Our Song

You know, I never used to like Taylor Swift.

Shhh. I know, it might be a crime. But I was just...not part of anything she sang about. None of that stuff really related to me and my life.

And then along comes a documentary on Netflix about (who else), Taylor Swift? Well then...let the happiness begin.

Hahaha. No, it wasn't quite like that. But I did become more fond of her (she is a wonderful person) and she does write catchy, fun songs. So...

I like to drive with the radio on so I can sing along, but I never know the words. One day I was driving along mangling Bruce Springsteen when a random song by some group named Lady Antebellum (I had to look that up) came on.

This would be Our Song, folks.
Taylor Swift devotees, you know what I mean. ^_^

Just a Kiss Goodnight

WolfGrrl

This Day

Today is a good day, readers. After a week of feeling out-of-sorts and off-balance, I seem to have found a nice resting place where I can flutter my wings and bask in the sun. The heat of summer has waned a little; the sky has cleared; my family is safe; my boyfriend is back at school and well.

I am constantly amazed by the ability of human beings to both create and withstand chaos. I create my own chaotic life, and I therefore must be responsible for the anxiety and stress that comes with that chaos. Somehow, though, that thought gets lost in the sea of worries and fears and pain. Life is a rocky, roundabout dirt road, not a paved super-highway with signs and six lanes to avoid traffic jams. I may know this in my head, but the rest of me needs constant reminders.

I would like to make this post a celebration of today. I don't celebrate the todays of my life often enough; I'm always running ahead or running behind, trying to see six ways from Sunday and feeling as though I am slave driver and slave. So let's see what makes this day a good day.

1. My boyfriend is settled. Never underestimate the impact loved ones have on our happiness. I never understood my mother's anxiety when my father travels until now. Having found someone to love - and love dearly - I worry about him. I want to be near him. I want to reach out and hold his hand when he's upset or stressed or happy. 

2. I got some sleep. Yes, college students (and other young adults) are notorious for being able to function on little sleep. Too bad I'm not one of those; coffee and I have never gotten along, and I can no longer depend on sugar to keep my brain working. I require sleep. Go figure. 

3. Sunshine. Oh, I love the sun. I love the warmth, the brightness, the colors it brings to the world. I love the morning and I desperately love the evening. I am so much happier when I can see golden light and green trees outside my window, instead of grey skies and rain water. Rain makes me melancholy. Sun makes me smile. 

4. My family is safe. I never doubted that they wouldn't be, but my father and sister are traveling out West and didn't check into their hotel on time. My mother was naturally anxious and that made me anxious. But they are safe (they took a sight-seeing detour, sighhh) and well and together. 

I'm sure there are more things that make today wonderful. I have no homework; I can relax; I finished the book I was reading; I can bake a cake; the cat didn't bite me (yet). These are some things that make today This Day, this good, good day. 

Bien

WolfGrrl

Little Gray

For M and M

Little gray, gone on –

Treading softly into the dawn

You haven’t been forgotten;

You will, in fact, remain

Where grass and sky meet rain

As fog, and in the shadows

On the chair.

Little gray, we miss you

But it seems you heard your cue

So you have gone on

Treading softly into the dawn

On paws of spirit and cloud

To spurn the laps

Of angels.

Little gray, remind  

Us, whom you’ve left behind,

That in the end all days must close

And fade from blue

To gray and rose;

From life, which seems

So permanent 

We'll see you in our dreams. 

G

A Bouquet

Gentlemen, take note. 
To win brownie points with both your girlfriends and their parents (mothers)
You must send her flowers on her birthday.
It makes it even better
When she doesn't know they are coming
And when they are sent by someone
Who lives 8500 miles away.

I love you forever and always too, my dear.
However long forever may be.
Wolfgrrl

Missing From Me

I know in the past I've mentioned that I don't think French is a very romantic language. Well, there are definitely aspects of it that get right to the heart of the matter ('scuse the pun). In French, one says "Tu me manques" for "I miss you." The literal translation of this is "You are missing from me."

My boyfriend lives very far away from me right now. We do the best we can, and we are pros at adjusting to crappy internet, dropped Skype calls, time differences and shipping costs. I believe that a long-term, long-distance relationship is completely possible if both people are invested in it. We are invested, but it makes us appreciate the little things we don't yet have all the more.

I have never missed another person's physical presence the way I miss his. It's hard to combat, this yearning, for it is nothing I've ever had to deal with before. I don't know if I should distract myself by being happy, being angry, being sad, or being asleep. I am at a loss when it comes to solving this emotional dilemma. Last night I tried an old standby: when unable to sleep, write.

Those of you who followed me from Deviant Art have probably already seen this poem. But there are some of you who have no idea that I write (aside from infrequent blog entries, and school papers). So I'll put the poem here too. This is how I describe the feeling that someone is missing from me.

i am missing more than you
i am missing the warmth of you at my back;
the weight of your arm keeping me from floating away

i am missing being able to wind your hair around my finger
and the way you smile when i come running.

i am missing more than you,
for you are more
than three vowels and a breath.

you are the hand i reach for
and the laugh that answers mine
the reason i can't sleep
and the reason i dream

you are missing from me
tu me manques.

tu me manques, toujours.

Thank you for reading. 

WolfGrrl

Haters Gonna Hate

I know the world is a judgmental place, and I know humans are rarely kind to each other. People are rash, both in what they say and when (and how) they say it.

But hate is...an evil, evil thing. It is painful for the person who is hated, and dangerous to the one who hates. I think that the internet, while it has many good points, is a breeding ground for hatred. We hate what we don't know. We hate on behalf of those we love, without thinking that they might not feel the same way. We hate quickly, passionately. Hatred and love are opposites for a reason; they spring from the same source. To hate one thing, you must love another.

This morning I visited the tumbler of an artist I follow. Her work is what inspired me to try my hand at drawing again, and she is such a cheerful, happy person that there's always something to make me smile on her page.

The first thing I saw on her page, among the posts for the last twelve hours, was a comment and an answer that shocked me. And then came the hurt - both empathetic and sympathetic.

(I've had my run-in with hateful comments on the internet, just as an aside. I know the pain those words produce. It's like being punched. You deflate, you crumple. You want to cry or run and hide.)

Haters gonna hate. I believe that some people hate others because they hate themselves. I guess I'm lucky that the only person I've ever wanted to punish was myself. I hope I would never lash out at another person specifically; sure, I'll complain or vent frustration and anger, but I do not call others out. I don't use names. I don't use abusive language. In my heart, I don't want to hurt others. But I am human. If they're hurt because of that, well...that's on them.

But enough. I just wanted to ask everyone to please...censor yourself. Having been rash, I reaped the painful consequences. Don't let the internet make you think you're anonymous. You're not. I admire those who can come back to their haters without sinking to that level. The artist responded with a thoughtful reply, and even asked her defenders (it's never just two people engaged in hatred. Those who stand with each are also involved) to leave the hater alone.

Shakespeare said that "Violent delights have violent ends." If love and hate are driven by the same emotion - passion - then they both cannot endure for long. So I guess there's comfort in that: hate fades in time, as does that bright, vivid flash of love-at-first-sight. Dislike lasts longer, just as loving someone long-term means you love them less intensively, less exclusively. Ahh, I can't explain this. Think of it as fire, one a bonfire, the other a candle. The bonfire flares up quickly and burns for a short time. The candle burns less bright, but for much longer and much more steadily. I think you know which is which.

Just... I've never hated anyone. I thought I did, I really did, but it wasn't a few hours or days later that I felt sorry for that person, or indifferent. Hate is a visceral thing; we feel it, but we can't sustain it. Not without damaging ourselves. Those who clutch hate to their chests are those who are afraid of something, even life or themselves.

I wish I knew how to ask in a way that doesn't seem condescending or patronizing. Maybe I should remember this: for every person you deliberately try to hurt, someone close to you will be sad.

Wolfgrrl

?????

Yeah, I just don't have a catchy title today. But, it occurred to me that the advice I gave my boyfriend (about writing every day, even if it's only a sentence) is advice I need to take.

I haven't been writing much this summer. Oh, I had a brief stint where I worked on my novel (a never-ending process if there was one), but aside from that and letters to friends and notes to family, I haven't done any writing for about three months.

None. Nada. Zilch. Not even here, on my blog.

I just don't feel...motivated to write. I have always used writing as a means of exorcising my internal demons and now to my surprise, I don't seem to have any demons. Oh sure, I dislike the way I look sometimes, or my hair gives me trouble or the 40+ C heat gets to me...but those are minor things; the squabbles that come with living life.

My question is, where the heck has my writing gone?

Did it vanish? Did it run away to someone else who is miserable and doesn't know how to express herself? Since neither of those things apply to me, maybe my writing took a vacation. It's been on call for about ten years; that's a long time to work with no breaks. It should sue.

I think (I hope) that my writing hiatus stems from my external rather than internal focus (my therapist would be so proud; I use such big, fancy words). These days I am focused on my friends, boyfriend, and family members and not so much myself.

So...yeah. There really isn't a title for this kind of...whatever.
WolfGrrl