screw you, world

i hate life. not all of it. but most of it. and not all the time. but often enough that i'm concerned about me. people make me crazy. i think i'd love life were it not for all the people. but i'm not sure. because i need people. i get sad and lonely and depressed without them in my life. literally - this is the epitome of "can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." i hate people. and need people. so hate life.

even my vacation is tainted because there are still people. but i'm not an isolationist. i don't want to barricade myself in a cabin in the woods. i hate the woods. see, i hate things. i also hate hate. i hate hate and i love love but i can't love lately so i just want to spontaneously combust. i'm sure this is somehow my fault. but i'd rather just hate people and not be all introspective and crap. i'd rather just complain. i'd rather blog. i'd rather be complainy bloggy blogger than think about anything. like how annoying everything and everyone is. including me. i definitely don't want to think about how annoying i am. so for now we'll just say...

screw you, world. screw you.

Denny Duquette

I am not a public advocate of Grey's Anatomy. For the most part it's like reading the tabloids. A guilty pleasure that I don't keep up with, but every once in a while, I need a quick fix. I only own season 2, but I've watched it about 5 times. And midway through the season they introduce a new character, Denny Duquette. He's both a patient and a love interest for Izzie. But he's my favorite. It's because I'm a romantic, but everything about Izzie and Denny's relationship warms my heart like nothing else. The season finale makes me cry every time, even though I know what's going to happen. When it comes to a true sappy crazy oh-my-gosh-I-wish-that-was-me love stories, I hold this as the modern day standard. Don't misunderstand. It's not perfect. They aren't perfect. In fact, Izzie is kind of stupid. But they... are fun and cute and I feel... jealous... when I watch. Perhaps that's a bad thing. Maybe I'm too emotionally involved with fictional characters. But that's how i roll... which the fictitious. I have this very loose grasp on reality. I function better that way.

I Never Want to Say Goodbye, But If I Have to, I'd Like to Have Time to Say It

Last night I dreamt the worst dream. My Gramma had died and her funeral was being held in England. I was playing the piano for her, weeping through the whole ceremony. It was a closed-casket funeral and I kept saying, she's not really dead, she's not really dead. And everyone kept telling me, yes she is. I asked to see her. I wanted to see proof because I knew, I knew she couldn't leave like that. It couldn't end like that. She's 80, yes. But she's very much alive and kicking. She's not sickly. She's sane (mostly). She's an essential part of my life. She will not just die. But in this warped reality, she had. And dream self could not handle it. I tossed and turned and sweated and cried and it was devastating. And you know how in those first seconds after resurfacing from a serious dream you can't remember what's true or not. If that really happened. It felt real. It felt terrible. And I just wanted to sleep to erase the horrible idea that my beloved Grandmother could leave me ever.

My eyes closed and the onslaught continued. This time I was late for the funeral and they wouldn't let me play the piano. I told them over and over that she would want that. She would want to hear me play. She loved it when i played. But they said they had the ceremony under control and I wasn't needed. Even mom told me to stop. I cried and wept and then I realized the casket was closed again. It was as though I'd had a dream within a dream. My dream self remembered the previous dream in this reality and was horrified that it could be true that Gramma was dead again. I told them to open the casket. I still thought they were lying. Playing tricks on me. And that's when they told me... no, she wasn't dead. YET. But she was scheduled to drop any minute. They were getting the funeral out of the way now because there might not be time for it later. This was a chance for everyone to say goodbye. Gramma appeared next to me out of nowhere like the ghost she was about to become. I told her that this was her funeral. She said, yeah I know. It's time. Laughing and smiling and giggling like this was the best idea ever. I said, but you're not dead yet. And you're never going to die. And she said yes I am. And at some point everything shifted and I realized that this was not just her funeral. It was her euthanism. At the end of the ceremony she was expected to crawl into her casket and be buried. Alive. I freaked out, naturally. Insane people. I yelled at everyone as they sang hymns. It was as though I was invisible. I kept telling them, this is not how it happens. You don't bury people alive because it might be inconvenient to bury them after they're dead. No, you wait... and you spend every possible minute with them while they're alive. you celebrate their life. You don't take it prematurely. I stopped Gramma from her singing and dancing and shook her. Do you know what they plan on doing? I asked her. Do you understand? they're going to kill you! And she smiled and said, I know I know. I'm old. It's better this way. I freaked out again. How could she be so cavalier about being murdered. This is not how it happens.

I woke up desperate to hear my Gramma's voice. I called her. She's fine. But the nauseous feeling clawed at my insides for a long time before I was ok again. I'm not ready to lose my Gramma. She's been hugely influential in my life. I love her so much. One day, I know, I will have to say goodbye. (The very thought of that puts me in tears). But when that time comes, I hope I have time to get used to the idea. I hope I have lots of time. I pray my Gramma lives to see my children and their children at least. But I prefer forever.

Hi Mom

I love you super super much.

October 17th: a Retrospective on Self-Discovery and Change

Today is my favorite day of the year. October 17.

No. It's not my birthday. Or anniversary. And nothing truly spectacular has ever happened to me on this date. Last year on this date I held a Jane Austen Movie Marathon Night in the student center at my college for my fellow students in Literature of Jane Austen. Four years ago, I flew from my home in England back to my home in Florida after graduating high school. I was welcomed back to the US with Hurricane Wilma, which left me and my Gramma without power for about a week.

Anyway -- I don't know how this become The Favorite Day. But it is. I wait anxiously for it all year long. For no good reason. I just love it. Maybe it's the season -- the fall. The change in the air, the trees, the feeling in your bones. I've always been a die-hard summer appreciator. But there is something poetic about autumn. Symbolic.

This October 17th - I'm picking up my husband from the airport after a month-long absence. 33 days to be exact. This is not our longest separation by a long shot. But still... it was... interesting. This time, I learned a whole lot about myself while he was away. My road to Self-Discovery is riddle with tears and heartache and excitement and fear and agony and angst and love.

So here goes...

I learned I'm really independent. That I don't really miss him while he's gone but when he comes back I remember what I was missing and it's like I miss him in retrospect. I learned I sleep better when he's gone (because I'm a bet hog and a quasi-insomniac), but in the morning I wish he was there. I learned that I have friends here. Lauren. Lindsay. Shavaun. Michal. Vince. Eric. Chad and Linsay. Tim. Jonathan. Kyle. Etc. There are people here that I care about. And they care about me. I learned that I am an artist. Not an intellectual. And I learned that that's ok. I learned that Kings, Day Break, Kyle XY, and Six Degrees were all shows canceled prematurely and I wish I'd been there to support them while they was still airing (but The Listener deserved the boot). I learned what an equinox and solstice were (besides really cool words). I learned I love to shop (who knew?), but only if I get to buy something. I learned that it's easier to be someone's friend when they want to be yours too. If you have to force your way in... maybe it's not worth it. I learned that electronics hate me. Just ask my cellphone, TV, and GPS (all of which are not working right now)... I learned that I am a good writer... or could be. I learned that I'm a good musician... or at least passionate. I learned I have some depth, some things inside me that want to be let out -- in music, in story, in blog... I've been bottling up all of this stuff and it makes some great creative material. I made decisions - hard ones. I let go of my pride. I acknowledged my weaknesses -- and there are many. I found joy in sorrow. I found inspiration in depression. I found hope in stress. And strength in weakness. Glory in suffering. Poetry. Laughter. Longing. Beauty. I learned I like make-up... now if only i could figure out how to use that eyeliner... I learned I seem 25 but I can act 15. I learned that miracles happen -- even the ones we wait for and hope for and give up on. I learned the days that start the worst usually end the best. And the best inspiration hits you at 2 o'clock in the morning (it's 1:54 am right now...). I discovered new bands: Seabird, Jason Gray, Danyew, and Our Heart's Hero (in order of greatness). I realized I'm truly the least domestic wife of all time - I barely cleaned. I rarely cooked. I had only the tiniest inkling to decorate after seeing Linsay and Shavaun's immaculate spectacular homes.... but it passed like Thanksgiving indigestion. I met new family. Made new friends. Stared at strangers. And created new characters. I dreamed weird dreams. I woke up late. I woke up early. I learned that sugar free RedBull tastes just as good as regular Redbull but its only 10 calories! I learned to count calories. I learned I love to drive. I learned that I must have a guardian angel to keep me from getting into serious accidents all the time. I learned I have cute toes and weird eating habits (oh wait, I already knew that last one) and I'm quirky. But that's a good thing. I learned that some people know me better than I thought they did. And others don't know me at all. I learned that love and limerance are two different things. I learned that love is not just a choice and people who say it is are idiots - according to my dad. I learned how to make a good apology. I learned that it's still fun to sing Bohemian Rhapsody in the car, even if you're by yourself. I learned that roadtrips can be the most relaxing and enjoyable experiences in the world, even if you're by yourself. I learned that I need to have my own calling... I'm still waiting for that. Praying for it. I learned I am inconsistent, faithless, emotional, dramatic, selfish, angry, bitter, youthful, and changing. I learned that God is ... more. Than me. Than life. Than what I thought I knew before. I learned that life isn't always what you plan. It doesn't always go the way you want it to. Sometimes the path you choose takes you to a different destination than you thought. And the decisions you make are irreversible. You can never go back. You can only go forward. And the person you were before becomes.... something else. Something other. I learned...

I'm not who I was...

I'm not who I thought I was...

And that's ok. Whoever I am... Jesus still loves me anyway.

And so does Ray.

(And so does Carrie.)

Restlessness

I am awake. I am in agony. It's 5 am, and while many people deliberately get up at this God-forsaken hour, I am not one of them. I've been up for about 45 minutes. Contemplating what a restless night feels like... How can I explain this in a way you understand?

For me, sometimes restlessness is like reading a book. And I get to this line and all the words are jumbled, like they're in the wrong order. And the sentence doesn't make sense. So I read it again.

And then I forget what I just read. So I read it again.

And then I realize that something is terribly wrong and I must have missed a lot of information. I realize I'm 50 pages ahead of where I left off. But instead of going back, I just read it again.

I try sounding out each word slowing. I say them in a different order on purpose. I try to suss out every possible meaning of this horrible sentence.

And then I read it again.

I read it until my mind goes numb. Or fuzzy.

I read it until I get angry in my sleep because I don't know what it means.

I read it until I get so frustrated because I keep on, keep on, keep on trying and everything is useless.

And for hours, my life is a circular riot of evil in my mind. I spin in my bed, 'round and 'round and 'round... I spin so much I feel kinda nauseous. And time is always always corrupted, disrupted, interrupted. I spin for what feels like hours without end, and realize I've been half-awake for only and hour. I spin and feel like I just having trouble falling asleep, like it's only been a few minutes of torture, and realize I've been half-asleep all night.

And sleep becomes of word of many meanings. I "sleep" but feel like I've been awake all night (that's how I feel now...). I call this half-awake. And half-asleep is what happens when I'm definitely asleep but my mind is trapped. I'm clawing at my consciousness and my dreaming is a reflection of my mental anguish. When I wake up, I feel like I've been awake all night. So maybe there really isn't a difference. But it feels different. And sometimes when I'm half-asleep I'm unconscious enough to the point that I keep my husband up with my spinning and my restlessness, but I can't shake out of it. I'll persist to disrupt him all night, giving us both a bad night's sleep...

I am aching for real sleep. But it seems the only times I sleep are when I'm under the influence of something sedative. Tylenol PM and Advil PM are my most frequently used drug. The doctor also prescribed me Benadryl because it's a safe, non-addictive drug that will knock me out. But I have to take two. Just taking one is like asking for a night of spinning. Anyway, I'm out of those, I'm gonna call for a refill tomorrow. Today... because it is today now.

Anyway, the Prolific Nocturne writes again. At least I always have that. If I can't sleep, I can write. Which is pretty much all I do...

Worst. Day. Ever.

I literally want to crawl under a rock and cease to exist.

I don't think I'm strong enough.

I am EPIC FAIL.