Bitter and Blue

"I'm feeling so

Thoughtful and

Gloomy and

Bitter and blue..."

—Bitter and Blue by Michael Weatherly 

~*~

    Somehow, my dorm room is always too chilly by the window and stiflingly hot at the door.  Of course, if I wasn't sucking down a chilled can of A&W root beer, perhaps I would feel warmer, but such is college life.  Some sacrifices must be made in the name of sugar.

     It's a bizarre, lonely day.  We're under a tornado watch (and we were under a warning) so I spent half the morning in the dorm basement...a hot, moldy room enclosed by ominously creaking pipes and echoing with the groans and giggles of bored and excited teenage girls.  I tried to chat a little, but all of my friends were in class, and I've never been able to communicate well with excitable girls.  So, to pass the time, I read a selection from Confessions by Augustine—an engaging story that falls short of inspiring by the author's repeated self-flagellations.  Then it was time for lunch, but the line to the dining hall was so long that I mooched off of Raquel and Star instead (for the first time, let us note), and ended up with a meal of microwavable chicken alfredo, a dill pickle, a peanut butter chocolate chip breakfast bar, hershey's kisses and my own can of carefully hoarded root beer.

     A lunch as strange as my morning has been.  I had my first nightmare in years this morning, probably inspired by the wailing wind and my open window.  Pretty scary, because the scene in my dream was the scene in actuality, and it is in fact possible that someone could climb in through my screen.  I tried to brain him with my laptop, missed—dang those dream-slowed reflexes—and finally managed a halfway proper scream just before jerking upright and out of sleep.  Scary, and disturbingly mood-altering...and yet, curiously fun to relive.  Ah, well, what can I say—I'm an action girl at heart.  If life doesn't provide me with excitement, I'm going to have to cognize some.

     I'm actually feeling more cheerful now, probably because a) I've been writing and b) I've stopped listening to Bitter and Blue.  It's not really my style—though does flow nicely—but it is undeniably gloomy.  Hence the lyrics.  (It's funny how that goes.)  Of course, I'm disproportionately fond of the song, because of the artist...the very skilled actor Michael Weatherly.  I have, by the way, no particular attachment to Michael Weatherly as a person; but he is irreconcilably linked to my beloved Tony DiNozzo of NCIS fame, and that is a connection that cannot be overstated.  Well, okay.  Yes, it can.

    This is going to be a repeating theme, in case you were wondering, but in the meantime this is as good a place to stop as any.  I'm off to listen to practice Tae Kwon Do, write and listen to Taylor Swift, because bubble-gum country-pop songs make me feel happy.  A fine day to you and yours!

       

    

     

     

        

Moment to Moment

“Who you are moment to moment is just a story.”

—Chuck Palahniuk

I haven’t always been a writer, but I’ve always been a story-holic.  At a very young age I taught myself how to read—through the helpful medium of Sesame Street—and began a lifelong love affair.  (This sounds a little creepy, considering my age at that time, but let’s overlook that, shall we?)  The older I get, the more my passion for stories centers not only on plot and language, but on characters.

Bad plots can kill a story.  Awkward language is agonizing.  But if the characters are bad, the story has no heart.

I fall in love with characters. 

            If you’re anything like me, then, you’ll want to know a thing or two about the people you’ll be hearing about in this blog.  The fictional ones I’ll introduce you to later; but the main characters of my life are also important and beloved, and I can’t stand for you to see them only as letters on a page.  So, without further delay, my most precious co-patriots*:

            Rochelle: My older sister.  My confidant, my hero.  Painfully brilliant and extremely absent-minded about the lesser concerns of our physical world, such as putting away the peanut butter.  Tall, honey-haired and beautiful—and frustratingly precise about everything.  But she’s kindness itself.

            Daddyman: My dad, of the unconventional nickname.  (Don’t ask me about it, it was Rochelle’s creation.  I just adopted it.)  A mind as sharp as knives—no movie, book, or argument is safe from his perusal of its inconsistencies.  Endlessly hilarious, and the biggest softie of us all.

            Mom: How does one sum up a mother?  I adore her, she maddens me, she’s my advocate and my friend.  Jack-of-all-trades and master of most of them.  She battles damage from Lyme disease every day of her life with more patience and perspective than I may ever have.

             Kat:  Quirkiness itself.  My best friend other than Rochelle.  A ridiculously bright biology major/philosophy minor, who loves nothing better than stating outrageous and unsubstantiated beliefs and waiting to see if anyone will notice.  One of the most charming people I know.  Has no need for fuss, feathers or strangers, but she’s endlessly sweet once she trusts you.

            Mary: Blond haired, blue eyed and an unrelenting Reformist Christian. Resists change and other philosophies with every fiber of her being; only a mandate will get her in dress, and nothing in the world will make her consider dating at this point in her life.  But no sword is single edged, and while her rigidity can be frustrating, her loyalty to you runs just as deep.

            Raquel:  Stressball English major—though, at this school, no English major isn’t.  Some days she’ll take it out on you, but she’ll dissolve in laughter at your slightest jokes.  No one is more fun to share girlish secrets and dreams with.

            Sandy: Impossibly fun to tease.  Wears baggy tees, Josefina braids, and sparkly earrings.  Huge heart, temptingly gullible, a gooey romantic, and the only one of us with a boyfriend.  Everyone loves Sandy.

            Star:  My roommate—a freshman, like me.  Very well-meaning and conscientious; drives me crazy by talking loudly when I’m trying to relax, but always manages to remind me why I like her.  We weren’t the greatest match in the world, but you know what?  We’re working it out.

            Yun:  Cute, little, and calm; Yun hails from far off lands and is delighted by each new American thing she discovers.  Unlike the majority of the college, she’s not Christian, and she says so without compunction.

Let the stories begin!

*Names changed

The Thought of a Thought of a Thought

   The autumn wind pries the leaves from the reluctant trees, leaving them groaning at the loss.  Yes, it's fall here in my little college town, and dramatically beautiful, even with the trees ripped half bare of foliage.  Unseasonably balmy, too—a reality as cherished by the students as the coming of winter is loathed.  But college students love nothing better than to have something about which they can cheerfully gripe; and while classwork is the obvious default, the winter onslaught provides a satisfactory substitute when the need arises.

    I might as well confess at this point that, despite the conveniently impersonal phrase "students," I am one.  I am, therefore, equally prone to complaints about weather, professors, and cafeteria food as anybody else, but I'll try not to bore you with the details.  Though, honestly, there are few things more amusing than the creatively horrendous dinners college gives us on Sunday nights.  Not that they seem funny when you're eating suspiciously pink, under-seasoned chicken, and disturbing conglomerations of bell-peppers, carrots, soy sauce and beef, but we jokesters have to take what we can get.

     Well, if you've stuck around this far, you're probably at least vaguely curious about who I am.  So, naturally, I think I won't tell you now, but let it come out naturally.  Suspense is good for the soul.  And, anyway, I'm a contrary sort—a consequence of being quiet, reflective, overly polite and extremely opinionated, I suspect.  When you feel no one's listening to you, you have to take a stand where you can.  

       So, you're probably thinking, "If she's not going to tell us who she is, at least she could tell us why she's writing this!  Or at least what it's about."  Fair enough; I shall.  Ready for it? 

       Nothing.  It's a blog about...nothing.  

       Alright, alright.  It isn't really about nothing; I just like quoting Seinfeld.  This blog will be, on the contrary, based on everything in my life.  Dreams, worries, joys, experiences, books, movies, animals, and TV shows; memories, things I believe with every fiber of my being and things I fear I shall never understand; a conversation with a friend, and the thought of a thought of a thought...

      Because there are some things too precious to share with anyone but your best friend—or a stranger.

      Because, as fortunate as I am, in some ways I'm very much alone. 

      Because, in some ways, all of us are alone.

      But never in the ways that matter. :)