procrastination

I haven't written in a while, and I don't know how often I will be in the future. Sometimes I get tired of blogging, because i feel like it puts so much of myself out there for the world to see. I have a lot of thoughts, but do I really want them all known? I don't want to look back on past posts and cringe at how I have exposed myself so forthrightly out there for every one. What if I say something stupid? Who is judging me?

Plus, I feel like I'm writing enough in other things. I try to keep a journal of all my daily thoughts that don't make the cutting room floor into this blog. I write for the school newspaper. I write for class. It's a lot of writing everyday, and frankly, I'd rather be watching TV.

But right now I'm just procrastinating and not doing my homework. I have to ready Tolstoy by Tuesday. As I sit here with the book in front of me however, I think about how lucky I am to have this assignment as the thing I am procrastinating about. I mean, oh poor me, I have to read Tolstoy! Only one of the greatest writers ever. And at least I'm not reading War and Peace. I think it's pretty great that I just read and write all day long. I don't know why people complain so much, if they're studying what they love. Most people aren't, I realize, but come on, it can't be that bad.

the momentum is gone

Oh no! I was doing so good this morning. I went shopping, did laundry, cleaned out my car, and then washed my car. But as I slowed down to enjoy a late lunch, that's when it all ended. My squishy behind has felt it's counterpart, my lumpy couch (good thing those adjectives aren't switched!) and now, it promises not to move for anything less than an apocalypse.

For some reason, the question, "If you were an animal, what would you be?" seems to come up a lot in my life. Another variation includes, "What is your favorite animal?" And no, I am not in 2nd grade. Blame it on lame icebreakers and those discussion classes where the group is small enough and the teacher feels the need to do some ice breaking so everyone can get super close and bond over the course of the quarter.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, well, I've started to enjoy answering by saying "I would be a black stallion" in a really cool and sublime way. Because I'm wild, and free, and beautiful, duh. On days like this, though, I think a sloth is a more appropriate animal. Days like this, being most days. On my good days, I'm maybe a turtle. I'm mellow, with a hard outer shell, and kind of snappy. But that doesn't make for quite as good of an impression.

Have you ever noticed how in those classes there's always the same type of people? There's that super unique girl that says she's a platypus, thus cementing how unique she is. That guy who sits in the back and slouches in his chair and says in a tone of complete boredom that he's something awesome like a lion or cheetah, when clearly he is not. There's that really nice, cute but forgettable type of girl that says she's a dog. And then there's that slightly overweight dorky Asian guy who says he's a panda, sometimes said with a laugh if he thinks he's one of the funny slightly overweight dorky Asians.

And now that I have effectively wasted time writing this, I think I'll go back to doing nothing. Me FTW!

it's december!

I really enjoyed the gloomy weather today. Although I guess "gloomy" is a word that doesn't do it justice. The sky looked like it was covered with a million little cotton balls, and the trees swayed slowly in the cold December air reaching out to unseen memories in the years of their life that got them to stand so tall. It made me nostalgic for simpler times, for who takes the time to stare up at the sky anymore? Who wonders how old a tree is?

I looked out my window today for quite a while. I felt like I was staring at the essence of beauty.

on happiness

In our quest for ultimate happiness in the form of complete satisfaction, are we just setting ourselves up for disappointment?

The more books that are written for self-empowerment, instructions on how to be Happy, and those on achieving some sort of modern American dream, the more unhappy we all seem to be. It's like people have begun to expect to be happy all the time... and any signs of depression just means you need medical attention.

There's so much focus on self-fulfillment, and messages on how to live The Good Life. I seriously hate watching movies or shows about the 1960s (I'm looking at you, Mad Men and Revolutionary Road), that seem to exist only to point out how desperately sad and caged in everyone was back then. "Thank GOD for all the freedom we have now! WHO wants to live in the SUBURBS?!" the shows yell at you as they blow smoke in your face. "Be selfish, and be directionless, I mean SPONTANEOUS, and BE HAPPY!"

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with wanting it all. It's just that people need to remember that Happiness isn't a goal. It's just an emotion. There's a reason we feel it all-- good and bad.

...But anyway, I'm starting to feel super preachy, so I'll end with something that will hopefully make you... a little happy! =)




Now, aren't you happy you're not in a love triangle with a lazy-eyed girl who's careless with her epileptic dog? Win!

time flies...

Time is something you seem to lose sense of, even when it’s staring you right in the face. The older we get, the faster it seems to go, when really, it’s one of the few stable things in life. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

A lot of people say timing is everything. I tend to think that’s true only because people let it. Sometimes the most inconvenient timing of something amazing can still be amazing if you’re willing to inconvenience yourself a little. So take a chance, because that perfect moment, where all the stars align, and all the fates come together… well… who has time to wait for that?

sigh...

For some reason I’m in a Wicked mood. The Broadway musical, not the British kind. I don’t know what it is about listening to old songs, whether it’s from a few years ago or a few decades ago, but I find is really comforting. It’s familiar, and brings back feelings and memories. I like that.

Sometimes I feel like all I do is wish for the past, or wait for the future. The present always just seems like a waste of time.

Bah Humbug

I know it’s only Halloween, but it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas to me! Last year I had this problem of lacking any holiday cheer, right up until Christmas Eve. I got some of that last minute holly and mistletoe spirit in me by watching It’s A Wonderful Life on TV. I also got some of that spirit by drinking… well… spirits.

Oh, I kid.

Anyway, the point is, can it be Christmas time already? I know in a month I’ll be overwhelmed with saccharine songs and images of jolly fat men, but right now I’d love the smell of pine needles and ginger snaps.

Last year I worked in a store-that-shall-not-be-named, and the good cheer we had to keep circulating in the air is probably what sapped me of any Christmas joy. The store had one CD of Christmas songs that it would play over and over and over and over again. One CD. That’s like 15 songs. All day long. Paired with the incessant consumerism and dealings with frazzled housewives, I pretty much wanted to throw up all over Christmas and yell “Take that! How do YOU like it?!”

I miss the old days of listening to the Muppets sing Christmas songs from the cassette player in the car. I miss the presents being endless and big under a real tree I went with my family to pick out two weeks before. I miss hanging a wreath outside my door and poinsettias on the dining room table. I miss stockings and hot chocolate and movies starring Tim Allen. Maybe some of that I still have, but now the magic feels as faded as the memories.

Yet I still anticipate this season’s arrival, because despite its inevitable let down, being a Scrooge in December is more fun that being a Scrooge in July.

the edge of reason

I always break a nail at the most inopportune moment. I f-- up job interviews. More times than not I have a run in my stockings (and for men who complain about wearing a tie to work, try wearing pantyhose every day). I sing the wrong words to songs. It takes me a while to do simple math in my head. I'm sometimes late to class, and if I'm on time, that just means I've forgotten my homework. When I wake up in the morning I don't feel like doing my hair up in some perfect kind of coif. I feel like going back to bed. And I will never, ever be Skinny Enough.

Every woman has felt like Bridget Jones at one point or another. Sure it's the 21st century, but there's no denying that a single 35 year old man is a very different thing than a single 35 year old woman. That is a very scary future (or present) for all of us. Every woman has felt too fat, smoked or drank too much, burned a dinner, and dated the wrong guys while waiting for the right one. Bridget Jones is the clumsy girl who says the wrong thing at the wrong time in all of us.

And all we want is for someone to tell us they like us.
Just as we are.

But besides that, it's not like we can't kick our bad habits, get in shape, and have an awesome career anyway.

love me, love me, say that you love me

I’d like to think that I’m above hollow phrases of congratulations or insincere condolences. I wish I had enough sensibility to detest jargon of every kind, and abhor language that has been worn and hackneyed beyond all sense and meaning. But alas, I’m a fisher for compliments, and a sympathy whore.

When I tell you I’m sick, I expect the utmost attention and well wishes to get better. I want you to OOO and AHH at my achievements and lay accolades at my feet. That paper I got an A on, that just slipped out of my book and into your hands was no accident, my friend. I want you to feel my pain, and rejoice in my success; and if you don’t give a damn, well I don’t give a damn—pretend you’re sad/happy for me anyway! I purposely get haircuts twice a year, so that when I do, people notice. As I sheepishly accept compliments on my stylish new look, I’d in reality be sorely disappointed if you didn’t say anything at all.

Call me shallow. Call me conceited. Call me narcissistic. But only in your head. Because to my face, you better call me awesome.

on love and lost

It’s hard getting past the debris, the little ways someone you used to love has littered your life. The song he would play in the car every time the two of you drove down to the beach. His favorite movie where he could quote every line. The sticker he put on the wall—the one you tried to peel off, but the sticky remains stick stubbornly in place. Encounter any of these… and all it does is remind you that the memories are really all that you have left of him. Time heals all wounds, but love has a carbon life—and it seems to linger even when it’s dead.

~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*

Growing up you learn something about long distance friendships. It’s all about what it’s worth to you, and how you learn to deal that decides how well you stay in touch. After high school, after college, after your first job, you move away—and you move away alone. It would be nice to take your best friend, your (soon to be ex) boyfriend, or even your parents, along for the ride, but the car’s only got room for one passenger, and you aren’t as thin as you used to be, so no squeezing!

But as people, we’re adaptive animals, and we learn to live without the ones we love inhabiting our lives every day. Soon, you get so used to not having them around, that you’d barely know what to do with them if they suddenly moved next door. You keep in touch with letters, or emails, or phone calls, but for the everyday headaches, and troubles, and happiness, and laughter… you find someone else to share those things with.

It becomes a different kind of relationship, a long distance one, and it doesn’t have to be any less deep, or close, or important, it just changes. I wish you could be here, you think into the cosmics, some random point on some random day, wondering if the person you love is thinking the same thing. But they’re not there with you no matter how hard you wish, and while it sucks, it’s okay too. Because if you did your job right, you know they’ll always be there for you, even if they’re a thousand miles away.

~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*

I lost my favorite pair of socks, and aside from wondering “How does one lose a pair of socks?” I can’t help but think, “WHY that pair of socks, of all my pairs of socks?!”

I never thought much of it when I had it. But suddenly, now that it’s gone, boy do I miss it.

i'm just rambling at this point

There's something satisfying about fullness.

A full tank of gas.

A fully stocked fridge.

A belly full of turkey.

It's warm and comforting, and gives one a feeling of preparedness. Whenever I'm filling something up, be it a box, or uh, some other kind of container, I can't help but self-congratulate myself with a "Good job, Christina! You're really doing something productive." It's like, I'm adding something to the world. With my stuff!

But thinking about it more, there are some instances where full things are not so fun. Usually because they smell.

Laundry.

The trash can.

These things are also unfortunate because instead of suggesting the completion of some kind of task, it calls for more errands and/or effort on my part.

it should happen to you

Isn't it a funny thought, the importance and the meaning of a single, ordinary life? Is it fair to call a life ordinary? Who can say what counts as extraordinary?

There are obvious cases of the extra-ness. People who have touched thousands or millions of lives. (Michael Scott touched two lives, the moment he was born!) Whether it be Hitler, or Gandhi, or James Dean... but fame or infamy do not necessarily tell the whole story. For every Holocaust victim, the SS officer who watched them burn was a much more tangible threat than the mastermind himself. The world watched Gandhi strike, strike for rights and freedoms they supported, while they themselves ate their dinners that night. We admire the rebel without a cuase, but our own rebellions, whatever they may be, were for our own causes.

There's an old movie with Judy Holliday and Jack Lemon. She becomes famous being the face of billboards around New York City, and he becomes her common sense.

"I'd rather mean something to a few people," he tells her when her 15 minutes of fame go to her head, "than a whole lot of nothing special to everyone." Or, you know, something like that.

Even the rare few who make it into the pantheon of immortal icons we fear or admire or strive to be only lived as great as those directly around them saw them to be. Life isn't a popularity contest. The most ordinary life won't make in into the history books, but it'll still be part of history.

A Butterfly

I’m not a butterflies-in-the-stomach sentimental-romantic type of girl. When I get crushes, which is rare, I don’t really get nervous. My main reflex is to maybe smile a lot when I’m around someone who gets my heart beating, but that’s a secret just between you and me.

I wouldn’t ask for much. Just a thoughtful gesture now and then.

But I wonder what it would feel like to be in the head over heels, kick me in the balls type of LOVE. There are so many songs dedicated to love and heartache, it must really be something to inspire such insipid descriptions.

Ok, I notice I’m sounding awfully bitter and cynical at this point, but actually all I’m saying is I just don’t UNDERSTAND it all. There was a period where literally every song on the radio related to my life, and every movie plot could have been made up of scenes from my (imaginary) life. Right now, however, love is just a noun.

You’ve lost that love good feeling, the Righteous Brothers once sang. I just hope one day I have it to lose.

A Bird

I wonder what it’s like to be a bird. It seem like every trapped little girl’s fantasy—to fly over the suburb’s walls and fences caging her in. You know, she wants to spread her wings and all that jazz. But me personally, I actually never gave it much serious thought until I typed out that sentence.

Maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Like in Ella Enchanted, when the fairy turns herself into a squirrel and realizes that a squirrel’s life is not actually like it’s portrayed in Disney movies. The squirrel gets hungry and cold, and carried off by eagles.

In this case, though, I guess it’s the EAGLE you would be. Ha. Still, I can’t imagine it’d be squirrel buffet all the time.

But really, a lot of freedom isn’t necessarily a good thing. There can definitely be too much. Some people like more freedom than others, and maybe I’m the other end of the spectrum that really likes structure. I can’t imagine living life without thinking, elementary school, middle school, high school, college, job. I like having a scheduled place to be every day. Deadlines and assignments, and projects with a finished product. It gives me purpose in a potentially chaotic world. Wondering what I’m going to do on a Saturday night is about as thrilling as it gets.

On that note, it is a bit disconcerting to realize how directionless I currently am. Ideally I would laugh in the face of Disarray and yell “I wouldn’t have it any other way! This is freedom, damn it, and I’m going to enjoy not knowing! I’m awesome and adventurous!” But inside is a secretly growing fear of the unknown.

Because what people fear most is the unknown. Life could be great, but we are hardwired to fear the worst.

So in conclusion, I think it’d be kind of cool to be a bird. It’ll probably help me get over my fear of heights.

But I'd probably get shot by a hunter anyway.

A Marathon

We sit here wasting away like mangoes on rotten trees. If someone were to ask you what is your purpose in life, what would you say? For me, all I can muster is a, “I live… to keep living.” But isn’t there something more? Back in high school I thought, OH HO! I have figured it all out, you tricky bastards running the universe. Life is like a race. You work hard to get from check point to checkpoint, and you have these goals in mind… but really all you’re doing is running. Life is a marathon, and the finish line is death.

That’s why people are religious. So they can believe in something greater then themselves, because really what is more depressing than seeing life as one long, exhausting race? Even in races, there are people on the sidelines, offering you tiny Dixie cups of water; but in life, there are rarely handouts, and you definitely can’t count on them to keep you going.

But I’m not feeling particularly negative about life right now. No, I’d say it’s pretty good. But just… doesn’t it suck when sometimes you just need a little time to catch your breath, but you know the moment you do, all the other races will run right past? There’s a reason why people call it the “rat race,” and we are all just rats.

A Memoir

Reading a memoir is like getting to know someone from the inside, out. You think their thoughts, feel their feelings, and live in their world. It’s consuming, even if it’s only for a brief few hours, a few pages at a time. Oftentimes the author experiences a large shift. A change in location, occupation, or taste. And as the person discovers this new view of the world, so do you; and you are a richer person for it. Their perspective co-mingles with yours, and another person, a complete stranger, has changed you.

Look at my life, look at its importance! An underlying neurotic layer screams from underneath. My perspective is different and unique!

Yet I can’t help but wonder how my life would measure up. Sitting here in my apartment—an instance in the makeup of an extraordinary life. I would write…

“As I sat in my apartment, living my average life, the sudden realization of what it all meant came crashing down. It all means nothing, unless you write it down. Who is to remember what happened in your century of life, a whisper of existence among billions? Who cares? It’s up to you to make it matter. So I sit here in my apartment, writing, and enjoying the sun streaming in, thankful for the hole in the roof my realization has caused.”

Suddenly, I see the light.

That time in kindergarten that boy spit in my face? A wet memory for my memoir. That Halloween I spent laying in bed with a twisted arm instead of going to the annual church Halloween festival? One painful page of my memoir. That time I laughed so hard I fell off the couch? Another memory. That time we kissed under the moonlight for the first time… and then I burped in your face? Another chapter.

None of it really matters in the end. But it matters now. It matters to you.

Honorable Mention

Everyone's the star of the their own life, but sometimes I can't shake the feeling that I'm not even the top billing in that. There are some people that Do, and some people that Watch, and what can I say, I'm a watcher. Not in the creepy, stalker way, but lets just say that most of my thrills are of the vicarious variety. I don't think there's anything wrong with being a people-pleaser (to a certain extent), and wanting those around you to be happy, but at the same time perhaps I'm focusing on other people's happiness at the cost of my own.

Sometimes I win awards. I'm not particularly ambitious, but once in a while I'll over achieve. You know what place I always get? 4th. As in, "Well, you did a good job, and you almost deserve a real award. Here's an Honorable Mention certificate." The other award I often get is Most Improved. This one says, "Well, at least you didn't get worse! As if that were possible..." Not that I don't appreciate the recognition, but you know, I think it'd be nice to get 1st once in a while. Or even 3rd. I'm not super ambitious or anything.

So you know that question, if someone were to star in a movie about your life, who would it be? I realized I'd never really be the protagonist in anything. I'd be the quirky, sarcastic best friend to some cute girl with less wit but better luck. I'd give great advice that no one would ever follow. Circumstance would propel her to fame and fortune, or at least get her a guy, and I'd be there to eat ice cream and watch sad movies with her when her heart breaks, right before the inevitable conclusion when all her dreams come true. I'd be the Bonnie Hunt to someone's Meg Ryan. Yes, that's who would play me: Bonnie Hunt.

But you know, even Bonnie got her own talk show, so I think I'm doing alright...

all the small things

Sometimes it's the little things that keep you going. You can have a craptastic day, and all it takes is one little comment to turn it around. Maybe not completely, but at least it'll stop you from walking straight off the edge.

Scene: Working at retail store developed in hell

Manager: blah blah blah... do a lot of things. SMILE! =D
Me: Ok! (I did not get enough sleep to be doing this... grumble)
Customers: Oooo! That's cute! (gets in my way)
Me: Are you finding everything ok? :] (grumble grumble grumble)
Customers: Yes, thank you.
Me: OK! (grumble)
Little Girl: Can you help me get this down?
Me: Sure! What size do you want?
Little Girl: Oh... small. And medium. And maybe a large.
Me: OK! (seriously???)
Little Girl: (kind of quitely:) You're pretty
Me: (...What? did you just say...) Um, thanks! (OMG CAN I HUG YOU?) Here you go! (SMILING!)

So thanks, little girl. You made my day. And for the record, you are way cuter than I am, or ever was.

Sometimes I wish I was one of those people that could just have random conversations with people. For some reason, people really enjoy having them with me. I would never initiate anything myself.

Scene II: Walking to the bus stop after class

Me: (listening to my iPod-- "nothing says "fuck off" more than a pair of headphones")
Random middle-aged German (?) guy: Good music?
Me: (Did he just ask about my music? I'm not sure I heard right...) *smiles and nods
RMAG?G: You like music?
Me: (*takes off headphones) Yeah. :)
RMAG?G: What are you studying in school?
Me: Um, journalism.
RMAG?G: Oh that's great! You know it's hard to get into because there aren't any more newspapers! They're all closing down!
Me: I know! It makes me worried...
(start to head in different directions)
RMAG?G: Good luck!
Me: Ha. Thanks!!

First of all, kudos for him for approaching me while I was listening to my iPod. That's tough to do. But I always welcome conversations with strangers (seriously-- it can get pretty interesting!) and that was probably one of the most random ones. Usually you're like waiting in line for somthing, but this guy just comes out of nowhere. Plus, he had an accent, which is always awesome. So that day, when all I could think about was getting home and not having to deal with any more people, this guy comes along and gives me a conversation to smile about. Not even a thrilling one with any substance, but just his friendliness is enough.

Conclusion? Yeah... sometimes a little human contact is a good thing (that's what she said), even for those of us who are very antisocial, and slightly agoraphobic, to say the least.

baby, i'm amazed

It's amazing what you end up doing when you're trying to procrastinate doing something actually important. I rated the songs on my iPod. I cleaned my closet. I'm putting up a post! So anyway, I don't even know what to write about. I feel so out of practice, and those creative juices just ain't flowing.

For a little inspiration, here's a quote I've been thinking about recently: "Isn't it amazing how differently two people can feel about the same thing?"

That's not an exact quote, and I really have no idea what it's from, and now that I think about it, I might have come up with it myself. The point is, what I'm applying it to right now is the always tricky topic of relationships. Because just the fact that you can be absolutely, totally and completely in love with someone, having it consume you like a storm raging within, and have the other person smile at you back benignly oblivious to what you feel... well what are you suppose to do about that?

Let's say for instance, that he (or she) can accidentally brush your hand. To them it's a moment to be filed away between kicking a pebble earlier that day and buying a bag of chips from the vending machine. But to you it is Life. It is the fantastical beginning of what you can hope will be more. It is the moment you will recall someday, as you say to that person, "What? That's when you fell in love with me? For me, it was when you brushed my hand...."

Crushes are not fun. They are difficult. They make you excited, and sad, and confused. Of my crushes, I would think: every time you look away, every time you talk to someone else, every time you do not gravitate towards me every time I think "If you kiss me now, I would not stop you," I am reminded that every time I think of you is every time you are not thinking of me.

Eventually I stop wishing for you to notice me. Instead, I dream for someone to walk into the room and make me forget all about you. So then I won't care if you don't even notice that I am gone. But damn it, I wish you would. Don't you know that you standing there, just your presence, is breaking my heart?

you are what you eat

Today is a new day. Lately I’ve been eating out too much. Staying up too late. Drinking too much, and then eating some more. It’s so gluttonous and basically disgusting. I don’t exercise. I don’t write. I don’t read. My focus is just… wooosh!

But today is a new day. Admittedly, I was getting fast food, but one step at a time: I didn’t get any fries. I KNOW. Oh how I was craving that salty, golden, fried, waffle-shaped piece of heaven. I could feel its soft warmness in my mouth, and I salivated at the thought. If only I could devour it and start to feel the slow clogging of my arteries… if only. Sigh. I’d do the Snoopy dance of joy. Amazingly, I went for the fruit cup. The overpriced three bites and you’re done snack of unsatisfactory. I still want my fries, dammit. Well, at least as I sit here eating my third chocolate chip cookie, I can say to myself “You’ve done good, kid. You’ll thank yourself later.”