I sure am excellent at pickingthewrongtimetoblog

Okay, so I have to leave to go to lunch in T-8 minutes, but I've been wanting to put some thoughts down here for a while, and I'd rather spend 8 minutes freaking out about my too-slow typing wpm and doing something semi-productive than sitting here watching the guy next to me in the library lab fill out job applications.

[January]

1. Three-year anniversaries are evidently the ones where the neurotic girlfriend learns how to stop being neurotic about an anniversary.  It was great.
2. I can snowboard for a whole day without sucking!  I cannot, however, snowboard for a whole day and then do anything the next day without pain.  That's my next, perhaps unachievable, goal.
3. I could actually be a history teacher and not hate it.  Good news.

 [February]

1. "But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
      The solve is this, that thou dost common grow."
2. Trying to learn how to be a healthy, active person in this world often translates to spending a lot of time around people who hate their bodies.  I am fighting an uphill battle with my 30-Day Shred DVD...in all manners of speaking.

I don't want to see your perfectly toned stomach, Jillian Michaels. 
Please stop working so hard to show it to me. 
I see what you're trying to do...but I'd really rather not, thanks.

1. I found sticky notes with cute dogs on them.  My life is a brighter place.
2. "Up Top!" "Gross me right out."  I love my once and future roommates.
3. Sheldon really does cure all ills.

[March]

1. Just finished reading "Children and Peak Oil: An Opportunity in Crisis" by Tranter and Sharpe and it is currently changing the way I think about raising children.  I love it and am scared by it at the same time, but it gives me profound hope for both myself and any children I may someday have.

By segregating our children in to parks and "children only" areas, we are teaching them that they are not apart of the adult community.

 

1. March just started; don't hate me for not thinking more quickly.

I swear I had more, but 8 minutes are up.

<3 spadeALLcross

Who do I want to become? [Me: Part III]

Hey again.  See, I'm good at this keeping up now.  Don't get used to it.

Last post, I talked about how same in myself and lots of dark, depressing feelings forced me to change the way I look at my future.  I decided to take "the high road," if you want to be cliché about it.  I like to think of it more as the road personally mapped out for me specifically by God, a road that no one else can take.

The first step of that road was to get beyond the shameful experience that had brought me there.  Shame, guilt, fear...they're all very useful emotions and shouldn't be discounted or avoided simply because they're unpleasant, but they can cripple us if we let them.  So I had to let them go for now.  In order to do that, I had to begin again with my timeless mantra of "you're special, you're wonderful, you're perfect," but that wasn't going to work now.  I knew that I wasn't perfect, I knew that I had failed.  How could I be loved when I was a failure?  That's the opposite of what I've believed my whole life.

Almost immediately, I realized that love doesn't work that way.  Maybe I knew that before, but it had never meant to me then what it does now.  My mother and my brother especially, but others as well, showed me that I was special and perfect and important because I was loved, not the other way around.  It was their love that made me who I was.

But that's...not ideal.  My mother is an amazing woman and I wouldn't trade my brother for any other brother in the world, but they are just as flawed as I am.  There is a chance--slimmest of the slim, and I only believe this as a philosophical theory of general human nature, not of the love of these people--that something could cause them to stop loving me, and then where would I be?  Back exactly where I was.  I had to find a source of love that was beyond fault, beyond beginnings and endings, that was big enough to cushion me when I failed again, as I would, and strong enough to hold me when no one else would.

And there it was.  My new faith.

I've always believed in God's love, and I've always known in my head that I needed it.  But kind of like you can't describe to someone what it feels like to attempt to balance yourself on a bicycle, when that someone has never ridden one, I did know know what it felt like to believe I needed God's love.  Like I said, up until my realization of my own brokenness, I thought that I was good enough to be loved by God, not that God's love was constantly overcoming my not-good-enoughness.

Again, the transformation sounds like I went from point A to point A, when really it's just...really complicated.  I'm sure there's a lot of psychology or religious jargon that I could toss in here to help my explanation make sense, but I don't know the jargon, and I'm just hoping that there are enough people out there who have been where I was that they will just innately understand.  If you don't understand, please contact me and I can try again.  It's as important to me to learn how to articulate myself in this matter (I am training to be an English Teacher...so...) as it could possibly be for you to understand what I'm saying, so if you're interested enough, please let me know.

Thanks for sticking with me this far.  I hope you're getting something out of reading this as much as I am by writing it and processing it.  But really, if you have questions, concerns, etc., talk to me about them.

<3 spadeALLcross

Who am I? [Me: Part II]

So, last poast, I talked about January through June.  This week, I'm going to talk about July through...well...July.  It was a very complex month for me, even outside of Harry Potter.  And it started out with a bang.

At the end of June, events transpired that threw all of this over-time development, all of my personal growth and goals into sharp relief, and I got my first real dose of self-induced shame.  And this is where both disaster struck and the light at the end of the tunnel appeared.  Let me 'splain.  No, there is too much.  Let me sum up.


All my life, I've been told that I was special, that I was great, that the world could tell me that I was flawed, tell me that I had no merit, but that none of that mattered because I was loved in a way that I should never forget.  My mother instilled this belief in me for years, and it was reaffirmed by my Church and my brand of Christianity (which primarily revolved around "God loves me, he's gone to great lengths to show me that, and his love for me is all that matters.").  The only thing wrong with this belief was that I thought (completely subconsciously, in unchangeable ways) that I was loved because I was special, because I was great, and that when the world told me I was flawed and had no merit, the world was unquestionably wrong on all counts.  That is a very dangerous worldview, and at the end of June, I realized how dangerous it had made me as a person.

I'm not going to tell you, Internet, what happened in June, because it's not important to this conversation.  But essentially, I finally did something that, in my mind, was "bad" enough to make me feel ashamed.  Really ashamed.  Not the shame that I've felt before because someone is telling me I should, like when, in junior high and high school, I felt like I was fat and was ashamed that I wasn't able to lose weight and wear clothes like other girls did.  Not the shame I feel when my standards are too high, like when I wanted to take AP physics even though I had no designs for a scientific career or any need to sweat through an entire year of a killer class, and when doing so would hurt me in the other subjects I actually excelled at and wanted to better understand.  Not shame that is in anyway connected with an outside source or something beyond my control.  Shame that I had done something seriously wrong, and now I had to live with the consequences.  Shame that no one I told about my situation would have any reason to feel pity for me; I had brought this upon myself.

Whether what I did was actually as bad as I thought it was at the time, I can't say.  Whether the worst punishment I could have reasonably deserved for it was anything life shattering or shame-worthy, I don't know.  What's important is what I felt in that moment, because that's what changed everything.

The "you're special, you're great, don't ever change" mantra that had been playing on repeat for my whole life sort of skipped for a moment.  Suddenly, I looked at my life, my faith, my relationships, and everything I did and thought and said in a completely new way.  And it was not refreshing.  What I saw was brokenness, complacency, and a dangerous habit of doing what I want because I want to, and then expecting things to work out in my favor regardless.  Most of my life had been shame-free, and it was only this one instance that made me see things this way, but I saw laid out ahead of me two paths branching out from one decision: either I could take my situation seriously and really reflect on what it meant to me and how I wanted to proceed, which would probably involve pain and loneliness and challenges I felt unprepared for, or I could pay the minimum penalty and revert back to comfort and safety where things were exactly where I expected them to be and I could count on my instincts to see me through.

The first path didn't lead out very far.  I couldn't see the whole way down.  But kind of like a real road on a really foggy night, when you can see the glow of the street lights even though you can't see what they're falling on, I could see the satisfaction in that road.  I could see spots of darkness, but I saw a comfort that went beyond the shallowness of my previous comforts.  More than just making myself happy and trying to get to oases of pleasure, walking down that first road would create oases where there were none, would find comfort in places I didn't think it existed, and would end with the happiest, most satisfying destination I could have, though I don't yet know what that is.

I could see farther down the second path, but then it too turned foggy, even foggier than the first path.  It looked easy and familiar, not much different than the path I was walking down already.  But the streetlights were not welcoming.  If I had screwed up already, (and such a small screw up had affected me this much), I was bound to do it again, and there was a huge chance that it would be worse in the subsequent times.  There was no guaranteed warmth down this road and no assumption of a happy ending.  That didn't mean there wasn't one, but just that I wasn't as sure of it.

It sounds cheesy with all the analogies.  But I guess describing my self-reflection during this time is like trying to describe a dream.  Since dream worlds are not the same as the real world, you have to change some details to make the dream explicable.  Since my mind works differently than yours, I have to make analogies to help you understand.  It wasn't cheesy at all when I went through it.  It was very real and actually very scary.  But my decision was easy.  Of course I took the first road.

So that where I was in July.  Tune in next time for the continuation of my journey, which concludes summer.

<3 spadeALLcross

I am not a doctor...and I don't play one on TV

(This post is not written by an expert in anything.  These are opinions and theories based on experience, not facts based on evidence.  If you have a problem with anything said here, please begin a discussion, as I would rather be convinced that my theories are wrong than have someone think they're wrong and not tell me.)

So, it's 6:21 am CDT, and I am awake.  This is an anomaly: do not be fooled into thinking I am a morning person.  No, I'm waiting for the registration to open pottermore.com.  There's been a window of about a half hour every day since Sunday, and the windows will officially close for a few months after Saturday, so I've dedicated the early mornings of the past couple days to waiting around for my opportunity to register for the site.

Yesterday was the first day I purposefully woke up early.  I got to the site, found the clue, realized I didn't have my copy of The Prisoner of Azkaban, where the answer to the clue could be found, so defaulted and used the audiobook, since iTunes just happened to be open.  (If I had had to open iTunes, it would have taken about five full minutes, if not more, and I think I would have imploded due to the building pressure.) I solved the clue, got to the website where the quill was supposed to be, and couldn't find it.  Registration had closed.  So I shrugged wistfully, yawned, and went back to sleep.

On Sunday, registration opened at 3 am in my time zone, on Monday, it opened at 4 am, and on Tuesday it opened at 5 am.  So, I set my alarm this morning for a little before six and hopped online to wait around.  Well...obviously, since it's 6:27 now, the trend has changed.  It irks me a little and I find it unsettling that whoever is in charge of this website is making the fans jump through so many hoops to get to it.  If it's just because they want the most dedicated fans to get on the site for this early registration dry run, I can maybe understand that, although I must point out that "Harry Potter Fan" does not directly translate to "Internet-Savvy, Scavenger-Hunt Extraordinaire" and that there are probably people getting on to Pottermore who were more intrigued by the process of getting there than they will be by the website.  But if the reason for the manipulations comes from the fact that, Harry Potter being what it is to so many people, this is one fan base who would put up with almost anything, and this sort of registration process is more fun for the people in charge...that's just sick and they should stop.  People are staying up egregiously late in some time zones, or waking up entirely too early, skiving off summer school or work...seems wrong to me.  Dumbledore wouldn't let this happen.


Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about really.

In the excess time that I've been awake when pottermore hasn't been open (it's 6:35 now) I've been browsing the internet.  It started on twitter where, since I'm following Pottermorefans, I was already sitting waiting for some news, perhaps on why regsitration wasn't open yet.  I perused the past tweets, the @replies, etc, and I noticed a fervent energy present in every bit of the online conversations that revolved around this twitter account.  People excited for pottermore opening, people preparing for each clue by quizzing themselves with similar clues they've made up themselves, people speculating about how access to the site is actually going to work, people sharing stories about the ridiculous things they've done for Harry Potter in the past, comparing Houses, etc.  To some degree, it reminded me of the sort of energy I always felt at Harry Potter midnight showings, the energy that kept me coming back to the cinema every year, even though I didn't like the movies anymore.

But I started following links, and looking at other Harry Potter fandom things, and I remembered a book I saw for sale called Dear Mr. Potter which is filled with letters from people to Harry Potter and J.K. Rowling, telling them their stories about how Harry Potter made their life better in some way.  A lot of them were touching, some were similar to mine, but a few of them sort of scared me in a way, and I stopped wanting to read them.

I've been called a nerd on several occasions, it feels like my mom calls me an "addict" every time I do anything for more than an hour for two days in a row (right now, this includes my obsession with ST:VOY), and I've gotten numerous questioning looks and scoffs, and even the odd demoralizing attack on my sanity from people who think I get "too" into things.  Most of the time, these things are fandoms like Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, Twilight, and others.  A few people have made fun of my T-shirt collection, but that's rare (because my t-shirt collection is universally awesome).  Some people say I'm too Christian, too, but that's a different matter from my perspective, if not from theirs.

Harry Potter is different, because it is the one series I constantly return to.  With others, I go through phases: I don't feel the same awe when I watch the Lord of the Rings movies as I did when I was in Junior High, I don't wish Lt. Commander Data were a non-fictional artificial lifeform anymore, and I certainly hate Bella Swan and her entire creepy family.  But I've always loved Harry Potter, from the time I read the first book to the moment the credits rolled on the eighth movie, a timeline of almost fifteen years, my love for the series has developed from a phase-based infatuation into a sort of foundational love.  Harry Potter is definitely a part of my life, and I'm sure I wouldn't be the same person if I hadn't read it.  This is not true of all the other fandoms I've been a part of, including Twilight, Star Trek, Eragon, or The Matrix: take those experiences away, and the change in my character and person would be minimal.

The other fandom that captured my heart so thoroughly was The Lord of the Rings.  I was in fifth or sixth grade when the first movie came out, and it took me a year to read the first book, but after that and until I got into high school, I was beyond obsessed.  But it was not the same kind of obsession I had with Harry Potter.  2001, the year the movie came out, was a pretty hard year for me.  It was a pretty hard year for the country, which certainly contributed to my year sucking.  2002 and 2003 were not much better.  For this period of three years, I didn't have very many friends, my family life was more complicated and painful than I was used to, and I was doing terribly in school.  The only thing that was going right, I thought, was The Lord of the Rings.  Between reading the books, watching the movies, and obsessing over the details of both, I could easily occupy my mind with things other than my own life, and for the most part, that's exactly what I did for three years.  I checked out of reality for the better part of Junior High, forgoing relationships with people around me, a better understanding of myself, and a first-hand knowledge of the world because there were things in my life that upset me and The Lord of the Rings allowed me to get away from them.

Sure, I turned out all right in the end, and yes, being a "fan" doesn't necessarily mean you're an escapist, and no, escapism is not always the same as hard drugs: sometimes it's just a coping mechanism, an outlet to plug in and recharge, and none of that scares me or bothers me.  But reading some of those letters to Rowling and hearing the way those people were talking about the series as if it "saved" them from their terrible lives because they were able to read it long enough to wait out their problems and not have to deal with them every day...it feels dangerous to me.

Dumbledore himself said, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."  Wishing Hogwarts is real, that you had friends like Hermione or Luna, that you could be a part of something special and important like Dumbledore's Army, that makes sense and I imagine is a natural response to a series that garnered so much love and attention for so long by so many.  But I think that believing the books changed your life when all that happened was that you lived them instead of it is just incorrect.  If thirteen years of your life you dwelled on Harry Potter, hoping it was real, living as if it was, and skipping out on what was actually happening around you, even if it was too terrible for you to live with, the series did not save you: it allowed you to lose thirteen years of your life that you will never get back.

I'm pretty sure I'm reading more into those letters than is there, since even my bout of living outside reality wasn't that deep or detrimental.  But I wanted to voice my opinions about escapism, I guess, because I do think it's dangerous, and I do believe it's similar to, if not the same as an addiction.  Some addictions are obviously unhealthy, and the family and friends of the user notice the signs and urge the user to seek help.  Some addictions are less noticable, either because they are easily hidden (pornography and x-rated romance novels, anorexia and bulimia, etc) or because they are socially acceptable (caffeine, nicotine, etc).  Some are more physically damaging than others (heroine, alcohol, etc) while some are more emotionally or psychologically damaging than others (eating disorders).

But all addictions are the same in that they give the addict a crutch to get through life, and the longer a person uses the crutch, the more the rest of their faculties atrophy due to lack of use or dependence.  A person can become addicted to anything if they let that thing control their desires, dictate how they spend their time, or keep them from doing other things they used to enjoy or taking care of their responsibilities.  The phrase "The more _____ you own, the more your _____ owns you" is not just a pithy attack on materialism.  When someone goes camping and goes through television withdrawal, it's not just a useful metaphor.  I'm not a psychologist, but in my personal experience, if there's anything in your life that you do regularly often without thinking, or because you "can't help yourself," or because you think it makes your life easier/simpler/better, you're forming a habit, and habits can easily become addictions.

The Lord of the Rings was my addiction.  It didn't kill me, and I don't even necessarily regret it, but I do sometimes wonder what would have been different about my Junior High and high school experience if I had had a more healthy relationship with the books and movies.  The difference, from what I can tell, is in the control.  If you honestly determine when, where, and how you do something, if you really can stop any time, then you're in control.  The moment you start feeling like you have to, like you can't afford not to, like it would be too hard to not do something, things start getting scary.

Aaaand I just went to the pottermore blog and realized that I didn't have to wake up until 22 minutes ago (it's 8:22 now) because they announced that registration would open sometime between 2 pm and 6 pm BST.  Ugh.  Obviously, I'm an example of an Internet-Idiot Harry Potter fan.  But evidently, those in charge of pottermore don't really want me anyway.

I'm going back to bed.  I hope I didn't offend anybody, but if I did, please tell me why.  I'm just postulating throughout all of this: as I said, I'm not a psychologist and most of my experience with addiction diseases is second-hand, so I am not an expert.

If, though, you think there are things that control you more than you'd like them to, my amateur suggestion would be to tell someone you believe can help you: not necessarily a friend or family member, but someone you think will have the wisdom and guts to help you work through it.  A counsellor, a mentor, a religious leader, a teacher...someone who either knows you or would know how to help you with your situation.

<3 spadeALLcross

EDIT: Wow...this post takes quite the journey. Probably reads a little strangely. I should edit it at some point, and I probably will later.

Today is Hufflepuff Day!

I have complained openly to many people about how I think Hufflepuff is the house for die Reste, the place where you go when you're not smart enough for Ravenclaw, not brave enough for Gryffindor, and not ambitious enough for Slytherin, but too wizard to stay home.

But, over the course of this past year, I've reread all of the books in a row, and I've learned something: Hufflepuffs are the activists.  The environmentalists, the inner-city teachers, the social workers.  They're hardworkers, and they're just and fair.  They'll do anything they can to stand up for a cause they believe in. And they probably will put two and two together fast enough to realize that it's smarter to live for a cause than to die for one if you can help it, unlike some Gryffindors.

Maybe I'm overblowing it.  They are all under 17, after all.  But they're not as bad as I made them out to be before.

Anyway, there aren't many Hufflepuffs I idolize (I didn't even swoon over Cedric.  Sorry.) and I had already picked Dumbledore to represent today, which is okay, because he's a headmaster: he can represent any of the houses.  Wild card.  Woo.

Caption: "In fact, being - forgive me - rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."
Status: ‎"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment, but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."

I actually had a ton more quotes I wanted to find some way to use--

Well – it's just that you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to – what is the phrase – 'Come quietly.' I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course – but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing.

"I am not worried, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. "I am with you."

"What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally the whole school knows."

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

And next, my outfit.

Hufflepuff is yellow and black.  So far, my least favorite color combination, but I still think it works pretty well.  The shirt is something from LOFT...or at least, that's what the tag says.  I bought if from a thrift store.  Shorts are black and from Primark.  Necklace is from Modcloth.  Jubilant expression is from me feeling awkward in front of a camera, trying to squish my whole body in there.

Tomorrow is the big day, guys.  The big day.  Good luck, God bless, and I'll see you when I see you.

<3 spadeALLcross

Checking In

I ate some bad something on Sunday, and so was in bed/in pain/insane all day yesterday.  I forgot to write my NaNo Novel until after midnight, so...shoot.  I owe Ben $5.

But I still have $25 from him coming at the end of the month if I keep up my word count from now on, so there is still hope.  Just gotta not get sick.

<3 spadeALLcross

P.S. Oh my gosh.  I love The West Wing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21UELSDw3_Y
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z1Ni1vDb_u4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4rigI3FkwE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAnwYfEUtLw


















*Halo Voice* Movie Spree

I couldn't possibly fit my big stuffed Eeyore through the eye of a needle...but I can't just leave him behind, either. He and I have spent fewer nights apart than my mother and I have...

This week has been hitting me over the head.  In general, it was one of the longest weeks I've had in a very long time: the days dragged on and there seemed to be no respite, except for Thursday, which was glorious, but also tumultuous for its own unique reasons.  More specifically, though, this week seemed to have an agenda.

It's like, Sunday said to last Saturday, "Hey, if you could go back, get the buddies together, and get one message through to this kid, what would it be?" and Saturday told Sunday, and Sunday--a more enterprising Sunday than I generally have--found a way to rally the troops, and this week has been themed.

And it all boils down to this: I don't deserve anything that I have.  Nothing.  80% of the world lives on less that $10 a day.  I just got a pay check of eight times that, and most of it went into savings, because I don't have to live on that.  I bought a Prius this summer with money that I didn't work for, I'm living in a house that I don't pay for, and half the books I own are technically someone else's.

But it's not just about money.  I don't deserve the life that I have.  I don't have any debilitating illnesses, any massive emotional trauma, anything that stops me in my tracks and I have to shovel myself off the floor before I can continue my life.  I don't have half the emotional strength of some of my friends, and yet the amazing force of will that they have is often not even enough to deal with their problems--problems to which I cannot relate.

I've never really had to work for anything my entire life.  This isn't news to me or anything, I've known it for a very long time.  I'm privileged beyond belief, but I've just now, this week, several. times. over. gotten a glimpse at just how far beyond belief.

And it's not fair.  As much as I wish I could give everything away and make everything equal, that's not actually possible.  And I can't honestly say that I wish that at all, because I like my life and I like my money and happiness and crap.

This week has just been a steady realization of my own pointlessness as a human being.

Okay...wow.  That sounded way more depressing and angsty than I meant it to...but I'm leaving it there, because that's what it feels like.  It's a gaping hole, an empty pain in my chest.  It's a consistent thing that makes it very hard to feel good about anything.

But I don't think it's the end of the story, either.  I mean, being depressed about how awesome my life is and wallowing in my relative wealth in both wealth and status would only make matters worse.  The problem is, I don't know where to take this revelation.  Sitting with it and rolling it around in my hands over and over again each day is fruitless and demoralizing; it won't get me anywhere.  But I can't see an avenue through which I can satisfy my urge to fix something. 

It's sad.  I approach problems, conversations, friendships, workshops, Bible studies, naptimes, lunch breaks...everything with the intention of fixing whatever is broken.  And here is the brokenness to end all brokenness, and naturally, this is not a problem within my range of fixing.  This is so far beyond me.

And whoever is reading this, saying the whole, "Give it up to God; let Him take care of it, because He can do everything," in their heads, I want you to not speak.  Because that's not an answer, and you know it.  It's a dodge.  If God wanted us to wait around on him to fix everything himself, Martin Luther would have said, "Corrupt church?  Meh." and Jesus would have built houses for a living.  God works through people, not around them.

Basically...I feel like the past 20 years of my life have been a festival of Mary.  I'd like to get past that now, finally.  Start new.

Dear World,


Mary has had her own inflated sense of self and purpose erased from her memory.  Please never mention their relationship to her again.


Thank you,
<3 spadeALLcross

Ohgodohgodwe'reallgonnadie...

I think I'm procrastinating going to sleep for some reason, because I keep finding stupid reasons to stay awake...not that this blog is a "stupid reason," per se, but...yeah, I'm going to regret it tomorrow when I have to watch my niece all day. But anyway, on with it.

I was just reading through my friend, Molly's blog, and I got kind of jealous that she could account for every day that had passed since she had started her blog. So, new year's resolution. In July. Again. We've got to stop meeting like this, honey. But now, I'm going to be one of those bloggers and post every day, telling whoever's listening everything that I did that day. I'm tired of my days getting away from me. So there. Take that, laziness.

Today was...an unproductive day. Good way to start out.

I had plans for today. I was going to clean up my room a bit, write an email for Dennis, help my mom clean up RC's room for Dennis, make a scavenger hunt for Dennis' birthday present, make dinner, and look for used cars.

Of that list, I did make dinner, and I did find some good used cars that I could probably afford. But nothing else. In all fairness, I started the day by looking through my finances to figure out how cheap my car has to be...and that just got me downright depressed. In three short years, I'm not going to have a single penny to my name. I'm really lucky in that I won't have negative pennies to my name, and I'm not complaining or anything, but thinking about my future always scares me.

So I watched Dr. Who in order to cool down. Why? I have no idea. I don't even like that show. But it worked. It took my mind off things. Off all things. And I didn't get anything done the rest of the day until dinner time.

Then I went to Cari's and was semi-productive, helping her rip wallpaper down off her kitchen walls. Not mine, but someone's work got done, anyway.

Tomorrow's list -

Watch Annabelle...all day.

During Annabelle's nap, organize my room some more to prepare to rearrange some stuff that night.

Read Dune

Read She's Come Undone.

<3 spadeALLcross

I feel so exposed...

I know, in this crazy, messed-up world of ours, it's possible to "retweet" (please don't ask me how I know that; being on twitter feels incriminating enough without having to admit it) but I don't know how legitimate it is to re-blog something. Here goes nothing.

Blogs are Odd.

They're odd in the sense that you want people to read them. But yet you don't. And somehow, it's so much easier for strangers to read about your most guarded thoughts than those that you know. I mean, it seems logical at first, but the more you think about that fact, the stranger it becomes.

I just found out that, yes, in fact, the Internet is a public place. Well, I mean, I'm not dumb, I knew that before, but I thought that it was a big enough public place that I could hide out here and only let a few people know where I am and be safe. But alas. Someone has found me. Dang.

So now my posts have to be interesting to more people than just my mother. Awesome. The stakes have gone up.

I'll try to be intriguing later.

<3 spadeALLcross

P.S. Aren't you glad I figured out how to fix that dumb dropped sidebar problem? Heh heh, I'm so smart.

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman...

Sad truth no. 1: I have no friends here. I thought I did, but upon further inspection, I realize that I have not connected to anyone beyond my boyfriend and possibly his roommate. That's really my own fault, because once I obtained said boyfriend, I forwent all possibilities of seriousness with my other relationships.

Sad truth no. 2: Operating under the delusion that I did indeed have friends here, I pretended I could afford to neglect somewhat my real friends from home. This includes my family. I have forgotten the power they have, the undeniable fact that they are the only ones who can pull me through anything.

Sad truth no. 3: Sad truths nos. 1 & 2 are really biting me in the butt right now. And I deserve it.

<3 spadeALLcross

The same blood flows through my veins...the same weakness...

    This may be a mistake, writing what I'm about to write all over the interwebs, since there are a few people I would rather not happen upon it who might.  However, there are a few people I want to have read it, and the other people might forgive me, plus I want to remember it myself and I don't keep any other journal.  So...if you end up wondering why I wrote this, here is a summary of my motivations/thought processes.

    As the people who know me at all will probably know, I've been in a relationship for eight [plus] months with one of the people listed on this webpage.  We're quite content, and there're really no complaints coming at least from me, and I'm pretty sure he's reasonably happy as well.  

    As the people who have attended college will know, there is generally something called a "freshman frenzy" in the first month of classes where everyone is scrambling to get into a relationship, since there is all this fresh material within range.

    As everyone reading this blog will know, I am not a freshman.  So no problem, right?  I have no need, hormonal, emotional, or physical for a frenzy of any kind, yes?

   No.  Wrong.  This kind of romantic fervor is not only contagious, it's actually a bit desirable.  I remember back to that time of my own freshman year: it was exciting to be single and, for once in my life, to not be able to pass off every potential guy as a been-there-done-that event.  Not only that, but once my significant other and I did start taking an active interest in each other, practically closing other doors, that relationship was all new and every action had that new-experience-smell.  

    I can't seem to stop myself from being at least a little jealous of single people.  I'm watching as one of my best guy friends is finding happiness in the beautiful green eyes of a Dutch-Canadian history major, and though I certainly don't oppose anything about either of them, it kind of hurts in a way.  I can't be a part of that.  (I can't decide which hurts more; that there's a part of his life which I'm cut off from,  or a part of college life in general that's no longer open to me.)

    Now, rationally, I know that none of this has any real bearing on anything.  As I said, I've got rhythm, I've got music, and I've got no plan to ditch all of that simply because the unknown is fun.  

    But emotionally, it's making me anxious.  In the lunch line today, I struck up a very random conversation with the guy standing in front of me just to pass the time and be friendly.  It couldn't have lasted more than three minutes before we split up to do/eat our own things, and I was under the impression that it was just a conversation.  (Maybe if I had known beforehand that he was a freshman, I would have thought differently?)  But at the end of it, when we were about to go our separate ways, he asked me for my name.  I told him.  I asked him his.  It was Ben.  And that's when a little bug hatched the eggs in my brain that led to this post: had I just accidently flirted with this guy?  If so, can I honestly say it was an accident?  Can I honestly say I didn't want to?  And if I can't, is that really a bad thing?  I'm guessing it's not abnormal, but does that make it okay?

    And there is more.  Because the memory of the confusion this conversation spawned will further complicate my interactions with all people of the opposite sex.  I will always be a little more conscious of the fact that this guy, whatever guy it is, may want more from me than I want from him.  Or maybe I'll temporarily want exactly the same thing he wants, but I'll worry about whether that's more than I should want.  

    And this is the thought process that has completely encompassed the past two hours of my life.  Thanks, world.  You're awesome.  I could have been doing something productive.

    Meh, whatever.  What else is college for?

<3 spadeALLcross

Ein jeder Engel ist Schrecklich

WARNING: I reserve the right of spoilers for both The Time Traveler's Wife and Her Fearful Symmetry in this post.  Proceed at your own risk.

    Audrey Niffenegger permeated my vacation.  At times, she was welcome and expected.  At times, I did everything I could to push her out the front door, green-bean casserole and all, saying, "No, Audrey, I wasn't having a party.  Thanks for the food, but I really don't know what you're doing here..."

    Last week (oh gosh, was it really only last week?) a movie came out in theaters that I refused to see.  I said to myself myself, I said, "Mary, promise me right now that you're not going to see this movie until you've read the book again, until you feel encased in it again, warm inside of it like it were an electric blanket and you weren't worried about carcinogens.  Promise me."  So I did.  I promised myself that I would not rest, I would not sleep for an instant until the book was reread.  But first I decided to take a road trip.

    My family does its best reading in the car listening to audiobooks, so I downloaded a [gloriously $9.95-and-yet-still-unabridged] copy of Time Traveler's Wife from the iTunes Store.  I hopped over to my MacBook, uploaded the book onto my iPod Touch (obvious plug - I heart iTunes and all things Apple related) and I was on my way from misery to happiness today.  Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh...

    Some 16 hours later (only about 10 of those included listening to the book) we were in Rhode Island and I was forced to put TTW out of my mind for a week.  But that didn't stop good ole Audrey.

    You see, by chance, by fate, by acts of omniscient God, a previous post did me some tangible good and midweek last week I came into possession of a real-life, hold-me-touch-me Advanced Reader's Copy of Her Fearful Symmetry, Audrey Niffenegger's second book.  I was like a giddy school-girl when this thing actually came in the mail, because up until that point I had had a nagging feeling that the correspondence I had had with the Literary group that was going to give me said ARC had all been some elaborate hoax.  Maybe it was for those Russian mail-wives who have been emailing me all these years to finally get my real address.  Almost as soon as we set foot on solid ground in Rhode Island, Audrey II was in my hand and I was reading.  

    In fact, I was feeling a little sick and down this past Sunday, so I stayed home from all the galavanting my mother, father, aunt, and uncle were doing, and then spent the whole day reading until I was finished.

    Then the rest of the week went by, much to all of our chagrins, as it was our last vacation of the summer and the last time I would see my aunt in who-knows-how-long, and on Thursday morning, we got back into the Chryssie the big red Chrysler and started up the audiobook.  

    Seven-and-change hours later (plus a bunch of time spent Audrey-less in Scranton and State College) Clare DeTamble was a gray, old woman and Henry was visiting her for the very last time.  And I breathed a sigh, because not only was my favorite book once again over, but that meant that Audrey would finally leave me alone.

    But the sheer existence of this post is proof that she didn't.  She's still hanging around, like a soul that couldn't quite let go, and I find myself thinking about her for strange reasons and at strange times.  I woke up too early the other morning and started wondering absently if my lost twin's ghost had brushed an icy hand over my hair.  I got deja vú and wondered if I'd found some fold in time, and I worried that some other copy of myself was stuck out of reach in a subzero parking garage.  I'll day dream, imagining this Audrey that I don't know, seeing her fall in love with Henry like I did, and feeling her pain as she mutilated and ended him.  And I'll try to see her face as she conjures up Robert and Elspeth, as she paints pictures of Highgate Cemetery with words so that people like me can imagine countries they've never seen.  She literally haunts both my waking and sleeping hours.

    Last week, when the mail came with my ARC of Her Fearful Symmetry, I was simultaneously given a charge to write this post.  After actually reading the book, I struggled mutely for days, wondering if I should actually be a good Christian and keep my promise.  But after re-finishing The Time Traveler's Wife, I've come to the conclusion that, in short, "That which does not kill me makes me stronger."

    I've got to hand the proverbial "it" to Audrey: she did manage to steer quite clear of the formidable temptation of authors whose first novels are bestsellers--to write its twin over and over again.  She left her mark--there is an obvious whiff of Niff on every page--but Time Traveler's Wife and Her Fearful Symmetry aren't even close cousins of each other.  They're set in different places and cultures with completely different characters and focuses.  I could tell from the first chapter that I was going to be satisfied by at least this heartwarming truth: Audrey is not an idiot.

    TTW jumps around quite a bit.  The structure for the whole book is based loosely on the timeline of Clare's life, but due to Henry's furry little problem, time and space are manipulated in such a way as to have a lurching effect on the reader.  This feeling is not anything unpleasant, and in fact accounts for at least part of why I love the book so much.  TTW is completely unique in the way it trusts the reader to just keep on trucking.  HFS does this as well, though I'm afraid some of the grace is lost because everyone in HFS is firmly grounded in the here and now, so chapters jump between story lines with no confirmation that it is only space that is being hurdled, not time as well.  A character will mention that a year has passed since an event of two chapters ago, and I will frown slightly, flip backwards to investigate, and eventually conclude that that must have just been a supremely boring year.

    TTW also has no plot.  Los siento.  There is probably a discernible climax, but it is so not because everything prior leads up to it and everything following leads away, but because it's the part where your emotions are thrown aboard the Andrea Gail and asked to quietly wait for the storm to pass.  The book works more like a television series, where each chapter or so is a short episode, with the familiar characters as the glue that keeps you wanting to watch every week, until finally the credits role for the season finale and you reluctantly turn off the set, knowing you're going to buy the DVDs when they come out.  In TTW, the characters are so compelling, their life stories so fascinating and real, and everything is so close to you like family that you don't realize it's coming from nowhere and has no particular destination in mind.

    HFS also has no plot.  It has a beginning, it has a middle, and it has something that looks like it tried to be an ending, but again there are more fragments than there is full vision, and the twist at the end is the high point of the action in the same way a random hiccup is the high point of a coma.  Not to say that HFS is as completely devoid of action as a coma, but you wouldn't expect coma guy to have a lung spasm, and I didn't expect...well...anything at the end of that book.  

    The way I see it, which could be very narrow-minded, I realize, Audrey tried to have a character-driven-plot without any substantial characters.  I couldn't discern the "main characters" from the supporting roles, because by the end I felt most familiar with the two people who seemed to have meant the least to the overall story, Martin and Marijke.  When they were taken out of the picture towards the end, I almost wished Henry and Clare would waltz in and restore some balance.  There was no glue, there was no timeline.  In the end I was lost, and I wanted things Audrey and her characters weren't giving me.

    As I had TTW read to me this week, I realized I must have skipped over a good portion of the book the first time I read it, because I did not remember there being that much sex, and in that brusque a style.  Don't get me wrong, I don't think sex in and of itself is a foul beast in need of literary vanquishing, and I understand that Romance is the best-selling genre of novel.  But with sex, as with profanity in my opinion, less is so often much more.  

    If a character goes through the whole book without uttering a single curse, and then suddenly lets loose on some guy because he uses the word "retard," it sends a clear message.  With sex, it's not so much the message, as the intimacy.  In ancient Greek plays, characters always died offstage.  I don't remember why that was, but it's a concept that's stuck with me.  Our deaths, like our sex, are not things we want a lot of strange people to witness unless there's something monumental in them that they need to know and understand.  And if it's overdone, it feels like the reader is intruding on something.  Or like it's just porn.  And that's two-bit stuff; not fit for a serious book.

   Sadly, I think HFS could have done with a bit more sex.  But I appreciated the times when it loomed awkwardly on inopportune horizons and was taken out of the options menu, because I really didn't want Martin to have random sex with the unorthodox-but-still-literal-girl-next-door the day before he got to go see Marijke.  That would have made things worse.

    Anyway.  Now you know.  Or maybe you don't; maybe I skirted around the topic, because I'm still not comfortable with the idea of this post.  So let me say it plain.  

    I didn't like Her Fearful Symmetry.  I was evidently a poor steward of your trust, Audrey, and for that, I apologize.  There were other, more-deserving people who had to do without an ARC because I had stolen theirs.  I'm sorry I didn't like it, because it seems a lot of people did.  I always look for characters, and I couldn't find any this time.

    None of this changes anything, really.  But I have developed a deeper love for The Time Traveler's Wife.  And I have started writing again myself, something I’ve sadly forgone for months now.  So I certainly don't dislike Audrey Niffenegger.  If anything, I appreciate her now more than ever.

<3 spadeALLcross

Introspection: my Anti-life

    How about a good story?

    Once upon a time, there was a Danish prince who always sat around thinking about doing things instead of doing them.  One day, he was so busy thinking that he killed his whole family and then died himself.  The end.

    Want another one?

    Once upon a time, there was a girl who always sat around thinking about doing things, and then thought about their possible consequences, and so didn't do them.  One day, she was so busy thinking that she drove herself mad because she didn't know what to do anymore.  What was smart, what was ridiculous, what was right, what was immoral, what was rational, what was running away from potatoes with huge eyes.  So then she sat in her room while all of her friends went out to eat at her favorite restaurant because she didn't think she deserved to go.  

    Didn't think she deserved to go?  What the heck is that about?  Since when do you need to deserve food?

    And then, once everyone left, she felt stupid.  And scared.

    The End.

<3 spadeALLcross

Hey, pee.ess., please pray for my friend Simon and his family. Even if you don't believe in prayer. Or God even. I desperately want something for him that probably won't happen, and the only think I can think to do to help is pray, but my prayers are not enough.

Hey! Hier Kommt Alex!

    This is the first entry I've done at night in a long time.

    It was very blustery weather today.

    I got a twitter this week to keep up with my best friend who's in college two states over.

    My boyfriend and I speak German to each other.  My sentences are generally longer than his, and they stay German for longer.

    My English Lit professor handed out scholastic book orders today in class.  Blast from the past, yo.  Why do little kids get to get their books so cheap?

    While reading Chaucer, my friend Jonas (his real name is Luke...) and I broke off into a long discussion about the amazingness of Lord of the Rings.  Evidently, we both fantasized in our youth about building and living in a Hobbit hole.  And evidently neither of us has really given up that dream quite yet.

    I was so excited that ate too many grilled cheeses this week on Grilled Cheese day.  Whoops.

    "The Office" is a rerun this week.  There go the two things I was looking forward to...

    I decided a couple ideals I have about my potential someday children and how I'm going to raise them.  Now I'm kind of tempted to have children.  That is exceptionally selfish of me, I know, that I want to have children just so I can name them and read to them in Middle English.  But so what.  They'll thank me later.

    I think I may want to write young-adult books for a living.  I'd never cut it as an adult writer, and I love the idea of infecting young minds with a love of literature...

    The song from where this entry gets its name is based on a book that involves machinery and colors... Can you figure out what?

<3 spadeALLcross

I don't wanna run away but I can't take it, I don't understand...

    I was cleaning my shower today, wishing I had a couple little mice to help me or something (but realizing that even if there really were mice that would sing and dance and make clothes for people, they probably wouldn't choose someone like me) and I don't know why, but I started getting philosophical.  (It could be because I had just come from my Intro to Philo class...).  

    There was the thinnest ring of pink around the edge of the shower along the wall that has the faucet.  I'd never seen it before, and I didn't know what made it; I, at least, use the Scrubbing Bubble spray stuff after every shower to prevent mildew, so I didn't think it could be that.    Anyway, it struck me all the dirt that can build up without our knowledge.  And if that thin pink line had been some sort of noxious toxin, it could have slowly killed all three of us with little to no effort.  That kind of scares me.

    Especially when you think we have that kind of dirt in our lives--our personalities, our habits, and our core values.  

    I guess what I'm saying is I need to clean my soul's bathroom...?

<3 spadeALLcross

10 things I've done throughout my life of which my mother would not approve.

10 - Downloaded Music

9 - Colored my fingernails with sharpies

8 - Swung from the shower curtain 

7 - Wore stripes with plaid

6 - Stayed up until four o'clock doing mostly nothing 

5 - Asked out a boy

4 - Took a shower at midnight, and with wet hair, went and played in the snow

3 - Contemplated getting artificially inseminated when I turned 18

2 - Got a tattoo

1 - Went to Calvin, lived in van Reken, and got an impromptu suite mate who may or may not have the Norovirus.

Sorry mother.  I tried.  I tried.

However, I haven't been to any raucous drunken parties, and I did buy some hand sanitizer.

<3 spadeALLcross

Is that a car alarm?

    5:30 this morning. Smoke in first Kals. That was a joy. If it had been anything more serious, Gen and I would probably have ended up dying, considering I only decided to get up after five to ten minutes of trying to discern why in the world someone wasn't turning off their alarm.  But eventually, we got out.  And then, after many annoyed whines, we got back in and went back to bed.  With some work.  Good times.

    This week is going to be as bad as last week was good.  Five days of 9:00 class instead of the intended four.  Scheduling for next semester on Thursday right after a second midterm (o.O?) in religion (with everybody's favorite professor...) and right before a weekend spent in the Library working on three consecutive research papers.  Bah.  Bah bah bah bah.

    The lobby is a mess.  I thought, having grown up with three brothers, I would be better prepared for life with a bunch of disgusting college kids, but I'm afraid nothing on the earth, save living in a tornado-ransacked hovel all your life, could prepare anyone for this.  I feel terrible for the "tidying" staff.  They have the worst job on campus when it comes to us.  

    We watched The Exorcist on Friday.  Ouch.  That's all I have to say.  If my neck did that of its own accord...let's just say I wouldn't enjoy it.  

    This Monday will not be enjoyable, but I'm trying my best not to think too hard about the things that I'm going to hate about it.  

<3 spadeALLcross

    Oh, and by the way, in case you were wondering, when writing on your blog about a movie like The Exorcist and looking up pictures of it on google, I would not recommend listening to the last minute of "A Day in the Life."  It's a good thing it's broad daylight....

Donna kudamono ga suki desu ka. Kudamono ga kirai desu.

    So, I threw an apple at an Apple today.  Neither the irony, nor the ridiculosity have escaped me.  No worries.  

Thank you, and goodnight.

<3 spadeALLcross

Slight downturn...

    Yesterday I had a lapse in judgement. But it's okay. I'm rectifying it by blogging now instead of homeworking...yeah. Definitely.

<3 spadeALLcross

And on the eighth day, God created Amazon.com. And He said, "Oh snap. Now that's what I call good."

    Last week was what I am referring to as "Library sans Library" week.  I was studying profusely for the three midterms and a test in five days, however the library is on the opposite side of campus from my dorm, so instead of ruining a good walk, I just fashioned myself a quiet habitat either in my room or the basement.  

    Last weekend was what I am referring to as "Screw 'em" weekend.  Don't get all gross on me; I just mean that I did absolutely nothing productive until Sunday night (something I've been trying to avoid in all my past weekends, but due to the stress of last week, I decided it would be permissible this once) and I splurged and spent money.  Online.  Thus the title of this post.

    Anyway.  This week is going to have a completely separate title: 

    "Mary is remembering herself" week.  I'm going to spend this week doing the things I loved to do before, the things I gave up when I came here because I made time for other things instead.   I need to find a balance between new Mary and old Mary.  

    Writing.  Reading.  Sleeping.  Actually caring about homework.  These are all things that have been tossed by the wayside.

    With you as my witness, I am returning these weapons to my arsenal as of right now.

Good night and good luck.

<3 spadeALLcross