El Perro Del Mar – Change of heart

There are certain words in the history of the English language that have displayed certain flair, a je ne sais quoi. Words that punch you in the gut and leave you feeling like you’ve been through a wringer or longing for a kiss or wishing you were sitting in the shade on a veranda with a mint julep in your hand or wishing you knew what was in a mint julep. Damn, now I want a mint julep. [slinks off]

As I sip on my mint julep, I reflect on the odd phenomenon that happens when a powerful word – a ninja word, if you will – gets adopted into everyday use. That ninja word gets cuts down with each use, until it loses its mojo and becomes Karate Kid III or The Hills sans Lauren Conrad.  This wordwashing (like greenwashing, but with words. Duh.) also  occurs with acronyms in forums, chat rooms, and Facebook. The acronym used most heinously? LOL.

One person posts a pic of their cat wearing reindeer ears, and another tosses out LOL. Someone says my kid fingerpainted with potatoes and someone says LOL. I send a text to a friend complaining about how exhausted I am, and she texts back LOL. Were any of the aforementioned examples funny? Only if you also laugh at car accidents and crying babies.

Stop the abuse! In case you have been sorely misguided about the meaning of LOL, allow me to educate you. It stands for Laugh Out Loud. That means your belly is jiggling, your chest is heaving, and some sound is escaping from the depth of your body where your funny bone is cleverly hidden between your heart and your madly typing fingers. You literally Laugh Out Loud.

Since its entrance into everyday usage, LOL now means something like “slightly smirking in a snarky way” or “my eye twitched a millimeter in amusement.” Worse, it sometimes translates like “I’m politely fake laughter even though I think you’re as funny as clowns.” (Seriously, who is amused by clowns? They’re just creepy.) Please, please don’t allow this acronym to be watered down. Laughing is one of the amazing joys in life. Use LOL with extreme prejudice and only if your body engages in the physical activity of guffawing or chortling. Rant over. Titter, chuckle, snicker, and snigger on.

BTW, here is a recipe for mint julep for those who wonder what’s in a mint julep.

Today I can’t even remember for certain whether that coat was Ted Baker or Ralph Lauren. Ah, my affections are so fickle. Still, I have all of the store-exclusive Alien Armies cards and you don’t, so who is best? Yes thats right, it is me.

Today’s shopping:

• Dunlop Green Flash trainers (Navy)
• Lego Indiana Jones 2 (Wii)
• Alien Armies cards (got my Rose exclusive card, and the packs also included a Foil 9th Doctor, amongst others. Nice!)
• Radio Times (Doctor Who Christmas special preview)
• Indiana Jones “with Horse” and “Temple Trap” deluxe action figures
• Doctor Who SV7 and D84 figures (one for customs and one for army building)

Nice day, all round. This evening will mostly involve pasta and meatballs, Terminator 2 – Judgement Day on DVD, and hopefully lots of chatting to Michelle online. An all-round good Saturday, I think.

Regards,

Marwood.

25 November 2009

Ulang Tahun AM yang ke III. Hari itu juga, tepat sembilan bulan, dua minggu, sejak http://bacaan-ally.blogspot.com, blog hijau itu saya biarkan beku. Tak ada lagi postingan setelah ulasan singkat buku Darren Shan 11. Jika blog buku itu diibaratkan sebuah rumah, setiap sudutnya telah dipenuhi debu tebal. Sarang laba-laba dapat ditemi di mana-mana. Tidak ketinggalan bau yang tidak menyenangkan. Yang lebih mengerikan lagi tidak ada tanda-tanda kehidupan di dalamnya. Miris rasanya setiap kali berkunjung ke blog itu. Apalagi begitu melihat komentar “tidak pernah diupdate lagi” . Tsk

Tanya Kenapa?*

Sibuk dengan kerjaan  tentu saja tidak bisa dijadikan alibi. Saya masih punya waktu senggang. Bahkan sabtu minggu sama sekali tidak ada kegiatan kantor. Toh blog buku dengan header kucing di atas tumpukan buku itu saya mulai saat masih berkecimpung di dunia yang membutuhkan perhatian dan energi yang jauh lebih besar dibanding dengan pekerjaan yang sekarang. Saat itu saya masih punya banyak waktu menulis. Bahkan untuk sekedar nulis hal-hal tidak penting yang terlintas dipikiran pun masih bisa saya lakukan. Namun sekarang untuk melakukan kedua hal tersebut bukan hal yang gampang. Semua tulisan akhirnya berakhir jadi draft dan tersimpan rapi di salah satu folder. Menyedihkan.

#Pengakuan

Baiklah. Alasan di balik semua masa vakum yang dialami si hijau, lebih karena saya menemukan banyak mainan baru. Sebenarnya tidak benar-benar baru, karena saya telah mengenal facebook akhir 2007, plurk dan twitter pertengahan tahun 2008. Sedangkan yang terakhir, Jaiku, Meme, Tumblr memang baru saya temui di tahun 2009. Saya akui ada sesuatu yang membuat saya sedikit kencanduan. Terlebih lagi dengan kemudahan mengakses dari ponsel, kapan saja, di mana saja. Beberapa tahun silam beberapa jaring sosial sudah ada, namun semuanya tak mampu mengalihkan perhatian. Review demi review muncul di blog hijau. Namun sekarang kondisinya berbeda

Facebook

Kalau orang-orang cenderung tertarik dengan kemudahan untuk mengupdate status ataupun berhubungan dengan ribuan orang, lain halnya dengan saya. Facebook tidak lain tidak bukan adalah kumpulan beragam game yang seru. Tidak banyak jejaring sosial seperti ini, yang perkembangannya sangat pesat dan seakan tidak pernah berhenti. Hampir semua game aplikasi yang ada telah saya coba dan itu jelas sangat menyita waktu. Waktu senggang yang seharusnya dapat saya gunakan untuk menulis malah habis untuk mengurusi puluhan aplikasi itu.

Mikro blogging

Layanan ini sendiri memberikan banyak kemudahan. Dari  menuliskan sesuatu yang saya pikir dan rasakan, baik itu hal yang penting (menurut saya) sampai hal-hal yang menurut beberapa orang mungkin hanya sekadar sampah. Tapi karena itulah Plurk, Twitter, Meme ataupun Jaiku  diciptakan. Walau terbatas hanya dengan 140 karakter, tidak menjadi masalah. Malah jadi keistimewaan tersendiri. Belum lagi respon yang saya dapatkan jauh lebih cepat dibandingkan dengan postingan di blog. Membahas masalah komentar di Blog, saya tidak mengejar itu. Karena dari awal ketika memutuskan untu menulis review buku, semuanya, lebih untuk diri saya sendiri. Selain memudahkan saya untuk mengingat isi buku dan tidak perlu membaca ulang, saya juga ingin berbagi ke orang – orang di luar sana, betapa serunya buku yang saya baca ini. Sayang, semangat itu perlahan redup.

Blog Hanya Trend Sesaat

Kalau dibiarkan terus menerus, akankah kata-kata pakar telematika itu akan jadi kenyataan? Saya masih ingat betul , saat empat kata itu ramai dibicarakan orang. Saya adalah salah satu orang yang dengan lantang berkata TIDAK!!! Tapi kalau melihat kenyataanya sekarang, nampaknya saya adalah salah satu orang yang akan membuat kalimat itu menjadi kenyataan.

Tidak Semua Blog Beku

Namun jika melihat keluar, rasanya itu hanya terjadi pada saya dan segelintir blogger. Karena masih banyak yang  sampai sekarang masih bayak yang ngeblog. Mereka tidak berhenti menulis. Seakan- akan jejaring sosial dan maraknya mikro blogging tidak berarti apa-apa bagi mereka. Iri rasanya. Entah kapan blog hijau itu kembali bernafas. Karena sungguh, jari jemari saya gatal untuk mulai lagi. Menulis apa yang baru saja saya baca dari sebuah buku.

(Originally published May 22, 2006)

As the year rolls along, I am doing my best to avoid the standard petty squabbles that flare up either in “real life” or on the internet. There are plenty of things to be outraged by at any given moment, but is outrage a solution unto itself? Or is what I will call “right action” the better option?

I have not tucked myself away into a “bubble” per se, but for example I have structured my web feeds in Bloglines in such a way that mere “squabbles” stay off of my radar screen until they escalate into something more substantial, and presumably worth the calories to fuss over. Or someone else will have fussed over it in such a way as to define the issue and what sort of “right action” might remedy the situation. I am noticing my overall health improving as I am not worrying over what usually amounts to petty bullshit.

This morning I was alerted to the story of a student at the New School who decided to abandon her prepared remarks for this year’s undergraduate keynote address, and instead go “off script” to speak to Senator John McCain, who was present to deliver the commencement speech – which is to say, the speech that he is presently touring on.

More about this story (from the speaker) may be read at The Huffington Post.

Not having been there for this event, and relying on first and second-hand accounts after the fact, I can say from my own experience that it is a tough and gutsy decision to go off the reservation before the entire school and ask the tough questions.

I attended two different high schools, due to my father’s job moving to another suburb mid-way through my high school term. I had to start over at a new school and try to work my way into and around a pre-established social heirarchy that dated back well before my appearance on the scene. I managed to adjust, although I don’t particularly feel any connection to John Hersey High School any more than the school as a whole felt any connection to me. Starting over did have some advantages, and certainly gave me the opportunity to shuck some excess baggage and move on.

As a result of this displacement, I missed out on the requirement to read Hiroshima by John Hersey. Equally so, the rest of the school was spared having to read The Good Earth by Pearl S Buck. Parenthetically, I’m not a fan of “required reading”, especially in High School, when you have a generally contrarian audience that will go to great lengths to reject the material, regardless of how beneficial. I just felt like I dodged a bullet, especially when I heard the horror stories from my new classmates about how much they hated the book.

Sadly, I never took a picture of this, but for whatever weird reason, JHHS featured a rusty metal statue of a naked man (anatomically correct – great idea!) stepping out of a monolith with one arm extended. One teacher told me the statue was supposed to represent “the search for knowledge” or something. Rumor had it that the money was supposed to be spent on a swimming pool. Having come from a school that had a pool, I was quite put out by this rumor. How was a frequently vandalized statue a better investment than a pool? (The statue had since been moved from the front of the school to a locked courtyard by the time I attended school there.)

One day, the school brass announced that John Hersey himself would be coming to give a speech and take questions from the students. What what what? I wasn’t used to the idea of schools being named after people who are still alive, not that there was no precedent for it. I just never attended any schools that were named after the living up to that point.

I wrote out a question, and my favorite art teacher saw me clutching the scrap of paper I wrote it on and advised me that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I’d ever get to ask it. He motioned to the first three rows and I saw that one of my least favorite teachers had stacked the deck with “honor students” who showed up wearing suits or dresses. I held on to the question anyway and hoped for a break.

John Hersey gave a speech, the content of which I very dimly recall any utterance thereof. When it came time for the Q and A session, the students kept asking about what he thought about the Rambo movies, or if he approved of Ronald Reagan’s policies. That’s pretty much how it went, person by person. Rambo. Reagan. Rambo. Reagan. Which sums up what that teacher obsessed about instead of say, the subject he was ostensibly hired to teach. (It was a cheap way to stall a quiz or test: Just toss off a headline story about Ronald Reagan that would get him going on a tirade.)

Someone asked Hersey if he was writing anything else. The man was visibly relieved. Yes, he was writing about Galapagos turtles and something else. Something something manuscript something. Back to the Q&A, and more Reagan and Rambo. Hersey’s frustration was palpable.

Finally, he looked past the first three rows and asked, “does anyone else have a question for me?”

I leapt to my feet and strode confidently yet nervously towards the microphone. The teachers who knew me gave me concerned looks as they had no idea what I scrawled on my scrap of paper. They just knew on some level that my urgency to get to the microphone could not have been a good thing.

The prior questions were multi-part, like, “what do you think about Rambo, Del Monte’s operations in Central America, and what do you think Reagan should do about all that?”

I looked around the packed gymnasium and turned to face the podium. “I regret that I only have one question for you, Mr. Hersey,” I said. Laughter from the audience. “What do you think about that statue in the courtyard, and don’t you think the money could have been better spent?”

The gym erupted with laughter and cheering. The administration was horrified. John Hersey himself took a step back and cracked a wry smile. He regained his composure (I was waiting for the hook), and said simply, “well, I didn’t pose for it.”

My art teacher leaned over as I re-took my seat and admonished, “that’s just a rumor, and he didn’t have anything to do with that statue anyway.”

A few months later, I was standing at a bus stop waiting to go to my afterschool job. A guy pulled up at the corner in a beater car and looked like he was going to turn onto the cross street, then paused and rolled down his window. “You’re Ethan Johnson, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need a ride? I will take you anywhere you want to go.”

I got in and told him where my job was. We rode along in silence, and this guy looked like he was about to throw up. Finally, as if it took every ounce of will to say this, he looked straight ahead and said, “I’ll never forget what you said to John Hersey. I hate that fucking statue!”

Glad I could speak truth to power, I figured.

Years later I was bored out of my mind and I bought a copy of Hiroshima. I was incredibly moved by the book. The humanity, the horror, the unspeakable tragedy was so neatly summarized in what seemed like an unthinkably small number of pages. As I finished the book, I reflected on my “disrespect” for John Hersey and thought, this should be required reading. This is an important book. This is a story that should not be forgotten. John Hersey is a great writer and a great man.

I decided to write John Hersey a letter and advise him of my “conversion”. This is no lie: The day I resolved to write the letter, the news radio said that John Hersey had died.

Today I am in lust with a Ted Baker Jacket which I saw in town. £240. I was after something a bit longer but its just so… Damn, it almost gets me horny. I don’t see how I can resist.

Anyway.

I’m sat here watching Survival, which is as bloody brilliant as always, and I find myself wondering what the neighbours make of me. They moved in to the flat below me back in the Summer while my four-episode-minimum-per-day marathon was in full swing, and consequently they must have heard the Doctor Who theme tune at least eight times a day, every day, for about four months straight. For the love of Dawkins, they think I’m a complete lunatic, don’t they?!

Anyway.

I successfully scraped my way through Birthright yesterday, and have made a start on a re-read of Iceberg. I actually began my “all the New Adventures in order, from the start” marathon about nine years ago, but in all that time I have somehow only managed to get to book 18. Still, I’ve read dozens upon dozens of EDAs, PDAs, MAs, Telos Novellas and New Series novels in that time too, not to mention the dozens of “real” novels that I read every year, and the near-endless amount of time I devote to tv, cinema, comics, toys and the internet. So maybe I’m not doing too badly.

Bought my chocolate advent calendar today! In the (bewildering) absence of a Doctor Who one this year, I went with Clone Wars. It now sits next to my Lego Pirates advent calendar in eager anticipation of Tuesday. Roll on the Christmas spirit, hurrah!

Regards,

Marwood.

Har fuskputsat mina fönster och hängt upp mina älsklingsgardiner: julgardinerna. Synd att de inte kan hänga uppe alltför länge. Men som traditionen är i min familj lär de ju få hänga där till påsk. Haha… Håkan har kurat upp sig i soffan till NCIS så här är det inte mycket drag. Själv kurerar jag mig från sviterna av vaccin + mindre anfall av förkylning. Det krävs det vin för, så det har jag druckit.

Josef var här i helgen, det var så mysigt att få rå om honom lite. Vi ses ju rätt sällan, men det är det som är det fina med vänner. Att man inte alltid behöver ses, men att de finns där ändå. Vilket inte ska förväxlas med att man tar dem för givna. Exempel på detta är t.ex. Josef… eller Rebecca, eller Alicia (brev skall författas -jag samlar mig, det finns så mycket jag skulle vilja berätta för dig) och andra ljusglimtar som man minns men inte träffar, men som t.ex. skickar små överraskningar så man skuttar i hallen.

Nåväl, nu är det fredag. Jag har ätit tre smörgåsar idag. Inte bra. Ska intaga föda snarast. Tjipp!

Friday. The Cat is away, The new bookkeeper comes in, I get to get a haircut after work, and then I pack a bag and go to The Boy’s house to spend the night. I’m going out with him early tomorrow so…slumber party tonight!

I just took my last Cipro and will finish the Keflex later today. I can’t wait because I hate feeling like I’m going to yarf. This morning, I am REALLY fighting it. And… I just lost THAT battle. Damn it. Yarf City. At least the waves are passing.

Last night The Girl and her father had SEB over after their day. I think it was too soon and they should have waited till he wasn’t living under MY roof, but no one asks me what the fuck I think so I don’t give a shit what the outcome is. I understand her wanting Jack to meet SEB. She still believes he can be normal. It is unfortunate that when dealing with Jack, AS IN ASS, everyone has to lie. This is why I think they should have waited. When he wants to push to give SEB a ride home to another part of the city they lied that he lives in, it is going to get sticky. Make no mistake about it, he is going to want to know SEB and be intimately involved in his life since he is dating his 18-year-old daughter.

He is not done sniffing SEB out yet.

I hope by the time he figures out what is going on, I have moved. Things with SEB and me fell apart weeks ago and it has driven a huge wedge between my family and me. He is fine with that, my daughter is fine with that, and I’m leaving. Had I known this is how all of this was going to play out, I’d never have moved him in or offered to help him.

I’ve isolated myself. My wall is going up and I’m getting hard again. Until she decides she and I are important, I’m done trying to work on things. She has made her choice and I can only accept it. I have decided the best thing for me to do is go on with the other areas of my life. It doesn’t all stop and revolve around The Girl. I have to matter too. If I have learned ANYTHING the last year, it has been how unkind I have been to myself the last decade.

That stops. I’m not trying to be mean to other people, but people have gotten used to how I have let myself be a doormat. It just stops. My life, my wants, my desires, my moments come first.

Funderar på att sluta var sjuk och lortig. Ibland tror jag att själva sjukdomskänslan förstärks av att man sitter inne och kurar i samma gamla mysbrallor och inte orkar ta sig för med att utföra några större utsvävningar på hygienområdet mer än tandborstning, ansiktstvätt etc. BH har man glömt hur det är att ta på sig, soffan börjar mer och mer likna platsen du bor på eftersom allt du vill ha måste ligga inom en armlängds avstånd. Vi ska inte ens tala om att gå utanför dörren…

Om man tog en promenad nu och sen ett bad skulle man säkert känna sig frisk.

Men det är rätt gött att vara sjuk faktiskt

One of my regular customers is an older man who buys lottery tickets on an irregular schedule. One day, he posed the semi-rhetorical question, “what would you do if you won the lottery?”

Since I don’t play the lottery, the question is very rhetorical for me.

But I hearkened back to my wild youth, and the answer the twenty-something me would have given is unrecognizable from the one that present-day me gave.

In my wild twenties, I took the time to write out a list of how I would spend the big jackpot if I won it all, alone. The recurring theme was “buy, buy, buy.” I’d buy an Olympic Cedar home. I’d buy a Corvette. I’d travel around the world. I’d have my own music studio. Essentially, I would want for nothing.

I just finished reading The Billionare’s Vinegar by Ben Wallace, a book I heartily recommend. The book did not shape my present view of lottery winnings, or similar windfalls, but it certainly helped define the edges.

Without spoiling the plot, I can say that the story is littered with very rich people that spend their money in very questionable ways. As I read the story, I kept asking internally, “whom did these expenses help?” It can be argued that somebody benefited from millionaires tossing money around, as it could be argued that had the younger me won the lottery and gone bonkers spending all of it, a real estate agent, airline, music equipment maker, car dealer, and so on would have shared in the windfall. But the tale of massive “luxury” spending only made me consider all of the ways that the money could have been spent, and the benefits that it could have bestowed.

The present-day incarnation of myself has a saying: “I, who needs least, want; I, who want for nothing, need.”

As I survey my dwindling inventory of possessions, I ask, what are these things for? That which has a purpose remains, that which does not, is cast out.

Perhaps it is some manner of mental illness that leads me to think that I have not pared enough away. The computer could be merged with the TV set, the computer monitor and desk sold off. I could cut out TV and internet altogether, but for now I’m clinging to these if for no other reason that living alone with little in the way of entertainment or distraction probably isn’t best for me. Reviewing my monthly fixed expenses, TV/Internet is the only item that isn’t associated with merely living in an apartment or driving a car. I’ll afford myself that splurge for the time being.

Fixed expenses aside, there isn’t much left to blow on frivolous items. I remarked to a co-worker yesterday that even grabbing dinner from a fast-food joint hurts – financially. That $6 could have been spent on groceries and stretched longer than a single meal.

Arguably, I’m not exactly living what one might term “my best life”, if viewed purely through a financial lens. I am scraping by. I am well aware of the risks, and am thankful (on this day of thanks-giving) that while I can see the bottom, I’m not even close to touching it.

I have a job. I have an apartment. I own a car (almost). I don’t miss meals because I can’t afford to eat. I can feed and care for my dog. I can buy new clothes, sparingly. I can enjoy beer and wine for their own sake, not compelled by addiction or excess.

For these comforts, I am thankful.

Some days, I daydream about putting in the necessary effort to land a better job, that is, a job that pays more and provides health insurance. I catch myself thinking about the buying power this upgrade would provide, and even think back to when it was no big deal to spend $100 on a single piece of cookware. But now, I temper these flights of fancy with the question, “what are these things for?” What is the money for? Who will benefit, and how?

I am not glorifying poverty. If anything, despite my own “poverty” I am rather comfortable compared to many. I might be exiling myself to “poverty” out of a sense of inertia, or fear of the unknown, or even contentment.

What I told the man who asked me how I would spend lottery winnings, or a similar windfall is this:

I would invest in people.

I don’t need my name on buildings. I don’t need expensive homes or cars. I don’t need to travel the world. I don’t need to buy, buy, buy.

It’s not about me.

It’s about the future I wish to live to see.

I can’t believe I haven’t touched this blog in six months. What a twat.

Life is…not what I’d like it to be. I’m working on it.

The Waters of Mars was… crap, sorry. Really badly misjudged, bizarrely paced, and that robot was an absolute embarrassment.

Birthright is… the first DW book I’ve read since April, and one that very nearly killed my interest in reading dead last year. I’m struggling through it today so that I can move on to other things. The prose is ghastly.

Rush are… AWESOME!

Wuthering Heights is… just wonderful. Thanks Michelle (and Kate Bush) for inspiring me to read it.

Facebook is… taking over my life. And I don’t even have any friends. I just play games on it all day. I’ve opened three separate facebook accounts just to help myself out in Mafia Wars. What a fucking embarrassment.

My Marathon was… an absolute delight. Genuinely wonderful stuff with a lot of (mostly very pleasant) suprises along the way. I now appreciate so many of the regulars’ performances so much more. I love Hartnell, Troughton and Pertwee more than I ever did in the past (though I never disliked them to begin with). I have so much admiration for Colin Baker and Nicola Bryant, who just shine so much and do great work with some very poor material. Revisiting Sylvester McCoy’s stories in order for the first time since my childhood was magical and melancholy. Donna Noble broke my heart all over again. Some stories have shot right up my personal appreciation chart, while others have plummeted. The biggest shock overall was how long it took me to warm to Pertwee (pretty much around The Three Doctors), and how much I completely and utterly loved him by the time he left (I genuinely cried my eyes out during the final episode of Planet of the Spiders…again, what a twat I am).

Anyway, onwards…

Regards,

Marwood.

A Thanksgiving meme borrowed from my AWer buddy, Kate. The rules? List ten things you are grateful for, but every even numbered item must be about writing in some way.

1. My Four Fathers (not to be confused with forefathers). Without them, I would not be me. Nor would every work I write have a running rant about fathers. Or a girl who is afraid to love/has abandonment issues/is fiercely independent/needs therapy.
2. iTunes Genius. Seriously. An insta-playlist that creates an insta-mood for whatever scene I’m writing. The rubber on my second set of earbuds has disintegrated from overuse.
3. My Sister. Who else would listen to me whine? Who else would take me on a tour of every TJ Maxx and Marshalls between Redondo Beach and Palm Springs? Who else would tear the lace off my shorts without asking and then tell me to get over it already? Who else would love me and encourage me and threaten me when I need it? My friends, that’s who. But not one of them could make me laugh like my sister does. – Even though she’s older and stole my “baby of the family” thunder, or as I tell her, she “stole my sunshine.” And then I rub in that I have blue eyes and she has brown and she fumes with jealousy. Deal with it, Sis! – Who else has that kind of shared history with me? And who else would have four kids just cuz I love being an Auntie? (at least that’s what I tell her).
4. Querytracker.net. The insanity tamed by tables and charts.
5. My Million Nieces and Nephews. They keep me grounded in things like Spongebob and iCarly, and their dreams inspire me to have ones of my own. Damn right I can sing the entire Spongebob theme song.
6. AW Forums. My fellow writers keep me sane and the Bewares and Background Checks for Agents keep me smart. SNI stands for Shiny New Idea, and hell, no, I’m not paying an agent to read my manuscript! < — See what I learned.
7. My New Asthma Doctor. Funny how we take breathing for granted. Huzzah! My lungs work again! *tackles San Francisco hills* I can so take you now!
8. Dr. Irena Praitis. My grad advisor in my Master’s program. Second week of school in her poetry workshop, shy little me proceeded to announce how much I hated poetry. Two weeks later I wrote my first sonnet. A year later I had a scholarship to the West Chester Poetry Conference and received honors for a Master’s Project that included a sonnet redoublee. Don’t know what a sonnet redoublee is? Look it up, and be very afraid.
9. Starbucks. You bring me together with my friends. You are the starting point for outings with my sister. You are the maker of the bottled Frappacino that my mother buys for our camping outings, while shaking her head at our ridiculous need for you. You are the place I write and procrastinate and write. You are the keeper of the Caramel Brulee latte. I frickin’ HEART you.
10. Beta readers. Where, oh where, would I be without your taunts, LOLs, rusted-bloody-box-cutter criticisms, and encouragement? Probably huddling in a corner rocking. Or sticking my fingers in my ears and squeezing my eyes shut to avoid editing.

Tag! You’re it! Oh, wait! Kate tagged everyone already. Damn you, Kate!

Trots mitt sjuka – och ny-vaccinerade – tillstånd har jag lyckats släpa fram alla prydnader, gardinerna och ljusstakarna. Jag ska låta julen sakta smyga fram här innan söndag. Efter det slog jag in paket, dels julklappar jag ordnat till syrran och dels paket till en paketkalender jag ska tillägna Håkan. Det kommer han nog gilla.

Allra roligast hade katterna som “fick” tumla runt i och bland papper, dukar,tomtar och presentsnören. Sedan drog jag till Ica för att möta Suss för att slutföra ett mission som vi hade på gång. Efter detta är jag helt slut och belönar mig med en kopp kaffe med irish cream smak. Mums!

finally got one day can come online to clear email bcoz next paper is 5 days away..haha..these few day been studying rlly hard…and trust me…i nvr study so hard in my life before and still i honestly going to say i think i am not gonna do rlly well…paper’s rlly hard but my fren seem to find it ok…dunno…just realise smth..before i enter NUS, i aim to achieve a CAP of 5.0..thn when i enter i lower to 4.5…thn after my mid sem i lower further to 4.0…now after a few papers i just wanna graduate with a honour..haha…anyway been quite sick recently…keep falling sick..i dun even know why..i slp sufficiently, ret sufficiently…dunno why still sick…haha…okie…nvm…gonna chiong for last paper nxt tue…thn it’sssssss party time…gonna go watch couple’s retreat…though dunno who to watch with yet..haha…okie..that’s all..jiayou to all those still having exam…haha…

There are thoughts flying in and out and music playing in the background. There are people talking, but no understanding. There is superficial kindness and broken promises. There are letdowns and re-evaluations. Four months later and a change must be made.

When I was in New York and going to counseling once a week, I was, in a way, forcing myself to think about my issues, my thoughts, my problems, my conversations, my fears, my sadness, my happiness, and my future. During those weekly sessions, and sometimes between them, I found myself becoming more… me. I became more confident. I was able to state how I felt and pinpoint what was creating that feeling. I became more aware of myself.

But now that I’m back in Texas, working full-time and living on a very tight budget, I find myself slipping. I rush through my day. My mind is constantly racing with my list of things that MUST BE DONE IMMEDIATELY! or my mind is blank because I am exhausted and cannot fathom thinking for one more minute. And when I become stuck in that trap, I feel a bit distanced from myself. I feel like I’m not connecting, with myself or with anyone. And then I begin to feel fake, which has to be one of my least favorite feelings in the world.

When I noticed this feeling beginning to creep it’s way back into my life, I stopped myself. I observed. I noticed that I was graduating. I was moving across the country. I was back in the house I grew up in. I was searching for a job. I was offered a job. I was buying my my first car. I was moving to a new town. I was moving into a new apartment. I was beginning a new job. I was adjusting to my new life.

So yeah, I let it slide.

But it’s November, not August, and the feeling is still there. I’ve had a bit of time to settle into my new routine, my new job, car, and apartment. I’m feeling more secure with the direction I’m heading. Which means that now is a good time to make the change. To refocus.

I can’t afford to go back into counseling right now, so I’m investing in some personal reflection. I’m ordering daily quiet times for myself. I am avoiding certain situations and I am embracing others. I am challenging myself by making new friends, but not pushing myself to the point where I feel, well, pushy. I am talking to friends about their lives, their thoughts, their ambitions, and their mistakes. I am dreaming up new ideas. I am listening to my thoughts. I am focusing on me.

I hope that these few changes will lead me back to the path I was following before. The path of awareness, the path of peace.

- Zibu Symbol for Choosing Life (right hand)
This symbol comes with enormous power to eradicate joy-less living. It brings with it a real knowing of the importance of embracing life fully — the initial “C” is rooted at the bottom of the design to denote my Mother, for whom I live for.

(Done at Dragon Tattoo Studio, Wakefield, West Yorkshire.)

http://www.andycarrington.co.uk/tattootheories

I’ve recently been contacted by Ashley Gibson, a Weight Watchers leader and young woman living with Crohn’s Disease, regarding my own experiences in hospital. You can view my response here:

http://maintenancewithashley.blogspot.com/2009/11/crohns-week-those-ive-met-along-way.html

I’m not looking forward to the holidays. At all. I’m not dreading them. I’m just not looking forward to them. Normally I would’ve decorated for Thanksgiving weeks ago and be planning my Christmas decorations. Normally I would’ve  happily browsed through Christmas displays and started planning baking & presents. This year? There are two scarecrows out front that I use for both Halloween and Thanksgiving. The wind blew them over a couple of weeks ago and they’re mostly covered by leaves. I haven’t even bothered to pick them up. I brought my fall decorations inside from the garage and left them sitting for a few days. Finally I just hauled them back out. I. Just. Didn’t. Care.  I don’t even want to bother with Thanksgiving.  There’s no room for the foods & traditions I’ve enjoyed my entire life.  And while I love Jon’s family and enjoy spending time with them, I don’t enjoy being a spectator. I miss planning and cooking and prepping. Maybe I’ll feel better after we get through Thanksgiving and it’s time to pull out Christmas decorations. LilBit loved the Christmas tree and nativity scene last year. TheKid enjoys helping put out my Santa collection every year and remembering where each came from although I’ll have to listen to ridicule from the rest of the family for the whole month. LilBit has already asked me to make gingerbread cookies and was excited by the idea of making a gingerbread house (especially after I told him we’d decorate it with CANDY and then EAT it….blew his mind). So I guess there’s hope for this season.   Just have to get through Thanksgiving.

Have you heard this song? I absolutely cannot stop listening.

It’s hard to believe Thanksgiving is only two days away. For the very first time in my life, the holiday completely snuck up on me. It seems like just yesterday I was watching Fourth of July fireworks from the boat, bitching about how summer felt more like early spring and smooching my husband goodbye before a bunch of clowns took him hostage for three months.

There are a lot of things I’m thankful for in my life — family, friends, Brian, my job and my health, to name just a few. One thing I am also grateful for, that I never really mention that much, is the blogging community. In the roughly two years I’ve been blogging, I’ve come to know some wonderful people. Some of you I know through comments and e-mails back and forth. Some of you I knew before we both started blogging. Some of you I don’t really know at all, but your words have made a lasting impression on me.

I would like to give thanks for the Chicagoland bloggers who write about the place I call home and keep me abreast of what’s happening in the city proper now that I’ve become suburban. Thank you, Hixx (who also blogs here), Jessica and Nic!

I would like to give thanks to Erin, who is not only a Chicagolander (and a great lunch date!), but an inspiration to me to keep running. It’s amazing what all of us can accomplish when we put our minds to it and have the support of others.

I would like to give thanks to those awesome boy bloggers, Oma, shoutabyss, Kevin and The Acorn King.

I would like to give thanks to Hannah and Hilly, whose snark I appreciate, but who also see the light and brightness in the world and in themselves.

I would like to give thanks to La Cochran for always giving me questions to ponder.

I would like to give thanks to Ashley and Kyla, two of the nicest, sweetest, funniest girls around.

I would like to give thanks to Gives Me Hope for giving me hope (and maybe making me cry a teensy weensy bit).

I would like to give thanks to some famous bloggers who make me snort (in the best way possible!) on a regular basis.

I would like to give thanks to Tia for writing one of the first blogs I read regularly. She is hilarious and a great writer to boot, even if we don’t agree on all things RPattz.

I would like to give thanks to Genevieve Clare for pointing out the humor in everyday life, several times a day.

I would like to give thanks to mental_floss for creating super fun quizzes and catering to my nerdiness.

I would like to give thanks to Overheard in the Newsroom for consistently reminding me why I no longer work in a newsroom.

I would like to give thanks to People of Walmart for making me feel better about myself.

I would like to give thanks to my pop culture peeps at The A.V. Club for writing excellent episode reviews of Lost. Can’t wait for February!

I would like to give thanks to The Oatmeal for hating on Twilight, discussing one of my pet (many) peeves — the crappy handshake — and just generally kicking ass and taking names.  

And finally (you may be last, but CERTAINLY not least), I would like to give thanks to all the great foodie bloggers out there. There are too many to list here, but I appreciate the hell out of 101 Cookbooks, Blue Kitchen, The Amateur Gourmet, Happy Herbivore, Orangette, Joy the Baker, Food Loves Writing and smitten kitchen.  

I’ll be heading to Wisconsin tomorrow so, to all of you reading this, I hope you have the best Thanksgiving yet! Or, to those of you not living in the States, the best Thursday of all time.