Here's how my story goes. I am sitting at my dining room table, which just for descriptive purposes doesn't have a tablecloth on it. The television is on to my right, and poker or some crap is on because it is three AM and all I can think is BOOK BOOK I WANT TO WRITE A BOOK.
Because I DO. If the average person spends tens years of their life on the toilet, I have spent far more than that with my nose in a book. I think it was Joan Didion who said something along the lines of, " When I am near the end of a book I need to sleep in the same room as it." I know exactly how that feels. There is a feeling of literally wanting to lean forward and fall into the binding of whatever story you’re involved in.
Then when you read that final paragraph with bated breath there is always a sense of I want to write a story as beautiful as this one.
But the thing is, I think I can. I know it would be hard, and I know I would probably get frustrated and give up a few times, but God has given me a few good tools. For one, I have an out of control imagination. I also have a fairly decent vocabulary and I know I can string all those words together pretty well.
Oh yeah, I've gots a lot of opinions.
I just, I also have this feeling of not now and just a bit longer. Does that make any type of human sense? Are novels like cakes that you put in the oven and need to wait for? Scary thought- Are they also like cakes in that if you leave them in the oven too long they'll burn?
SO HOW CAN ONE POSSIBLY KNOW? Are there characters inside me who have been growing with me? Is there a girl who remembers exactly what it was like to be in 4th grade with braces and a mother who picked out all of your clothes? Has she grown up with me and is just waiting until she has enough energy to rip out of me?
Are there landscapes inside me which have developed with each crying jag, and each laughing fit.
I just want to write. So because it is three AM and I have nothing else to write, I will write this blog entry about wanting to write.
Does this post make any human sense?
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Because it's relevant THAT'S WHY
"THIS is what's wrong with this school. That people don't understand that Britney Spears IS a substantive topic! She is a human barometer by which the mood of the country can be determined. When Britney does something outrageous, people reach excitedly for their copies of US Weekly and In Touch magazines. Britney gives us all something to look forward to. Yes, there may be murderers and natural disasters and other downers in the news. But then there's Britney, French-kissing Madonna on the MTV Video Music Awards, and suddenly, things don't seem quite as bad as they did before."
-Meg Cabot
-Meg Cabot
Monday, February 25, 2008
On the house I grew up in
Last year when I came home from break my mother had cleared an entire closet the room I shared with my sisters. Their clothes had been compacted and their shoes were places in areas undiscovered so that for the short week I was home I would feel comfortable.
Last year when I came home the house would be cleaned and the candles all lit. There would be no evidence of the family I was a part of unless I tried to find it. All of Ross's toys were placed in his room instead of on the floor.
Last year when I came home dinners were made with me in mind. My mother found some untapped energy so she could peal all of the potatoes and slice all of the onions.
Now when I come home, my parents have already gone to bed. If I sneak into my brothers room he'll hold one hand out to me, but with the other, he'll hold a finger to his lips. He's only three but he has already learned that in our house you must be quiet at night.
Now my bed has been moved to the basement because my sisters have expanded their possession in our old room. On that bed I may find a sheet but rarely a pillow case. Slowly my things are finding their way into boxes and spaces that aren't needed. It is a mysterious migration to the basement that I cannot keep track of.
Last year, my family, and my house, was still aware of the space left over when I went to college. Now, it is becoming more and more apparent that my family is stretching its legs and enjoying the room it has found in our small house.
All this makes me think that I am quickly approaching the day when I won't come back here. When I will have another house. A house where I will fill all the empty spaces on my own. In some ways, this is a day I wait eagerly for. It will mean I can finally count on finding my own laundry where I left it. Where possessions will not be moved from the place I set it down.
Living with three siblings in a small house is not an enjoyably experience. But it is an experience that has shaped me.
I used to think I would cling to my childhood and be too afraid to leave home. Now it seems that my house is forcing me to leave.
Last year when I came home the house would be cleaned and the candles all lit. There would be no evidence of the family I was a part of unless I tried to find it. All of Ross's toys were placed in his room instead of on the floor.
Last year when I came home dinners were made with me in mind. My mother found some untapped energy so she could peal all of the potatoes and slice all of the onions.
Now when I come home, my parents have already gone to bed. If I sneak into my brothers room he'll hold one hand out to me, but with the other, he'll hold a finger to his lips. He's only three but he has already learned that in our house you must be quiet at night.
Now my bed has been moved to the basement because my sisters have expanded their possession in our old room. On that bed I may find a sheet but rarely a pillow case. Slowly my things are finding their way into boxes and spaces that aren't needed. It is a mysterious migration to the basement that I cannot keep track of.
Last year, my family, and my house, was still aware of the space left over when I went to college. Now, it is becoming more and more apparent that my family is stretching its legs and enjoying the room it has found in our small house.
All this makes me think that I am quickly approaching the day when I won't come back here. When I will have another house. A house where I will fill all the empty spaces on my own. In some ways, this is a day I wait eagerly for. It will mean I can finally count on finding my own laundry where I left it. Where possessions will not be moved from the place I set it down.
Living with three siblings in a small house is not an enjoyably experience. But it is an experience that has shaped me.
I used to think I would cling to my childhood and be too afraid to leave home. Now it seems that my house is forcing me to leave.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
My Moment of Zen
Setting - Somewhere in Soho
Man in Banana Suit- THE FIRST PERSON TO APPROACH ME GETS A FREE RUBBER DUCKY!
So yeah, you know, it happened.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Mishaps,
I think its a scary thing to care about someone more than you can control.
I can't quite remember the person I was when I was sixteen years old.
Before the Mister.
Monday, February 18, 2008
In which I discuss why Jeanine isn't answering her phone,
I have called Jeanine four times. The last time was at 9:31 PM and that is all my phone will tell me. I started calling at around 7:30. Four times I have called her in the last two hours and she has not been there.
Well, I suppose that's incorrect. She has to be there because I'm getting a busy signal. While I'm on the topic of the busy signal I might as well state that I believe it is the third most unfriendly sound in the world. I think the second most unfriendly is that particular alarm clock siren which actually reaches into your dreams and forcibly pulls you out of sleep. You feel that wail all the way to your collarbone. It's painful.
What's the first most unfriendly sound? Oh, the sound of a door closing, but only when it’s down the hall from your room, and only when you know it’s because your music has gotten too loud.
Anyway, FOUR times I have called Jeanine and FOUR times I have heard a busy signal. The last time I just opened it on the bed next to me and pressed the call button twice hoping to stifle the disappointment when I heard it. But it didn't work.
Right now I need to talk to Jeanine because my uterus is screaming FEED ME SEYMOUR, FEED ME NOW and whenever this happens I start to have serious doubts. Jeanine happens to be one of the few who can maneuver the pathways in my brain and make me feel Ok again.
These horrible appetite ruining doubts always make me ask three sets of questions - Is where I am right now really where I am meant to be or have I strayed so far from the realm of normal decisions that I have actually started thinking I am on track? Is the system of belief I have thus far dedicated my life to really true or what if it is all one big fat lie told to me by the government? And last, but never ever least, why can I not stop the bottomless pit that is my stomach and lose some weight?
Of course, I know Jeanine doesn't actually have any of the answers to these questions. Its just I've let my head get into too big a mess and I have lost them and for God's sake where did I put them! I know I had them last week but I must have dropped them behind the anxiety over what job I'm going to have this summer.
Jeanine just knows the pattern of the clutter in my head and I'm able to have a few of those OH RIGHT moments with her cool logic to lead me.
However, in order for this to happen she needs to answer her phone. I know one of her children is probably on the phone but can she not FEEL my anxiety.
Honestly.
Well, I suppose that's incorrect. She has to be there because I'm getting a busy signal. While I'm on the topic of the busy signal I might as well state that I believe it is the third most unfriendly sound in the world. I think the second most unfriendly is that particular alarm clock siren which actually reaches into your dreams and forcibly pulls you out of sleep. You feel that wail all the way to your collarbone. It's painful.
What's the first most unfriendly sound? Oh, the sound of a door closing, but only when it’s down the hall from your room, and only when you know it’s because your music has gotten too loud.
Anyway, FOUR times I have called Jeanine and FOUR times I have heard a busy signal. The last time I just opened it on the bed next to me and pressed the call button twice hoping to stifle the disappointment when I heard it. But it didn't work.
Right now I need to talk to Jeanine because my uterus is screaming FEED ME SEYMOUR, FEED ME NOW and whenever this happens I start to have serious doubts. Jeanine happens to be one of the few who can maneuver the pathways in my brain and make me feel Ok again.
These horrible appetite ruining doubts always make me ask three sets of questions - Is where I am right now really where I am meant to be or have I strayed so far from the realm of normal decisions that I have actually started thinking I am on track? Is the system of belief I have thus far dedicated my life to really true or what if it is all one big fat lie told to me by the government? And last, but never ever least, why can I not stop the bottomless pit that is my stomach and lose some weight?
Of course, I know Jeanine doesn't actually have any of the answers to these questions. Its just I've let my head get into too big a mess and I have lost them and for God's sake where did I put them! I know I had them last week but I must have dropped them behind the anxiety over what job I'm going to have this summer.
Jeanine just knows the pattern of the clutter in my head and I'm able to have a few of those OH RIGHT moments with her cool logic to lead me.
However, in order for this to happen she needs to answer her phone. I know one of her children is probably on the phone but can she not FEEL my anxiety.
Honestly.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
So this one day I forgot to pay my cell phone bill,
During the summer, my parents put me in charge of my cell phone bill.
I have few responsibilities during those three months. It's expected that I will wake up on the days my mother works and watch my brother until my grandmother arrives. It's expected that when my father needs a gallon of milk I will be willing to get it from the store. It's expected that when either of my sisters decide to have a slumber party, I will relocate to the basement.
It's just as expected that I can pay for my cell phone bill.
Now, in July this summer I forgot. Because I forgot, when I tried to call my friend early one Sunday morning the comforting "AT&T" sign was gone and my calls would not go through. I wrote a mental note to pay as soon as possible and called her from the house line.
Well, that night while curled up in my room reading a book the power went out.
As always happens I lost my breath for a second. It's the same sensation as stepping into thin air when you think there's a step beneath your feet. The air conditioner stopped buzzing over my head and suddenly the only light in the room was coming off my computer screen. I heard my brother call my name from downstairs, while right outside the door my sister groaned, "Aw, crap."
The power goes out a lot around my neighborhood. There are too many people living in too small an area and for some reason the electric company can't handle it. Especially in the summer. I like to think that the wires just get too exhausted out in the sun and the worker's main responsibility is to show up and compliment them into working again.
I dog-eared my book and closed it in my lap. I shut my computer screen and got up from the floor. Grasping the side of the bunk beds I found my way to the hall. I could already hear my family fussing downstairs. My brother was scared of the dark and as I reached the bottom step I scooped him up from where he was crying. Then I headed straight for the door.
"Stay inside," my mother said weakly, but this was the form our conversation had taken all summer. She would tell me to do something just because it was old pattern. Just because she wished to pretend I wasn't her daughter who was in college already. I opened the door anyway.
I stepped onto the stoop and let the door swing shut behind me. My sister had moved on to asking my father for a ride to her friends house but he was refusing. He claimed she could live without air conditioning for an hour. I heard my mother open a kitchen drawer to grab some candles. All this was silenced as the door closed.
I dropped Ross to the ground and he quickly hopped down the stairs so he could pick leaves off a bush. Laughing at himself every few seconds he contributed to the background noise. I also remember the buzzing of the street lamp and a distant sound of a car starting. I'm sure there was also some wife shouting at some husband about her impatience with some problem.
I had an overwhelming sense of nostalgia that day. I was breathing in hot humid air that was rising in misty clouds off the sidewalk. This was air I hadn't breathed since I had last played out on the street as a kid. But why should it make me sad? Wasn't I still a kid?
I wasn't. Sure, I was only in college, but the days of kick ball and manhunt were long gone. I would never be small enough to fit in the crack between the house and the hedges again and I would never get to grasp a friends hand nervously as whoever was 'it' creeped by our hiding spot.
I sat there for close to two hours as my neighbors went in and out. That air smelled vaguely of our garden, but also of the exhaust from the cars, and some scent that we do not have in Houghton. It smelled of the Italian mom's cooking and of the Ralph's ice wrapper Kari had left at the base of our mailbox. It had a slightly metallic smell from when our neighbor's son had scrapped his scooter along the pavement of his driveway.
As I smelled this air I watched my brother and knew that alot of people would not see my childhood as ideal because I didn't have a yard to play in. I didn't have any grass to smudge my jeans on and I didn't have any trees to fall out of. But I watched as another little boy came over curiously to see what Ross was up to and I knew that I had something on the yard playing children - I always had kids to play with.
And so I sat. And smelled the air. Why did I smell the air of my childhood?
Because I forgot to pay my cell phone bill. I had no one to call.
I have few responsibilities during those three months. It's expected that I will wake up on the days my mother works and watch my brother until my grandmother arrives. It's expected that when my father needs a gallon of milk I will be willing to get it from the store. It's expected that when either of my sisters decide to have a slumber party, I will relocate to the basement.
It's just as expected that I can pay for my cell phone bill.
Now, in July this summer I forgot. Because I forgot, when I tried to call my friend early one Sunday morning the comforting "AT&T" sign was gone and my calls would not go through. I wrote a mental note to pay as soon as possible and called her from the house line.
Well, that night while curled up in my room reading a book the power went out.
As always happens I lost my breath for a second. It's the same sensation as stepping into thin air when you think there's a step beneath your feet. The air conditioner stopped buzzing over my head and suddenly the only light in the room was coming off my computer screen. I heard my brother call my name from downstairs, while right outside the door my sister groaned, "Aw, crap."
The power goes out a lot around my neighborhood. There are too many people living in too small an area and for some reason the electric company can't handle it. Especially in the summer. I like to think that the wires just get too exhausted out in the sun and the worker's main responsibility is to show up and compliment them into working again.
I dog-eared my book and closed it in my lap. I shut my computer screen and got up from the floor. Grasping the side of the bunk beds I found my way to the hall. I could already hear my family fussing downstairs. My brother was scared of the dark and as I reached the bottom step I scooped him up from where he was crying. Then I headed straight for the door.
"Stay inside," my mother said weakly, but this was the form our conversation had taken all summer. She would tell me to do something just because it was old pattern. Just because she wished to pretend I wasn't her daughter who was in college already. I opened the door anyway.
I stepped onto the stoop and let the door swing shut behind me. My sister had moved on to asking my father for a ride to her friends house but he was refusing. He claimed she could live without air conditioning for an hour. I heard my mother open a kitchen drawer to grab some candles. All this was silenced as the door closed.
I dropped Ross to the ground and he quickly hopped down the stairs so he could pick leaves off a bush. Laughing at himself every few seconds he contributed to the background noise. I also remember the buzzing of the street lamp and a distant sound of a car starting. I'm sure there was also some wife shouting at some husband about her impatience with some problem.
I had an overwhelming sense of nostalgia that day. I was breathing in hot humid air that was rising in misty clouds off the sidewalk. This was air I hadn't breathed since I had last played out on the street as a kid. But why should it make me sad? Wasn't I still a kid?
I wasn't. Sure, I was only in college, but the days of kick ball and manhunt were long gone. I would never be small enough to fit in the crack between the house and the hedges again and I would never get to grasp a friends hand nervously as whoever was 'it' creeped by our hiding spot.
I sat there for close to two hours as my neighbors went in and out. That air smelled vaguely of our garden, but also of the exhaust from the cars, and some scent that we do not have in Houghton. It smelled of the Italian mom's cooking and of the Ralph's ice wrapper Kari had left at the base of our mailbox. It had a slightly metallic smell from when our neighbor's son had scrapped his scooter along the pavement of his driveway.
As I smelled this air I watched my brother and knew that alot of people would not see my childhood as ideal because I didn't have a yard to play in. I didn't have any grass to smudge my jeans on and I didn't have any trees to fall out of. But I watched as another little boy came over curiously to see what Ross was up to and I knew that I had something on the yard playing children - I always had kids to play with.
And so I sat. And smelled the air. Why did I smell the air of my childhood?
Because I forgot to pay my cell phone bill. I had no one to call.
Friday, February 15, 2008
On Battles
To the Institution,
I call myself a Christian. I have called myself a Christian since February of my first year in high school. That's who I was for four years. I had no problems being described by adults as: modest, well-behaved, polite, responsible, mature, dedicated.
For four years that's who I was. The youth leader. The friend every parent liked. The girl every mother wanted their son to date, but no boys cared for. I was the friend, the listener, the maternal one. It's hard not to become lost in an image so consuming, but I embraced it. I was one of the few teens who had found her niche. I ran with it. I knew exactly who I was. God had placed me where I needed to be and I was making a difference. One day at a time, I was saving the world I knew it.
Then you happened INSTITUTION. Who do you think you are?
Everyday I wake up and I am faced with a billboard that screams, YOU THINK YOU'RE A GOOD PERSON! LET US SHOW YOU HOW WRONG YOU ARE! What I thought was going to be a place of rest and growth turned into the biggest spiritual battle yet. Where could my niche be here, where every person was the same as me only bigger and stronger and best of all- conservative.
Because the difference between me and you: I came from somewhere. How can a butterfly (which came from a caterpillar) compete with a butterfly that has always been a butterfly. Sure, my past isn't as shining as my present, but do I get no points for cleaning up my mess?
I am proud of the decisions I have made. I've climbed out of my cocoon, and all your have done is pretend it doesn't exist. Or, if on that day your acknowledging that it does exist, than you feel so terrible for the people who need to climb out. While I KNOW if you had one of them flying free with you, all you could do is judge them for where they had been.
So that is what I have to say to you INSTITUTION. But just like I have made decisions before, I will make the decision to use this to further me. You can tell me I'm wrong, but I can tell me I'm right. I don't know where I'm going, but I know where I've been. The past wasn't so great, my present inspiring. The future can only be brighter.
Yours,
WickedWitty
I call myself a Christian. I have called myself a Christian since February of my first year in high school. That's who I was for four years. I had no problems being described by adults as: modest, well-behaved, polite, responsible, mature, dedicated.
For four years that's who I was. The youth leader. The friend every parent liked. The girl every mother wanted their son to date, but no boys cared for. I was the friend, the listener, the maternal one. It's hard not to become lost in an image so consuming, but I embraced it. I was one of the few teens who had found her niche. I ran with it. I knew exactly who I was. God had placed me where I needed to be and I was making a difference. One day at a time, I was saving the world I knew it.
Then you happened INSTITUTION. Who do you think you are?
Everyday I wake up and I am faced with a billboard that screams, YOU THINK YOU'RE A GOOD PERSON! LET US SHOW YOU HOW WRONG YOU ARE! What I thought was going to be a place of rest and growth turned into the biggest spiritual battle yet. Where could my niche be here, where every person was the same as me only bigger and stronger and best of all- conservative.
Because the difference between me and you: I came from somewhere. How can a butterfly (which came from a caterpillar) compete with a butterfly that has always been a butterfly. Sure, my past isn't as shining as my present, but do I get no points for cleaning up my mess?
I am proud of the decisions I have made. I've climbed out of my cocoon, and all your have done is pretend it doesn't exist. Or, if on that day your acknowledging that it does exist, than you feel so terrible for the people who need to climb out. While I KNOW if you had one of them flying free with you, all you could do is judge them for where they had been.
So that is what I have to say to you INSTITUTION. But just like I have made decisions before, I will make the decision to use this to further me. You can tell me I'm wrong, but I can tell me I'm right. I don't know where I'm going, but I know where I've been. The past wasn't so great, my present inspiring. The future can only be brighter.
Yours,
WickedWitty
In which I like Pop Culture,
It's true.
I am twenty years old, and I can stand up and say that I am slightly addicted to pop culture.
Now, many people out there will be horrified that I actually care what is going on in Brangelina's life. That I have contemplated buying a "Save Britney" T-shirt from Perez Hilton's site. That I check Perez Hilton's site about once a day in order to stay current in the happenings of Hollywood.
But today someone said to me that Pop Culture is a complete waste. That I didn't realize its toxic affects because I was so totally immmersed in it.
For a second I had to stop and think to myself- is this true?
Then I embarked on an adventure of self-analysis. Was I wasting too much time reading about this cultural crap? Was I masking a true shallowness under a facade of healthy curiosity?
So I thought about who I was. The truth is I spend about five minutes a day catching up in things which most people would consider "pop culture". The rest of the day what am I doing? Well, I tend to spend a lot of my day spending time with the people around me and developing relationships.
Shallow? No.
Other parts of the day are spent doing my school work. Now, I am notorious for being incredibly laid back and seeming to be doing as little work as possible, but that doesn't mean I don't value the education I'm getting. I just choose to absorb information in a very different way than memorizing terms off of an index card. I learn it by observing things and listening and interacting.
Once again, I think its justifiable.
I also spend much of my day reading other things. I read tons of things that are not gossip sites. I read news articles and magazine entries and book after book after book. I have more random information in my head than most people could comprehend. Perhaps the pop culture is just giving me a good solid well rounded base.
Anyway, this person told me I shouldn't start a blog because I would have nothing to say.
Well I have a lot to say, so here I am.
I am twenty years old, and I can stand up and say that I am slightly addicted to pop culture.
Now, many people out there will be horrified that I actually care what is going on in Brangelina's life. That I have contemplated buying a "Save Britney" T-shirt from Perez Hilton's site. That I check Perez Hilton's site about once a day in order to stay current in the happenings of Hollywood.
But today someone said to me that Pop Culture is a complete waste. That I didn't realize its toxic affects because I was so totally immmersed in it.
For a second I had to stop and think to myself- is this true?
Then I embarked on an adventure of self-analysis. Was I wasting too much time reading about this cultural crap? Was I masking a true shallowness under a facade of healthy curiosity?
So I thought about who I was. The truth is I spend about five minutes a day catching up in things which most people would consider "pop culture". The rest of the day what am I doing? Well, I tend to spend a lot of my day spending time with the people around me and developing relationships.
Shallow? No.
Other parts of the day are spent doing my school work. Now, I am notorious for being incredibly laid back and seeming to be doing as little work as possible, but that doesn't mean I don't value the education I'm getting. I just choose to absorb information in a very different way than memorizing terms off of an index card. I learn it by observing things and listening and interacting.
Once again, I think its justifiable.
I also spend much of my day reading other things. I read tons of things that are not gossip sites. I read news articles and magazine entries and book after book after book. I have more random information in my head than most people could comprehend. Perhaps the pop culture is just giving me a good solid well rounded base.
Anyway, this person told me I shouldn't start a blog because I would have nothing to say.
Well I have a lot to say, so here I am.
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