work as a movie in itself. We have yet to see the other awesome vampires from around the world (including Garrett *fist pump*), see Bella kick some major ass as the badass vampire she is (including when she gets angry with Jacob for being annoying about calling her daughter "Nessie"), and (hopefully) see her go talk to the man who makes the fake i.d.'s (though this scene is arguably unnecessary). But then there's the fact that this huge battle they're expecting to fight doesn't actually happen (and the last half of the book builds and builds and the tension is never really dealt with). And then, of course, Alice disappears for a disconcerting amount of time, which kills me (Alice is one of my favorite characters). And honestly? Most of these little things happen AS THEY ARE WAITING FOR THIS BATTLE THAT NEVER HAPPENS. I feel like they really need to beef it up or something; make it so that it won't leave the audience feeling unsatisfied plot-wise. They need to be wise about splitting it up. I mean, I suppose Part 1 works....to an extent. But as of right now? I do not yet understand why the split had to be made.
Some points of interest:
First, though, a little background/disclaimer.
I did not want them to make Breaking Dawn into two movies. I thought it was a foolish idea, and that the decision itself was purely for the purposes of making more money, and not necessarily for the sake of the story itself. I was convinced putting it into two parts would ruin it, would make it into some kind of joke, and I didn't want that at all. This is my problem, though: I honestly feel that BD does not have a story that can carry out through two parts. Not that the story is bad--because it certainly isn't. I just feel that BD's story is not complex enough to warrant two parts. Like in Eclipse, there is a heckuvah lot of wait time in BD. Don't get me wrong--I love the book. I love its quirks, I love the way the plot is structured overall (albeit how effing weird some parts are), and it's a lovely close to an entertaining and unique-ish romance. My dearest wish was that they'd treat it like they did with Eclipse and cut down on the annoying let's-sit-here-and-talk-while-we-wait time (leading to a battle that does not really take place, in all honesty) and make it into a cohesive, exciting story for film. The wait time won't work cinematically, and I was not sure they could achieve that with BD if they made it into two parts. Needless to say, I was incredibly miffed when they announced it would split. They would have to prove to me that the decision was worth it.
Now that that's out of the way, on to the first part itself. (I should also clarify that it has been awhile since I read the book, so please pardon me if I misremember anything. I really should reread it soon, especially for part 2...) Major spoiler warning.
After finally seeing Part 1, I still don't know how to feel about it. I'm interested in the idea that this part focused on the "conflict" with the Quileutes, while the brief scene we get during the credits suggests that the overlying conflict in part 2 will be with the Volturi. This, I thought, was a good decision, but even then, the conflict was mostly driven by Jacob: the wolves were fine, and then they were angry, and then Jacob left, and they were angry with him in addition to the Cullens....I couldn't remember when Jacob takes official position as Alpha, and I spent much of the last half of the movie wondering when it was going to happen. (When does it happen?) I wasn't sure what to do with it all, though, and I couldn't remember enough from when I read the book to be sure either way. I was pleased, however, to see that they hadn't seemed to divide the point of view between Bella and Jacob. The scenes in La Push and those in Forks seemed cohesive and flowed really well with one another. I did, however, miss Leah explaining her perspective from being the only girl in the pack, but I wonder if they're going to address that in part 2.
I was very pleased with the first half of the movie. The wedding and honeymoon were beautifully done, and I really found myself caught up in it. I cracked up during the speech montage at the wedding (Emmett's and Jessica's were my favorites), and I adored the post-coitus montage during the honeymoon. I thought Bella's attempts to seduce Edward were funny, and they felt very Bella-like to me. It was also really cool to see them doing things: swimming, hiking, playing chess (though I did roll my eyes a little). I really felt their love and adoration for one another. One of my favorite sequences is when Bella realizes she may be preggers, from when she makes the chicken to when she calls Rosalie for help. I felt there was a lot of tension during this sequence, and I got chills watching the scene where Edward asks the woman who comes to clean about what she knows regarding what's happening to Bella.
I also really liked the scene where Edward and Bella are discussing the possibilities if Bella does die--which seems likely at that point in the movie--and Edward's outburst. This scene/sub plot was really well handled with the perfect amount of tension. Edward's anguish was palpable: he was facing the possibility of losing his reason for living, and no matter what Bella said--nor the responsibility of taking care of their unborn child--could make up for the fact that he knows he couldn't handle losing her. I thought this scene was a nice parallel, of sorts, to the scene in which Edward hears the baby's thoughts. Beautifully done, and I really felt the emotion the scene was carrying. (What can I say? I ship Edward/Bella forever and ever.)
I hated the wolf-telepathy part, as well as how they handled Jacob's imprint. The wolf-telepathy is something I can understand being very difficult to translate without it seeming campy. But it really was. I sat there for its duration feeling embarrassment for the first time ever watching a Twilight movie. It was too much. I almost wish the pack was in their human form for that scene, thought admittedly it would have taken away from the importance of Jacob declaring his independence/authority in the pack and the significance of it taking place when he's in wolf form. As for the imprint, I don't think it had the oomph it needed. Again, I understand the difficulty of translating it in a way that makes sense onscreen, but the montage didn't do it for me. I didn't feel like Jacob's whole world had shifted. All in all, it was an incredible disappointment.*
I don't know how I feel about the inside-the-body montages. It definitely warrants a second viewing. I did like how you see a snippet of almost-dead-Bella in pain followed by a shot of her lying there, calm and internalizing the agony. The birth scene in general is something I'm undecided on; I LOVED the tension and emotion when Edward is trying to save her, and I could really feel Jacob's misery when he believes her to be dead. But wasn't Carlisle supposed to be there? Or am I remembering incorrectly?
They ended about where I thought they would--I feel like there wasn't a lot of surprise in regards to the split point, to be honest. It's been awhile since I've read the book, but I could see some of the logic in ending it right after Renesme is born. I was surprised, however, that they went as far as to show the moment right as Bella finishes transforming. I thought they'd save that for part 2, but the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of leaving that as a cliffhanger. It holds a lot of tension and mystery.
Ultimately, I feel like I can't really have an opinion about this movie until I've seen part 2. I still feel like there's not going to be enough genuine plot to make it work as a movie in itself. We have yet to see the other awesome vampires from around the world (including Garrett *fist pump*), see Bella kick some major ass as the badass vampire she is (including when she gets angry with Jacob for being annoying about calling her daughter "Nessie"), and (hopefully) see her go talk to the man who makes the fake i.d.'s (though this scene is arguably unnecessary). But then there's the fact that this huge battle they're expecting to fight doesn't actually happen (and the last half of the book builds and builds and the tension is never really dealt with). And then, of course, Alice disappears for a disconcerting amount of time, which kills me (Alice is one of my favorite characters). And honestly? Most of these little things happen AS THEY ARE WAITING FOR THIS BATTLE THAT NEVER HAPPENS. I feel like they really need to beef it up or something; make it so that it won't leave the audience feeling unsatisfied plot-wise. They need to be wise about splitting it up. I mean, I suppose Part 1 works....to an extent. But as of right now? I do not yet understand why the split had to be made.
Some points of interest:
- The dream Bella has of her and Edward in their wedding garb standing on the pile of their loved ones, drained and deceased, was particularly chilling to me. I couldn't remember if that was something she'd dreamed in the book, but I loved it all the same. Nicely done. I approve.
- I LOVED the wedding speech montage, especially Emmett's recommendation for Bella to get plenty of sleep now when she still can. Geddit? Because, you know, Bella's going to become a vampire, and she and Edward will be breaking headboards every chance they get. I appreciated the pause there, too, as the double meaning of what he was saying sunk in. I laughed so hard. Emmett is awesome.
- Seth Clearwater really bothered me in Eclipse. This time, however, I grew to love him. I don't know what he did this time around, but I really, really felt for the kid watching this movie.
- Rene and Charlie reacting to the graduation cap artwork = GENIUS and hilarious, as well as a nice throw-back to the first film.
- I missed Bella's strong reaction to realizing she'd probably never see her mother again. I didn't feel that panic at all as I did in the book.
- I did enjoy most of the montages throughout the movie, especially the pre-act Nervous Bella (Kristen Stewart did a really nice job with this; I felt it was very much Book Bella on screen). The look on her face when she finds what lingerie Alice had packed for her is perfect (and incredibly hilarious). I also really like Bella's life-flashing-before-her-life montage.
- I did like the Edward-as-a-killer-in-the-teens-and-twenties flashback. Nicely done.
- Bella looked disconcertingly emaciated. Oddly enough, I was really pleased with that detail even though it was really difficult looking at her in that state. Great effects.
- I did not care for the effects with the wolves during the "fight" at the end. I thought they looked incredibly sloppy. The wolves were fine throughout the rest of the movie, though. (I know, it's weird, but I don't know how to explain it.)
- I was really uncomfortable watching the scene in which Bella drinks the blood. This isn't unusual: I felt the exact same way when reading that in the book. Also interesting to note: Edward puts the blood into a styrofoam cup, not unlike the one I had been drinking from during the movie, though mine was filled with Mt. Dew instead of blood.
- What was up with Jasper's hair?? Why do they feel like they have to change it every movie?
- I liked seeing the Denali clan at the wedding. I do admit, though, that I don't remember Edward mentioning them in the previous movies, so I wondered if those who hadn't read the books were confused.
- Alice is perfection in every scene she's in. I LOVED her directing everyone when they're decorating, as well as her having Bella practice in heels. I also loved the scene in which she and Rosalie help Bella with her hair and makeup.
- The honeymoon scene was lovely. I have no criticisms whatsoever.
- Jasper and Alice swing dancing during the reception was unexpected but so, so perfect. I ship them so hard, it's ridiculous.
- Bella's dress was GORGEOUS. Holy schmokes, was it beautiful.
- I love the moment at the wedding right after the vows where Bella and Edward kiss and it's like there's no one else there. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I thought it was a beautiful shot.
- Can we talk about how hilarious and awesome Emmett and Jasper are when they are waiting for Edward before the bachelor party?
- I think the only wolf pack scene that worked for me was the one where they're sitting on the beach talking, and the members who have not yet imprinted are watching the others with resentment and such.
- Jacob didn't piss me off this time around as he did in the third film. I especially love the scenes where Edward asks him to talk to Bella and the one where he does go talk to her about considering, essentially, an abortion. Really great acting in both, from all involved.
- I'm not quite sure this film has established the significance of why Rosalie would be the one on Bella's side. I did like, though, how Rosalie was adamant about referring to Renesmee as "the baby," as opposed to "that thing" or "the fetus."
- I'm curious as to how they're going to handle Renesmee. I didn't know how to feel about what we saw of her as Jacob was imprinting. Also, I thought I saw teeth on the baby, but I could have been imagining it. Related: I didn't know how to handle the part when she bites Bella, and then Edward takes her away....I just don't know. It's all so jumbled to me. I felt that way when reading the book, too, but something about the way it was handled in the movie....
*throws up hands* I just don't know. I really don't.
*I have mixed feelings about the imprint in the book; I feel very cheated as a reader in general that Jacob imprinted on Renesme because to me, it seems to negate the relationship that had been built so carefully between Bella and Jacob in the three books previous. It was like the relationship hadn't ever meant anything in the first place, but perhaps that's the peculiar thing about imprinting (see Leah and Sam's destroyed relationship).
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Home Again
My weekends at home are much too short, and I have noticed each visit seems to get shorter and shorter.
Anyway.
Fall is my favorite season. There is a small maple tree in the yard, and one of the best things about fall is watching its leaves turn from green to yellow and orange to a rich red-orange. I missed the turning this year; most of the leaves have fallen from the branches, and the red-orange on most of the remaining leaves has faded to a gorgeous burnt orange color.
I missed homecoming for the first time in years this year, and I can't decide whether I'm upset or not. At the moment, it's an ache that I can't really put my finger on. I love homecoming; it was and will forever be part of my favorite memories of growing up in my hometown.
Heidi's birthday is this coming week, so my family and I have been having a sort of mini-celebration for her. She's been home since last Monday for her fall break. After the having survived this horrible week, I wish I'd been able to have my fall break at the same time.
As is the tradition for being home, we've watched a Harry Potter movie (two this time around, both Prisoner of Azkaban and Order of the Phoenix on Heidi's request as she is the Birthday Girl). Heidi and I went to see the Footloose remake last night at the Astro 3, and despite the fact that there was a country remake of the title song during the last scene of the movie, we were both pleased and genuinely entertained. It was very good, and I'd definitely see it again.
After the movie, Heidi and I went cruising to talk and listen to music. Conversation is a beautiful thing, and those I have with Heidi are some of my most treasured.
I'm not looking forward to having to return to the Little Apple tomorrow; not that I hate it, because I don't. I just need more time here. I haven't been home much since the beginning of the year. In the last 24 hours alone, I've felt more calm, laughed more genuinely, and had more of a focus on life than I've had in ages. Thanksgiving break cannot come soon enough.
Anyway.
Fall is my favorite season. There is a small maple tree in the yard, and one of the best things about fall is watching its leaves turn from green to yellow and orange to a rich red-orange. I missed the turning this year; most of the leaves have fallen from the branches, and the red-orange on most of the remaining leaves has faded to a gorgeous burnt orange color.
I missed homecoming for the first time in years this year, and I can't decide whether I'm upset or not. At the moment, it's an ache that I can't really put my finger on. I love homecoming; it was and will forever be part of my favorite memories of growing up in my hometown.
Heidi's birthday is this coming week, so my family and I have been having a sort of mini-celebration for her. She's been home since last Monday for her fall break. After the having survived this horrible week, I wish I'd been able to have my fall break at the same time.
As is the tradition for being home, we've watched a Harry Potter movie (two this time around, both Prisoner of Azkaban and Order of the Phoenix on Heidi's request as she is the Birthday Girl). Heidi and I went to see the Footloose remake last night at the Astro 3, and despite the fact that there was a country remake of the title song during the last scene of the movie, we were both pleased and genuinely entertained. It was very good, and I'd definitely see it again.
After the movie, Heidi and I went cruising to talk and listen to music. Conversation is a beautiful thing, and those I have with Heidi are some of my most treasured.
I'm not looking forward to having to return to the Little Apple tomorrow; not that I hate it, because I don't. I just need more time here. I haven't been home much since the beginning of the year. In the last 24 hours alone, I've felt more calm, laughed more genuinely, and had more of a focus on life than I've had in ages. Thanksgiving break cannot come soon enough.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Little Known Fact #3
I am extremely self-concious about many things: my writing, my drawings, my "cartoon fingers" (as one of my best friends once affectionately called them), my social skills, etc. The thing I am most self-concious about, however, is my chubbiness and my weight.
When my grandparents (Dad's parents) were still alive and we would make our annual trip up to Michigan, there was one summer in which some local boys would come to the park just across the block from my grandparents' house and harass my sister and I. They yelled, "Chunk-EE, Chunky Soup!" at me. I had never met them before, and we were only ever in Michigan for a week or two each year.
There was at least one girl in my class in Junior High who consistently referred to me as "Heifer". Up until that time, I had been called "fat" or "fatso."
Almost every time I go shopping for clothes, some kind of disaster arises.
When I was in second grade, I really, really wanted to become a gymnast (as the Olympics were being held in Atlanta, GA that year). Mom had found a simple body suit-type thing that resembled a gymnastic unitard for me, and I was so thrilled to have something to practice my "sweet routines" in. I was so excited about this outfit that I put it on and ran down to our-neighbors'-down-the-block's house to show Audrey, the oldest girl of the family and the one I remember wanting to impress the most. She was sitting on the stoop of another neighbor's house with Amy, who was in high school. When I ran up to them, Audrey looked up at me, and burst out laughing.
"What?" I asked shyly, my face falling. "What's so funny?"
She doubled up even more, her blond ringlets framing her face. "Nothing--" she tried catching her breath--"The dog peed." I don't remember how Amy reacted. She seems to fade into the memory.
I think I knew in that moment that Audrey was lying.
When I walked into my boss's office earlier this evening to get a band-aid for my thumb, and stood there talking with her and one of my coworkers, my boss turned to me.
"Heather, you were doing so good on that diet you were on last year. You should get back on it. You were loosing all that weight..."
I clammed up and busied myself with trying to get the finger cot I'd pulled out of the first aid kit over the band-aid and the rest of my thumb.
"Is that a touchy subject?" she asked.
I sighed. "Yeah..."
She may not have meant it the way I took it. I don't know. My reaction, however, was truth: this single interchange and the little discussion that followed it made me want to curl up in a distant corner and cry.
When my grandparents (Dad's parents) were still alive and we would make our annual trip up to Michigan, there was one summer in which some local boys would come to the park just across the block from my grandparents' house and harass my sister and I. They yelled, "Chunk-EE, Chunky Soup!" at me. I had never met them before, and we were only ever in Michigan for a week or two each year.
There was at least one girl in my class in Junior High who consistently referred to me as "Heifer". Up until that time, I had been called "fat" or "fatso."
Almost every time I go shopping for clothes, some kind of disaster arises.
When I was in second grade, I really, really wanted to become a gymnast (as the Olympics were being held in Atlanta, GA that year). Mom had found a simple body suit-type thing that resembled a gymnastic unitard for me, and I was so thrilled to have something to practice my "sweet routines" in. I was so excited about this outfit that I put it on and ran down to our-neighbors'-down-the-block's house to show Audrey, the oldest girl of the family and the one I remember wanting to impress the most. She was sitting on the stoop of another neighbor's house with Amy, who was in high school. When I ran up to them, Audrey looked up at me, and burst out laughing.
"What?" I asked shyly, my face falling. "What's so funny?"
She doubled up even more, her blond ringlets framing her face. "Nothing--" she tried catching her breath--"The dog peed." I don't remember how Amy reacted. She seems to fade into the memory.
I think I knew in that moment that Audrey was lying.
When I walked into my boss's office earlier this evening to get a band-aid for my thumb, and stood there talking with her and one of my coworkers, my boss turned to me.
"Heather, you were doing so good on that diet you were on last year. You should get back on it. You were loosing all that weight..."
I clammed up and busied myself with trying to get the finger cot I'd pulled out of the first aid kit over the band-aid and the rest of my thumb.
"Is that a touchy subject?" she asked.
I sighed. "Yeah..."
She may not have meant it the way I took it. I don't know. My reaction, however, was truth: this single interchange and the little discussion that followed it made me want to curl up in a distant corner and cry.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
It Was a Tuesday
At least, I think it was a Tuesday. I was in eighth grade, and was sitting in second hour, Advanced English.
Mrs. Bower, the gifted teacher, was in the room preparing things for the days' lesson; she came every Tuesday in class to do different activities with us. Sometimes we did projects, sometimes stories with holes, sometimes different writing assignments aside from what Mrs. Anderson was having us do. I don't remember what she had planned for that day.
Shortly after class had started, Mr. Young, the American History teacher for in the high school (the junior high was connected to the high school) popped his head into the room.
"Some idiot just ran a plane into the World Trade Center," he told Mrs. Bower and Mrs. Anderson.
Channel One, a news program we watched every day at the beginning of second hour, didn't have any news that day about the WTC. I knew it was because it was taped before anything actually happened in New York City. It wasn't until the next day that we saw anything related to the tragedy.
We watched the news in almost every class for the rest of the day. Mr. Thexton, my Earth Science teacher, snapped at our class when some of us weren't paying attention to what we were seeing on screen. Some people in my classes joked a little about it. I remember being horrified when I saw images of people running away from a train of billowing smoke down the street. And it continued to get worse, and I wondered this real thing that was actually happening would never end. That kind of thing only happened in movies.
At lunch, the teachers had set up a television on a rolling cart in the cafeteria and had turned on the news. I sat at a round table close to where the t.v. set was, watching and trying to process what was happening as I waited for the rest of the group I sat with to arrive. Tessa and Leanne came, talking.
Bethany, one girl who I used to call my best friend (and I seemed to go through a lot of them), was one of the last of us to sit down. She walked up to the table in a mild rage, her feet attached to some invisible engine propelling her forward. She slammed her tray down, and looked at us all before taking her seat.
"I can't believe it," she said, her tone serious and tinged with snark. "I was going to visit the World Trade Center some day and now I can't even go because someone knocked it down."
I sat there, shocked. Was she really going to make this all about her? Did she not realize what had happened? How many lives were lost, from the employees inside the building to the people on the planes and then those who tried to save them? How many families were affected, including, as I would find out later that day, a distant cousin on my mom's side and his two daughters, who were much to young to fully grasp what had happened, who had lost a wife and mother that morning?
This was much bigger than that. It affected all of us.
Mrs. Bower, the gifted teacher, was in the room preparing things for the days' lesson; she came every Tuesday in class to do different activities with us. Sometimes we did projects, sometimes stories with holes, sometimes different writing assignments aside from what Mrs. Anderson was having us do. I don't remember what she had planned for that day.
Shortly after class had started, Mr. Young, the American History teacher for in the high school (the junior high was connected to the high school) popped his head into the room.
"Some idiot just ran a plane into the World Trade Center," he told Mrs. Bower and Mrs. Anderson.
Channel One, a news program we watched every day at the beginning of second hour, didn't have any news that day about the WTC. I knew it was because it was taped before anything actually happened in New York City. It wasn't until the next day that we saw anything related to the tragedy.
We watched the news in almost every class for the rest of the day. Mr. Thexton, my Earth Science teacher, snapped at our class when some of us weren't paying attention to what we were seeing on screen. Some people in my classes joked a little about it. I remember being horrified when I saw images of people running away from a train of billowing smoke down the street. And it continued to get worse, and I wondered this real thing that was actually happening would never end. That kind of thing only happened in movies.
At lunch, the teachers had set up a television on a rolling cart in the cafeteria and had turned on the news. I sat at a round table close to where the t.v. set was, watching and trying to process what was happening as I waited for the rest of the group I sat with to arrive. Tessa and Leanne came, talking.
Bethany, one girl who I used to call my best friend (and I seemed to go through a lot of them), was one of the last of us to sit down. She walked up to the table in a mild rage, her feet attached to some invisible engine propelling her forward. She slammed her tray down, and looked at us all before taking her seat.
"I can't believe it," she said, her tone serious and tinged with snark. "I was going to visit the World Trade Center some day and now I can't even go because someone knocked it down."
I sat there, shocked. Was she really going to make this all about her? Did she not realize what had happened? How many lives were lost, from the employees inside the building to the people on the planes and then those who tried to save them? How many families were affected, including, as I would find out later that day, a distant cousin on my mom's side and his two daughters, who were much to young to fully grasp what had happened, who had lost a wife and mother that morning?
This was much bigger than that. It affected all of us.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Hodgepodge #3
It's been at least two weeks since we've moved into the house. Our dining room still has some boxes (all of them belonging to the other girls; Alisha and I have both unpacked/set aside our own things), and I still have to figure out what posters I want up in my room. If they'll fit within my limited wall space, anyway.
We had a cook-out Sunday night as a kind of house-warming to celebrate. A handful of friends came to eat food and hang out with us. Andrew and Nate came from KC to visit--both of whom we don't get to see very often, so it was great to visit with both of them. Maybe it was just me and my simplistic expectations, but what I thought was going to be a leisurely, mellow get-together turned out to feel more like a let's-get-crunk "leisurely" party. Prairie and Emma were drunk. Alisha was tipsy and wanting to start a kind of dance-party thing in our living room (something I wasn't completely opposed to, but was still in that things-will-break nervous state). Amanda left at one point with John and a few of their friends, and my camera was passed around (ninety percent of the pictures from the party were not taken by me).
Overall it was a success--and it really was a lot of fun. The best part was getting the chance to see most of our friends in one place at one time. I am just not the kind of person who handles social situations very well. And there was a lot of loud talking and laughing and I got a little nervous.
The Glee Project's finale is next week. I was devastated and a little miffed when Hannah was sent home two weeks ago. (I mean, seriously, Glee Project? You're going to send home Hannah--who is the show--in favor of the two people who can sing better than her? Who furthermore, incidentally, received more criticism from Ryan Murphy than her. Explain that to me, please.) Anyway, I'm really hoping Damian will win, and I have a strong feeling--a.k.a. I'm wishing hard--that he'll be the one to come out on top. Or Alex. I wouldn't mind Alex winning. Samuel is incredibly talented, but we are still finding out things about him. What is his deal? And Lindsay...I don't know what I'd do if she wins.
Classes for the fall semester begin on Monday. I'm very discombobulated at the moment concerning this. The end of the summer "vacation" has taken a kind of toll on my patience and positivity. I don't know how to describe it; I'm not really angry, per say, nor am I in a bad mood. There have been days where I have indeed had the chance to sit back. But those days were few, sporadic, and never lasted longer than three days. Why didn't I take off a week or two? And why did the summer go by so fast? I need some time at home, away from everything here. I want to see my parents longer than just three days. I want to be able to meet up with Maggie so I can visit with her, and also see my goddaughter Emilyn, whom I haven't seen since the beginning of June. I want to see my cats Angus and Naomi (both of which I'm technically barred from bringing to live with me at the new house). I don't want to have to worry about work or classwork. I want to start the sweater I've been meaning to knit for my sister (if my poor knitting mojo doesn't let me down, that is).
C'est la vie. I think this will make Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks all the more special, however. I wonder if it's healthy for this kind of thing to happen to a person. (I'm almost sure it isn't.) This is why there are paid vacations at Big Kid Jobs and breaks in education. Everyone needs a moment to pause or they'll combust.
I'll leave you this afternoon with new bits of awesome from Lady Gaga. Music is a wonderful thing; there is something really special about losing yourself in the sounds and the words. For some reason I keep thinking about that one part of Disney's Fantasia where they try to recreate the visuals of the sounds. I don't know if the two things have an actually connection, but it makes sense in my head.
We had a cook-out Sunday night as a kind of house-warming to celebrate. A handful of friends came to eat food and hang out with us. Andrew and Nate came from KC to visit--both of whom we don't get to see very often, so it was great to visit with both of them. Maybe it was just me and my simplistic expectations, but what I thought was going to be a leisurely, mellow get-together turned out to feel more like a let's-get-crunk "leisurely" party. Prairie and Emma were drunk. Alisha was tipsy and wanting to start a kind of dance-party thing in our living room (something I wasn't completely opposed to, but was still in that things-will-break nervous state). Amanda left at one point with John and a few of their friends, and my camera was passed around (ninety percent of the pictures from the party were not taken by me).
Overall it was a success--and it really was a lot of fun. The best part was getting the chance to see most of our friends in one place at one time. I am just not the kind of person who handles social situations very well. And there was a lot of loud talking and laughing and I got a little nervous.
The Glee Project's finale is next week. I was devastated and a little miffed when Hannah was sent home two weeks ago. (I mean, seriously, Glee Project? You're going to send home Hannah--who is the show--in favor of the two people who can sing better than her? Who furthermore, incidentally, received more criticism from Ryan Murphy than her. Explain that to me, please.) Anyway, I'm really hoping Damian will win, and I have a strong feeling--a.k.a. I'm wishing hard--that he'll be the one to come out on top. Or Alex. I wouldn't mind Alex winning. Samuel is incredibly talented, but we are still finding out things about him. What is his deal? And Lindsay...I don't know what I'd do if she wins.
Classes for the fall semester begin on Monday. I'm very discombobulated at the moment concerning this. The end of the summer "vacation" has taken a kind of toll on my patience and positivity. I don't know how to describe it; I'm not really angry, per say, nor am I in a bad mood. There have been days where I have indeed had the chance to sit back. But those days were few, sporadic, and never lasted longer than three days. Why didn't I take off a week or two? And why did the summer go by so fast? I need some time at home, away from everything here. I want to see my parents longer than just three days. I want to be able to meet up with Maggie so I can visit with her, and also see my goddaughter Emilyn, whom I haven't seen since the beginning of June. I want to see my cats Angus and Naomi (both of which I'm technically barred from bringing to live with me at the new house). I don't want to have to worry about work or classwork. I want to start the sweater I've been meaning to knit for my sister (if my poor knitting mojo doesn't let me down, that is).
C'est la vie. I think this will make Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks all the more special, however. I wonder if it's healthy for this kind of thing to happen to a person. (I'm almost sure it isn't.) This is why there are paid vacations at Big Kid Jobs and breaks in education. Everyone needs a moment to pause or they'll combust.
I'll leave you this afternoon with new bits of awesome from Lady Gaga. Music is a wonderful thing; there is something really special about losing yourself in the sounds and the words. For some reason I keep thinking about that one part of Disney's Fantasia where they try to recreate the visuals of the sounds. I don't know if the two things have an actually connection, but it makes sense in my head.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Update
1. We won't have internet until next week at the new house, so until then, my access is very limited. Meanwhile, there seems to be some sort of drama brewing and I'm not sure why (and it's incredibly annoying).
2. I'm already getting stressed about things and the semester hasn't even started yet.
3. By some miracle, and a lot of luck, I am now officially registered for Pottermore. I know it's not life or death, but it is exciting, and I'm kind of over the moon right now. I am now waiting patiently for my welcome email. <3
More later. I have a huge list of things to do today. Also, why is it Friday already? I mean, I'm not complaining, but....
2. I'm already getting stressed about things and the semester hasn't even started yet.
3. By some miracle, and a lot of luck, I am now officially registered for Pottermore. I know it's not life or death, but it is exciting, and I'm kind of over the moon right now. I am now waiting patiently for my welcome email. <3
More later. I have a huge list of things to do today. Also, why is it Friday already? I mean, I'm not complaining, but....
Sunday, July 31, 2011
The Tiny Blue Room
The Tiny Blue Room is not actually blue. Let me make that clear. The walls are white, but the closet (which is proportionately tiny to the room it accompanies) is an inexplicable faded pink color. There are mirrors attached to both the door and the closet door. I don't know why; I thought one would be enough, but perhaps the previous resident thought differently.
The room itself is not outrightly visible when one walks in the front door nor through the dining room from the kitchen. It's tucked in the corner next to the somewhat shoddy upstairs bathroom. It is the smallest bedroom in our whole house. It is also the room I'll be living in for the next year.
I'm still on the fence about our new house. I know that once we settle in, and clear out the boxes and rearrange the furniture, I'll feel better about it all. Yesterday could have been a huge disaster: there was a mix-up on the company's end concerning our rental moving truck, and after a series of flailing and confusion and phone calls, we were able to actually move into the new place two days early. We checked out of our old apartment an hour earlier than we were scheduled to this morning, and the majority of the moving was done yesterday. Alisha still has some things coming tomorrow, but other than that, we're all done. It's just a matter of unpacking, organizing, and rearranging.
But then there's the issue with my tiny room. It's roughly 2/3 the size of the room I lived in at the old apartment, and I am at a loss as to what I should do with it. There's technically only one logical place for my bed if I want to get my desk in and have room to put my clothes. I have room for only one bookshelf, but that's not much of an issue because one of my bookshelves will be out in the living room, as will my TV and DVDs.
The upstairs living room is really wide and open, which is a huge plus. There's a faux-fireplace on one wall, and there are two big windows, which allows for a lot of light. The general arrangement of the ground floor is great. The floors creak a little, but it adds character. The basement, with the exception of the scary laundry room, is also fairly comfy, though it doesn't feel as open as the upstairs. Overall the house is alright. A little shabby, a little rough around the edges, but after we settle in, it will feel more like home.
Yesterday I purchased a fish-patterned shower curtain, and it has brightened up our shabby bathroom. Emma and Prairie bought an inflatable frog-shaped kiddie pool--complete with fountain--to celebrate having a back yard. We have a growing list of things to do now that we're moved in, but at least the hard part is over.
I shouldn't be so harsh on the Tiny Blue Room. What with the way my roommates and I had decided who'd be living where, and the fact that I was essentially last in claiming a room, it is only fair. And I hated myself for being so disappointed yesterday afternoon as I walked through it the first time. We have a decent house to live in. But when there are expectations, and you get so invested in them...
So. Many. Feelings.
The Tiny Blue Room does have a ceiling fan and two windows, one on each wall that faces the back and side yards. So much light can come into the room, and if you open the blinds, you can see the blue of the sky.
The room itself is not outrightly visible when one walks in the front door nor through the dining room from the kitchen. It's tucked in the corner next to the somewhat shoddy upstairs bathroom. It is the smallest bedroom in our whole house. It is also the room I'll be living in for the next year.
I'm still on the fence about our new house. I know that once we settle in, and clear out the boxes and rearrange the furniture, I'll feel better about it all. Yesterday could have been a huge disaster: there was a mix-up on the company's end concerning our rental moving truck, and after a series of flailing and confusion and phone calls, we were able to actually move into the new place two days early. We checked out of our old apartment an hour earlier than we were scheduled to this morning, and the majority of the moving was done yesterday. Alisha still has some things coming tomorrow, but other than that, we're all done. It's just a matter of unpacking, organizing, and rearranging.
But then there's the issue with my tiny room. It's roughly 2/3 the size of the room I lived in at the old apartment, and I am at a loss as to what I should do with it. There's technically only one logical place for my bed if I want to get my desk in and have room to put my clothes. I have room for only one bookshelf, but that's not much of an issue because one of my bookshelves will be out in the living room, as will my TV and DVDs.
The upstairs living room is really wide and open, which is a huge plus. There's a faux-fireplace on one wall, and there are two big windows, which allows for a lot of light. The general arrangement of the ground floor is great. The floors creak a little, but it adds character. The basement, with the exception of the scary laundry room, is also fairly comfy, though it doesn't feel as open as the upstairs. Overall the house is alright. A little shabby, a little rough around the edges, but after we settle in, it will feel more like home.
Yesterday I purchased a fish-patterned shower curtain, and it has brightened up our shabby bathroom. Emma and Prairie bought an inflatable frog-shaped kiddie pool--complete with fountain--to celebrate having a back yard. We have a growing list of things to do now that we're moved in, but at least the hard part is over.
I shouldn't be so harsh on the Tiny Blue Room. What with the way my roommates and I had decided who'd be living where, and the fact that I was essentially last in claiming a room, it is only fair. And I hated myself for being so disappointed yesterday afternoon as I walked through it the first time. We have a decent house to live in. But when there are expectations, and you get so invested in them...
So. Many. Feelings.
The Tiny Blue Room does have a ceiling fan and two windows, one on each wall that faces the back and side yards. So much light can come into the room, and if you open the blinds, you can see the blue of the sky.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Packing Day [Whatever Number]
Mom and Dad came to help me pack some stuff yesterday after I was off work. I showed Mom what stuff was mine in the kitchen, and she started packing it away because I was at a loss as to how to pack it all. (So many breakables...) I sat with Dad and Alisha as I ate the chinese food they had brought for me and we talked, listening first to Tommy James & the Shondells and then Hootie & the Blowfish and Madonna. I pulled out book boxes that were ready to go and we packed up the back seat of the Marquis with as many things as possible.
Dad's coming to help on Saturday, and then again on Monday when we can finally move into the house. Since I've been up I've been trying to sort through everything that's left in my room. My iPod is hooked up to my stereo and I've had it on shuffle for the last few hours. How did I get this much stuff? I'm finding random things and odd trinkets and more books--I swear I keep finding them and wondering how my room was able to hold everything--and stuff that hard to pack together because they're either
Many thoughts. I'll be glad when we're all moved in on Monday.
Dad's coming to help on Saturday, and then again on Monday when we can finally move into the house. Since I've been up I've been trying to sort through everything that's left in my room. My iPod is hooked up to my stereo and I've had it on shuffle for the last few hours. How did I get this much stuff? I'm finding random things and odd trinkets and more books--I swear I keep finding them and wondering how my room was able to hold everything--and stuff that hard to pack together because they're either
- awkwardly shaped/weighted OR
- difficult to fit into the containers or boxes I have.
Many thoughts. I'll be glad when we're all moved in on Monday.
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