Old Sayings

December 23, 2013

Christmastime. A time for family and friends. For food and music and presents and joy. And a time for remembering those who are no longer with us, whom you miss dearly and still think of often.

I lost my grandfather my freshmen year of high school, and around this time of year I always find my thoughts straying to him. Perhaps it's the darkness of the days or just my own romantic tendencies. Either way, I find myself reminded of a wonderful man who was full of laughter, wit, and kindness.

My grandfather had a great passion for words, poetry in particular. He often sung while working, old ballads and folks songs, and was able to recite large passages of poetry from memory. He was also full of quirky old sayings that could be applied to many of the ordinary things in life. 

I was discussing a friend of mine with my mother recently who has been having some troubles with her manfriend. Although my opinion really doesn't count for much, as it is not my relationship, I was sharing some of my thoughts on her manfriend's decision to write my friend a letter detailing all the things that he thought should be fixed in the relationship. Besides the content itself, I was a little bit upset at the whole concept of making these demands in a letter. 

My mother turned to me and she said, "I once had a similar situation with a guy. I think I was trying to break up with him, and was going to chicken out and just write him a letter. I was at home discussing it with Mama when your grandfather turned around and said:

Say it with flowers

Or say it with mink

But whatever you do

Don't say it with ink!

And you know what? He was right."

So I thought I would share that with you all, dear audience. A small snippet of insight into the man that I miss so dearly around the holidays. Hope you all are enjoying your time with your families. Merry Christmas!

Apples to Apples

December 21, 2013

I don't know if all of you in my dear audience have played Apples to Apples before, but I spent a good two or three hours playing it today. And then I remembered my friend telling me of a similar game earlier in the semester. And I decided I must share it with you and put it on my Christmas wish list. 

The game is called "Cards Against Humanity." It's like Apples to Apples, but way nastier and more morbid. Apparently you can either download it online and make your own set or order it for $25... Here's the website below.

http://cardsagainsthumanity.com/

Try not to get too excited now folks. 

Traveling and Dancing

December 20, 2013

Today I drove for over three hours in a snowstorm. And my mouth still hurts like a summbitch. So although I dearly want to regale you all with a shining example of my wit and humor, I just don't have it in me, dear audience. So I'm going to leave you with the beginning of a story... A story that could have been me tonight, if I had gone dancing instead of traveling. I will leave it open-ended, so that I can imagine any and all of the tantalizing possibilities that could have come to pass if I had decided upon a different course and a different path (and if I hadn't had all my wisdom teeth yanked out a couple of days ago, but we will conveniently skip over that little detail...).

A Dance For the Night

She perched on the edge of her seat, eyes darting from face to face in the crowd, scanning the floor for a potential partner. The smooth lace of her dress slid against her thighs, delicately fluttering against her skin with each pass of the fan in the corner of the room. She couldn’t ignore the subtle itch at the base of her neck that was the unfortunate side effect that always followed the combination of an excessive amount of hairspray and sweat. Again she reminded herself not to mess with her elaborate, and slightly unfamiliar, up-do that she and her friends had spent a solid two hours tweaking and twirling into the exactly perfect position. Not that she didn’t expect her hair to come undone at some point throughout the night, but she always staved off that moment for as long as possible by personally forbidding herself to pet, caress, fondle, pat, stroke, comb, or otherwise touch her hair in any way. 

The slender belt of her dress slid to and fro beneath her ribs as she continued to fidget in her seat, searching for a position that didn’t involve her mostly-bare thighs sticking to the vinyl seat covering. The night had started out hot and muggy, which wasn’t being alleviated by the densely packed dance floor filled with sweating, heaving bodies. If it weren’t for the vintage clothing and the 1930’s big band music, one would think she was at a college rave instead of a community swing dance. Just as well though. As a new college student, she was practically entitled to go out dancing as many nights as she chose. If the type of dancing was less-than-typical, then so be it. 

Giving up avoiding the uncomfortably sticky vinyl, she slouched down into her seat, waiting for the current song to end. She had come here with a group of friends, and now found herself the odd one out as they all twirled and spun across the dance floor while she was stuck alone on the sidelines. With a sigh she dropped her chin into her palm, resigning herself to waiting out the song and hoping for better luck the next go around. 

Technically, she was fully capable of just going across the room and asking a guy to dance herself; yet every time she gathered her courage in both hands and began to rise and go across the floor to ask someone, a prettier and more outgoing girl swooped in like some kind of scavenging vulture and plucked her potential partner away, leaving her standing awkwardly alone again, with no sense of direction or purpose, which ultimately led to her quietly sitting back down and watching the dancers out on the floor with a wistful air. 

These kinds of things always turned out the same way, and at times she wondered why she even bothered. Even as the smooth tones of Louis Armstrong began to wind their way through the muggy atmosphere of the club, crooning of moonlit nights and dances by starlight, she heaved a sigh and quietly sneaked around the edge of the dance floor, searching for some relief in the cool night air. As she lingered on the sidewalk, watching the cars roll by in the night, she looked up at the stars, wondering when exactly life had begun to seem so grey. 

With a crash and a curse, a group of young men from the dance came stumbling out the door, laughingly ragging on each other the whole way, as she observed quietly from her street corner...

Dammit Dolls

December 19, 2013

'Tis the season. And all that jazz. Today I was out doing some Christmas shopping for my family (which I am over halfway done with, by the way) and I was observing all the varied and strange things people market around Christmas time.

You have to realize, dear audience, that I really don't like shopping for Christmas presents in mainstream stores like Walmart or JC Penny or any of those kinds of places. In fact, if at all possible, I try to avoid the mall altogether. I much prefer the antique, consignment, and local stores that have goods that not only support local businesses, but also offer items that are more unique and personal. 

However, sometimes "unique and personal" can be construed as just, plain strange. There was one item in particular that stood out. It was a box full of "Dammit Dolls."

I wish I had brought my camera, dear audience, because these dolls were truly strange. They were of the ragamuffin variety, complete with sewn-on faces and yarn hair. They didn't really have clothing, but were rather made of patterned fabric. Each doll had a little poem sewn to their front. It said,

Dammit Doll

WHENEVER THINGS DON'T GO SO WELL,

AND YOU WANT TO HIT THE WALL AND YELL,

HERE'S A LITTLE DAMMIT DOLL,

THAT YOU CAN'T DO WITHOUT.

JUST GRASP IT FIRMLY BY THE LEGS,

AND FIND A PLACE TO SLAM IT.

AND AS YOU WHACK THE STUFFING OUT,

YELL, "DAMMIT, DAMMIT, DAMMIT!"

And yes, dear audience. It was in all capital letters. I can't decide if this is one of the most awesome gifts ever invented or the saddest attempt at a marketing ploy I have ever seen. Either way, I'm considering it as a prank gift for one of my siblings. Here's to hoping she thinks it's as funny as I think it is. 


P.S. I found the website for them. Here it is, dear audience.

www.dammitdolls.com

And here's a picture of one of them. Don't worry, they come in a variety of colors and sizes, so you can individualize them for the whole family!

Jiminy Christmas, aren't they ugly little things?


P.P.S.
Ok, dear audience, brace yourselves! Apparently, there are a couple different versions of the Dammit Doll poem!

Ok, I swear I'm done...

Wisdom Teeth

December 18, 2013

Today I got my wisdom teeth removed, and can officially say that I am not allergic to general anesthesia. I would like to share with you some witty story about how I acted when they brought out from the anesthesia after surgery, but I don't really remember most of it, my mother was the only person with me (and she never tells, which is fortunate for me, I suppose) and then I proceeded to sleep all afternoon. And then eat dinner and sleep most of the evening. You all are lucky that I decided that I should probably get ready for bed so my face doesn't break out, or I would have fallen off the wagon again and taken another week to get back to posting. 

As a side note, my entire lower jaw and chin area are still completely numb... I wonder if I should be concerned...

Another thing I have realized with these wisdom teeth is all the wonderful things I am not going to be able/have to be careful about eating for the next 1-2 weeks. To torture myself, and because I am really enjoying posting pictures, I am going to show you guys some of the foods that are on my food "wish list" for Christmas that I am not allowed to eat.

Cinnamon Rolls with Icing

My favorite Christmas candy... Divinity

Although, I usually forgo the nuts.

Ribs. With an inhuman amount of BBQ sauce.

Salty caramels.... The ones that melt in your mouth.

Triscuits (preferably Garden Herb) with specialty cheese.

Great. Now I have the munchies.

Happy Holidays, Dear Audience!

Learning to Deal With Reality

December 17, 2013

I don't know about you, dear audience, but each of you probably has a pretty good idea of what kind of person you are or want to be. This is usually defined by several different ideals, things you hold important in life, and one of the strangest and hardest things to accept is when one of those ideals shifts and you realize that maybe you aren't who you thought you were. 

I say this because today I got my final grades for the semester, and I got a C+ in a class that I was pretty sure I was going to get a B in... Remember when I was saying that organic chemistry was kicking my butt? Well. It kicked my butt. Next up, biochemistry. 

My GPA is still relatively high, and I received A's in all my other classes this semester, but still... That C+ has me so distracted I can't focus on anything right now. I'm still trying to deal with the fact that I am a person who receives a C+ in organic chemistry... 

In other news, I'm getting all four of my wisdom teeth pulled tomorrow. I'm considering the wisdom (haha) of writing a post while all dosed up on the happy pills they are going to give me for the pain. We shall have to wait and see. 

Road Trips Zap Me Like An Electrical Socket

December 16, 2013

Hello, dear audience. Today I cleaned my house, packed my things, and drove for five hours. I'm toast. So, in lieu of an exciting post today, I am going to leave you with pictures of adorable snowmen and a promise that tomorrow my post will be three times as awesome as it usually is (or I shall perish in the attempt). 

 Because he's just too adorable...

If The Sandlot and Frosty the Snowman ever had a love child...

The Snowmen army... Kind of like the storm troopers off of Star Wars 

To the kid who made the BEST SNOWMEN EVER...

On Men and Women

December 15, 2013

I found an interesting link on Facebook today that I thought I would share with you all. This doesn't directly correspond with my experience of gender roles, but I thought it was thought-provoking. And it also commanded a use of poetry that I will probably never understand, but am fully able to appreciate.

Without further ado...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQucWXWXp3k

On Religion and Zombies

December 14, 2013

So a while ago my roommate and I found a pamphlet underneath our door. It read:

Do you believe the dead can live again?

Would you say...

Yes?

No?

Maybe?

I later learned that it was a pamphlet from the LDS church promoting their faith and religion and other such things. Which makes sense, I suppose. I mean, the picture on the front had a couple standing together looking at pictures of their family on the wall, whom I assume are deceased and they miss greatly. However, I conveniently overlooked this subtle visual cue. So guess what I thought the pamphlet was for?

Zombies.

This isn't as strange as you would think it is. At school, there is an event that they put on twice a year where some people are designated as zombies and they ambush the "humans" around the school and turn them into zombies too. Last human standing wins. The event lasts for an entire week or so, and some people really get into it. Nerf guns. Camouflage clothing. Headbands reminiscent of Rambo. It's pretty awesome. So when I saw the pamphlet, I thought it was something like that. Oh no. Totally wrong.

It's kind of funny though, when you think about it. Here the purpose was to promote religion and my first thought was undead, decaying monsters. I wonder if that says something about me...

Anyways, I got such a kick out of it that I made some adjustments and taped the pamphlet to our door (partly because they kept coming back and giving us more pamphlets, and I wanted them to know that, yes, we DID get their pamphlet). It read something like this...

Do you believe the dead can live again?

Would you say...

(X)Yes?

No? 

Maybe? 

Zombies... Duh.

I am quite aware that this is not a high point on my road to maturity. So, I'll eventually take the pamphlet off the door. And then store it in a box so I can take it out years later, look at it, and chuckle a bit. Because even though I don't mean to be disrespectful to any religious folk out there trying to spread their beliefs, I still thought it was pretty dang funny.

Friday the 13th (of December...)

December 13, 2013

Today is Friday the 13th. Of December, I'll grant you, but it is still a legitimate Friday the 13th. 

I've always had mixed feelings about superstitions and such things. Part of me (the part that loves to read fantasy books and was convinced that I was going to get a letter from Hogwarts) really wanted to believe in all of these superstitions. And part of me was the eternal skeptic who sat back with their arms crossed and scoffed. The end result was a child who decided to believe in her own superstitions, which included, but were not limited to, believing that a black cat crossing your path actually brought good luck (and how could they not, cats are adorable!). 

I mention this now not because I have had any encounters with black cats recently, but rather because I sat down to take my last final of the semester today only to have my professor go up to the board and write:

Today is Friday the 13th.

Good luck.

I thought this was a little mean-spirited. Especially when you are handing out an exam that was all short answer and essay-type questions and happened to be like six pages long. Just saying. All you gods of academia out there, you can be real turds sometimes. 

So happy Friday the 13th everyone. Hopefully all the vibes of cheer and goodwill from Thanksgiving and Christmas will have canceled out that unlucky Friday the 13th vibe and I will have passed my exam. Keep your fingers (and toes) crossed!

So Close...

December 12, 2013

So I've been sitting here for the last fifteen minutes or so, racking my brains for what super-amazing topic I'm going to wow you all with today, dear audience. I am sad to report that I can think of nothing awesome happening in my life. Or at least nothing that a large number of people would also agree is awesome. I was tempted to cop out and just fill this entire post with some of my favorite quotes from books I've been reading, but I decided against it for two reasons. First, I'm pretty sure you all have something better to do with your time than read a compilation of quotes that I have randomly selected with no theme or point whatsoever. Second... I'm too lazy to type all the quotes out. Yep, it's that bad folks.

I suppose this is a common symptom of finals week. I have almost made it to the end. I am so close! But not quite there. Some people are blessed by the gods and goddesses of academia and are finished with their finals early in the week. Some are cursed like myself to have finals all the way up until the Friday of finals week. I envy those lucky souls.

Like my roommate, for example. I walked into the apartment this afternoon after an intensive organic chemistry study session that was making my brain throb to find that the entire apartment reeked of nail polish. I walk into my roommate's room to find her sprawled out on her bed, laptop on her lap, all four limbs splayed in different directions. 

"So, what you up to?" I asked, rubbing my temples in a futile attempt to relieve the throbbing behind my eyes. "And why does our entire apartment reek of nail polish?"

"Oh, I was bored and didn't know what to do, so I decided to paint my toenails! Then, when I was finished, I still didn't know what to do so I just put a coat of clear polish on my finger nails."


If looks could kill.

"Come here and let me tell you what I think of you being that bored," I said to her, visions of strangulation and dismemberment running through my head. 

It is intensely demoralizing to be working that hard and come home to find someone that bored. I realize that she probably worked just as hard as I did, and that her finals just happened to finish before mine, but it doesn't mean that it made my impulse to strangle her any lower. 

However, I only have one more day to go, and then I'm free for a whole month. Just one more day. Here's to the almost-there feeling that we have all been tormented by at one point or another and hoping that it doesn't drive me crazy before I can finish this semester. 

Also, let's hope that the smell of nail polish eventually dissipates from our apartment, because it is really not helping my headache. 

On Days When You're Wishing of Summer...

December 11, 2013

Sometimes,  when the days outside get dark and chilly and I spend my days cooped up inside studying for finals that I just want to be over and done with, I get nostalgic for the days of summer.

Warm days. When I could walk outside in the dirt without any shoes; when in the afternoon a dip in the lake is refreshing rather than hypothermia-inducing  (yes, some people up here still jump in the lake in the winter; this suicidal tendency has been dubber the "polar plunge"); when bonfires are aesthetic rather than essential at ten at night. 

So, in remembrance of the days of summer, I wrote a small passage describing a small moment in summertime that I find myself missing now, in the dark of winter.

On Sunny Afternoons By the Lake

Sunlight glinting off the water,
Gently warming every surface,
Slowly browning all my skin.

The breeze flicking through my notebook,
Gently stirring through my hair.
The water slapping 'gainst the cliff side,
Slowly crashing in the air.

Steady crunching of my crackers,
Silent slurping of my glass.

Is it green or is it blue?
Look more closely,
Nothing there.

Sizzle slowly in the sunlight,
Pad with caution down the dock.

Far off rumbling of the motor,
Gliding swiftly through the water,
Each splash glistening mid-air.

Gradual release of all my tension,
Each vertebrae popping 
At the ease
Of long-stiff muscles in my shoulders,
Down my back,
Like clicking keys.

Note: I would like to make a disclaimer right now that I have never, nor shall I ever, understand the form and function of poetry. Any choices I made in writing and formatting this quote-on-quote "poem" (read quotation mark hand gestures) were made for no other reason than I simply thought it looked better that way. Thank you.

On Goals and Wishes...

December 10, 2013

I was looking through some of my writings from this past summer and I came across a entry that I had wrote that was in the form of a wish list. I bring it up now because we are immersing ourselves in that season that inspires wishes and resolutions and reflection, and I thought that I would share with you all some of my own goals and aspirations. 

Also, I would just like you all to know, dear audience, that in terms of progress I have already accomplished numbers four and twelve on this list, which fortifies my resolve and gives me hope that maybe some of the other items aren't so unattainable after all.

From an entry on August 11, 2013...

You know, it’s strange sometimes. I realize that we are supposed to condition ourselves to not getting exactly what we want. I think it would be slightly unhealthy for a person to spend all their time wishing to be someone they’re not, for things they don’t have, for things that cannot happen. And yet sometimes, I feel like we need to allow ourselves some time to ruminate on all those things that we wish for, the times that we dream of, the things we wish we had. Maybe that would give us a little bit more purpose in our life, a little more direction to our day. And so occasionally, I dip into the wellspring of my desires and wallow in my dreams, if only for a little while. I guess today is just one of those days. 

And so, in keeping with the traditions of childhood and a lifetime with organized family shopping, I have decided to make a wish list. Some of the things on my wish list can be easily given as birthday presents or small favors; some of the things are slightly more intangible. And some shall probably never happen, at least not in the near future. But that’s okay, because we are allowed to dream beyond our limitations, our expectations, and our qualifications. So, without further prevarication, here is my wish list, at this point in my life, of all the things I desire deep in my soul. 

Paige’s Wish List

1. Chacos. I have always wanted a pair of chacos. Sturdier than flip flops yet better ventilated than tennis shoes. And accompanied by epic tan lines. 
2. A tea rack or display case of some sort for my vast collection of tea. Somehow it seems criminal to possess such a fantastic array of tea and have it be confined to a dusty kitchen cupboard. I want to be able to openly peruse the entirety of my collection, and let others do so as well. 
3. A collection of audiobooks. The impetus for this impulse was the excerpts from Eloisa James’ (or Mary Bly, whichever you prefer) Paris in Love memoirs on her website. But I want to amass an entire collection, which I can listen to in the car on drives or put on a stereo in the tub. To hear all of these wonderful worlds in the voice of a stranger. There is an inexplicable appeal to that which I find desirable. 
4. Someday I would like to have a henna tattoo. One which is intricate and elegant, most probably on my ankle and leg. Do I want a permanent tattoo? No way. I am much too fickle to be able to pick a single design to have on my body for my entire life. Yet there is some attraction in the concept of having an image wrapped around my body, an intimate embrace between me and my ideas, for the entire world to see.
5. A date. I would like for someone to ask me out on a date. A fun, relaxing, easy date where I don’t have to worry about expectations or appearances, where I can spend time with someone just because I want to get to know them. I don’t want to seriously date them, or worry about them making a move on me when I’m not comfortable with it. I just want someone to think that I’m interesting, and take the time to get to know me. To reassure me that yes, someone is paying attention. 
6. I want to get my cartilage pierced so I can wear those earrings that connect to the regular piercing and the cartilage piercing. Also, I want to put a hoop in my ear like a pirate.
7. Someday, I would like to have permanently clear skin. So I can touch my face without feeling like a Braille book and wash my face without any pain. That would be a wonderful thing. And it saddens me when some people can’t appreciate the boons they have been granted. 
8. I need to get some new heels for dancing. The soles are peeling off my current heels, and I fear that in the near future they will need replaced.
9. I want to cuddle with someone. Snuggle. Whatever you choose to call it. I just want… someone to sit on the couch and watch a movie with. Someone to put their arms around me and play with my hair. To hold me on their lap and hold me tight. Afterwards, I’ll probably want to crawl under a rock and die, but at this point, I really just want to cuddle with someone, and my cat just isn't cutting it.
10. For many years now, it has been a dream of mine to have a professional back massage. Not for any medical purposes, or because my back is aching or out of place. I just really want the total relaxation and comfort that comes from a legit back massage. Without me having to do anything in return. Can you imagine how wonderful that would be? To get a back massage and know that no one is expecting one in return? 
11. Nothing sounds as sweet right now as peace of mind. Free from worries of school, family expectations, housemates’ needs and social engagements. No nagging little thoughts in the back of your mind prodding at your conscience. 
12. I want two cats. I realize that they are extra work, and less space, and more than a little adjustment. But it also means two cats to play with, to watch grow, to love. And there is nothing I love so much as loving animals. 
13. An antique desk. I can see it in my mind now. A small, elegant, little desk at which I can sit down and work on my homework or answer my correspondence. A little place all my own that lets me sit up and face the day, encouraging me to live my life to the fullest, bolstered by the craftsmanship and loving care that went into the construction of the desk made so long ago. How delightful to have that many years supporting you and holding you up.
14. One of these days, I am going to order elaborate, personalized stationary. I will save it for extenuating occasions, and when I sit down to write on it, I will know that what I am writing is memorable and important, and thought through with care.
15. I would love to have a day bed.  How quaint would it be to have your afternoon nap on a day bed? 

What's in a Word?

December 9, 2013

Did you know that when someone asks me to tell them what a word means or give a definition, I always give it in terms of synonyms rather than an actual description? It's funny the way the mind works sometimes. I suppose that means that my thoughts are based more in relations between objects and ideas rather than in individual components or descriptions of the subject. 

In some ways, I suppose this is beneficial. In others, I think it can be slightly misleading. I guess it's just one of the ways that I am reminded that "knowing" is a nebulous and intangible concept that is continually morphing and recreating itself. 

This entire line of thought came about when I was trying to identify my mood this evening. For me, it's simply not good enough to say, "I'm tired," or "I'm unhappy," or "I'm depressed," or (conversely) "I'm happy." There is too much ambiguity in those kinds of words. Not enough specificity. If I say I'm sad, I immediately think, What kind of sad? To what degree? In what stage? From what source? So, with only myself, my vocabulary, and my relational tendencies, I decided that I felt "maudlin." 

Then of course came that nagging little suspicion in the back of my mind. Does that actually mean what I think it means? In my mind, "maudlin" sounded like it perfectly fit my mood. The roundness of the sound, the heavy weight it carried on my tongue, the dark tone it inspired, it made me think to myself, Yes, I feel quite maudlin at the moment. Yes indeed.

But still, the nagging doubt, so I took advantage of the wonder of knowledge and technology and looked up the exact definition of "maudlin." From the online Merriam-Webster Dictionary, an Encyclopedia Britannica Company, the definition is:

maudlin- showing or expressing too much emotion especially in a foolish or annoying way; drunk enough to be emotionally silly; weakly and effusively sentimental

This was definitively not what I had in mind when I was thinking of the word "maudlin." The emotional and sentimental component? Yes. The foolish and/or annoying component? Not so much. So I searched for other words that would more precisely encompass the tragic, profoundly upsetting sadness that I was feeling. This is what I found.

somber- very sad and serious;  having a dull or dark color; so shaded as to be dark and gloomy; of a serious mien; of a dismal or depressing character; conveying gloomy suggestions or ideas

saturnine- very serious and unhappy; cold and steady in mood; of a gloomy or surly disposition

And I was dissatisfied with both of these choices. They are perfectly respectable words that fit what I was trying to describe much better than my previous choice. And yet. And yet. 

And yet I was still stuck on "maudlin." Perhaps because the sound reminded me of similar, dark-sounding, tragic words, such as "macabre" and "morbid." Maybe I'm just having a small affair with the letter "m" this evening. Because there was some small part of me that didn't want to accept Merriam-Webster's definition tonight. For me, "maudlin" no longer carried its foolish and trivial connotation that was spelled out in that definition. Tonight, its very intonation carried with it a great and heavy sadness, the kind that makes you question the truths of your life and the beliefs you hold dear. The kind of real emotion that simultaneously makes you want to charge out into the world and protect all the innocence and at the same time shy away from its daunting presence which hovers over you like some great and terrible cloud. 

What's in a word, dear audience? Does it truly matter whether or not the emotion that I relate to this word is the same as what was defined by some British linguist probably hundreds of years ago? Is that any more the true definition than what I had previously held as the true definition in my own mind? 

I was reading one of my new books that I recently bought on sale over Thanksgiving, called The Thirteenth Tale. In it, one of the main characters received a letter from an author who was infamous for never giving a true accounting of her life to biographers. Each time she was asked about her life, she would spin a new tale, until it almost became a rite of passage for any journalist or biographer to go visit her and say, "Tell me about yourself." 

This author (the character, not the author of the book herself), wrote this passage to the main character which stuck with me. She wrote,

"My gripe is not with lovers of the truth, but with truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? When the lightening strikes the shadows on the bedroom wall and the rains taps at the window with its long fingernails? No. When fear and cold make a statue of you in your bed, don't expect hard-boned and fleshless truth to come running to your aid. What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safety of a lie." - pg 5, The Thirteenth Tale

At the time, I had a challenging time wrapping my mind around this concept. Typically, I am of the mindset that many times things would turn out better in the end if one simply faced the facts of life and accepted them. This subversiveness (at least in my mind) was not only completely unhelpful to a person, but also actively detrimental to a person's state of being. It followed a similar vein to my very solid belief in personal responsibility. 

But now I have a new lens from which to view this proposed philosophy towards truth and reality and their purposes in our minds and our lives. Because sometimes maybe it doesn't truly matter what the world deems is truth or fiction, what is correct or incorrect. When it is something internal, when you are frozen inside yourself, "a statue in your bed," you don't really give a fig about anything Merriam-Webster or any other authority has to say. What is true for you, in that moment, is as real as any thunder and lightening that damages your property and frightens your children. And perhaps, that says something about this nebulous nature of knowledge and truth that we always seem to think we have figured out. To sound completely cliche and unoriginal, "The wise man knows he knows nothing, the fool thinks he knows all."

So, for the moment, I shall remain "maudlin," despite disagreements on the behalf of Merriam and Webster. To be blunt, they can currently go shove it. Whatever "it" may be. 

I suppose I should mention what brought me to this maudlin state. Wouldn't want you to think that I am needlessly despondent, dear audience. To be perfectly honest, my roommate and I decided that tonight would be a good night to watch Schindler's List together in lieu of studying for final exams. I think that sometimes a person simply needs to confront that kind of sadness, to remind ourselves why we are here and what we are trying to accomplish. Of course, it's entirely possible that we are both decidedly strange, but I suppose that has already been established, no? 

When It Gets A Little Nippy

December 8, 2013

It's been a little chilly the past week or so. More than chilly. I think the technical term is freezing. Below freezing.

I was on Facebook the other day and I saw an acquaintance post something along the lines of, "If I had to choose between giant insects and long, cold winters, I would still choose the winters." I think it was supposed to be a comment on the poster's willingness to put up with frigid winters in exchange for safety from large invertebrates, but when the weather is like it has been the last week, I begin to warm up to the idea of the insects.

I drove to work at 6:30 in the morning and my thermostat in my truck said -13 degrees Fahrenheit. -13. That's kind of chilly. The funny thing is, when I drove home from work later that afternoon, the thermostat had dropped to -17 degrees. How exactly does that work? Isn't it supposed to be colder in the morning? 

I was walking the dogs today at work thinking about what it would have been like to live exactly where I do a hundred or even fifty years ago. Realize that when it's at least 10 below outside, the walks with the dogs tend to be rather short. Still, even with that consideration, 10 minutes was about my limit before my fingers began to freeze inside my gloves. And then as I was scurrying back to the warmth of the house with the dogs as fast as I could possibly go, I thought about what it would  be like to live in this kind of weather back when there wasn't any electric or gas heating. And it wasn't a very comfortable picture.

So I would just like to say that I am very thankful for modern technology in relation to its ability to keep me and all my extremities toasty warm. After all, I'm quite attached to my extremities. 

It Was Bound To Happen Eventually...

December 7, 2013

It finally happened.

Okay, so maybe it happened way before I thought it was going to happen, but I'm still saying that I called it. I fell off the wagon.

Of course, as soon as I fell off the wagon I decided that I was going to commit to falling off that wagon. Which is why, dear audience, this is coming to you approximately one week after my last post. If I was gong to screw up my self-imposed resolutions, then dammit, I was going to screw up. No half-assed screwing up for this blogger. No sirree. 

On the metaphor of the wagon though, I just have to share with you all an extremely amusing conversation I had with my sister about halfway through my week of slacking off on this blog. It kind of went something like this....

Sister: You are getting really far behind on your blog!!! (Notice the multiple exclamation points...)

Me: Sorry, fell off the wagon for a while :) (Note the ingratiating smiley face meant to convey my sheepish grin of shame)

Sister: A while being FIVE days... That's quite a while to be off the wagon. I'm pretty sure if you were a settler on the Oregon Trail you'd already be a pile of bleached white bones...

Me: Dude, no. I'd have joined the Indians by now. No need for wagons.

Sister: The snakes and coyotes would've already got you. Face it. Your blog life is nothing but a mere warning for future promising bloggers.

Me: Ouch. No holds barred there.

Sister: Can't blame me. Been waiting for a while ;) Leaves me time to look for good word choice and stinging comments. And you made a promise to to yourself so nothing should I say should be as hurtful as your own disappointment in yourself... Just saying ;) 

(I would like to make a note here that when she includes those winky faces in her text messages I can picture in my mind the exact smug grin that's on her face while she's texting this. And it makes me want to growl like a grizzly bear that just got shot in the face with a can of pepper spray. So, Sister, if you're reading this right now.... Grrrrrrrrrr.............)

Me: What are you, my therapist? (This was not one of my better days...)

And from there the conversation deteriorated into subjects that aren't quite as amusing as our extended "falling off the wagon" metaphor. But I would just like to add, in the spirit of Thanksgiving and Christmas and all those warm and fuzzy holiday feelings, that I am extremely grateful to be part of a family that gets me well enough to extend my metaphors throughout our entire conversation and still manage to bicker with me while doing it. 

Speaking of Thanksgiving, how was mine, you ask? Fantastic. Busy. But fantastic.

I'm not going to bog you down with a whole bunch of details, but I'll just say in passing that I managed to exchange a boatload of family gossip (why else do you gather for holidays?), play two games of pickup hockey (one with legit equipment and skates and one with a rock for a puck and tree branches for hockey sticks; I'll let you guess which one was more fun. Here's a hint: I am abysmal at ice-skating), I got my windshield replaced, I went to the movie theater more than I should have, I went dancing on Black Friday rather than going shopping, and I even managed to sleep in one day. 

Oh! I also have an update. Remember my story about getting stalked on the interstate by a truck full of college kids? Turns out that I actually knew the driver (who I didn't manage to catch a glimpse of the entire time), and the whole "stalking" incident was simply him honking his horn and trying to wave to me. Yep. Majorly embarrassing. Maybe I should stop taking these long car trips with only my cat for company... I think I might be becoming a little strange...

Oh. Last point. I so did not hear him honking his horn. So, in my defense, it totally seemed creepy and not at all like he was trying to get my attention. I even got him to admit that his horn is old and not very loud. So there. 

Here's to hoping that it will be a while before I fall off the wagon again. I definitely don't want to become snake and coyote fodder. Although, I'm still of the opinion that I would have joined up with the Indians and become a warrior with my very own war pony. Just saying.