I've been listening to internet radio stations a lot lately and my new favorite is one called Sirens of Song. So, while I was working on this redesign for winter, I was sitting here casually thinking about the relationship between fathers and daughters, the strings that tie us to our memories and how the change in seasons always reminds us of childhood somehow.. and of course, what comes on but Winter by Tori. It's uncanny sometimes how the universe seems to tap into me and give me what I need to make me smile.
So in an effort to lighten up the mood a bit around here, I'm offering up this new template that I created today. The snowcat is one that we made last year in our front yard and also something I always wanted to make, but didn't get the chance to try until J. showed me how. That Michigan 'Up-Nort' background of his certainly comes in handy this time of year.
Also, I'm offering up something else: a meme.
Duh. What did you think it was? A cookie?
This one requires audience participation though. So you'd better pay attention and chime in, or I'll haunt you. Seriously.
Snatched from both Nicole and Kat....
(A) First, recommend to me:
1. a movie
2. a book
3. a musical artist, song, or album
(B) I want everyone who reads this to ask me three questions, no more, no less. Ask me anything you want.
(C) Then I want you to go to your blog/journal, copy and paste this allowing your friends to ask you anything & say that you stole it from me.
So there you have it.. Some winter, a meme and a snowcat. Let me know if you like it. ;-)
I wanted to apologize, but you were busy. And by the time you were finished and ready to hear me out, my ego had grown back to regular size and I could no longer do it.
When I came home from spending a less-than-happy Thanksgiving with my family the other night, this was what came out of me:
my constant lack of motivation = not being able to do anything right for life = always being criticized = giving up too quickly and not trying anymore = my current life = always feeling stupid = never wanting to try = me wishing i could just change the course of my life and start all over with a different family that tried harder or even tried at all
sometimes i just wish it wasn't so easy for them to make me cry
So there you go. In a nutshell, that's how my Thanksgiving went. To be fair, things are stressful back home right now and everyone's on edge. My aunt/stepmother is selling the house she's lived in for nearly 20 years (and that I partially grew up in) and they are moving to a new house that needs a ton of work. How that is my fault and why I get continually blamed for it, I don't know. Everyone's having 2 and 3 babies while not taking care of them and my dad and aunt are the ones left to pick up the pieces. Still, my cousins that repeatedly make stupid decisions get treated like gold and I am the one that repeatedly gets snapped at as if I am an idiot for even speaking. No matter what I do or how I do it, it's still wrong and I'm dumb for even suggesting it. No matter how hard I have worked to get my college degree, how hard I have worked to support myself and never have to ask for their help, how hard I have tried to live on my own so that I don't have to sponge off of them like everyone else does.. somehow it's still all my fault if the heat doesn't work in my bedroom or if my dog growls at a baby that isn't being supervised while he's yanking on her tail constantly.
In truth, I could go on all damn day about the constant double standard that exists in my family. I am the one that must be perfect, while everyone else is allowed to drop out of high school, have 5 kids by the time they're 30 and live with mom and dad for the rest of their lives so that they can continue to receive their welfare benefits without having to work. However, if I take a little longer to get through college than most people, it's because I am somehow more stupid and less responsible than everyone else. Are you catching the irony here? It's always my fault, no matter what.
The ironic thing about this double standard is that even though I am held up to the most insane standards compared to everyone else, it's when I actually achieve those standards that I am then labled a "high-maintenance snob." What the fuck? You want me to be more than you were, but only if it means that I am nothing more than you are? What the fuck does that even mean?
Support me or don't. I really don't give a shit anymore. The only reason I even come home at this point is to see my friends and put in my necessary time with family. There are some visits when I get to spend time with my dad and it's grand, but most times the fluctuations in mood and temperament that go around that household just leave me driving around town endlessly and wishing that I'd had a different life and wasn't tethered to the same people that hurt me so many times in my life without repercussions or second thoughts. The selfishness and perfectionist demands that flavor my family's treatment of me are really just beyond belief. It's strange that for as much abuse as I have survived at the hands of step-parents, it's the wounds of my blood relatives that cut the deepest. I am never taken seriously. I am never supported. I am never anything but a dramatic girl to be made fun of, ignored and snapped at whenever I so much as open my mouth to speak.
Yet somehow, everyone wants my opinion on everything "because I'm smart." Yet no one will ever tell me that because I might get a "big head." Go figure.
When we came home Saturday night, I was never so glad to see this condo as I was then. It's a condo that's still full of boxes and half-finished paint jobs, but it's where my cats are. The cats that my family rolls their eyes about and consistently says, "When are you going to get rid of those things?" It's the condo that holds my essence. When I walk into this place, it's my decorating ideas on the walls, my books on the shelves, my vegetarian recipes in the kitchen. The same vegetarian recipes that get a blatant laugh from everyone in my family, followed by a snappy joke about how silly I am for not eating meat. Then everyone makes sure to order extra sausage on the pizza because they think it's funny to watch me pick it off for the next 2 hours.
This condo that holds photos of me and J. and the past 5 years we've spent together. Of all the boxes that still need to be unpacked, our box of family photos is still the one that I am dreading. Not because it's full of frames and wrapped glass and all sorts of things that I have to find a place for, but because it holds bittersweetness that I can't seem to deal with anymore. Every photo is one that I've taken, a moment when my family is being funny or nice or looking at me in a way that makes me remember why I love them. However, those moments are so few and far between for me lately that I've discovered I haven't hung a single photo of any one of them in our new place. It's always hurt me that for as many old photos and photo albums that I have, there are hardly any photos that anyone else has take of me. Maybe I just read too much into that, but it still seems to speak volumes. Since we've been in this condo, the only photos that have been unpacked and displayed are of me and J. And to be honest, that's all I want to see right now anyway.
He's the one who holds me when I hurt. He's the one who loves me when I am not lovable. I've told him that it would take lifetimes of his love to take away the lifetimes of hurt that I have within me, and that it may never be enough in the end. He's said he's up for it. He knows that he may not erase every hurt or every bad memory, but he always tells me he wants to give me a "lifetime of good memories so that they will push out all the bad."
We sat on the bed Saturday night and after a seemingly innocent discussion about idiotic professors, school and being able to do long division, memories came back and emotional walls started to crumble. I was angry with myself because I had been doing so well and the voices had faded and here I was standing in the bathroom arguing with everyone in my head again about why the litterbox was so messy and how it's okay, it's just what cats do and it doesn't mean that I'm stupid and shouldn't have them. J. was the one who told them to shut up and held me while I cried and felt that gut-pulling pain that I feel when the voices come. When I feel as though I am 7 years old again and can never be enough no matter how hard I try. When I feel as though I am a bottomless pit of disappointment, only good for an occasional laugh and smart thought. When I am full of second-guesses and drained of confidence.
He was the one that sat with me on the bed and said over and over again, "You are enough. You are enough. You are enough." I sat and fought and fought with their ghosts in my brain.. "Oh, he's just saying that because you made him say it. Because he doesn't know how mean you really are. You don't deserve him and you know it."... On and on they went, until J. said this:
"You are more than enough for me. In fact, you are so much that I want to make you my wife. You and no one else. That's how much you are to me."
And I honestly thought he was talking about someone else. Some other girl who wasn't a blubbering mess just because her daddy didn't love her enough, some other girl that could hold her shit together long enough to get through Thanksgiving, some other girl that deserved him better.
Then he took my head in his hands, made me look at him and said loudly and clearly, "You. Are. Enough." And I cried and cried as things within me shifted and other prettier things sat on top of the darker uglier things.
Later, we discussed why I have to go home for the holidays at all. Why I bother to deal with these people and visit with them when they make me feel so small and bruised every time.
J. asked, "Why do we have to see them for Christmas? Why do we have to back there at all?"
"Because they're my family and I love them."
And he sighed. We knew that that was basically the jist of it all. You can't recreate your past and you can't make your family see what it refuses to acknowledge. So you just keep showing up and hoping that it's enough to get you by. Hoping that someday it won't hurt as much as it once did. Every time I go home, I'm a little stronger and little less vulnerable to their damage. But it's still damage just the same.
A few weeks ago, J. and I were discussing where we wanted to live when I graduate. We've been discussing the east coast (Virginia, DC, the Carolinas, Boston) and Detroit and all sorts of other places that are still feasible and not too far from my family. He kept asking me if I knew for sure that I wouldn't just get bored with these places and want to leave after a year. I told him that in all honesty, I don't know. That we could risk it all and uproot ourselves and end up in a city that I hate and it wouldn't have mattered what I said before about how much I just knew I would love it. That I would still hate it all the same, but that I have learned now to at least try and turn it into something positive instead of just bitching all the time like I used to. I told him that no matter where we end up, I would at least try to like it, give it a chance and not just dismiss it so easily.
He asked why I got depressed in foreign cities so easily sometimes and I replied with this:
"You know what the perfect city is for me? I'm-enough-for-daddy-ville. That's where you can take me. Take me somewhere where I'm enough for my father and people tell me they love me and that I'm okay. Take me there and I'll be so calm and peaceful. I'll never move again."
And I cried so hard because I knew it was true. I know that moving will change nothing in my past or my pain, but I know that it will take me further away from the catalysts of those memories and closer to who I want to be.
I don't know exactly how I feel about my family anymore, but I do know that on some days, they are the coolest, funniest people in the world and on others, I can't get away from them fast enough. I know that I'll be there for Christmas, but only because my mom will be there too and it will be somewhat more bearable with her there. I know that when I leave there to come home, J. will be holding my hand in the car and that will take my mind off of the ache. And then I'll walk in the door and be greeted by four cats that no one else wanted and we'll touch noses and understand each other again and I'll be right at home. When J. holds my hand and reads next to me in our bed, when the cats greet me in the bathroom every morning, when Gypsy is allowed to play as loud as she wants, when my books are the ones I chose to read, when my recipes are made without meat and with whatever I choose to put in them, when there isn't a need for a single fucking ashtray, when my car takes me wherever I want to go and then brings me back here again when I am ready... that's when I know I'm home. Wherever they are is where I am and vice versa. That's home to me. It's a long journey and I will stumble and fall, but I will always come back to those that love me unconditionally, no matter where they happen to be. The doors may change, but the inside will always be mine because I chose to open it, embrace it and shut it behind me when the wind became too cold for my heart.
I don't know where this is going
I'm taking a ride on a wing and a prayer
Follow me there
We'll both be surprised
I vote next year, we have Thanksgiving at my house and only bloggers, cats and beagles are invited.
I feel out of the loop.
But I'm starting to wonder if it's because I put myself there or if I am just one of those that gets overlooked so easily.
Most likely, it's because I relate to time the way some people relate to paying their bills. Overdue or not at all.
And because I apparently wasn't done...
How do you separate pain from family? How do you enjoy holidays without feeling that searing knife blade of the past and failed expectations come back and stab you again and again while you're just trying to eat dinner?
There's so much that I want to write about, such a twisted and messy brew underneath the surface today.. but it's not bubbling yet. And until it's bubbling, I wouldn't know where to begin. So I'll just let it simmer for the day and when it becomes a little easier to work with, I'll be back here later tonight.. trying to pour this pain into a different mold and dump it out of my soul.
The car is officially packed with my own baked goodies and the dog is fully wired and ready to go. I'm off to see my family for Thanksgiving (and will be meeting J. there later). Hope your holiday is wonderful.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Did I mention that last week, (despite all of my previously discussed inner turmoil), we snuck and rented Fellowship of the Ring? Did I mention that it was quite cool?
Did I mention that tonight we snuck and watched The Two Towers? Did I mention that it fucking rocked? (I heart Aragorn. He's dreamy.)
Why, oh why must it be Thanksgiving break with all of its familial chaos and driving and baking and places to be and things to do? I want to watch Return of the King - right now, dammit! How did you people wait a year to see this in the theatres? I would have certainly died.
Yes, I know that the smell of pumpkin cheesecake is all over the condo tonight and that I am lucky to be baking more goodies tomorrow and seeing my family, but still...
I want to see my precioussss hobbitses soon. Yessssss....
Blogging note:
I finally figured out how to install this wonderful script for closing old entries. The amount of daily spam seems to have seriously dropped off as a result, and that's just in 24 hours. I'm not complaining. However, if you want to leave a comment on an entry that is over 10 days old, you can't. So if you find something that makes you want to speak out, just drop me an email instead - that's still timeless. ;-)
Hee hee heeee...
He's even got the Reversed Boots look. Love it!
Ohhh... but then I found this girl.
Oh my god. I am toast.
-- a wonderfully relaxing and snuggly weekend with J.
-- the way he makes me laugh
-- the way he makes me feel loved
-- having internet at home again!
-- having a snazzy new cell phone! and..
-- being able to talk to the outside world again!
-- payday euphoria
-- a kitchen full of groceries
-- a warm place full of happy snuggly animals
-- us laughing while eating crackers in the car while waiting on my belly to stop squirming and decide what it wanted to do
-- phone calls with family
-- visits with mom
-- upcoming visits with friends and family for thanksgiving
-- having new recipes to try for the upcoming holiday and...
-- old standbys that everyone loves and that I love making (it's pumpkin cheesecake time again, boys and girls.. mmmm)
-- clearing out our storage facility a little bit so that we can finally make room for our stuff instead of all the crap we're storing for other people
-- not fearing the 'i've-come-to-turn-off-your-cable" guy anymore
-- I love browsing the internet in my awesomely large and finished office
-- having J. to calm me when I am so angry about so little
-- teaching J. to smile when the Worry Monsters come to eat his brain
-- funny, funny ring tones that I can turn up really loud just to annoy my family and freak out the cats
-- being a smart-cell-phoner and turning off my damn phone when class is in session, thankyouverymuch
-- having the balls to look my snippy psych professor in the eye today and tell him, "Yeah I know, but I'm doing it this way because it's smarter."
-- rainy days with warm socks and comfy sweats
-- we are coming up on 5 years together and I like it
-- this is a very short week!! woohoo!
-- getting to meet and listen to Michael Wilson in class last week - very cool! (I've been an admirer for a long time)
-- going through some of those boxes in the living room finally and...
-- having J.'s help around the house to keep me sane and non-control-freaky when I need it
-- I have food to eat and clean water to drink
-- I have healthy lungs for breathing
-- I have happy and healthy animals that love me and I love them
-- I have a doggy that makes me laugh like nobody's business
-- I have a someone that makes me feel like a giggly little girl and a sexy grown woman in the same day
-- Some days, I have stars in my eyes
-- Other days, I'm grateful that I have eyes at all
-- Either way, I'm still grateful
-- Life is moving along and I am okay with that
-- Because at least I am a part of it and that's very very cool :-)
All of our recent financial crapfest has forced us to not only live without major utilities (phone, internet), but it's forcing us to totally reevaluate our current utilities. We paid the necessary money to have our internet/cable turned back on. However, when it came to the phone company, we are having such a beef with them that we just called and completely cancelled our land line. We'd decided to say Fuck It to local phone company monopolies and go completely cellular like we had once before many years ago.
So last night we were all excited because we signed up for T-Mobile service and had a wonderfully cheap and easy 1-year contract instead of that massive hidden-fee-agenda-of-the-devil crap we had with Verizon years ago. We even got a handy-dandy little Motorola flip phone with all sorts of coolness about it. Excitement and relief were in the air again.
Then we got it home. Sure, it worked in the mall just fine. It (barely) worked in the car, but it did work. This morning, with the phone fully charged and ready to go, we have now discovered that we have absolutely no fucking reception in our own condo. Now, why this is pissing me off so damn much, I don't know. It could be that this is now our only source of communication with the outside world and I've waited for nearly 4 weeks to finally have a phone again. Or it could just be a nasty cocktail of hormones and my natural temperament.
I've accepted that my patience level is always hovering somewhere around -5 anyway, so I know and understand that I will never be like J. - Mr. Patience of a Saint- in situations like this. Whereas when I am ready to throw a brand new phone out the window and scream with joy when it smashes to smithereens in the parking lot below, J. just kind of sighs and says, "Okay. I talked to the girl and we can get an antenna booster or she said we could come and exchange it for a Nokia or something else," and then just walks away with that ever-patient look on his face, like everything is still okay with the world. Meanwhile, I am left standing in the middle of our living room with my jaw open while wildly waving a cell phone in my hands that has no signal. "But.. but... it doesn't work! Aren't you furious?!" Nothing. This man never gets mad. Ever. Sometimes that's enough to make me want to kill him right there. But in the end, we still end up doing the calm thing and I am the only one who wants to sit in the car and cry about it all damn day. Why will men never understand the importance of Mutual Bitch Therapy?
Everyone wants to know why actor couples never stay together. They say that it's distance and time and blah blah blah.. but they're all full of shit. The truth is that actors are a dramatic and impatient bunch and when paired up with other actors, it just turns into a combustible nightmare. Though I haven't stepped foot on a stage in years, I know I will always have a drama queen's patience. That is why I stopped dating actors and artists years ago. It's just too much for my blood pressure. Of course, being with someone who never gets angry is probably just going to give me night sweats and anxiety attacks. Either way, I will still get the better drugs. Pick your battles, Staz... pick your battles.
Update: After a chaotic and angry evening dealing with too many insane shoppers on the road and too little phone service here at the condo, we finally just went back to the mall and exchanged the Motorola phone for a much nicer Nokia. Not only is the quality better and the menus/buttons easier to use and understand, but it was actually $10 cheaper. Score! We still don't have the best signal inside our condo, but at least there's a signal. With that last snazzy but useless paperweight flip-phone, we had to sit next to the office window while it was open in order to talk to someone. Plus, we now have downloadable ringtones. Oh hell yeah, baby. Watch out.
Hi. I'm back.
You'll have to excuse me though if I'm not posting a new entry right away. It seems that I have nearly 600 emailed spam comments to sort through. Wonderful.
Here. Read this in the meantime. I'll be with you in just a moment. I promise not to play annoying elevator music while I'm gone.. maybe.
Appetizer
What do you think is the perfect age to get married? To have a first child? To retire?
Who the hell knows? Whenever you feel you're really ready.
Soup
If you could change occupations tomorrow, what would you want to do for a living?
Like I've ever just decided on one career in the first place. Hmmm.. probably a veterinarian or some sort of animal care technician.
Salad
What does the color green make you think of?
Pea soup.
Main Course
What is something that has happened to you over the last year that you didn't expect?
Being in worse financial shape than ever before, despite moving somewhere that is closer to everything and costs us hundreds of dollars less in rent. I had no idea that my home state had so many goddamned hidden taxes. It's quite ridiculous.
Dessert
How old were you when you had your first kiss? 15. Cringeworthy scraping of teeth and all. Nice, yes?
An Open Letter of Response to Some of My Family and Friends from Home:
The world is bigger than eastern Kentucky.
Just because I chose to leave does not mean that I have lost my mind.
No, I am not moving back.
That does not mean that I have lost my mind either.
Yes, I love my state and I will always love it.
No, that does not mean that I am moving back.
I grew up in the same poverty that you did. So how is it that you are always the Poverty Martyr and I never know what the hell I'm talking about?
No, we can't pay some of our bills at the moment.
No, that does not mean that I am moving back.
I am 27 fucking years old. I always had to 'live under your roof and abide by your rules.' I was told that when I was 18, I could do whatever the hell I wanted. So I am. Deal with it.
I breathed your carbon monoxide and used asthma inhalers for many years because you rolled your eyes at the doctors when he told you that you were the reason for my weak lung capacity. So when I stand in front of you as an adult and tell you that I don't want you to smoke in my damn house, do not look at me like I am insane. It does not mean that I don't love you anymore. It just means don't fucking smoke in my damn house.
Just because I choose Target over Wal-mart does not mean that I have become a 'stuck-up snob.' It means that I am tired of Wal-mart.
Yes, I am vegetarian. No, I am not kidding.
There are bigger things in life than which one of my ex-boyfriends you saw at Wal-mart the other day and to be honest, I really don't care what you said to them anyway, nor do I give a shit about what they said back to you.
[And to the best friend that is like so many of my friends back home:]
He made you miserable and he cheated on you and you were both stupid to put up with all of that bullshit for so long. Everyone is stupid at some point. But here's the thing: it was 5 fucking years ago. The people at the gas station don't want to hear about it. The people at the restaurant don't want to hear about it. I've listened to it and consoled you about it and dealt with it all I can and I seriously don't want to hear about it any fucking more. You were the other woman. So what? Most women are at some point in their lives. You were just unfortunate enough to know it. Get over it and move the hell on already. Otherwise, shut the fuck up. I am not hearing it anymore.
[And continuing on..]
Yes, I still have 'all those cats.' No, I am not getting rid of them.
Because I am 27 years old and I said no and I don't want to. That's why.
Yes, I have gay friends. No, it is not a phase.
Yes, I have black friends too. No, they are not drug dealers.
I'll be getting a job just as soon as I graduate college. You know, that thing I've been working on forever.
Yes, I really am graduating in May. Keep rolling your eyes at me and you'll be lucky if you're even invited.
No, I do not like to do dishes. This does not mean that I am a 'horrible housekeeper.' It means that I hate doing the damn dishes.
Yes, J. really does like to cook for me. No, that does not mean that I have brainwashed him to do so.
Yes, this is the way I drive every day.
No, that does not mean that The City has made me mean.
Yes, the highway is the quickest way to get there. Trust me.
Yes, this really is the way that everybody drives here.
No, I am not moving back.
Don't you love it when you go to check in on one of your old blogs that has only 3 entries in it and you find 47 spam comments? How about when those 47 spam comments are combined with the 127 you've already deleted from your main blog?
Gahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
When in the hell will the government step in and do something about this massive drain on our time and productivity?
Spammers are leaches on the genitals of life and I fucking hate them.
As soon as we get our internet restored at home (which will hopefully be soon) I am going to force myself to sit down and figure out how in the hell to install that script that closes my old entries. Seriously, why must blogging be brain surgery nowadays? Grrrrr...
I don't know if you check in with that Current Colors sidebar over there on your right, but if you do, you might have noticed that I have been re-reading Fellowship of the Ring for about 100 years now. There's a reason for that and I have to say that I'm slightly ashamed of what it is...
See, when I was twelve, reading was my ultimate escape from the not-so-great home life around me. My mother started me reading when I was young and I haven't stopped since. Sure, my tastes aren't what some pissy-literate-snob-types consider to be "real literature" - I like horror. Lots of it. I read my first Stephen King novel when I was nine and never looked back. I like Clive Barker, I loved reading Edgar Allan Poe short stories when I was a kid. You know, the cool kind with all the illustrations and kid-friendly poetry. I eventually began reading his uncut works and I continued to follow along with everything King has ever written. People thought I was demented when I would sit in study hall and read my massively sized hardback of It or The Complete Works of H.P. Lovecraft. Whatever, I didn't care. I loved unique strange twisted shit and I was proud of it. I hated those fucking Sweet Valley High books that all the other girls were reading. You know the ending just by looking at the damn cover. It made me sick. To this day, chick lit makes me want to drive a screwdriver through my eyeball. If you're dumb enough to form your entire identity around who you're dating, then I really couldn't care less what happens to you or your 157 boyfriends. And I really don't want to hear how much you paid for your designer shoes and read about it for the next 10 pages.
I'm not a girly girl. I don't look in a book for advice about dating men. I don't wait on the fashion magazines to tell me what kind of shoes to wear. I never did and I never will.
Here's what you need to know about me in order to make me give a shit about your work: I'm a reader. Tell me a story, a good story and I'll be your most devoted follower. You can take me anywhere you want to take me and make me believe anything you want me to believe as long as you give me a good reward for all of that diligent work. Wrap those words around me like nobody's business, trick me with naivete and then smack me with disbelief or catastrophic wonder and I'll be yours forever. Don't talk down to me. Don't overload me with jargon just so you can sound smarter than we all know you really are. Overwhelm me and I'll be so loyal to you that you can't shake me off with a 10 foot stick.
So now you're understanding, right? I don't get sucked in just because you "write so well." I get sucked in because you told me a story. There's a big difference there and once you grasp that, we'll be great friends.
All of this explanation does have a point. When I was 13, I read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy and I soaked it up quite well. Hobbits and elves that spoke their own tongue, wizards with magic spells and potions, dragons that could smite entire villages with their fire, epic battles with swords and ogres... yeah, I was all over it. It was a story. It took me somewhere that wasn't my little lonely bedroom and made me feel important for having been invited there at all.
Jump to 15 years later. The movies have come out. Everyone is a sudden Tolkienologist and there's even a Lord of the Rings version of Monopoly when I go to Target to pick up dog food and deodorant. All of my friends told me to go see the movies, that they really do the story justice, that it's not just Hollywood fluff. So I decided that I would, but only after I re-read all of the books. I wanted to be fresh on the story and to be honest, I've forgotten who half the characters are at this point. We bought The Hobbit and I loved it as I always have. To this day, I maintain that The Hobbit is really the best of all of the novels, just because it has the tightest storyline. Then we bought the rest of the series, all three for me to settle in and get acquainted with again like old friends that call you up and ask you out for dinner. I was excited.
Then, as goes the course of most things I loved when I was a girl, the inevitable happened. I realized I'd outgrown it. I tried.. really, I did. For the past three months, I've flogged myself into sitting down and re-reading this story that brought me so much adolescent joy. But god, the monotony! I'm on page 122 and we are still not out of the fucking Shire! Every other page has a long drawn-out history of every damn person that will never have anything to do with this story at all. Yet, I have to know their every habit, their every ounce of preference and every possible section of their geneaology. For the love of God, I get it already! We're on a very important mission, the ring is a big goddamned deal and peril is around every corner. So why in the hell aren't we actually doing anything about it? If this mission is so damned important, why are we still eating crackers, getting drunk and singing songs?
*sigh*
Perhaps life has changed me. Perhaps I am not the ever-so-imaginative girl I once was. Perhaps life has made me more impatient, more practical, less accepting, more jaded. I regret that. Really, I do. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't think Tolkien got unbelievably full of himself after the success of The Hobbit. If I said that I thought the Rings trilogy is one of the greatest stories ever told. It has its wonderful points, definitely.. but I think there's also a whole shitload of other things deemed insignificant to the telling of the story, things a good editor could have taken care of with the delete button.
Maybe that sounds harsh. Maybe I'm just a cut-the-fat kind of girl now. But I tend to disagree. I mean, from what I've seen, there are so many other stories out there that are just as captivating and still magical over time. I just think that for me, Tolkien is no longer one of them. Yeah, it hurts to admit that. But I have to be honest with myself. If it's taken me nearly 3 months to get through the first 122 pages, then who the hell am I trying to fool? I am obviously no longer interested.
Last week, J. and I were sitting at Penn Station having some subs for dinner and they were playing Fellowship of the Ring on the tvs. J. tried once to read the Tolkien trilogy at the same age as I did, but didn't find it nearly as satisfying or captivating and quickly tossed it aside. So while we were watching snippets of this film that I have been trying desperately to avoid, J. was sitting and watching in awe all those awesome battle scenes and I was wistfully trying not to get sucked into the Hollywood magic. At some point, we both realized we were watching with our mouths gaping open and we looked at each other and knew the inevitable - these were good fucking movies.
J. turned to me and said simply, "Sweetie, you've got to finish those books."
To which I replied with a heavy heart, "Yeah, I know," and sighed heavily and knew that the past really was the past, and that those three novels sitting on my nightstand were never going to be read.
Sometimes in life, it's just easier to watch the movie version, you know? I mean, if I hadn't gone back and tried to re-read these novels, I might still stand proudly and say that this trilogy was one of the best tales ever told and be none the wiser about my adult disenchantment. It's like having your old friends call you up and once you actually see them again, you realize that they're all just as mature as they were when you were all 15 and now you've moved on and have nothing in common with them anymore. Or it's kind of like being 20 years older and watching that old cartoon that you once idolized as a child and realizing that yeah, it did suck just as much as everyone told you it did. You love that old show and your old friends all the same. You just realize that times change and the past can never be reclaimed. Or as some ancient Wizard might have said, it will never be for you again what it once was.
Stories can do this to us too, I think. For me, my relationship with the Hobbits was more about escape and kinship. I felt as though they were my friends and that I could tell them anything and they would take me along on their journey and love me all the same. And really, isn't that what a good story is all about? Where it takes you? How it makes you feel about yourself? And how much you get out of it's connection to you? So maybe the Hobbits weren't real and there wasn't actually a big nasty ogre in my closet, but it was a hell of a ride while it lasted and I'm ever grateful for the journey.
So maybe instead of further bursting my bubble, I'll just suck it up and put the books away, use them for reference on an as-needed basis. Maybe I'll just watch the movies and be amazed and awed like everyone else, like it will be all new to me again. Maybe that's what I need is that newness that everyone else seems to be getting. And if I'm still jaded, then I guess I'll just find a new bubble. To be honest, Harry Potter is looking pretty good to me these days.
I'm trying hard to focus on school. I really am.. but when your phone service, internet service and cable tv are all being taken from you, it's hard to think about something other than money. How to get it, where to obtain it, how much you need to subsist on for another pay period. This shit sucks and it's very hard to focus right now. I have to say though that living closer to school makes a huge difference. I know there are so many classes that I would be skipping if we lived at our old house. The gas money would have just been too much to risk. I'm feeling really depressed about the whole situation today and I'm trying desperately not to get upset about everything... so I'm going to try something here. I'm rusty so I don't know if this will work. Here goes:
-- A nice relaxing and wonderful weekend with J.
-- Having J. to convince me to splurge on Panera and sit by that awesome fireplace when we needed to get out of the condo
-- Being able to buy cheap groceries
-- Living less than 7 minutes from school when gas is $2 a gallon
-- J. having a wonderful (better paying) job interview last week and...
-- being told by the recruiter that he made a good impression (he's one of the two prime candidates for the job) (please, please, please cross your fingers!!!)
-- Finally (for the love of god!) getting our office painted, decorated and totally finished!!! Woohoooo!!
-- Having 3 walls of bookshelves that we built and painted ourselves
-- Having a wonderfully peaceful Asian Zen look in there that I love
-- Gypsy's excitement when we take her to the dog park
-- The kittys' excitement when I open our massive vertical blinds on the sliding glass doors (it's the equivalent of turning on a big screen tv for the day really)
-- Driving around aimlessly with J. on Saturday and cruising by our old place
-- How funny it felt to not feel anything when we passed that house - just relieved that we are moving on
-- Continuing with vegetarianism, even when it gets hard
-- Laughing and being dramatic with J. last night at the grocery store when we were getting plowed by kamikaze shoppers with killer carts
-- Having the ingredients to make Oatmeal-Craisin cookies from scratch
-- Having friends that send me emails and positive messages/gifts when I need them
-- The awesome dream I had this morning about being with all of my friends, dressed to the nines and dancing while we partied after my graduation ceremony
-- The rare treat to have a dream that makes me wake with a smile
-- Getting registered for my classes next semester with relatively no problems
-- It will be my last semester. Ever. Wow.
-- I've registered for Elementary Japanese and I'm excited about it (yes, I am certifiable. Thanks for noticing!)
-- Seeing how everything looks on these 17" monitors at the school - neato!
-- Having Gypsy who finds me and snuggles me when I'm lonely
-- Having J. to snuggle when Gypsy's not around and sleeping her usual 14 hours a day (gotta love those beagles)
-- The kitties. Every one of them.
-- The promise of new things around the corner if I really want them
-- The way the days will go by quicker for the next few months - which puts me closer to May - which puts me closer to graduation - which puts me closer to making money and having freedom!
-- I have food to eat
-- I have clean water to drink
-- I have healthy lungs for breathing
-- I have animals that love and cuddle me when I am cold
-- I have a man in my life that calms me when I am stressed and encourages me when I am inspired
-- I have friends that understand
-- I have my health, my determination, and the ability to finally see a horizon in the distance
-- I am, I have, I will
People who have seriously loud cell phone conversations in public should be fucking shot.
And if they're in a fucking library or some other publicly declared "quiet zone" where people are trying to read or study? Then they should be dragged into an open highway by their genitals.. and then shot.
My kingdom for a fat paycheck.
Yep, that's it.
Aren't you glad you came here?
I don't get political on this blog. I don't even discuss politics with my closest friends. But I have just one thought today...
I feel very, very sick.
Perhaps my longing to live in Europe will finally become a reality. Anyone have a spare plane ticket?
Update: I take back my statement of wanting to live in Europe. It was extremist and made in the heat of the moment. I love my country and though I am worried about the direction in which it might be headed, I am grateful to those that have died so that we could have the right to disagree with our leaders and make our voices heard without being punished. The fact that everyone can say what they want about the election and can be as brutally vocal and opinionated about it as they want says so much about this place we live. I'm proud of that fact and I stand by my right to say so.