I should be writing papers instead...

I'm wide awake now thanks to the energy of my favorite redheaded person with whom I traipsed through Walmart while she claimed to be sleepy, but managed to find excitement with nearly every item at her eye level in the store. I do not know if that is an entirely grammatical sentence.

So instead of writing a five page paper on Shakespeare's sonnet 14 or my memoir for nonfiction writing, I'm here. I have no thoughts except that I am feeling rather accomplished. I've done all my homework for tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday. So yay me!

I was labeled a liberal last night. I don't know who was the originator of the pairing of that term with my name. And then when we were trying to make the film we were told to "do what your shirt says." What does that mean? How do you do liberal things while playing Clue? At least I wasn't the "slob" or the "blonde."

So the definition of "veracity:"
"We see into our memories in much the way that we see across the floor of a sunbaked desert: everything we conjure, every object, creature, or event we perceive in there, is distorted, before it reaches us, by mirages created by subjectivity, time and distance. . . The best the a would-be nonfiction writer can do is use imperfect language to invoke imperfectly remembered events based on imperfect perceptions."

SO in creating a memoir, or memory in words, the facts aren't just so. Unless one has a journal they keep all the time and photographs. Oh hey! I do! But still, memories are subjective, selective, and clouded by time. But it's my memory. And even if it isn't true, I'm being faithful to the spirit of my memory. Because it is mine. My memory, my perspective, my viewpoint.

I still haven't decided what memory I'm going to write about. I'm thinking a conversation I had with my granddaddy at dusk on May 27, 2000, on a patio swing, just the two of us. A walk to get the paper. One sentence I'll never forget.

Labor to make all one glow of beauty...

There is no reason. Why certain girls had to be the ones to die in a fire. Why the earth has to suddenly release energy to create seismic waves. Why the accident had to happen at that time in that place. We do love logic. And reason. And we strive to create patterns and formulas that explain why and how. But sometimes the why and how have no place. There is no why or how.

I have no answer, and I don't know if I ever will. But I understand. I can put myself in these people's shoes. I understand the feeling of loss. I know the feeling of being lost. Where you're in this strange place, and the sounds are all muffled, but you can clearly hear the frozen earth crunch beneath your numb foot. And when you kneel for rest, the dirt is hard and doesn't relent for you. I know what it's like to see your breath in the cold air and still feel unsure if it's you that's breathing. I know what it's like to hear people call your name and you squint at them because you know you're supposed to recognize them, but you don't. Nothing is familiar anymore. The life we planned is gone. The future we hoped for no longer exists. Just like that.

Just like that we find ourselves waking up. And we don't recognize this reality, though we know it's ours. Just like that we find ourselves asking every morning if it was only a dream, and just like that we find ourselves being reminded every morning that it was not. Truth: one of the hardest part of saying goodbye is having to say it every day. Every day is a different reality than what was originally planned.

But guess what that means? It's new.

Guess what else that means? Your only choice is to recreate. You imagined one thing, and it's left you. You get to imagine again. Every day is a blank canvas. You get to choose a new course, you get to choose a better route, you get to choose new words, new gestures, new loves, new interests, new desires. That is your only option. You have no choice but to imagine. As long as there is breath in your lungs, you are meant to go on. You are meant to do what you're meant to do. What is that? I don't know. Try, some new things! But "never cease chiseling your statue."

That story.

It is a sad one we all know. The one where I gathered all my toys, created a beautiful castle, wrapped it in a pretty box, and handed it to God and said, "Please?" And God said, "No."

My castle was so beautiful. It had a story and a prince. I planned every piece. I structured every angle. I said, "But God, it's such a pretty castle." And God said, "I know." And I said "Please?" And God said, "No."

I held it close and cried over it. The castle in its box was so precious to me. It truly was a pretty castle. And I said, "But God, I made it." And God said, "I know." And I said, "Please?" And God said, "No."

I was so hurt. My loving God should give me what I want. My loving father should acquiesce my desires. He should supply me with happiness. My castle made me happy.


And I said, "Why, God?" And God said, "Why, what?" And I said, "Why can't I have my castle? I built it." And God said, "What do you plan on doing with your castle? You can't fit in it, it's in a box. My castles are bigger." And I said, "Oh."

And that is precisely what we do with our dreams. We think they're so big and beautiful, but they come from tiny minds. So naturally, they are rather tiny. Not big enough for us. God knows we need bigger. He dreams big dreams.

But keep dreaming. You might be surprised at what he can do with yours.

A hike.

"Travel is only glamorous in retrospect." -Paul Theroux

Sometimes it's true. When we glance back through the photos we don't remember the fights, the headaches, the crying, or the near death experiences. Well maybe the last one.
Unless you're like me and you like to record every moment. I have a pen and a digital camera so watch out. Not to mention my awesome photographic and numerical memory. But they're important to me. I want to remember everything from my travels. The sand in my shoes, the scars on my knees, the songs that get stuck in my head, the one-liners that become famous quotes in my head. I stuff them all in my back pack and move on to new people and new places. My back pack gets heavier with everything I stuff into it, but I don't care. I won't take anything out. I want to remember how that house smelled and how that road sounded and how his laugh made me happy. I want to remember the way the music lulled me to sleep, and how the conversation was just so good that I couldn't go to sleep. I want to remember the past. Without it, I have no understanding of how I got here.

"Everywhere I go I find a poet who has been there before me." -Sigmund Freud

Milk, eggs, vodka...

I'm back at school, and I missed everybody and everything. I'm excited about my classes. I love reading and writing, and that's pretty much all my homework! And taped to the wall right next to my desk and computer is the brochure for the Abbey program in the Loire Valley in France, just two hours from Paris and Pontlevoy! It's good to constantly be reminded of my goals. So no frivolous shopping or road trips:( Unless anyone else wants to pay? Just a suggestion...

Also, I was quite awake at 2:30 this afternoon when I arrived at my dorm, and after an hour and a half of unpacking and rearranging and settling myself, I'm ready to drop into bed. After Taco Bell. But I won't buy a lot. Just a drink. And maybe one taco. Just one. Maybe Roommate's presence just wears me out. *wink*

Also-also, I just found Pandora. Thanks for all the "You have to get on pandora"s. I am now. But just the free kind. I must say it's nice. I offer a big thankyou to the inventor of this great invention. Though you probably don't need it in addition to all your new moneys and stuffs. But thanks just the same. Right now I'm listening to "One Headlight" by The Wallflowers (I do like that song) on the station invented when I searched The Hush Sound. Hmmm...

We can drive home with one headlight.

Book everyone should read (or at least flip through): Milk, Eggs, Vodka: Grocery Lists Lost and Found. You will never be the same, and you will never view you fellow grocery shoppers the same way either.
Background. So this guy from the midwest or whatever has a strange hobby and eventually made a book out of it. Y'all, it isn't tiny. Christmas present courtesy of Little Sister.
Strange hobby indeed. But I am not against strange hobbies. I say if you find something fascinating or interesting and you love to do it, by all means (well not unpleasant means if you can avoid it) do it! It is a belief of mine that if you can apply yourself to something that is not a requirement of your job, family, or classes, you will be a far more well-rounded person. When we do things just for fun, we discover so much because we want to. Just like a guy who scouts grocery parking lots across America, we can find adventure. And just think of the good he has accomplished. By collecting these lost pieces of paper, he's being green. Then he's using these discarded fragments of a person's day to make the rest of America laugh.

I do love to laugh.

ZOMG the location of the second zero has moved.

Happy 2010!!!

Yeah I said zomg. So what? I know, I know. I always say I will never conform as it is my biggest fear, but sometimes I just get tired of fighting. Sometimes there is no better expression. Sometimes sounding out "oh em gee" is the only way others will understand certain emotions. Sad. I wish I had real words. It's my culture. And I am a part of it.

Next, I watched Defiance today with Daniel Craig. It was soooo good. Except that I was left saddened at the end when my favorite character died. He was my favorite, not because he was a cutie, (which he was) but because he was just such a sweet one.
It's amazing to me how every WWII movie I watch always brings out so many emotions. Anger, sadness, frustration, pity. I'm always so confused. When I see these soldiers killing Jews without thought I can't ever comprehend why. It's more than following orders. Everybody had a choice. What could possibly motivate any one person to determine anybody else's value or lack therof? Why punish a person for living? Not that any ethnicity is a bad thing. Only the opposite. But even in some crazy, alternate, unbelievable world in which it could be a bad thing, why punish any person for something that is not under their control? It never made sense to me.

But I guess that's a good thing. It would be terrible if I did understand it. I don't think I would ever want to know what that hatred feels like. Why does any person think they have a right to determine another person's life and value? It's cruel. Who gave them that right? Sometimes I'm not even confidant enough to speak my mind, I can't even imagine assuming such power.

The past will always exist. I wonder if dealing with that existence will ever stop being such a struggle. For groups and for individuals. But we just keep swimming. Sometimes that's all we can do. And it may not seem like much, but it's something. The fact that we can still do something is worthy of gratitude. We show that gratitude by doing that something.

So good luck with your somethings!