I think it is time to tell you all another story.
For some of you, this might be hard to hear. For others of you, it might be hard to face. Believe me when I say, it was definitely hard to live. But honesty is freedom from fear. I will never be completely honest, nor completely free, nor completely unafraid. I can only do what I have never done before. Therefore, let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time there was an average girl. She had dark hair and dark eyes, and she was an intelligent, happy child. She had two parents who didn't get divorced and a younger sister. She lived in a blue house on the East Coast, and played outside and pretended she didn't know how to read.
Once upon a time this average girl grew up - just a little - and had to go to school. She went to public school for the first time as a third-grader. It was hard; there were too many kids, all different from her, all louder and more rambunctious and more aggressive than her. She wilted, like a flower in the harsh summer sun. She failed to adjust, and her mother pulled her out of school.
Once upon a time, a year later, this girl tried again. She wasn't happy, but she was stubborn. She put her head down and found things to like about school. She made tentative acquaintances. She hid her fear and worry and sadness and discomfort in attitude and sarcasm. She learned to build walls to hide from the world. She stayed in school.
Once upon a time, this girl spiraled downward. She knew things that children shouldn't know. She understood too much of what happened around her. She saw that she was different, and how the other kids treated those who are different. She understood right and wrong, active and passive. She chose to be passive in the hopes that no one would think she was wrong. She chose silence; she chose hiding. She chose to fade...away.
Once upon a time, this average girl went to middle school. She suffered: it was bigger, it was louder, it was meaner than elementary school. She set her teeth and reinforced her walls and heard only the phrase "You must." So she did. She stayed in school. She got sick a lot; not sick in the body, but sick in the mind. She fought private wars and killed her classmates in dreams. She screamed, inside, and she covered her ears and pasted a sarcastic smile on her face so she didn't have to hear the noise.
Once upon a time, this middle-school girl came to a dark place. She came to a place some adults don't ever reach. She looked at herself in the mirror and she saw a body of lies and deceptions and taunts. She wasn't bullied and she wasn't a bully. She was invisible. She was a 'good student.' She was just...another...statistic.
Once upon a time this girl went to high school, still gritting her teeth, still screaming inside. She tried to fight; she tried to cut and run. She failed. She followed the rule of "You must" and went to high school. She performed well; she endured. Happiness was...inconsequential. Happiness was for people who liked themselves and felt needed in the world.
Once upon a time, this high school girl tried to change. Just a little, just enough to like herself. And she liked the changes she saw. She liked them so much, she decided to make bigger changes. The changes snowballed; the consequences grew. This girl became anorexic. She counted every mouthful, and each mouthful, each number, carried her farther from the world she had never been a part of. She began to forget what was real and what wasn't.
Once upon a time, this anoreixc girl became afraid. She was intelligent; she knew what was happening. Finally the consequences became so severe she couldn't ignore them. She broke under the weight of "You must." She broke, and she found that breaking isn't the end of the world. Breaking means that others help you rise. She learned to ask for help. Just a little. But it was enough to save her life. It was enough to give her a life.
Once upon a time, this broken girl lifted her head and said "I am me." She fought hard to find out who this 'me' was, and she is still fighting. But she has owned the sadness and fear and pain. She has owned the feelings of loneliness and grief and inadequacy. She has accepted that she is a 'me' and not a 'you.' She doesn't follow the rule of "You must" any more.
This is the story of a girl. This is my story. I hope you can understand; I hope I've told it in a way that helps you see that it's your story too. We all have "You must" in our lives. We all have our stories. I am not anything special. I am not the best or worst among all the humans that have ever lived on this little blue planet orbiting an ordinary star. But I am a 'me' and not a 'you.' The world tries to say that "You must." I'm here to say that "I am me."
WolfGrrl
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
Sweet and Sour
Yes, I do like (American) Chinese food. But that's not what this post is about.
Lately, when my mother comes upstairs to tidy and make her bed in the mornings, she finds me lying on my bed, usually covered by a blanket, either asleep or near to it. Her standard question is "Do you feel all right?"
Today we were trying to remember the last time I was this relaxed. I think it's been at least a decade, if not longer. That's more than half my life, Reader. More than half.
This is the sweetness of my life. I am not depressed, I am not drugged to the point of being gaga. I am peaceful. I have found a place where I can be both social and calm, extroverted and introverted. I go out with friends, I make sponanteous trips to the mall or the library or the animal shelter. I go to work; I go to school. I go (endlessly, haha) to the doctor. My life is full but not bursting; it is sweet and has enough sour to give it vigour.
I am happy. I've lost weight, but not too much. I eat and don't worry about when, how much, or what. I laugh often and love more openly. I am sad, but it doesn't last as long, nor is it as strong. I bounce. I am so bouncy I probably annoy everyone around me - except they tell me no, they like to see me like this.
Who is this person? This wonderful, incredible, intelligent, resilient person? Has she always been in me, buried under layers and layers of dead skin, depression and darkness?
I have cast off my darkness at last; I have bloomed; I am not a catepiller (ugh) but a butterfly. (A humble one, admittedly, but hey, that's me.) It's summer where I am, and summer used to be the time I hated most. Now I shrug off the heat and snooze in the sun. I look forward to wearing shorts and flipflops and dresses. I con my friends into taking pictures of me (OHMYGAWD, that has NEVER happened before!) and let them dress me up and take me out.
Maybe I should have said this post was simply sweet.
WolfGrrl
Lately, when my mother comes upstairs to tidy and make her bed in the mornings, she finds me lying on my bed, usually covered by a blanket, either asleep or near to it. Her standard question is "Do you feel all right?"
Today we were trying to remember the last time I was this relaxed. I think it's been at least a decade, if not longer. That's more than half my life, Reader. More than half.
This is the sweetness of my life. I am not depressed, I am not drugged to the point of being gaga. I am peaceful. I have found a place where I can be both social and calm, extroverted and introverted. I go out with friends, I make sponanteous trips to the mall or the library or the animal shelter. I go to work; I go to school. I go (endlessly, haha) to the doctor. My life is full but not bursting; it is sweet and has enough sour to give it vigour.
I am happy. I've lost weight, but not too much. I eat and don't worry about when, how much, or what. I laugh often and love more openly. I am sad, but it doesn't last as long, nor is it as strong. I bounce. I am so bouncy I probably annoy everyone around me - except they tell me no, they like to see me like this.
Who is this person? This wonderful, incredible, intelligent, resilient person? Has she always been in me, buried under layers and layers of dead skin, depression and darkness?
I have cast off my darkness at last; I have bloomed; I am not a catepiller (ugh) but a butterfly. (A humble one, admittedly, but hey, that's me.) It's summer where I am, and summer used to be the time I hated most. Now I shrug off the heat and snooze in the sun. I look forward to wearing shorts and flipflops and dresses. I con my friends into taking pictures of me (OHMYGAWD, that has NEVER happened before!) and let them dress me up and take me out.
Maybe I should have said this post was simply sweet.
WolfGrrl
Sunday, May 20, 2012
The Men I Love
I thought that, since I feel so happy and beautiful today, I would dedicate this post to the men I love.
There aren't very many of them, but the ones I have are very, very special, much as a rare object is infinitely more precious than a common one. I will start with the man I've known the longest and progress from there.
My daddy is first among the men I love. He is like an orange: his peel is thick and sharp tasting, and it leaves a bitter residue on your hands when you try to break it. But inside he is full of zest and snap, lively and strong. My daddy is difficult to get to know, but when you know him you understand that he is almost too special to be real. He's too much for this world - too smart, too funny, and far too compassionate. It causes him to struggle to find his place, or to reconcile himself to never finding his place.
I love you, Daddy. I don't say it often enough. I hope you know; I will try to tell you more often.
My grandfather is the second man I love, and I haven't known him all that long. Both of my blood grandfathers have passed away, but my maternal step-grandfather (that's a mouthful) is a wonderful man who makes my grandmother very, very happy. What more can you ask than that? He is funny and mischvievous, with a big heart and a bigger sense of right and wrong. He tells tall tales and makes me laugh and bicker and feel alive. He struggles too, I think, to adjust to the notion that the world is changing and that he is changing.
I love you, Grandpa. I hope you know that every time I hug you, that's why.
The last man I love I've known the shortest time of all. I am a person who falls in and out of love easily, but has never, ever, fallen in Love. Those of you who know me, or who read this blog, (or both), may have recognized the signs. This isn't the right time or place to confirm or deny that. I have always felt that there was one person out there for me; it's a little cliche and a little frightening, to think of having only one match out of 7 billion people. I don't know very many of those 7 billion people, but of the ones I do know, this man is the only one I've met that I could Love. And that is an incredible thing.
(You know who you are, so there's no need for me to announce it to the world. I want to tell you first.)
So now you know the three men I love. I would give them sunshine and laughter and happiness every day, forever, if I could. I would wrestle sharks, eat cabbage, and face catepillers for them.
This is a song for those men. It applies to you all, one way or another.
Stealing Cinderella
WolfGrrl
There aren't very many of them, but the ones I have are very, very special, much as a rare object is infinitely more precious than a common one. I will start with the man I've known the longest and progress from there.
My daddy is first among the men I love. He is like an orange: his peel is thick and sharp tasting, and it leaves a bitter residue on your hands when you try to break it. But inside he is full of zest and snap, lively and strong. My daddy is difficult to get to know, but when you know him you understand that he is almost too special to be real. He's too much for this world - too smart, too funny, and far too compassionate. It causes him to struggle to find his place, or to reconcile himself to never finding his place.
I love you, Daddy. I don't say it often enough. I hope you know; I will try to tell you more often.
My grandfather is the second man I love, and I haven't known him all that long. Both of my blood grandfathers have passed away, but my maternal step-grandfather (that's a mouthful) is a wonderful man who makes my grandmother very, very happy. What more can you ask than that? He is funny and mischvievous, with a big heart and a bigger sense of right and wrong. He tells tall tales and makes me laugh and bicker and feel alive. He struggles too, I think, to adjust to the notion that the world is changing and that he is changing.
I love you, Grandpa. I hope you know that every time I hug you, that's why.
The last man I love I've known the shortest time of all. I am a person who falls in and out of love easily, but has never, ever, fallen in Love. Those of you who know me, or who read this blog, (or both), may have recognized the signs. This isn't the right time or place to confirm or deny that. I have always felt that there was one person out there for me; it's a little cliche and a little frightening, to think of having only one match out of 7 billion people. I don't know very many of those 7 billion people, but of the ones I do know, this man is the only one I've met that I could Love. And that is an incredible thing.
(You know who you are, so there's no need for me to announce it to the world. I want to tell you first.)
So now you know the three men I love. I would give them sunshine and laughter and happiness every day, forever, if I could. I would wrestle sharks, eat cabbage, and face catepillers for them.
This is a song for those men. It applies to you all, one way or another.
Stealing Cinderella
WolfGrrl
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Helping Hands
Instead of lying in bed listening to my heartbeat and not sleeping, I think I'll write a post about hands.
I, like most people, take my hands for granted. I expect them to function properly and become very upset and anxious when they don't. There are many hands in my life, both real and metaphorical, but they all have something in common: I need them.
I need the hands that are my family and friends as much as I need the apprendages on the ends of my arms. Friends and family are things I take for granted; failsafes I depend on without really stopping to consider how often, or even why.
While I was lying here not sleeping, I was imagining moving into my apartment. Independence is something that comes to everyone at some point in life; some of us grab it, others of us have it foisted upon us. I am slowly and carefully grasping the reins of my individual life, and finding that (no surprises here) I like having the power to direct my little bit of the world. But back to apartments. As I imagined where I would put my table and chairs, if I would get a cat or a dog, where guests would sleep and what kind of food I'd keep in the pantry, it occurred to me that all of those things involved someone else. A helping hand. A friend or family member.
My hands are necessary for daily life. I am a writer; I need my hands, and I protect them the same way a surgeon or a musician does. I draw. I drive. I cook and hold things and lift children. I had to have someone point out to me how much I use my hands when I talk to help mimic the flow of my thoughts. Without my hands, I would be crippled. Without my friends and family, I would be crippled.
Helping hands are a part of life. In my post An Angel on My Shoulder I talked about how I believe in angels because I feel protected. Some of my angels are very, very close to me: they may not always know who they are, but I do. I love them and need them, as I need my hands.
This post is slightly incoherent; apologies, it's been a busy day. But these are some of my thoughts, incoherent though they might be, and what else is a blog for but to receive (and maybe organize?) the thoughts of its author.
Et maintenant, Bonne Nuit
WolfGrrl
I, like most people, take my hands for granted. I expect them to function properly and become very upset and anxious when they don't. There are many hands in my life, both real and metaphorical, but they all have something in common: I need them.
I need the hands that are my family and friends as much as I need the apprendages on the ends of my arms. Friends and family are things I take for granted; failsafes I depend on without really stopping to consider how often, or even why.
While I was lying here not sleeping, I was imagining moving into my apartment. Independence is something that comes to everyone at some point in life; some of us grab it, others of us have it foisted upon us. I am slowly and carefully grasping the reins of my individual life, and finding that (no surprises here) I like having the power to direct my little bit of the world. But back to apartments. As I imagined where I would put my table and chairs, if I would get a cat or a dog, where guests would sleep and what kind of food I'd keep in the pantry, it occurred to me that all of those things involved someone else. A helping hand. A friend or family member.
My hands are necessary for daily life. I am a writer; I need my hands, and I protect them the same way a surgeon or a musician does. I draw. I drive. I cook and hold things and lift children. I had to have someone point out to me how much I use my hands when I talk to help mimic the flow of my thoughts. Without my hands, I would be crippled. Without my friends and family, I would be crippled.
Helping hands are a part of life. In my post An Angel on My Shoulder I talked about how I believe in angels because I feel protected. Some of my angels are very, very close to me: they may not always know who they are, but I do. I love them and need them, as I need my hands.
This post is slightly incoherent; apologies, it's been a busy day. But these are some of my thoughts, incoherent though they might be, and what else is a blog for but to receive (and maybe organize?) the thoughts of its author.
Et maintenant, Bonne Nuit
WolfGrrl
Thursday, May 17, 2012
The Great Balancing Act
Life for me is all about choices.
A friend once told me that there are some things you do just so that you can look back on them and say you regretted doing it. I didn't really understand what he meant at the time.
All my life I have made the choice not to act. In any way - healthy, unhealthy, for personal happiness or universal happiness. I just chose not to choose, and so remove myself (as much as it can be done) from the world. But adults don't function this way. And I've found, to my astonishment, that I no longer want to be a child. I have passed, somewhere in the last six months, that subtle marker of adulthood. I have begun, at last, to make choices and take responsibility for myself.
Thus, the balancing act.
It is hard for all of us - me and my parents - to go through this process. I'm sure I'll make a regretable choice somewhere down the line, and have a story, as my friend said. Personally, I am a pleaser: I derive great satisfaction from making others happy. It's only recently (very recently) that I derive pleasure from making myself happy too.
I have a choice to make. It is not the end of the world, but it is a significant choice. I want to make the correct choice...for me, for my family, and for my friends. I want to make the "perfect" choice.
Reader, I'm sure you know by now that there's no such thing as perfection. If perfection is unattainable, perhaps I should seek pleasure instead, and make the choice that pleases. But who should I please? Myself? My parents? My friends? Society? Here, then, is the balancing act of life.
For this choice I must balance the drive for perfection with the drive for pleasure. I believe in and accept the whims of Fate; that doesn't mean I can't help Fate out a bit. The best laid plans are those which are strong enough to support change. In making my choice I must account for all the What-Ifs as well as the sunny sides. That is another balancing act.
My job is to balance all of these things - perfection, pleasure, and Fate - and make choices. Above all, I must choose. I choose to live; I chose to live a while ago, but it is something that must be reaffirmed every day. Living is more than eating and sleeping and breathing. Living is being happy. Living is being miserable. Living is being engaged with the world and those who populate it.
Living is a balancing act.
WolfGrrl
A friend once told me that there are some things you do just so that you can look back on them and say you regretted doing it. I didn't really understand what he meant at the time.
All my life I have made the choice not to act. In any way - healthy, unhealthy, for personal happiness or universal happiness. I just chose not to choose, and so remove myself (as much as it can be done) from the world. But adults don't function this way. And I've found, to my astonishment, that I no longer want to be a child. I have passed, somewhere in the last six months, that subtle marker of adulthood. I have begun, at last, to make choices and take responsibility for myself.
Thus, the balancing act.
It is hard for all of us - me and my parents - to go through this process. I'm sure I'll make a regretable choice somewhere down the line, and have a story, as my friend said. Personally, I am a pleaser: I derive great satisfaction from making others happy. It's only recently (very recently) that I derive pleasure from making myself happy too.
I have a choice to make. It is not the end of the world, but it is a significant choice. I want to make the correct choice...for me, for my family, and for my friends. I want to make the "perfect" choice.
Reader, I'm sure you know by now that there's no such thing as perfection. If perfection is unattainable, perhaps I should seek pleasure instead, and make the choice that pleases. But who should I please? Myself? My parents? My friends? Society? Here, then, is the balancing act of life.
For this choice I must balance the drive for perfection with the drive for pleasure. I believe in and accept the whims of Fate; that doesn't mean I can't help Fate out a bit. The best laid plans are those which are strong enough to support change. In making my choice I must account for all the What-Ifs as well as the sunny sides. That is another balancing act.
My job is to balance all of these things - perfection, pleasure, and Fate - and make choices. Above all, I must choose. I choose to live; I chose to live a while ago, but it is something that must be reaffirmed every day. Living is more than eating and sleeping and breathing. Living is being happy. Living is being miserable. Living is being engaged with the world and those who populate it.
Living is a balancing act.
WolfGrrl
Monday, May 14, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
the Stationmaster
Close your eyes for me. Thank you. Don't worry; the darkness won't last long.
Ah! See? There's a bit of light, just ahead. A speck of yellow gold - no, it's not a fire. Here, take my hand. Stand up.
Your hand is shaking. Are you afraid? Don't be - nothing can hurt you here. I'm here, you're not alone. See, we're moving towards the light now. It's getting closer. Can you feel the warmth? That's right, step up. And again. You're doing very well.
Your stomach might tingle a little; that's normal. Feel the light sliding up your arms, over your neck, up to your cheeks. It's warm. Feel how warm it is, so smooth. There, don't you feel better about this? And look, someone's waiting for you. Recognize him?
Yes, that's him. He heard you were coming and came to help you. And you were worried you'd be forgotten... They don't forget here, nor where you're going. I have to leave now, but you'll be fine. You did an excellent job.
~ ~ ~ ~
Just a quirky little something. No introspection today, haha.
WolfGrrl
Ah! See? There's a bit of light, just ahead. A speck of yellow gold - no, it's not a fire. Here, take my hand. Stand up.
Your hand is shaking. Are you afraid? Don't be - nothing can hurt you here. I'm here, you're not alone. See, we're moving towards the light now. It's getting closer. Can you feel the warmth? That's right, step up. And again. You're doing very well.
Your stomach might tingle a little; that's normal. Feel the light sliding up your arms, over your neck, up to your cheeks. It's warm. Feel how warm it is, so smooth. There, don't you feel better about this? And look, someone's waiting for you. Recognize him?
Yes, that's him. He heard you were coming and came to help you. And you were worried you'd be forgotten... They don't forget here, nor where you're going. I have to leave now, but you'll be fine. You did an excellent job.
~ ~ ~ ~
Just a quirky little something. No introspection today, haha.
WolfGrrl
Friday, May 11, 2012
In the Closet
The metaphor of monsters in the closet has been used many times before. But not by me. I don't acknowledge the monsters I consign to the shadows. I don't want to face them, on their terms or mine. I live according to a principle of "Live and Let Live." As in, I let the monsters have at me sometimes, but I keep them at bay otherwise.
Sometimes, however, my monsters leap out at me, wanting more than a brief moment of awareness. They take control. They frighten me. They challenge me. Sometimes I frighten me, or I challenge me. Sometimes I speak truths that have lain hidden for my entire life. And sometimes I swallow lies I've told thousands of times before.
I am my own worst enemy - I've heard this said, and thought this, for years. I make my own path difficult. I make my own life difficult. Not always with the obvious intention of doing so, but with the obvious result. My anorexia was like this. My relationships have usually been like this. It has taken me a long, long time, and a lot of pain, to get to a place where I can let the monsters take control sometimes and open the door to the closet.
In my anthropology class fall semester, we watched a movie called "Trapped in the Closet." It's actually a long rap performed as a film, written and posted on YouTube. I'd never heard of it; the only time I heard metaphors about closets was in the Disney movie Monsters Inc. and references to gay rights. I don't even like rap music.
But this rapper made some valid points - the fact that I remember the movie speaks to that end. I am a private person who likes control: it makes me feel safe, as though I have some ability to predict my future. Though I am no longer consumed by the need to know my future, I do like having the means to influence it, to change it as I wish. There are some things in life, however, which happen. You know this - I've mentioned it before. Choices appear, moments arrive, and there isn't time to waffle around and weigh the pros and cons of each side.
Sometimes the monster jumps out of the closet.
It terrifies me to have this happen...but it's also exhilarating. Freeing. My greatest decisions have been ones which I don't think about, moments where I just jumped and looked on the way down. The monster broke out and I didn't try to stop it. These are moments of What-If. These are moments, oddly enough, of self-respect.
I respect my subconscious mind - the closet where the monsters live. My best choices have come from my subconscious; my best grades; my best friendships. I will never be comfortable throwing open the closet and letting the world look at the mess inside me. But one or two people may see the darkness in my heart. I don't know if those people are lucky or cursed; I'm sure they don't know either. They are special, however. I don't think anyone will disagree with that.
Night,
WolfGrrl
Sometimes, however, my monsters leap out at me, wanting more than a brief moment of awareness. They take control. They frighten me. They challenge me. Sometimes I frighten me, or I challenge me. Sometimes I speak truths that have lain hidden for my entire life. And sometimes I swallow lies I've told thousands of times before.
I am my own worst enemy - I've heard this said, and thought this, for years. I make my own path difficult. I make my own life difficult. Not always with the obvious intention of doing so, but with the obvious result. My anorexia was like this. My relationships have usually been like this. It has taken me a long, long time, and a lot of pain, to get to a place where I can let the monsters take control sometimes and open the door to the closet.
In my anthropology class fall semester, we watched a movie called "Trapped in the Closet." It's actually a long rap performed as a film, written and posted on YouTube. I'd never heard of it; the only time I heard metaphors about closets was in the Disney movie Monsters Inc. and references to gay rights. I don't even like rap music.
But this rapper made some valid points - the fact that I remember the movie speaks to that end. I am a private person who likes control: it makes me feel safe, as though I have some ability to predict my future. Though I am no longer consumed by the need to know my future, I do like having the means to influence it, to change it as I wish. There are some things in life, however, which happen. You know this - I've mentioned it before. Choices appear, moments arrive, and there isn't time to waffle around and weigh the pros and cons of each side.
Sometimes the monster jumps out of the closet.
It terrifies me to have this happen...but it's also exhilarating. Freeing. My greatest decisions have been ones which I don't think about, moments where I just jumped and looked on the way down. The monster broke out and I didn't try to stop it. These are moments of What-If. These are moments, oddly enough, of self-respect.
I respect my subconscious mind - the closet where the monsters live. My best choices have come from my subconscious; my best grades; my best friendships. I will never be comfortable throwing open the closet and letting the world look at the mess inside me. But one or two people may see the darkness in my heart. I don't know if those people are lucky or cursed; I'm sure they don't know either. They are special, however. I don't think anyone will disagree with that.
Night,
WolfGrrl
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Let's Talk About...
So, I absolutely stole this line from one of my favorite comedy duos of all time: North Carolina's own Rhett and Link. They are two friends who decided to pursue comedy through a YouTube channel, and their videos have given me many, many hours of informative (or not) amusement and clean, quirky fun, (plug is almost over, I promise). I'll link you with some of their videos at the end of this post.
But first, Let's Talk About...
Hmmm. Well, I kind of have two things to talk about, but they go together so it's all good: Sleep and social networking (hey, they even have alliteration!). Let's tackle sleep first.
Until I saw a Rhett&Link video it never occurred to me that my historical schedule of going to bed at 10 PM and getting up between 6 and 7 AM was anything but "normal." Now, we've covered the fact that normal is about as abnormal as it gets in various other posts, but I hadn't ever considered the fact that different sleeping routines could actually be beneficial.
Currently, I follow a sleeping schedule of four or five hours a night, on average, and a two hour nap sometime during the day. I am sometimes a bit dozy, but for the most part I can function at my usual energy level. I adopted this schedule by accident when I started talking to several close friends who happen to live on the other side of the planet. A sixteen and a twelve hour time difference mean that one or both people talking have to alter their routines a bit. (Their nighttime is my daytime and so forth.) But this schedule has boosted my energy levels, surprisingly, and made me more efficient during my waking hours.
Which brings us to topic number two for the day...Social Networking.
I am an introverted person. I like people, I need them to stay sane, but too much socializing burns me out and makes me surly, tired, and unresponsive. I dislike being surrounded by hordes of chattering folks; I prefer one-on-one interactions, or hanging out with small groups of my best friends. But social networking has perks that I never appreciated until now. I know that in the ancient world (haha, as recent as the early 20th century, folks) people wrote letters to one another as their primary means of long-dstance communication. I read lots of historical romance novels, and sometimes the plot involves two characters falling in love via letter. I was always a bit skeptical: how the heck do you fall in love with someone you've never met in person?
Well...let me just say, I understand the possibility now. There is enough distance in writing back and forth that it frees you to say things you might not confess to someone face to face. There is distance and deception in social networking, true, but I find that if two people are invested in a relationship (speaking broadly) honesty and interest will ensure the integrity of that relationship regardless.
I was raised with a distrust of the online world; my access was limited, but as I grow older I realize this was a good thing. By controlling my presence online, I control the number of mistakes I make, and I refine my BS-meter so that those relationships I mentioned are more meaningfully than the run-of-the-mill stuff. I have under 100 friends on Facebook, unlike the majority of my peers. I am a private person, but I hope that being private doesn't mean I'm inaccessible. I open up to those I care for, and only recently has it occurred to me that social networking is neither good nor evil: it is merely a tool. And in some special cases, useful one.
And now, I give you Rhett&Link:
Rhett&Link on Sleep
Rhett&Link 20 Questions
Rhett&Link Epic Gun Battle
Have fun!
WolfGrrl
But first, Let's Talk About...
Hmmm. Well, I kind of have two things to talk about, but they go together so it's all good: Sleep and social networking (hey, they even have alliteration!). Let's tackle sleep first.
Until I saw a Rhett&Link video it never occurred to me that my historical schedule of going to bed at 10 PM and getting up between 6 and 7 AM was anything but "normal." Now, we've covered the fact that normal is about as abnormal as it gets in various other posts, but I hadn't ever considered the fact that different sleeping routines could actually be beneficial.
Currently, I follow a sleeping schedule of four or five hours a night, on average, and a two hour nap sometime during the day. I am sometimes a bit dozy, but for the most part I can function at my usual energy level. I adopted this schedule by accident when I started talking to several close friends who happen to live on the other side of the planet. A sixteen and a twelve hour time difference mean that one or both people talking have to alter their routines a bit. (Their nighttime is my daytime and so forth.) But this schedule has boosted my energy levels, surprisingly, and made me more efficient during my waking hours.
Which brings us to topic number two for the day...Social Networking.
I am an introverted person. I like people, I need them to stay sane, but too much socializing burns me out and makes me surly, tired, and unresponsive. I dislike being surrounded by hordes of chattering folks; I prefer one-on-one interactions, or hanging out with small groups of my best friends. But social networking has perks that I never appreciated until now. I know that in the ancient world (haha, as recent as the early 20th century, folks) people wrote letters to one another as their primary means of long-dstance communication. I read lots of historical romance novels, and sometimes the plot involves two characters falling in love via letter. I was always a bit skeptical: how the heck do you fall in love with someone you've never met in person?
Well...let me just say, I understand the possibility now. There is enough distance in writing back and forth that it frees you to say things you might not confess to someone face to face. There is distance and deception in social networking, true, but I find that if two people are invested in a relationship (speaking broadly) honesty and interest will ensure the integrity of that relationship regardless.
I was raised with a distrust of the online world; my access was limited, but as I grow older I realize this was a good thing. By controlling my presence online, I control the number of mistakes I make, and I refine my BS-meter so that those relationships I mentioned are more meaningfully than the run-of-the-mill stuff. I have under 100 friends on Facebook, unlike the majority of my peers. I am a private person, but I hope that being private doesn't mean I'm inaccessible. I open up to those I care for, and only recently has it occurred to me that social networking is neither good nor evil: it is merely a tool. And in some special cases, useful one.
And now, I give you Rhett&Link:
Rhett&Link on Sleep
Rhett&Link 20 Questions
Rhett&Link Epic Gun Battle
Have fun!
WolfGrrl
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
WIP
Humanity is such a work in progress.
I live in what was once considered the most advanced nation in the world. No longer, folks. No longer. We have become a nation of petty, cheating, lying, scandel-mongering, closed-minded fools.
Love does not conform. The greatest love stories of all time - the ones which touch the hearts of millions and have endured for centuries - are those which cross boundaries. Romeo and Juliet were forbidden to love. Helen and Paris. Rose and Jack. The kind of love which is professed by God for all His children - yes, screaming religious fanatics, all His children - is the kind of love that transcends boundaries. It is not the place of humankind to determine what is 'natural' and what is 'unnatural.' If that were so, religious fantatics would be covered in vomit-and-orange scales. They would also live in a pit full of sand, salt, and fleas and be watered with vinegar and Antifreeze.
Love does not choose when and where it shall bloom. Love is a matter of the heart and soul, not the mind, not the body. Love is waking up to see someone; love is thinking, even for a moment, of another person. Love is courage and strength and happiness. Trust me on this.
So why, then, should a nation be responsible for saying who can love and who cannot? What grounds have we as humans to determine this for others? What if someone came to your door, right now, and told you that your boyfriend, girlfriend, mother, father, had to leave? You would fight. You would rage. You would scream and cry and carry on like hell.
At first I was angry that my state took away its citizens' right to choose whom to love. Now I am sad. Sad and...regretful. This world here, this small corner of misguided humanity, doesn't deserve my anger. It doesn't deserve my presence, either. I will follow the precepts of a religion I don't believe in: I will turn the other cheek. I will go away.
This is not the world I want to live in. Love is precious to me; I won't force others to give up what I have only recently come to understand. I tried to do the right thing. I failed, but I tried. This isn't my fault. I'm not sure there is a fault. Right and Wrong...I'm not sure they exist. Moral absolutes only cause problems. Love isn't absolute. Life isn't absolute. We can all die; that's absolute. Maybe we should. Maybe the Apocalypse is meant to wipe the Earth clean of prejudice and hatred and blindness. Out of chaos, we will be born again.
WolfGrrl
I live in what was once considered the most advanced nation in the world. No longer, folks. No longer. We have become a nation of petty, cheating, lying, scandel-mongering, closed-minded fools.
Love does not conform. The greatest love stories of all time - the ones which touch the hearts of millions and have endured for centuries - are those which cross boundaries. Romeo and Juliet were forbidden to love. Helen and Paris. Rose and Jack. The kind of love which is professed by God for all His children - yes, screaming religious fanatics, all His children - is the kind of love that transcends boundaries. It is not the place of humankind to determine what is 'natural' and what is 'unnatural.' If that were so, religious fantatics would be covered in vomit-and-orange scales. They would also live in a pit full of sand, salt, and fleas and be watered with vinegar and Antifreeze.
Love does not choose when and where it shall bloom. Love is a matter of the heart and soul, not the mind, not the body. Love is waking up to see someone; love is thinking, even for a moment, of another person. Love is courage and strength and happiness. Trust me on this.
So why, then, should a nation be responsible for saying who can love and who cannot? What grounds have we as humans to determine this for others? What if someone came to your door, right now, and told you that your boyfriend, girlfriend, mother, father, had to leave? You would fight. You would rage. You would scream and cry and carry on like hell.
At first I was angry that my state took away its citizens' right to choose whom to love. Now I am sad. Sad and...regretful. This world here, this small corner of misguided humanity, doesn't deserve my anger. It doesn't deserve my presence, either. I will follow the precepts of a religion I don't believe in: I will turn the other cheek. I will go away.
This is not the world I want to live in. Love is precious to me; I won't force others to give up what I have only recently come to understand. I tried to do the right thing. I failed, but I tried. This isn't my fault. I'm not sure there is a fault. Right and Wrong...I'm not sure they exist. Moral absolutes only cause problems. Love isn't absolute. Life isn't absolute. We can all die; that's absolute. Maybe we should. Maybe the Apocalypse is meant to wipe the Earth clean of prejudice and hatred and blindness. Out of chaos, we will be born again.
WolfGrrl
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Just Us
Hello.
I'm a little shy today; something wonderful happened to me yesterday, and I want to both share it with the world and hold it close, like a candle against my heart. Have you ever gone outside on a perfect summer day and felt that first fall of sun on your face? That's the feeling I have now, even though it's cloudy and cool here today. I feel as though I have stepped into a patch of sun that doesn't fade, or disappear. It is a gift, this happiness.
Yesterday I wrote that I had no words. Today I have words...many of them. But they are not for any of you, readers. These are my words. For me. And for someone else, haha. Just us.
I have never felt part of an "us." It is nice. Comforting. Safe. Hopeful. Ahh, I'm giving away words again. No more. I wish I could give out smiles instead. I feel like hugging everyone on earth, everyone I see. Maybe because I can't hug the person I want to - you're too far away from me right now.
WolfGrrl
I'm a little shy today; something wonderful happened to me yesterday, and I want to both share it with the world and hold it close, like a candle against my heart. Have you ever gone outside on a perfect summer day and felt that first fall of sun on your face? That's the feeling I have now, even though it's cloudy and cool here today. I feel as though I have stepped into a patch of sun that doesn't fade, or disappear. It is a gift, this happiness.
Yesterday I wrote that I had no words. Today I have words...many of them. But they are not for any of you, readers. These are my words. For me. And for someone else, haha. Just us.
I have never felt part of an "us." It is nice. Comforting. Safe. Hopeful. Ahh, I'm giving away words again. No more. I wish I could give out smiles instead. I feel like hugging everyone on earth, everyone I see. Maybe because I can't hug the person I want to - you're too far away from me right now.
WolfGrrl
Saturday, May 5, 2012
For Max
Those of you who read my posts know that I like words. Sometimes I like them too much. But today...today words are escaping me. Those of you who read my posts know that I also don't talk directly to you. Or not very often. But today...today I will. Today I will find the words to speak to someone.
Hello, Max.
You have stolen my words, silly person, but that's all right because I don't need them to talk to you. You understand. We think similar thoughts; we say things the other was thinking. You make me laugh. I make you laugh. You told me that I made you very happy. I'm telling you, right now, that I might be glowing. I have been all week.
You make me happy, Max. And that's not something I take for granted.
I haven't got impressive, writerly thoughts I can give you. I haven't got fancy words to clutter up my head and make me clumsy.
I do like you. Very much. It took courage for you to write me that, and I want to be equal to your courage. Friends or something more, I am so grateful, so humbled, so happy to have met you. Out of all the people in the world, I met you.
Ich sehe auch eine große Zukunft.
Je vois aussi un grand avenir.
Io vedo anche un grande futuro.
I also see a great future.
Those are all my words, Max. You stole the rest, but you gave me something precious in return. So thank you.
Genevieve
Hello, Max.
You have stolen my words, silly person, but that's all right because I don't need them to talk to you. You understand. We think similar thoughts; we say things the other was thinking. You make me laugh. I make you laugh. You told me that I made you very happy. I'm telling you, right now, that I might be glowing. I have been all week.
You make me happy, Max. And that's not something I take for granted.
I haven't got impressive, writerly thoughts I can give you. I haven't got fancy words to clutter up my head and make me clumsy.
I do like you. Very much. It took courage for you to write me that, and I want to be equal to your courage. Friends or something more, I am so grateful, so humbled, so happy to have met you. Out of all the people in the world, I met you.
Ich sehe auch eine große Zukunft.
Je vois aussi un grand avenir.
Io vedo anche un grande futuro.
I also see a great future.
Those are all my words, Max. You stole the rest, but you gave me something precious in return. So thank you.
Genevieve
Friday, May 4, 2012
An Angel on My Shoulder
Today, as a friend and I were talking, we somehow got on the topic of angels. Now, most of you know that I am a spiritual person and not a religious one. Religion is fine, but it doesn't suit my needs that well. I find more comfort believing in order and the power of free will than I find in knowing some all-powerful deity is out there monitoring me.
But I do believe in angels.
I have had too many near-accidents not to believe that someone, somewhere, has me safely in arms. Part of my growing up process has been recognizing those moments of grace (and sometimes intervention). I have an angel on my shoulder, whose hand keeps me from falling too fast, too far, too often. I have to fall a little, otherwise I'll never learn anything. But I have an angel who keeps me safe, and for that I will always try to live a good life. Out of gratitude.
I think that angels appear in human form - as friends, family members, or strangers on the street. They are people who share a smile with you on the bus, or who offer a helping hand just when you need it. But they can also be people who are special in other ways. I have a few friends that I suspect have hidden wings. It has been my secret wish for a long time to be someone's reason to smile; I want to change one life, a little or a lot. As I grow older, it's easier for me to be the kind of person I want to be. A good friend. A good daughter. And eventually, a good wife and mother.
But back to angels. I heard once that we are all on earth to learn to be better people. (The rest of the quote was: "Animals already know this - that's why they don't live as long.") I am learning, slowly, to be a better person. A kinder person. A more thoughtful person. I am gaining the skills which will help me be someone's angel.
I hope that my angel is happy. Whoever you are, I hope you know how grateful I am. Thank you, Angel. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your belief. Thank you for all you've done for me.
Perhaps one day, I can do the same for you.
WolfGrrl
But I do believe in angels.
I have had too many near-accidents not to believe that someone, somewhere, has me safely in arms. Part of my growing up process has been recognizing those moments of grace (and sometimes intervention). I have an angel on my shoulder, whose hand keeps me from falling too fast, too far, too often. I have to fall a little, otherwise I'll never learn anything. But I have an angel who keeps me safe, and for that I will always try to live a good life. Out of gratitude.
I think that angels appear in human form - as friends, family members, or strangers on the street. They are people who share a smile with you on the bus, or who offer a helping hand just when you need it. But they can also be people who are special in other ways. I have a few friends that I suspect have hidden wings. It has been my secret wish for a long time to be someone's reason to smile; I want to change one life, a little or a lot. As I grow older, it's easier for me to be the kind of person I want to be. A good friend. A good daughter. And eventually, a good wife and mother.
But back to angels. I heard once that we are all on earth to learn to be better people. (The rest of the quote was: "Animals already know this - that's why they don't live as long.") I am learning, slowly, to be a better person. A kinder person. A more thoughtful person. I am gaining the skills which will help me be someone's angel.
I hope that my angel is happy. Whoever you are, I hope you know how grateful I am. Thank you, Angel. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your belief. Thank you for all you've done for me.
Perhaps one day, I can do the same for you.
WolfGrrl
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Waiting
I am not usually an impatient person. But sitting in a waiting room - for anything, whether it's something I want to happen or something I dread - brings out my worst tendencies. I am a person who doesn't like to be kept in suspense. For any reason, good or bad.
Right now I'm parked in a very sketchy room somewhere on campus, trying to keep myself entertained. Thus - blog. Let me rant about how much I dislike sitting in a chair too tall for me, so that my feet dangle (even in heels) and fall asleep, instead of focusing on how many butterflies are crawling down my throat into my stomach. Ugh.
I am doing something for a friend. Doing the best that I can, and I hope that counts for something, karma-wise. I know I haven't brought a seraphic attitude to the proceedings today, but I am aggravated. I feel as though several individuals involved took advantage of me and left me reeling from too little (or completely wrong) information. I don't mind offering my help, but I prefer to do so on my terms, and most definitely not under any kind of compulsion. I barely know these people. I owe them basic decency and cooperation, but they have, in some instances, asked far beyond the bounds of acquaintanceship. (Gripe, gripe, gripe.)
Maybe I'll delete this post once I reach the end. Who knows? I can feel my headache coming back, which makes me annoyed with myself. WolfGrrl, remember your maturity. Breathe. Just breathe. I am thinking of something else, something pleasant. White shores, blue skies. Cool breezes. Sunbeams. Shoes. Dogs and cats. Hell, I'll settle for thinking about food, although my stomach is complaining and upset.
Life often involves waiting, and if decisions present themselves at the moment of their choosing, not mine, I can't expect waiting to be any different. I need to learn to wait, not just when I want to, but when I need to. I can tell the same story four hundred, five hundred times to the same engaged little girl. I can read "Give a Mouse a Cookie" thirty-four times in one afternoon. I can climb stairs over and over; I can wash dishes over and over. I can wait. I have been waiting my whole life.
How can you be impatient and patient at once? What is the qualifier of patience? Some days I can stand in line for hours; other days, I can barely tolerate a minute.
Hopefully this post is not too intolerable. Pardon my rant - I am cranky and trying to suppress it. That never seems to go well, but I'm not feeling big enough at the moment to let go of my petty grievances. If I did, I'd have to confront how scared I am.
WolfGrrl
Right now I'm parked in a very sketchy room somewhere on campus, trying to keep myself entertained. Thus - blog. Let me rant about how much I dislike sitting in a chair too tall for me, so that my feet dangle (even in heels) and fall asleep, instead of focusing on how many butterflies are crawling down my throat into my stomach. Ugh.
I am doing something for a friend. Doing the best that I can, and I hope that counts for something, karma-wise. I know I haven't brought a seraphic attitude to the proceedings today, but I am aggravated. I feel as though several individuals involved took advantage of me and left me reeling from too little (or completely wrong) information. I don't mind offering my help, but I prefer to do so on my terms, and most definitely not under any kind of compulsion. I barely know these people. I owe them basic decency and cooperation, but they have, in some instances, asked far beyond the bounds of acquaintanceship. (Gripe, gripe, gripe.)
Maybe I'll delete this post once I reach the end. Who knows? I can feel my headache coming back, which makes me annoyed with myself. WolfGrrl, remember your maturity. Breathe. Just breathe. I am thinking of something else, something pleasant. White shores, blue skies. Cool breezes. Sunbeams. Shoes. Dogs and cats. Hell, I'll settle for thinking about food, although my stomach is complaining and upset.
Life often involves waiting, and if decisions present themselves at the moment of their choosing, not mine, I can't expect waiting to be any different. I need to learn to wait, not just when I want to, but when I need to. I can tell the same story four hundred, five hundred times to the same engaged little girl. I can read "Give a Mouse a Cookie" thirty-four times in one afternoon. I can climb stairs over and over; I can wash dishes over and over. I can wait. I have been waiting my whole life.
How can you be impatient and patient at once? What is the qualifier of patience? Some days I can stand in line for hours; other days, I can barely tolerate a minute.
Hopefully this post is not too intolerable. Pardon my rant - I am cranky and trying to suppress it. That never seems to go well, but I'm not feeling big enough at the moment to let go of my petty grievances. If I did, I'd have to confront how scared I am.
WolfGrrl
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
A Toast
I propose a toast, since in ten minutes I shall begin my last final of the semester, and when that's completed, I will be a third-year (junior) in college.
Having reached this milestone, I am filled with awe and a strange humbleness - I who never envisioned making it to high school graduation am half-way done with college. Halfway to becoming an adult. The specialists aren't kidding when they say that the later years of adolescence are the most crucial ones: looking back on this year and last year, I feel that I've grown so much. I am a different person than I was in high school. I have new friends, new hopes, and definitely new dreams.
I can't ramble on and on (because my exam is about to start, haha), but I'd like to propose a toast to those of us finishing our formative years. (Or not.)
The last post was for my friends. This one is kind of a repeat, but you can all stand a little more appreciation, I'm sure. Here's to us. We made it another year!
WolfGrrl
Having reached this milestone, I am filled with awe and a strange humbleness - I who never envisioned making it to high school graduation am half-way done with college. Halfway to becoming an adult. The specialists aren't kidding when they say that the later years of adolescence are the most crucial ones: looking back on this year and last year, I feel that I've grown so much. I am a different person than I was in high school. I have new friends, new hopes, and definitely new dreams.
I can't ramble on and on (because my exam is about to start, haha), but I'd like to propose a toast to those of us finishing our formative years. (Or not.)
The last post was for my friends. This one is kind of a repeat, but you can all stand a little more appreciation, I'm sure. Here's to us. We made it another year!
WolfGrrl
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)