Yes, sbleep. This is what I call 'sleep' when I'm deprived of it (or feeling ridiculous). Considering that I got two hours of sleep last night and maybe a thirty minute nap this afternoon, I think I'm doing pretty well. 'Tis the holiday season, after all, and today the fam and I ran up to Washington DC for Thanksgiving with the grandparents. I'm always grateful to visit here (even if some things continually throw me, like the amount of food available and my access to exercise), but I am especially thankful this year because for a few weeks in October I was afraid my grandfather wasn't going to make it to the holiday season.
He did, however, and all is (relatively) well here. This means I can devote my break to the two most important aspects of my life: sleep and homework.
I hear the angels sniggering. Or weeping, as the case may be.
While I'm not an insomniac I do sometimes lack the desire or inclination to sleep. This doesn't do me any favors during the school year, unless it's crunch time and I have a ton of stuff to do, and it definitely doesn't help during breaks when one is supposed to catch up on, not lose, sleep. Sbleep. And yet during every break I find myself staying up to insane hours of the early morning doing nothing of any significance, reveling in (and wasting) my precious recovery time from daily life. For me, breaks from school tend towards boredom, family exposure, baking, and excessive amounts of wasted time. Oh yes, I am a champion time-waster (although my boyfriend tops me, poor thing, with his complete inability to focus even when he has five papers due on the same day and hasn't slept for a week).
So, sbleep. It's a wonderful, bizarre thing. Sometimes I sleep and wake up more exhausted than when I went to bed; other times I'm so exuberant I nearly kill myself getting up. It's a crap-chute as to whether or not sleep helps me or hurts me, but one thing remains constant:
I never get enough of it when I'm supposed to.
Zzzzzzz...
WolfGrr1
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Edible Insanity
When I am stressed, I bake.
I guess I'm stressed, and while this week has been long and exhausting (and the fact that I no longer seem able to sleep does not help) I don't feel stressed. I've done my homework - most of it I've turned in early! I aced my test, I finished my project. I have to write a paper, but not for another two weeks, and divine intervention has yet to fail me. So, really, what have I got to be stressed about?
Tonight's bizarre baking phenomenon appears to be a chocolate PAC-man cake. It looks like a PAC-man because I ate a slice before I iced it, and now...you get the idea. (Side note: PAC-man isn't an accepted word in spell check. WTH?)
If I had my camera I'd post a picture of the cake; suffice to say, it's one of my better creations. And isn't that always the way it happens? You think you've finally gone off the deep end, or you can't remember a single word of what you just wrote for your final, and then you open the oven, get the paper back, and realize you aced it. It's one of the more incredible ways the world works.
And there's our intelligent, space-agey laundry machine singing its cheerful little "Finished and happy about it!" song.
Ahhh, I love the way fresh towels feel. Makes me want to take a shower, just so I can use the warm, fluffy towel afterwards. But I'm too spaced right now to risk a shower; there was a time when I had to shower in the mornings because I fell asleep if I showered at night. Now, it's all about time. Well, and the fact that my hair gets gross if I don't wash it daily...something my hairdresser yells at me about. Whatever. Maybe her hair can withstand the onslaught of grease, but I feel nasty and my scalp itches when I don't wash my hair. And there's a lovely image for all of you. Sorry; I'm really tired. I'm not coherent. What was I talking about? Oh. Food. Dessert. My baking addiction.
Yes, there is such a thing as Edible Insanity. I make it. Usually with chocolate. I'm getting quite good. And speaking in short, declarative sentences seems to be another hallmark of my wandering wits. Joy. Maybe I should really get some sleep. I have been up for almost...20 hours? That's scary. It can't be true. But yes, I am a freak who, no matter what time she goes to bed, gets up at 6 AM. I make my own life a living hell. I am definitely insane.
Anyway, now that the PAC-man cake is telling me to go. To. Bed. I think I shall.
G'night (and apologies for the weirdness of my sleep-deprived brain)
WolfGrrl
I guess I'm stressed, and while this week has been long and exhausting (and the fact that I no longer seem able to sleep does not help) I don't feel stressed. I've done my homework - most of it I've turned in early! I aced my test, I finished my project. I have to write a paper, but not for another two weeks, and divine intervention has yet to fail me. So, really, what have I got to be stressed about?
Tonight's bizarre baking phenomenon appears to be a chocolate PAC-man cake. It looks like a PAC-man because I ate a slice before I iced it, and now...you get the idea. (Side note: PAC-man isn't an accepted word in spell check. WTH?)
If I had my camera I'd post a picture of the cake; suffice to say, it's one of my better creations. And isn't that always the way it happens? You think you've finally gone off the deep end, or you can't remember a single word of what you just wrote for your final, and then you open the oven, get the paper back, and realize you aced it. It's one of the more incredible ways the world works.
And there's our intelligent, space-agey laundry machine singing its cheerful little "Finished and happy about it!" song.
Ahhh, I love the way fresh towels feel. Makes me want to take a shower, just so I can use the warm, fluffy towel afterwards. But I'm too spaced right now to risk a shower; there was a time when I had to shower in the mornings because I fell asleep if I showered at night. Now, it's all about time. Well, and the fact that my hair gets gross if I don't wash it daily...something my hairdresser yells at me about. Whatever. Maybe her hair can withstand the onslaught of grease, but I feel nasty and my scalp itches when I don't wash my hair. And there's a lovely image for all of you. Sorry; I'm really tired. I'm not coherent. What was I talking about? Oh. Food. Dessert. My baking addiction.
Yes, there is such a thing as Edible Insanity. I make it. Usually with chocolate. I'm getting quite good. And speaking in short, declarative sentences seems to be another hallmark of my wandering wits. Joy. Maybe I should really get some sleep. I have been up for almost...20 hours? That's scary. It can't be true. But yes, I am a freak who, no matter what time she goes to bed, gets up at 6 AM. I make my own life a living hell. I am definitely insane.
Anyway, now that the PAC-man cake is telling me to go. To. Bed. I think I shall.
G'night (and apologies for the weirdness of my sleep-deprived brain)
WolfGrrl
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Unique
We want to think that we are unique.
This is what humans prize above all.
Singularity.
Uniqueness.
Having an eating disorder is a sign that an individual feels frightened and marginalized.
I had a difficult time letting go of my eating disorder because I felt it made me unique.
I desperately wanted to be unique because I felt like I wasn't a part of the world.
Nothing about me was "good enough."
For a long time after I began treatment I was mourning the loss of my uniqueness.
But an eating disorder is a common thing.
Many people have one, and it is a disorder because it has universal signs and symptoms.
My eating disorder wasn't unique.
It didn't make me unique.
It made me a part of something.
Realizing that made it easier to let go.
It was easier to let go because I wasn't losing anything.
I am unique.
The disorder - my disorder - is not.
This is what humans prize above all.
Singularity.
Uniqueness.
Having an eating disorder is a sign that an individual feels frightened and marginalized.
I had a difficult time letting go of my eating disorder because I felt it made me unique.
I desperately wanted to be unique because I felt like I wasn't a part of the world.
Nothing about me was "good enough."
For a long time after I began treatment I was mourning the loss of my uniqueness.
But an eating disorder is a common thing.
Many people have one, and it is a disorder because it has universal signs and symptoms.
My eating disorder wasn't unique.
It didn't make me unique.
It made me a part of something.
Realizing that made it easier to let go.
It was easier to let go because I wasn't losing anything.
I am unique.
The disorder - my disorder - is not.
Monday, November 14, 2011
First World Problems
This post is inspired by a conversation on Facebook between my roommate, myself, and several of our friends. Last night she posted this on my wall:
"OMG THE ICEMAKER JUST TURNED ON IN THE KITCHEN AND IT WAS SO SCARY."
Her boyfriend's brother is the one who got us all started with his "first world problems" comment, haha. But it is true. Most of the things I complain about (or am unhappy about) on a daily basis are ridiculous when taken in a global context. For example, since the school year began I've gained ten pounds; this infuriates and depresses me, even though it's mostly muscle gain from my fitness class. This post, while funny and fluffy and exemplary of lighthearted humor between friends, got me thinking. (Fortunately for all of you here, I don't have time to go into a really lengthy discussion, but...)
I am a recovering anorexic. This is also the topic of my anthropology final project this semester, and because of that I've spent a lot of time thinking about and analyzing my involvement with this illness. It's some scary stuff, folks. It's taken me almost three years to be able to read the literature on anorexia, or to face the statistics of which I was nearly a part. I won't go into everything I've learned in the past few years, but suffice to say anorexia is definitely a first world problem. Most people in the world who are starving (and there are 925 million of them) don't do so to look "better." They starve because of famine, war, dictatorial governments, or restricted access to food. It's criminal that in a first world nation like America more than 10 million individuals are deliberately starving themselves. Criminal, and yet for this teacup human, completely, miserably understandable.
Think about some of the things in your life that annoy you beyond bearing. For me, applying for college was a huge irritation. Same with PMS; my boyfriend will deny it (until pressed) but other friends who aren't afraid to badmouth me will tell you I am a total bitch for about a week out of every four. Who else in the world has time to stress over things like finding the BEST dress for your wedding, getting a car when you turn sixteen (I was old at eighteen, thanks very much), or having access to higher education? Our "big" problems sure seem small when seen in a global context.
Now I have to run (class in 20 minutes, sigh), but I thought I'd throw this out there: do you think any of your problems that seem so huge are first world problems? For a lighthearted conversation on Facebook (and there's another FWP right there: addiction to technology) this one sure gave me a brain twist.
Ciao
WolfGrrl
"OMG THE ICEMAKER JUST TURNED ON IN THE KITCHEN AND IT WAS SO SCARY."
Her boyfriend's brother is the one who got us all started with his "first world problems" comment, haha. But it is true. Most of the things I complain about (or am unhappy about) on a daily basis are ridiculous when taken in a global context. For example, since the school year began I've gained ten pounds; this infuriates and depresses me, even though it's mostly muscle gain from my fitness class. This post, while funny and fluffy and exemplary of lighthearted humor between friends, got me thinking. (Fortunately for all of you here, I don't have time to go into a really lengthy discussion, but...)
I am a recovering anorexic. This is also the topic of my anthropology final project this semester, and because of that I've spent a lot of time thinking about and analyzing my involvement with this illness. It's some scary stuff, folks. It's taken me almost three years to be able to read the literature on anorexia, or to face the statistics of which I was nearly a part. I won't go into everything I've learned in the past few years, but suffice to say anorexia is definitely a first world problem. Most people in the world who are starving (and there are 925 million of them) don't do so to look "better." They starve because of famine, war, dictatorial governments, or restricted access to food. It's criminal that in a first world nation like America more than 10 million individuals are deliberately starving themselves. Criminal, and yet for this teacup human, completely, miserably understandable.
Think about some of the things in your life that annoy you beyond bearing. For me, applying for college was a huge irritation. Same with PMS; my boyfriend will deny it (until pressed) but other friends who aren't afraid to badmouth me will tell you I am a total bitch for about a week out of every four. Who else in the world has time to stress over things like finding the BEST dress for your wedding, getting a car when you turn sixteen (I was old at eighteen, thanks very much), or having access to higher education? Our "big" problems sure seem small when seen in a global context.
Now I have to run (class in 20 minutes, sigh), but I thought I'd throw this out there: do you think any of your problems that seem so huge are first world problems? For a lighthearted conversation on Facebook (and there's another FWP right there: addiction to technology) this one sure gave me a brain twist.
Ciao
WolfGrrl
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Meet the Parents
Technically this should be a two-part post: his and hers, with matching accessories. I am hoping that today I can take my boyfriend home to "meet the parents" and next week I will meet his when they come up for Thanksgiving. Fingers crossed it all goes well - although I suspect our biggest issue will be, once we've finished meeting everyone, that we turn to each other and go "Thank God you turned out normal!"
My roommate asked the two of us last night (as we were discussing these plans) if we were nervous. To which he and I both replied (almost at the same time): "Nope." I hadn't ever considered this more than a courtesy to my parents; my mother complained a few days ago that I never really told her I was going out with my boyfriend; she said if she wasn't my Facebook friend she wouldn't have known, to which I replied that if she hadn't been my Facebook friend I would have made a greater effort to announce it to the family. Whew. Talk about your crossed wires. Anyway, despite this I guess my progression from romantic interest to actual girlfriend was so...natural, it didn't seem like a big deal to me even though it was.
Being a girlfriend is a wonderful experience, but if I had less of a considerate, fun, and caring boyfriend I don't think it would be half as much fun. Babysitting his Crackberry aside (I am so technologically inept that I spent yesterday turning off the alarm every ten minutes because I didn't know how to disable it), there isn't much I won't do for my boyfriend. I am so comfortable in our relationship that this step seems waaaay smaller than I suppose it is; I've never dated before, and I think everyone is constantly surprised by this since I took to it so...readily. I can't help it: I'm a prodigy.
I can't be nervous when he told me his mother was worried she wouldn't pronounce my name correctly (let's just say I've been Jennifer to Guenevere and leave it at that) and wanted to know if I had a nickname. I don't, but hey, I've always wanted one. I like Ginnie. Gennie. And you all already know I'm not a rabid Harry Potter fan-girl, so my interest in that nickname is completely sane.
In high school Meet the Parents is something everyone does with various stages of trepidation. In college, I get the feeling it isn't such a big deal (unless someone's parents are huge snobs, or serial killers, or you're getting married). We're supposed to be adults now: we choose partners not according to our parents' rules but according to those which they've instilled in us. I think I've done remarkably well; who else has ever told me, upon waking up from a nap, that I look beautiful? Not. A. Single. Soul. So I will Meet the Parents and be sweet and open and honest, and hope that they like me because it's a courtesy I'm willing to extend on behalf of my boyfriend. When it comes right down to it, his opinion is the only one I care about.
Arrivederci!
WolfGrrl
My roommate asked the two of us last night (as we were discussing these plans) if we were nervous. To which he and I both replied (almost at the same time): "Nope." I hadn't ever considered this more than a courtesy to my parents; my mother complained a few days ago that I never really told her I was going out with my boyfriend; she said if she wasn't my Facebook friend she wouldn't have known, to which I replied that if she hadn't been my Facebook friend I would have made a greater effort to announce it to the family. Whew. Talk about your crossed wires. Anyway, despite this I guess my progression from romantic interest to actual girlfriend was so...natural, it didn't seem like a big deal to me even though it was.
Being a girlfriend is a wonderful experience, but if I had less of a considerate, fun, and caring boyfriend I don't think it would be half as much fun. Babysitting his Crackberry aside (I am so technologically inept that I spent yesterday turning off the alarm every ten minutes because I didn't know how to disable it), there isn't much I won't do for my boyfriend. I am so comfortable in our relationship that this step seems waaaay smaller than I suppose it is; I've never dated before, and I think everyone is constantly surprised by this since I took to it so...readily. I can't help it: I'm a prodigy.
I can't be nervous when he told me his mother was worried she wouldn't pronounce my name correctly (let's just say I've been Jennifer to Guenevere and leave it at that) and wanted to know if I had a nickname. I don't, but hey, I've always wanted one. I like Ginnie. Gennie. And you all already know I'm not a rabid Harry Potter fan-girl, so my interest in that nickname is completely sane.
In high school Meet the Parents is something everyone does with various stages of trepidation. In college, I get the feeling it isn't such a big deal (unless someone's parents are huge snobs, or serial killers, or you're getting married). We're supposed to be adults now: we choose partners not according to our parents' rules but according to those which they've instilled in us. I think I've done remarkably well; who else has ever told me, upon waking up from a nap, that I look beautiful? Not. A. Single. Soul. So I will Meet the Parents and be sweet and open and honest, and hope that they like me because it's a courtesy I'm willing to extend on behalf of my boyfriend. When it comes right down to it, his opinion is the only one I care about.
Arrivederci!
WolfGrrl
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
How WolfGrrl Does Math
Ok, posting twice a day is...meh. But this is so hilarious I wanted to post it. And then I promise I will find something constructive to do that doesn't involve spamming my own blog. Promise.
I am a notorious math person. And notorious is used here in a...derogatory sense. I only wish I was this talented. This was posted by a friend of mine on something else; I saw it; much laughter and tears ensued.
We can't all be as cool as this person (and this teacher).
Ciao amici
WolfGrrl
I am a notorious math person. And notorious is used here in a...derogatory sense. I only wish I was this talented. This was posted by a friend of mine on something else; I saw it; much laughter and tears ensued.
We can't all be as cool as this person (and this teacher).
Ciao amici
WolfGrrl
The Bucket List: An Excerpt
This is an excerpt from "100 Things I Want to do Before I Die: In No Particular Order"
That "no particular order" part is VERY important. Because I wrote these as I thought of them; obviously I need a child before I can have a grandchild, and a husband would be nice before having a child...you get the idea.
1. Drink champagne under the stars.
2. Pet a tiger.
3. Pet a wolf.
4. Thank a soldier.
5. Stand on a mountaintop.
6. Have a son
7. Get married (to someone I love)
8. Dye my hair
9. Sail on a yacht
10. Go to Budapest
11. Make a wedding cake
12. Ride a horse on the beach
13. Go back to New Zealand
14. Meet a movie star
17. Finish my novel
19. Go to Italy
20. Meet the Queen
21. Help someone
22. Paint a picture
23. Have a garden
24. Go to Disneyland/Disneyworld
25. Ride in a gondola
26. Fall in love
27. Open a bakery
28. Adopt a child
29. Adopt an animal
30. Be financially secure and independent
31. Have a grandchild
32. Own a sportscar
33. See a fairy
34. Dance
35. Be loved
36. Learn to ski
37. Go sailing (in a sailboat)
38. Get picked up in a bar
39. Graduate from college
40. See the Earth from space
41. Catch a falling star
42. Have wings
43. Be a model
44. Have my own library
45. Learn to ice skate
Some of them are ridiculous, some of them are funny, and some of them I truly, deeply mean. I made this about a year ago, I believe; it might be a little longer. And it's an odd feeling to realize I've done (or shortly will do) quite a few of these things. I used to have a difficult time imagining a future for myself - any future. But now...the world is full of surprises, odd little twists or unexpected bends in the road. My road goes on, and I'm comfortable enough not to try and circumvent Fate (any longer) and attempt to get a sneak peek at the end.
Signing off -
WolfGrrl
That "no particular order" part is VERY important. Because I wrote these as I thought of them; obviously I need a child before I can have a grandchild, and a husband would be nice before having a child...you get the idea.
1. Drink champagne under the stars.
2. Pet a tiger.
3. Pet a wolf.
4. Thank a soldier.
5. Stand on a mountaintop.
6. Have a son
7. Get married (to someone I love)
8. Dye my hair
9. Sail on a yacht
10. Go to Budapest
11. Make a wedding cake
12. Ride a horse on the beach
13. Go back to New Zealand
14. Meet a movie star
17. Finish my novel
19. Go to Italy
20. Meet the Queen
21. Help someone
22. Paint a picture
23. Have a garden
24. Go to Disneyland/Disneyworld
25. Ride in a gondola
26. Fall in love
27. Open a bakery
28. Adopt a child
29. Adopt an animal
30. Be financially secure and independent
31. Have a grandchild
32. Own a sportscar
33. See a fairy
34. Dance
35. Be loved
36. Learn to ski
37. Go sailing (in a sailboat)
38. Get picked up in a bar
39. Graduate from college
40. See the Earth from space
41. Catch a falling star
42. Have wings
43. Be a model
44. Have my own library
45. Learn to ice skate
Some of them are ridiculous, some of them are funny, and some of them I truly, deeply mean. I made this about a year ago, I believe; it might be a little longer. And it's an odd feeling to realize I've done (or shortly will do) quite a few of these things. I used to have a difficult time imagining a future for myself - any future. But now...the world is full of surprises, odd little twists or unexpected bends in the road. My road goes on, and I'm comfortable enough not to try and circumvent Fate (any longer) and attempt to get a sneak peek at the end.
Signing off -
WolfGrrl
Monday, November 7, 2011
The Awkward French
French kissing is awkward as hell.
As non-sequiturs go, I think that's a good one. But it remains accurate (at least for this novitiate), unless practice does have an impact on overall performance. Regular kissing I've managed to get down with no problems; again, that old adage of "being with the right person makes it easier" holds true. My boyfriend and I progressed naturally (and quickly) from a goodnight hug to a goodnight kiss.
But Frenching...mmph. I don't know. We'll have to give it time. I just feel...awkward.
Does anyone else think that the whole French-as-the-language-of-love thing is a bit outdated? As a French speaker I feel like an idiot trying to be all sexy while calling someone "my little cabbage-head." Um, no. Italian is much smoother to the ears and palatable to the (comprehending) listener, in my opinion. German is definitely not a romantic language, but it can be very sweet. But French...French makes me feel sleazy. And not in a good way.
I admire the French mindset when it comes to love, even if I don't always understand it. I believe that many French women are incredibly self-actualized, but French men I haven't found to be particularly nice, and far too slick. Plus there's the whole Christian Louboutin thing which continues to drive me nuts every time I think about it: how can anyone consider Barbie (yes, the anorexic children's toy) fat?! Only a creepy, insane, French shoe-designer. Italian men are sleazy too but they at least back up their smack with some gestures.
But back to the subject of French kissing. I won't say I hate it, because it was nice. And my boyfriend is a complete sweetheart, so when I told him "I feel awkward" his immediate response was "No, you don't."
We're already slightly awkward as a couple; since I'm a teacup human, my head comes to the middle of his chest. This means I have to perch on something for a proper kiss. Thus far we've discovered that a lofted bed, two stairs, or being picked up works the best. All of which are, in their own cute ways, awkward positions. I couldn't really give a damn; I can't help it, and he definitely doesn't seem to mind. We're still in the honeymoon phase where everything is happy and rosy-colored.
So I don't really care about the awkward French. But I will have to practice my Frenching. Hmmm...
A demain
WolfGrrl
As non-sequiturs go, I think that's a good one. But it remains accurate (at least for this novitiate), unless practice does have an impact on overall performance. Regular kissing I've managed to get down with no problems; again, that old adage of "being with the right person makes it easier" holds true. My boyfriend and I progressed naturally (and quickly) from a goodnight hug to a goodnight kiss.
But Frenching...mmph. I don't know. We'll have to give it time. I just feel...awkward.
Does anyone else think that the whole French-as-the-language-of-love thing is a bit outdated? As a French speaker I feel like an idiot trying to be all sexy while calling someone "my little cabbage-head." Um, no. Italian is much smoother to the ears and palatable to the (comprehending) listener, in my opinion. German is definitely not a romantic language, but it can be very sweet. But French...French makes me feel sleazy. And not in a good way.
I admire the French mindset when it comes to love, even if I don't always understand it. I believe that many French women are incredibly self-actualized, but French men I haven't found to be particularly nice, and far too slick. Plus there's the whole Christian Louboutin thing which continues to drive me nuts every time I think about it: how can anyone consider Barbie (yes, the anorexic children's toy) fat?! Only a creepy, insane, French shoe-designer. Italian men are sleazy too but they at least back up their smack with some gestures.
But back to the subject of French kissing. I won't say I hate it, because it was nice. And my boyfriend is a complete sweetheart, so when I told him "I feel awkward" his immediate response was "No, you don't."
We're already slightly awkward as a couple; since I'm a teacup human, my head comes to the middle of his chest. This means I have to perch on something for a proper kiss. Thus far we've discovered that a lofted bed, two stairs, or being picked up works the best. All of which are, in their own cute ways, awkward positions. I couldn't really give a damn; I can't help it, and he definitely doesn't seem to mind. We're still in the honeymoon phase where everything is happy and rosy-colored.
So I don't really care about the awkward French. But I will have to practice my Frenching. Hmmm...
A demain
WolfGrrl
Friday, November 4, 2011
For a Noble Cause
My sleep deprivation, I mean. It's for a noble cause.
Yeah, so last night I had about three hours of sleep because I was too happy and wired to sleep. My boyfriend and I made if official (!!!) but then he had to go because it was 10:45 and I have to get up at 6:30 for my 8 AM class. Bleh. So I was happy-happy-over-the-moon-happy and then super-wound up and not able to sleep. But it was for a noble cause.
Some things feel right. I used to worry that if I ever had a relationship it would be stressful and a lot of work; ha. Old worries, I sneer in your general direction. This is...wonderful. We talk, and talk, and then I look at the time and realize I'm late for class. We cuddle (and I love cuddling almost as much as hugs) and I look at the clock and see that, whoops, it's 11 PM and I'll need some sleep before trying to learn Deutsch tomorrow.
Thank God I ate something for dinner; I'd had a large lunch and wasn't feeling the evening meal, but I can't imagine trying to function on the remains of sugar-lunch and not much else until this morning. I'd have been one cracked-out-sleep-deprived happy person. Which is always a pleasant sight.
So I know what my readership is asking: have I got a picture, or a song, or some random piece of what my anthropology professor calls "expressive culture" to share my happiness with the rest of the world? Well, I hadn't planned on it, but I'm sure I can find something. Hold on a 'sec.
...
...
...
Haha. Have a taste of my favorite book, movie, and couple all rolled into one. If I don't think about the singer I also really enjoy the song; and props to the Youtube author for putting the two together so well. Definitely not a combo I would have thought of!
Have a Little P&P
...and a beautiful day,
WolfGrrl
Yeah, so last night I had about three hours of sleep because I was too happy and wired to sleep. My boyfriend and I made if official (!!!) but then he had to go because it was 10:45 and I have to get up at 6:30 for my 8 AM class. Bleh. So I was happy-happy-over-the-moon-happy and then super-wound up and not able to sleep. But it was for a noble cause.
Some things feel right. I used to worry that if I ever had a relationship it would be stressful and a lot of work; ha. Old worries, I sneer in your general direction. This is...wonderful. We talk, and talk, and then I look at the time and realize I'm late for class. We cuddle (and I love cuddling almost as much as hugs) and I look at the clock and see that, whoops, it's 11 PM and I'll need some sleep before trying to learn Deutsch tomorrow.
Thank God I ate something for dinner; I'd had a large lunch and wasn't feeling the evening meal, but I can't imagine trying to function on the remains of sugar-lunch and not much else until this morning. I'd have been one cracked-out-sleep-deprived happy person. Which is always a pleasant sight.
So I know what my readership is asking: have I got a picture, or a song, or some random piece of what my anthropology professor calls "expressive culture" to share my happiness with the rest of the world? Well, I hadn't planned on it, but I'm sure I can find something. Hold on a 'sec.
...
...
...
Haha. Have a taste of my favorite book, movie, and couple all rolled into one. If I don't think about the singer I also really enjoy the song; and props to the Youtube author for putting the two together so well. Definitely not a combo I would have thought of!
Have a Little P&P
...and a beautiful day,
WolfGrrl
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Boomerang Effect
It is said laughter is the simplest and most effective cure of all. For me, a smile is. If you see someone without a smile, give them one of yours. Smiles take so little effort to manufacture (we all know it takes more muscle action to frown) and yet they're so incredibly powerful. I believe in laughter and I believe in smiles. They show me, every day, how blessed I am to feel. The ability to find that place where laughter dwells is something I don't ever want to lose, no matter what else becomes of me.
I am small and the world is big: big enough to flatten me, if I let it. But the world is also indifferent; humans cannot calculate probability very well, so all our claims about the world "being out to get us" are fallacies. The world doesn't care if we pass our exam, get a traffic ticket, or kiss that one special person for the first time. The world is indifferent to us; thus, we smile to show others we are not indifferent.
Sometimes we all need a little bit of healing: a bad day, a break-up, a fight, a low test score - there are many downers in our days, but there are as many ways to regain our equilibrium as there are stars in the sky. Infinity can be found in a friend. Favors given - or offered - without conditions; an open pair of arms to hold us safe from all the things we fear; a shoulder to cry on; a hand to hold. A smile to share.
We can't all change the world in dramatic ways, but we all know how to destroy someone's world in what is an equally dramatic fashion. We take others down each and every day, sometimes without thinking. For you to win, another person has to lose.
So remember that: what goes around comes around, like a boomerang. Don't get hit with the boomerang; share a smile. You may not be able to stop world hunger in a day or cure cancer (or the common cold, which is more irritating and only life-threatening when combined with PMS), but you can lift someone else out of their misery for a fleeting, flashing moment. Smile. It makes you feel better too.
And here's one from me:
WolfGrrl
I am small and the world is big: big enough to flatten me, if I let it. But the world is also indifferent; humans cannot calculate probability very well, so all our claims about the world "being out to get us" are fallacies. The world doesn't care if we pass our exam, get a traffic ticket, or kiss that one special person for the first time. The world is indifferent to us; thus, we smile to show others we are not indifferent.
Sometimes we all need a little bit of healing: a bad day, a break-up, a fight, a low test score - there are many downers in our days, but there are as many ways to regain our equilibrium as there are stars in the sky. Infinity can be found in a friend. Favors given - or offered - without conditions; an open pair of arms to hold us safe from all the things we fear; a shoulder to cry on; a hand to hold. A smile to share.
We can't all change the world in dramatic ways, but we all know how to destroy someone's world in what is an equally dramatic fashion. We take others down each and every day, sometimes without thinking. For you to win, another person has to lose.
So remember that: what goes around comes around, like a boomerang. Don't get hit with the boomerang; share a smile. You may not be able to stop world hunger in a day or cure cancer (or the common cold, which is more irritating and only life-threatening when combined with PMS), but you can lift someone else out of their misery for a fleeting, flashing moment. Smile. It makes you feel better too.
And here's one from me:
WolfGrrl
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