Sandy Induced Thoughts

Hurricanes make me homesick.  I know that's such a silly thing to say, but they truly do. It’s something about the winds blowing against the window and the pattering of rain on the roof and walls.  Even though I know there are a hundred different things I could think, hurricanes and Virginia Beach have become synonymous in my mind. 

The first time, I remember waking up at nine in the morning, although it was still as dark as if it were five, and panicking because I had a field trip that day and couldn't afford to be late.  My mom explained that school had been cancelled due to the storm, which was boggling to me, because school had never been cancelled.  The field trip was never rescheduled which was more upsetting to me than any other property damage we might have suffered.

Four years later, I remember lying in bed in the middle of the day, as dark as if it were night, and just listening to the storm.  My brother got me out of bed to go and stand on the front porch to watch the wind blow sticks around until the wind suddenly died, and we walked out into the yard to see the blue sky of the eye above us.

The next year the power was out for six days, and school was out for ten. I helped clean sticks out of the street, and went over to my friend’s house so that I could shower not by candlelight, and with actual heated water. 

Now, I'm lying in bed even though it’s not yet eight. I'm watching TV as long as I can before we inevitably lose power.  Every now and then I'm staring out the window in awe of just how strong the wind seems to be. I'm trying not to stress out over things I can't control, like whether or not I have work tomorrow and how I’ll get there if I do--mostly just hoping that I don't have to go into work at all.

And throughout it all wishing that I was in Virginia Beach.

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I Don't Get It

I am a very smart woman.  I don’t brag about it too much. (I do like to brag about it some.  I’m egotistical in that way.) There are very few things that are presented to me that I don’t understand.  But today—not for the first time, and certainly not for the last—I was presented with something I’ll never understand:  People who want to be in a bad mood.

I don’t know if it’s really a “bad mood” per se, because these people seem to enjoy being in a bad mood—so does that make it a good mood for them? Oof. I’m confusing myself.

I have my days. I know that. I will wallow in self-pity and be miserable for a day or two. I will complain about pointless things just to make myself feel better in the moment.  Every now and then, I’ll just be grumpy, and any attempt to make me feel better will just end up making me angrier. My brother constantly reminds me of a day when walking to the bus stop at six in the morning I told him I was already having a bad day. I’m no stranger to the bad mood.

But to spend every day complaining about every little detail?  To look for the darkest parts of every situation?  Not just for a day or two, but every single day for months at a time?

Why? I just don’t get it.

To quote a rather silly comedian in a rare moment of seriousness: “You’re inventing your own misery. For fuck’s sake, try and enjoy life.”  Good point, Russell Howard, very good point.

<3 

One Week

So, I’ve gone a week without updating. Oops.

It’s not that I forgot about this, or that I didn’t have time for it, but it’s that I just plain didn’t feel like writing something, not even a basic two hundred word entry, and posting it up for the world to read.  I’m not sure why, I just didn’t. To be perfectly frank, I don’t even feel much like writing it now either, but after a week’s worth of  “Blog” on my to-do list, I’m beginning to feel physically uncomfortable about not writing it, and if I don’t get it crossed off my to do list soon, I’m going to lose it completely. Just writing that sentence, it occurs to me, and not for the first time, that I’ve got a problem in regards to my to-do list.  But stopping the to-do list would be even more of a problem, so I’ll take the lesser of two evils for now.

Since I don’t want to write about anything coming truly from my own mind, I’ll instead write about television. I’ve always been good about talking about television. 

Currently my “television” is anything I can find online.  Right now, I’m making my way through an old series again, Jack and Bobby, which was one of those too good to last shows from 2004, cancelled after only one season. I watched it irregularly as it aired, since it came on right after Smallville for part of its run, but I didn’t give it too much thought at the time. I watched it all the way through for the first time two years ago, and now I’m about half way through the season again.  It stars Matt Long, who I know from Sydney White, and Logan Lerman, who has become quite a name over the past two years or so, as brothers, unsurprisingly named Jack and Bobby McCallister.  The show follows the brothers growing up in a college town with their slightly insane history professor of a mother (who probably would have fit right in teaching at Hollins), interspersed with talking head clips from the year 2049, a series of interviews documenting the political life of President McCallister.  One of the brothers grows up to be president.  The series will tell you who, but I won’t.  You’ll have to watch to find out.

The show is chock full of guest stars, everyone from Bradley Cooper, Patrick J Adams, Neil Patrick Harris, Cam Gigandet, TJ Thyne, and the list goes on.  All of the episodes are up on Youtube, or are available to watch at wb.com. (Yes, this show aired on the WB. Sometimes it’s easy to see why it was pitched there, and other times it’s very easy to see why it was cancelled from there.) I would recommend it to anyone, if for no other reason than to watch 12 and 13 year old Logan Lerman, in a very unconventional move by Hollywood, play a character that is two years older than he is.

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A Strange Phenomena

All my little shipper heart wants is a single television show couple that I love where cheating isn’t involved.  I mean really.  I know I actually have very little right to complain because I have a fascination with writing stories that revolve around cheating, seconded only by stories that revolve around twins. But I feel like it’s getting extremely—well, depressing to be perfectly frank.  Almost every couple that I’ve ever liked on TV, if they got together in canon and on screen, inevitably there is a cheating scandal of one form or the other. It’s a good go-to storyline that can mess things up for weeks to come.  I guess I get that. But doesn’t anyone stay true to their significant others anymore? Aren’t they’re any more good people in the world? Or good characters on television?  I guess that would be the better question to ask.

Really, I think what makes me so angry is the break of previously formed characteristics for some of the characters. Characters who have been cheated on before, or characters who have previously spoken out against cheating are suddenly willfully and readily cheating on their significant others.  Not the hanging out with someone they find attractive and kiss them and then feel guilty and run away or any of that nonsense. No, they are going out with someone with the knowledge that it might be cheating and sometimes with the intent of cheating.  It’s mindboggling.  I would say it’s poor writing, but I know people who have done similar things in similar situations, so I know it’s realistic.  I just don’t get it.

And, you know, I just think I might be okay with that.

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Petty Worries

So, you all will have to forgive me over these next couple of days.  For reasons I don’t know, reasons I pretend not to know, and reasons I don’t really care to explain on such a public forum—every now and then I get worried.

There is no better way to explain it then that.  I just worry. About everything. I get a tight little knot in my chest and I worry until it eventually become panic. I panic and freak out about things I don’t have control over, usually during a night of insomnia, or waking up fresh from a nightmare, but almost always when I’m alone in my room.  I don’t like to panic around other people.  Maybe it’s a control thing.  Maybe it’s that I can just remember the looks of concern all too well.  Mostly, I think, it’s the guilt that I’m giving them something to worry about, and I know how much it sucks to worry.

I’m not panicking yet, which is both a good and a bad thing. I’ve gotten better at fighting it over the years, which I’m considering a good thing.  At the very least, I have gotten better about panicking only in the least disruptive of times. But it does mean that I’ve still got this tightness in my chest. Sometimes I find it hard to breath, and I have found myself literally shaking trying to burn off nervous energy and keep myself together.

So, when I sit down to try and write these things, they all come out extremely depressing, filled with pointless worries, and really make me seem worse off than I actually am.  Sadly—this is the cheeriest version I’ve been able to write. So, I’ll just go with it.

Feel free to ignore me until I have something cheery to write about again.

<3

Season of Secret Romances

Well, over the next five days you get to see just how bad my grammar is when left in its own form.  My in house editor, also known as my wonderful roommate, has gone to Baltimore to spend time with friends from college.  Now, you can see my true love for the commas, which are likely to be sprinkled all throughout these posts.  I apologize for that.

But that’s not the point of this post. The point of this post is to talk about a common misconception.  People seem to believe that spring is the season of love and romance and relationships.  I guess that might be true, but I can tell you right now that fall is the time of secret romances.

I have been back from Boston for exactly two days.  In those two days, I have been informed of three new relationships, four new engagements, one marriage, one elopement to be, and two pregnancies. Each of these was ended with some variation of “We are extremely excited about these developments, but we are trying to keep it quiet for now. Kindly keep this to yourself.”  I’m flattered that enough people consider me close enough to in the smaller circles of their life, but it’s boarding on insane.

I suppose I’m breaking the rules by writing about these relationships in my blog, but since there are SO MANY and I’m not naming any names, hopefully no one will get too upset with me. But, I mean, seriously.  Eleven. Yeah.

I don’t really have any desire to be in a relationship right now, and I certainly have no desire to be engaged, married, or pregnant.  But it’s certainly interesting to realize that in the grand scheme of things, I’m slowing becoming part of the minority of my friends. I will say one thing though—just because of the kind of person I am, I won’t be able to have a secret relationship, engagement, marriage, or pregnancy. When it happens, the whole world is going to know.

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The Joys of My Ravenclaw

First off, I'd like to apologize for all the grammatical errors that are bound to run rampant in this post. My usual editor is no where near by. Right now, I am on a train, listening to a small child yell at his mom because he wants a Pepsi and sharing Oh Goodness Why?! looks with my fellow riders.
But, it's okay, because I am still in a good mood. See, this weekend I got to spend time with My Ravenclaw.  Now, I know that Ravenclaw has  a variety of different meanings for different people, mostly stemming from the Harry Potter house, and the images of "intelligence" and "cleverness" that it tends to represent.  For me, Ravenclaw is four women, mostly insane in the best way possible, and always an interesting group to be around.  We watched movies. We had deep discussions about everything and its cousin.  We tried to do math and confused ourselves.  We dyed my hair red. We finally found a man that all four of us look at and consider attractive,which had been eluding us for the five years that we've known each other. We cried a little, laughed a lot, and just in general had the kind of weekend that you can only have with people who really know you.
I love My Ravenclaw.  They are easily some of the best people in the world. And I'm hoping that this social high will carry me through the next few weeks.

Also, I finished Mark of Athena, as well as finally got the chance to see Perks of Being a Wallflower, so I'll rant about those some other time.

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New Book!

So I have a new book that I have been waiting literally a year for.
I'm already about half way through and I've only had the book for 36 hours, 17 of those I was at work, and 8 of them I was sleeping.
Regularly schedule (or irregularly scheduled) blog posts will return when I've finished reading.
Thanks for understanding.
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What I'm Not

Well, I know it’s a silly thing to do sometimes, but I find that it’s much easier to explain who I am by explaining what I’m not, or what I hope to never be.  And today I realized something that I really hope to never be.

Bitter.

Now, of course I don’t mean I’ll never have a bitter moment.  Everyone, except for the saintly few, has bitter moments. But I hope that it never becomes a defining characteristic.  I’ve seen it happen to people I knew and loved.  I’ve seen the aftereffects of years of bitterness.  I even see it now, in people who I personally think are much too young to have to have things to be bitter about.  To be perfectly honest, it just makes me sad. It’s tragic to see someone look at a rose and only see the thorns, to use an extremely over the top and overused metaphor.  And I do mean tragic in the strongest, most mournful definition of the word. I hope that I never sink so low as to steep in bitterness.

And I sincerely hope that no one has to look at me and see the sad, bitter wreck of how awesome I could have been.

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