Sleeping Through the Static

When did writing get so difficult? Why is it that people are wasting their brains on social media or music with terribly bland and/or derogatory lyrics? Why does no one among my own generation give a flying you know what about what is going on, not just in their own city, state, country...but all those other countries in the world?

When did the focus turn to the mundane? Are we scared? Is fear now fueling the reality television programs that distract us from the real, hard problems that directly and indirectly affect us everyday? And why the hell should that matter? When did we all get so damn self-involved?

I am guilty. I check my iPhone constantly. I recently deleted my Twitter account, which was rarely used but nonetheless, I still feel a little too proud of myself. I am still guilty of checking Facebook multiple times a day. I check my phone multiple times in the course of a few minutes to see if I have a text message.

What has happened to me? I think it is time to get back to what really truly matters to my own interests and my own passions. Thank goodness I am returning to school. I am so ready for Mills.


Just checked my phone again...

...it's a work in progress.


In any case, I want--no, NEED to set the example for my friends, my peers, and my generation.

Facebook has got to be moderated. It should be used as what it has been advertised as; a social networking site. If you are not networking, get off and do something useful. Why am I reading about what some teeny bopper (whom I have met once) is doing with their friends for the evening in our boring little conservative town? I could be finding a study abroad program in South Africa, or volunteering at a women's shelter. I could just be reading! Reading anything and everything. Nobody reads anymore. We are too busy reposting memes about not wanting to get out of bed when we've found "the comfiest spot!" Really? You have a bed. You have heat. You have Internet. Be grateful.

So here's to a revitalized ME. Instead of worrying when my boyfriend is going to text me back, or liking statuses about nothingness, or feeling jealous or resentful of those who are away from home and independently living...whether they are carelessly partying or behaving productively...here's a call to making efforts to be informed. Here's to being less involved with what I "want" or what I seem to feel "entitled to have" and more immersed in how I can "contribute" or how I can prepare myself for the life I would like to have.

I find myself saying "I can't wait to live my life." What am I talking about? THIS is it. Live it. Yes, being 21 is young and life is ahead of me and my goals for the next 10, 15, 20 years are still ahead of me. But I have big, BIG goals and there is no way I am going to accomplish them without accomplishing them now. Don't be the generation who you despise. Don't despise the generation which you should be inspiring. Don't lose your inspiration.

Perhaps Summer can cause us to lose focus for a moment, or even when (like me) we take a year off from our studies to do what we think is most financially or emotionally stable, and end up feeling constantly anxious and stagnant.
I feel stagnant.
But now, NOW is the time to reinspire myself. Yes, reinspire. When everything in my life feels dormant and listless, it is time to take the lazy bull by its horns and turn it around in the direction of that deviled red cape. Somehow, I've gotta make that hoof drag at the ground, feeding the passion that once fueled this fiery feminist. I'm going to find the right matador to get my life going in the right direction.

Though this summer has a few more scheduled vacations to waste away some brain power, reading and researching and brainstorming and informing is a never-ending exercise which is what my silly little smartphone should be used for.

And as a highly appropriate ending to this post is what my headphones are feeding into my ears right this very moment. Ah, life and its funny ways of making everything come together quite nicely.

Well mighty mighty appetite
We just eat 'em up and keep on driving
Freedom can be freezing take a picture from the pretty side
Mind your manners wave your banners
What a wonderful world that this angle can see

But who needs to see what we've done?
Who needs please when we've got guns?
Who needs keys when we've got clubs?
Who needs peace when we've gone above
But beyond where we should have gone?
Beyond where we should have gone
We went beyond where we should have gone
Beyond where we should have gone.

It's been a rather long day. I am finally taking the final steps at the top of the stairs before shuffling into my room. Since it is after eleven, and C is an eighty-year old woman trapped in a twenty-five year old's body, I open the door slowly, squint in the darkness and rummage around in my purse for my phone, which has a nifty flashlight app. I close the door slowly behind me, cringing at the inherent squeak, and feel my way to the other side of the room, dropping my Mary Poppin's purse and sliding off my Vans in one fluid motion. I open my computer to produce a source of light while I pull on silky blue basketball shorts and an old marching band t-shirt, a size and a half too big. I peel off my socks and slip my aching feet into the furry pet slippers I bought from Target in the Fall. I lie back onto my pillow for a moment, one leg hanging off the side of the bed, one tucked underneath the other. I feel around on my bed for where I have placed my phone, and look at its blaring screen yet another time. No text message. Maybe he is already sleeping. That or Mass Effect has once again dominated his attention for the moment. And I am not worried. I hit the top button to blacken the screen, and reach down to the ground, feeling for the long, thin cord that runs from the white universal Apple box of magic juice into my phone. Nothing. I turn on the phone again to use, yet again as a flashlight, and see nothing. Just an empty power strip, save for a few cords lying nearby, waiting to be used at the proper times...a fan cord for the sticky summer nights and an aging heating pad cord for frosty winters or tummy aches.

She has done it again. In her own mind, sometime during the day, she has suddenly realized that she needs a charger! Oh no! "Well I don't have a charger," she thinks to herself. "Where can I find another one...in the most convenient place..." She may think of venturing all the way down stairs. She may decide to text Mum and ask if she keeps a charger upstairs in her room. But what does she do? She realizes that, conveniently, her younger sister keeps a charger plugged in at all times, open to anyone for use. Why of course!

And that is what she does. It is the middle of the day when this momentary event occurs, and I am off at work, or socializing, or just plain "elsewhere." There is no problem in her mind. And thus she crawls around the bookshelf that divides us and reaches down, pulling out the cord and magic Apple juicer. She goes back around the bookshelf to her cavern and plugs in both the charger, as well as her iPad. Not her phone. Her iPad.

I digress.

So for some reason she needed a charger. Whatever. Not a big deal. I don't really care.
Could she have just plugged in her iPad where my charger was sitting? Sure.
Could she have charged it for a bit and once it had enough, unplugged it from where she had moved it and replace it back to my nook? Definitely.
Did she, instead, remain in her world where only chargers for herself exist, only her space and her needs exist, only her one-tasks-at-a-time exist? Of course she did.
I am aware of her Aspie tendencies. I am aware of her inability to see the harm in borrowing the small device. I am very aware of my own strange, anal tendencies. I face them every day when I wake up every morning and reach down, blindly feeling for my phone, and (once again) blindly checking to see if I am needed. Or I have forgotten something. Or I need to turn off the alarm.

But when the day comes around, and I am scolded for "misunderstanding" her, or being that tightly wound, anxious little creature that I try in vain to keep guarded, I find it difficult to understand how I am nearly 90% in the wrong, versus her 10. I am younger, I should respect her more. I am a hard-ass and should lighten up. My efforts to keep quiet while she is sleeping in the room are "shoved in her face" and only done for that purpose.

I find it hard to understand how my words of logic, if shrouded a bit in my underlying exhaustion and inherent bitterness, are aggressively dismissed by all. And why? Why am I to blame, and why should attempt to respect and understand a bit more?

Well, obviously. It's because of her Aspergers. 

And now I am made to feel like an utter idiot and perfectly terrible human being, because I am blaming the presumably functioning 25-year old Aspie for stealing my phone charger and not returning it to its proper place.

Except that it's more than the phone charger. It's the taking of things--chargers, clothes, make-up, razors--and not returning them. It's the fact that every time I just can't play nice that day, I receive eye rolls and private scoldings later from Mummy. Or I am laughed at, poked fun of, and compared to hard-ass characters like Bones from Star Trek. Really? Making me feel worse and worse and worse is going to make you feel better? Aren't we a little old to be playing that game?

And yet I still feel like I am the bad person, for just, not understanding why she acts like a child, or why I react so strongly to the blatant acts of disrespect.
Maybe I just am.

Headaches, Eye-Twitching, and Axiety Attacks

Welcome to your twenties, Heather. Woo!

Sometimes I stop for a second and split myself into two different Heathers;

Longterm/hardass Heather and Emotional/in-the-moment/self-absorbed Heather

It is those times where I think about how much crap I think I am going through and wonder if, in two/five/ten/twenty years I will think back to "that time I was twenty and I felt like everything was crumbling around me" and laugh at myself, wondering why I was such a fiery ball of emotion and self-pity.

But RIGHT NOW THAT'S HOW IT FEELS, OKAY.


Things I don't love doing that I've been doing awhile that I should theoretically stop so I don't continue whining

• Working in retail literally makes your life go by slower. So if you don't want that to happen, don't work at the freakin mall.
• I get bursts of inspiration to BEGIN writing, but then when I sit down to write i get so distracted and don't know what to write. Probably because I feel like I don't have enough life experience. Although I DO know what my new therapy story will be [Mum; check, Dad; check (at least for now)] Next up is living and growing up with an older sibling on the autism spectrum. It could help mend the relationship that has almost erupted into pure chaotic terror due to living in the same room for about six months. But I digress...
• For months, I've been telling myself to clean my room so that I have less issues living with a messy/unaware roommate, but I continue to say (to my self, mind you...nobody is forcing me to clean or telling me to get off my arse...except me) that I am too busy or tired etc. This should probably change. I could clean out my closet and have more room. Not that I have enough money to buy more clothes. Just like always. But who knows. 
• Because I work so much, I spend lots of money on gas. I should probably do some math right now and figure out how much gas I am really spending versus the amount of money I actually get paid...one moment please...
• Gas: SO I spend about $130-$150 a month in gas. At least. On average. And having asked for less time driving up, thus cut from five days to four days... (big whoop)... I get about $600 a month on average, give or take. So I end up with $450-$500 a month after gas. Not bad I guess. But if I stopped completely, I probably would spend less on gas. Unfortunately, if I were being realistic here, having quit my job I would probably spend more time in Davis. BUT I wouldn't keep coming back and forth. So perhaps that would also cut down on gas. 
• Follow up question for myself... so, having looked at what I've looked at, and determined what I really feel about working here at the store, the question is...when should I quit? End of May? Or middle of June? Middle of June is where i am leaning. But I might just go crazy before then. One more month? Dayum.

•  Lastly, would spending more time in Davis make me happier? Yes, yes, most likely, and yes I think so. Staying away from roommate arguments, being closer to Scott, sanity restored, away from job, break from responsibilites, etc. I WOULD be spending too much money by being in Davis. Though then I wouldn't be eating parents' food and asked to pay for it. (Valid.) This is a legitimate concern, that maybe I should consider finishing work through the end of May and taking all of June off. To decompress, wait for Davis' waitlist decision and spend time with Scotty. Just gotta make sure I don't distract from finals...and am I invited to graduation? Maybe me and the rest of his outcasted family that don't get tickets should go get breakfast...ha ha...ha. Actually not a bad idea. I should propose it and get brownie points.

Enough ranting. But I gotta say, planning itself as well as planning the restoration of my sanity made me feel loads better. It might just be worth it to quit after May instead of extending through June. Even though that last bit of money would be helpful, perhaps my time would be best spent with relaxation and zen.

Operation Restore Heather's Sanity. (Is restore the right word? Should it be build? Create something that wasn't there?) Something to think about.

I am a college-application-process masochist.

So after the crappy last couple of days in which I received a roller coaster of information from schools, I will definitely, at some point in my life, be writing about how one goes about transferring to both UC's and private schools if you are (like me) a very strange (and interesting! hopefully...) candidate. Not now, because I am too sad and angry and exhausted, but at some point. It will happen. So I can maybe help others.

This post will help me clarify what it is I am actually feeling instead of keeping it all rolling around and boiling up inside, waiting until the last minute when I explode from lack of direction, at which point I will have no idea what it is I really truly WANT to do...

Here is my current status.

UC's...
Santa Barbara - rejected. (didn't meet requirements?)
LA - rejected. (no surprise.)
Santa Cruz - rejected. (SO SURPRISED. Something seems odd and unfair. Should I appeal? Idk.)
Davis - Waitlisted. (Definitely intriguing, but also heartbreaking, for I will have to wait another month.)
Berkeley - Decision out April 27th. (Most likely not getting accepted. Big surprise.)

Private...
NYU, SLC, Tufts, and Wellesley...are all pending until at least mid-May. Do I even still want to venture to the East Coast again? Not particularly, nor do I think I will receive fantastic financial aid packages, but who knows.
Mills... ACCEPTED. Almost enough financial aid awarded to equal tuition of a UC, but should I miraculously get accepted from Davis' waitlist, it is still quite a bit higher due to Davis' prelim package.



So it comes down to Mills, UC Davis' waitlist, and East Coast schools.


Not the best situation to be in.


So now, being who I am, I must devise a plan. I have literally spent the past three days discussing my options with my mother. We plan and worry and plan and worry and plan way too much, but it is clearly a genetic thing...the need to plan our lives in order to decrease the stress.

I think this is the plan...

1. Try to wrap head around going to Mills, which I really only applied to on a whim.
It's an all girls school, it has small classes, one on one time with professors, great public policy program...and it is possible to take classes at Berkeley. I will sign up for the Admitted Students Day, research even more about it, and try to imagine myself and how it would really work for me. Send a deposit by (after asking for an extension!! Woo!) June 1st. 


2. My mother and I have enlisted the help of a very knowledgeable admissions lady who offers services to make your application/personal statements/waitlist essays/appeals look the best that they can be for UC's. Perhaps with her insight, my essay of a whopping 200 words will convince Davis to accept me from the waitlist. Who knows. Assuming I send it in by May 15th, I won't know from Davis until June 1st whether I was accepted or rejected.

3. It is possible that in the next three day I might be able to write a letter, gather my transcripts, and ask some poor former professor to write me another letter of recommendation in time for the April 27th deadline to appeal to UC Santa Cruz, but I don't really know if I have "new and compelling" information, nor do I really have the energy to try to do all of this work for a place I maybe would want to go to, or to some place that won't want me even after all of the work.

4. Lastly, I will of course wait to see which East Coast schools accepted or rejected me, which ones wanted me enough to offer money, and then I will have to decide if I can really bring myself to travel all the way across the country for another two years...again...away from everything.


It's a whole lot to think about and I don't know where to begin.

To be perfectly honest, (which is a lot easier to be on here than it is to my mother's face) I really really really really see myself happiest at UC Davis. And NOT, contrary to popular belief, because Scott is there. Who knows where he'll be. He'll have graduated. My point is, I know Davis, I've grown accustomed to Davis, I've actually learned to love Davis. My own downfall here is that I am not as close to going to Davis as I sometimes catch myself think I am...if that makes sense. I know I have the help from this lady, I've written a few essays already to get the juices flowing, I know I could actually really thrive and be happy at Davis...but there are so many factors still in the way of that becoming a reality. What if everyone offered acceptance decides to attend, and there are no spots? What if everyone else on the waitlist are much stronger candidates? Obviously Davis (and only Davis...) saw something in me that was worth looking at again...but who knows?

When I think of Davis, I think of comfort. I think of empowerment and opportunity.
When I think of Mills, I feel scared. The unknown, all girls, Oakland, small classes again...similarities to Hampshire... what if I find myself back in a similar small school, small minded nightmare?


I guess, though, that when it comes down to it, I really could make Mills work. I've done it before, I made friends 3,000 miles away from home, in a different state, a different climate... Maybe the small classes and strong Mills women will be the right place for me to finish this damn degree already.

Yes, I think the best thing to do is learn to love Mills now, make it work, and if, in a month or two, Davis changes their mind, I can reevaluate what I want to do then. But for now, full steam ahead for Mills College.

A Modern Man by George Carlin

"I'm a modern man, digital and smoke-free; a man for the millennium.

A diversified, multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist; politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect.

I've been uplinked and downloaded, I've been inputted and outsourced. I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading.

I'm a high-tech low-life. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bi-coastal multi-tasker, and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.

I'm new-wave, but I'm old-school; and my inner child is outward-bound.

I'm a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted cool customer; voice-activated and bio-degradable.

I interface with my database; my database is in cyberspace; so I'm interactive, I'm hyperactive, and from time to time I'm radioactive.

Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin' the wave, dodgin' the bullet, pushin' the envelope.

I'm on point, on task, on message, and off drugs.

I've got no need for coke and speed; I've got no urge to binge and purge.

I'm in the moment, on the edge, over the top, but under the radar.

A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary.

A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom-feeder.

I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps, I run victory laps.

I'm a totally ongoing, big-foot, slam-dunk rainmaker with a pro-active outreach.

A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic; out of rehab and in denial.

I've got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant, and a personal agenda.

You can't shut me up; you can't dumb me down. 'Cause I'm tireless, and I'm wireless. I'm an alpha-male on beta-blockers.

I'm a non-believer, I'm an over-achiever; Laid-back and fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home; low-rent, high-maintenance.

I'm super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built to last.

A hands-on, footloose, knee-jerk head case; prematurely post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate-mail.

But I'm feeling, I'm caring, I'm healing, I'm sharing. A supportive, bonding, nurturing primary-care giver.

My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond, and my revenue stream has its own cash flow.

I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds, I watch trash sports.

I'm gender-specific, capital-intensive, user-friendly and lactose-intolerant.

I like rough sex; I like tough love. I use the f-word in my e-mail. And the software on my hard drive is hard-core—no soft porn.

I bought a microwave at a mini-mall. I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast food in the slow lane. I'm toll-free, bite-size, ready-to-wear, and I come in all sizes.

A fully equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically proven, scientifically formulated medical miracle.

I've been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped and vacuum-packed.

And . . . I have unlimited broadband capacity.

I'm a rude dude, but I'm the real deal. Lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready to rock; rough, tough and hard to bluff.

I take it slow, I go with the flow; I ride with the tide, I've got glide in my stride.

Drivin' and movin', sailin' and spinnin'; jivin' and groovin', wailin' and winnin'.

I don't snooze, so I don't lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty, and lunchtime is crunch time.

I'm hangin' in, there ain't no doubt;

and I'm hangin' tough.

Over and out."

George Carlin


...inspiration to write "A Modern Woman"...??

Bucket List: "Work in a bookstore." Check.

"You don't sit around and read and discuss literature all the time when you work in a bookshop. You do tell customers where the latest Mitch Albom book is a million times a day. You learn to identify bestsellers by cover color. People insist they have just seen a certain book in paperback at another shop and your explanation that the book has only been out in hardcover for a month and will likely be in paper within a year is listened to with disbelief and an insulting air indicating you are a moron AND a liar. You listen to people tell you they could get every title in your shop more cheaply at Sam's Club. You learn the inner significance of the deep philosophy in science fiction and fantasy titles. You get lectures about why a certain author is or is not fantasy or science fiction and how only feeble minded idiots would mis-shelve them as dismally as you and your colleagues have. You sometimes get to hand-sell a book you believe in to a person who might actually enjoy it. You watch terrific books languish on the shelves and eventually get sent back to the publisher while Nicholas Sparks titles must be reordered bimonthly. You become expert at finding the most popular TV talk and news show sites on the web instantly because customers want "this book they were talking about on the Today Show, it was written by a general? Someone in the military anyway." You become accustomed to being called a liar when you tell someone a certain book is out of print. "It can't be out of print, (you are informed.) It was only published 5 years ago!" You learn every single day that (1) Amazon has it cheaper and (2) Amazon doesn't charge sales tax. "

Substitute "Mitch Albom book" for "The Hunger Games" and you have my life, ladies and gentlemen.

April 2012 Book List

Current:
The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Prisoner's Dilemma (Book 3 Mysterious Benedict Society Series)
Changeless (Book 2 Parasol Protectorate Series "Soulless")
Then Again (Diane Keaton's autobiography)

What's Next:
The Weird Sisters
The Help
Everything is Illuminated
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Cinder
Blameless, Heartless, and Timeless (Books 3, 4 and 5 in Parasol Protectorate Series)
Bossypants (Tina Fey's autobiography)
Hunger Games Trilogy (I guess...maybe)
Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (plus Girl who kicked the hornet's nest and Girl who played with fire)
The Poisonwood Bible
Hugo



...to be updated upon further research...

Seasons changing.

I logged on to facebook today, as does everyone in the world, and noticed various albums that had been uploaded by various friends and acquaintances from Hampshire, all entitled "Easter Keg Hunt 2012."
Easter Keg Hunt is a Hampshire tradition where everyone (well, anyone who wants to...) wakes up at the crack of crack on Easter morning to venture into the woods surrounding the school and look for/dig up kegs that have been buried by upperclassmen. Then they proceed to tap the keg and drink beer until the dining hall opens for brunch.

THE most stupid idea I've ever heard of, but I clearly never participated, and now not so sadly I'll never get the chance.

In any case, that doesn't make me miss school or Hampshire.

But living with family, no matter how wonderful of a family they might be comparatively, and feeling this perpetual "stuckness" day in, and day out...does not make me feel so great about leaving school. I know I am most likely much happier...having removed myself from an environment that was not supportive or stress-free in any way...but nevertheless, I can't seem to say that I really feel the happiest here, where I am at right now.

But this is why I am writing this down. Because it is at times like these, where I have a huge funk blocking my who emotional state, where I desperately need to sit down and write, and think, and remember what it is I am doing, what I am capable of, and how I can get through whatever it is I need to get through to get to "the other side" so to speak.

Here are my funks;

I desperately miss school. I am sick and tired of anxiously waiting to hear back from schools.
Living at home is NOT working, though I have been trying very hard to put on my happy face and manage as much as I can.
I feel lonely, save for a few saving graces who have been there for rants over coffee.
I miss Scott. And I am really really tired of missing Scott.
Frankly, I am tired of waiting to get back to my life.

And here are the reasons why everything is not-that-bad and how everything will get better;

I *SHOULD* theoretically hear back from all schools within the next three weeks. At least the ones that matter.
I AM trying pretty hard to manage living at home, which involves not being at home most of the time, and realizing that my sister is my sister and will always be the way she is. I can survive for another four months. I think.
Although I do often feel lonely, I still manage to find time to talk to old friends, I have new friends from work that I see often, and as soon as I go back to school, I shall *hopefully* find even newer ones.
I miss Scott. That never changes. But he needs to focus, I will see him in less than two weeks, and then we've got about a month and a half to go before he graduates.
Life is going to happen. And I will write a book list after this so that I can get through as many books as I can before the deadline to begin my next chapter happens.

I've been a crankypants pain in the bum to many, no more than I have been to myself, but now I am in the homestretch. I do think it is important to figure out ways to release yourself, whether it is stress or little recurrent frustrations, or just some bursts of creative/productive energy. And being the crazy person that I am, I think I need to start making lists and countdown days, and activities for myself that will keep my craziness in check.

Spring is here. Time to fight the allergies, read a lot, and get through the next few months.
Everything should be a breeze... *crosses fingers*

One Inevitable Anxiety of Life

I'm sitting at work, and have been thinking about this subject for awhile, but what better environment to reflect?

I see a lot of parents come through the store with their kiddo(s)...sometimes one, sometimes four...and some days I smile at the soft, calm blue-eyed babies, and other days I politely ignore the yelling between parent and child.

Last night (and in the past few days) I've noticed my parents have talked of or have shown me their own ways of parenting and just living with families in general. Having had a few problems with siblings, I was forced to ask my mother to come and parent her two adult daughters because we just couldn't (and can't seem to...) "get along", especially with the added stress of sharing a room.

And then seeing Zofia as the only real "kid" in the house...some days she's a typical five year old sister, rambunctious but creative, other days I find myself doing a bit of my own parenting. Specifically when it comes to manners. Poor kid...she has three siblings but five parents.

So this gets me thinking about my own future parenting. And this may shock people, that I of all people would ever think about producing offspring...including my own mother who thought it was rather endearing while also slightly off-putting when I told her I didn't understand why people would wait only a year or two after giving birth to have another one. "My kid has gotta be able to wipe his own arse before I have another one!" Direct quote.

Can't I think about what I would do if I were to become a parent without people getting all excited or weirded out that Heather is even considering having children?? Sheesh...

Perhaps being in a serious (now 1-plus year) relationship makes me become all mushy, and my maternal clock has started tick---- wait! Nope. That's definitely not it. IF and WHEN children ever came into the picture, I can reevaluate some of my own parenting experiences and/or upbringing. And I can tell you right now, I want a life before children. And then I can consider a wonderful life WITH them. Perhaps? Who knows? Let's not plan too far ahead.

Scott and I can't even plan as far ahead as where we'll both be in the Fall...finishing undergrad and starting dental school.

But I digress.

The point is, everyone has their own ideas about what makes a decent parent. And having experienced several different versions of parenting (mother and father, single mother, mother and stepfather, father and stepmother...), and coming to an age where your parents' many and human flaws are exposed, I can tell you this much.

Nobody, and I mean nobody, knows what they're doing.

Great way to not terrify yourself, Heather. Way to go!

Cosmic karma. Lessons learned.

[Is my title redundant? Hmm.]

I am not what one might call a "religious" person. I do, however, consider myself rather spiritual. Occasionally (or not so occasionally) my particular "spirituality" may result from excess of anxiety, but oh well. That's life. That's me.

In any case, although many who spout the words "everything happens for a reason" are usually referring to some sort of divine power whose "plan" is conducting all of us against our will, I do actually believe everything happens for some reason or another. Let me explain.

Tonight, I was planning on going to a dance performance mostly because little Zofia was talked into being in it for the teacher's sake, and there's a lot of drama I don't need to go into and yadda yadda yadda. I was going to go with an old friend to see some other old friends dance. Scott went to visit buddies for the night, it was just going to be the girls watching dancers and reminiscing.
Well Zofia got sick. Hannah couldn't make it in time. Seemed like it wasn't meant to be.
So now, feeling rather saddened and bored, all dressed up with nowhere to go, I tried to contact friends, especially those who have complained about girls with boyfriends never hanging out with their friends. (Blah blah.) One had plans with her boyfriend, one was babysitting and the other never responded.
So as usual I felt sorry for myself for all of about 5 minutes, pacing and pouting and looking at my phone wondering what shenanigans my boy was up to...and then I realized how wonderful it was going to be to have the following;

1. a night of my own. (My sister was heading off to her boyfriend's for the weekend, thus leaving me with my own empty, pigsty of a room)
2. I have a book and a half to finish in order to discuss with my co-worker in our mini-bookclub. Who doesn't love a night of cozy reading!? (Note to self: post "date girls who read" article. Fabulous stuff)
3. Catch up on cards, gift planning, lists, schedules...all of the anal-retentive, OCD, anxiety driven stuff that Heathers actually enjoy in order to feel better about crazyhecticlife.


So there. Instead of complaining silently about being confined to a night in my house with my buggy family on a Friday night with no friend time or boyfriend time, I realized that all of those plans weren't meant to be. The cosmos were telling me to calm down, sit down, relax, and have a "me" night. Instead of always trying to keep myself busy and functioning, why not have a moment of nothing but clarity?


Tonight's plan wasn't meant to be. And I will have a much better night because of it. Thank you, fate.

Bittersweet Happenings.

Just a few things. To help remind future self or inquiring minds.

Number one. Black Friday is stupid.

Number two. Never work retail unless you're home for a year from college trying to make some money and then NEVER DO IT AGAIN. Stay in school kids.

Number three. Don't stay out late with your boyfriend and his family the night before working Black Friday the next morning.

Number four. Try to remember in times of stress that, all in all, the things you do are most likely going to lead you towards a fairly happy and fulfilling life. Try not to get wrapped up in the little things.

And finally, Number five. Kittens are nature's way of making you stop freaking out so you can pause and say "D'awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww"

Moral of this story is...Kittens make everything better. 

In a Funk.

Emotions and hormones are odd things. Truly. One can be in a fabulous mood, an hour later be indifferent and zoning out, and ten minutes after be sad and antsy and depressed. Odd, no?

I find that if I keep myself fairly busy, like writing or watching something, or going to work a lot, I don't have enough time to worry. (My anxiety likes to win over my rationality most of the time.)
I just wonder how a lot of the time how I should deal with these escalating and dropping of emotions.
I miss you.
I'm busy.
I'm tired.
I'm motivated.
I miss you.
I'm lonely.
I'm planning.
I'm busy again.
I'm super busy.
I'm tired.
I'm super tired.

I miss you.


I wonder how much longer I can do this cycle. Can I do it for the next three weeks? Let alone seven months?


One day I shall look back on this period of my life and chuckle, thinking "Wow. Glad I got out of that funk."

Measuring success

The following video was posted all over facebook yesterday because I happen to know both of the talented little kiddos (and I only say little because they were freshman and sophomores when I really knew them in high school) who created this film...

http://vimeo.com/29384939

Apparently, it won them the opportunity to go to Hollywood, as well as to the Cannes Film Festival in France. It is definitely a big deal, and quite an honor, and I am quite excited for them.

That. Having. Been. Said... it got me thinking lately about my own life, and wondering what I have really accomplished since graduating high school. Sure I went to Ireland...for a class. Not to France...to be globally recognized for my talents. This has just come as a reality check for me to realize how the paths we each take in our lives can go so many different ways, all truly depending on what WE do with them.

I suppose this comes at a not-so-great point in my path...only because I feel so static and stir-crazy, not because it won't ultimately become a good thing...so it's difficult to see some youngin's fresh out of high school already proving themselves worthy of the world. Questions creep up through some of the stress cracks, like "What should I really be doing in my life? Did I choose incorrectly? Will none of this get recognized? Why am I caring so much? Shouldn't I just be happy!? UGH"

You get the idea.

So at this point is when I slow the hell down and remember what I love about my life, and how this path is going to lead me to where I want to be, and how I need to be (and am!) grateful of all I got.
But it helps to make a physical list:

I have a goddamn roof over my goddamn head.
I live in a society where I am allowed to say goddamn a lot. Though I shouldn't and needn't.
I have a family that, no matter how crazy they can get, will always support me no matter how many tattoos I get. (For the record, I already got away with one. For the most part.)
Although I may not be able to afford to go to any college I desire, I do have some source of money to pay for it that isn't my own pocket.
I have the most wonderful, loving, and thoughtful boyfriend who LITERALLY keeps me sane. I pray he stays around for awhile since I don't know exactly how well I could function in the world without his ears to rant to and his big manly shoulders to hug me, ground me, and catch a few tears.
I have food readily available, unlimited water to drink, and hip and trendy clothes to wear.

I'm gonna figure it all out. But not now! I'm 20 years old for crying out loud. Most people never figure it all out, and the ones that do (or say they do) are probably trying to keep it together.
Moral of this story rant is... Shut up. Be happy. Figure it out as you go along. Everything is going to be fine.

An attempt to write about love.

Love seems like such a simple word for such a complex matter.
Love is four letters, one syllable, and takes only a few muscles to say. And yet it is far more complicated to express.

We met in high school, although we'd known each other awhile before then. And I had no idea.
No conceivable notion of how much you'd change me...
And let me stop right there for a moment to talk about what I really mean by "change." Even writing this I feel like a cliché, like there are so many more unique and interesting ways of expressing how you have affected me. But even saying that "you have changed me," cliché or not, is a huge example of how much it is true.
I grew up thinking love was eating food even when you didn't want to or you were bloated from thirds, because otherwise you would hurt your father's feelings.
I thought love was making sure everyone else was happy and didn't think poorly of me, because otherwise I would feel like a failure and nobody would love me.
My first boyfriend said "I love you" after two weeks and I knew immediately he didn't mean it and never would.
I saw my father date a few women and finally marry one who could deal with his anger issues, family dynamics, four almost-estranged children, and almost compete with his drinking.
Finally, I watched my mother fall in love with a man who showered her with useless gifts and food and songs and a look I would be a fool to try to describe.

So when it was my turn to fall in love, I was terrified. I didn't want to screw it up. I wanted everything to be perfect, and I wanted to make sure you were happy. But then I realized...that's not what love is. At least that's not how it works. Not for us.

You told me you loved me first, and I actually believed you. But I held off saying it back because I wanted you to believe me. I kissed you hard and sputtered something about not being quite ready.
When I finally did tell you, you kissed me and I knew you believed me. Since then, I can't say it enough, and I mean it every single time. Cliché, I know, and I love it. See? I'm a natural.

Love seems to creep up and infect you, like a disease from a little kid who brings it home from school one day. There's no way to truly avoid it, though you can take some time to really try, taking vitamins and drinking fluids...shutting down your walls and fearing commitment. It creeps in and eats you from the inside out, and once it gets going, you start feeding it...with "I love you"s, kisses, looking at each other for no reason than to look at each other, talking about songs that remind you of one another...it all seems to subsume you until you look back and realize there is absolutely no turning back. You realize that you will either make it forever, or someday you'll be sitting, staring at your heart which lies in a murky puddle on the ground, trying not to listen to those songs you once talked about.
Love is terrifying.

But on those nights when you've had a little alcohol and you've bottled up a few million stresses, and they all come bursting out like a Pandora's box of tears and snot and words, love is there. Love is holding you, wrapped around you, supporting you when you feel like the ground beneath you has vanished, and for a moment you can't possibly imagine how anything could be wrong if you have this wonderful warmth with you, always. I mean, it must be love that puts up with the puffy eyes and snot running down your face and your lips trying to form words and ideas but in actuality making no sense at all, right?

And, after living almost 20 years not thinking about love and soulmates, in fact mostly poo-pooing it all, it's an almost devastating phenomenon to realize that you are actually starting to believe in the stuff.
I bring up the idea of a soulmate, only because of the things that have happened to us, since love...
The frequent psychic moments, saying things at the same time, responding, not to your words, but to your thoughts, getting sick at the same time when 3,000 miles away, and feeling achy and empty when I leave you for any period of time. This could be coincidence, this could be what some people would just call "two crazy kids in love," but to me, it seems like just slightly more. It feel there is a fragment of my own psyche hidden inside of you, tucked somewhere beneath your organs and your emotions. And sometimes I feel that piece of me drawing me in, connecting with a piece of yourself which lies somewhere festering inside of my organs and emotions. But it centers me all the same.
This may be a really crude and graphic image of what I think a soul is, but love is not cartoon hearts and chirping birds. Love is a disease that we give ourselves. A sickness that consumes our day, our months, sometimes it lasts for years...if we're lucky.

But I don't want to talk to you about sharing a disease. And I couldn't possibly say all of this every moment I look into your eyes for no reason, or every time I hear a song that reminds me of you...
So I simply say, "I love you."

Happy Fall.

She plunged the knife into the skin, pushing the blade as far as it would go, her hand straining at the resistance she felt from the thick layer of orange flesh. The tip of the knife reached the hollow cavity and she began pulling the knife, back and forth, cutting further into the smooth skin. She continued until she reached her starting point, where she pulled the knife up and placed it on the newspaper beside her. She reached for the hazel, gnarled handle and pulled upwards, each layer of skin and flesh gradually seeming lighter and lighter, ending in viscous strands of orange fibers and teardrop seeds hanging from her specimen.
She reached inside and smiled.
The soggy hairs squished wonderfully beneath her palm and squeezed through her fingers. She pulled out the stringy mass and dropped it in a brown paper bag that sat waiting on the table, clean and empty for the last time. Her hand dived in again, and again, each time pulling out cold clumps of orange meat and dropping it inside the bag. She paused for a moment, only to grab a spoon, before she continued...plummeting its rounded edges towards the crisp tissue, which she began to scrape upwards and continue dumping in the paper bag. She paid particular attention to the very bottom center, where she had carved a shallow, round space...a place to hold a small, cylindrical object.
Finally, after placing the spoon gently on the newspaper-clad table, her laborious job was done. She took a black pen, traced shapes along the rounded, deep orange columns of skin...triangles, half-moon shapes, one large "O" towards the bottom. She put down the pen, stood back, and scrutinized her artwork. Perfect.
She picked up her knife, turned it at an angle, and plunged it once more towards the depths within.

L'shana Tova.

I ALWAYS appreciate Rosh Hashanah's prime timing. It always seems to roll around both when you least expect it AND when it is most needed. Here are some interesting and enlightening words from a columnist/blogger woman from Movie City News;

"Today at sundown marks the start of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Rosh Hashanah is the the beginning of a time of reflection in the Jewish faith called aseret yamei teshuva, or ten days of penintence; Rosh Hashanah is not just about asking forgiveness from God for the things we’ve done wrong in the past year, but about seeking out and apologizing directly to those we’ve harmed. It’s the time of year to reflect upon how we’ve been doing with regard to repentance (teshuva), prayer (tefillah) and charity (tzedakah).
But what do those things really mean, as we apply them to our lives? The idea of repentance isn’t just about apologizing and being forgiven, it’s about strengthening community, about trying to live a life of righteousness. It’s about how you make your life have meaning outside of yourself, every single day, about the kind of person you strive to be — not just on Rosh Hashanah, but every day of the year. And you don’t have to be Jewish to find value in the spirit of what Rosh Hashanah means...
...
Trying to live your life by thinking consistently about how your actions impact others is, to me, the spirit of what Rosh Hashanah is all about. We cannot help but do wrong in our lives, because we are human, and to be human is to err. But we can try to be aware of this, to acknowledge honestly that we pretty much always have something to repent for: a harsh word when a kind one would have been a better choice; starting — or continuing –a fight on Twitter with a colleague; snapping at our partner; holding onto resentments; failing to be grateful for the myriad kindnesses others show to us.
But if we all carried the spirit of Rosh Hashanah with us, every single day and not just once a year, how much better could we make our communities, the lives of our friends, the lives of our neighbors and co-workers, and even the stranger in line behind us at Starbucks? If you chose to try to live every day being positive and happy and mindful of others, who knows how much that spirit of kindness and community might pay forward to the lives of others, in ways that you’ll never know?"


And some may wonder why I respect the Jewish faith so much. Let's talk more about spirtuality and humankind and positivity and less about God and Jesus and blood. Just my preference.

L'shana Tova. May this year bring positivity, light and learning.