bleak

i feel like a stranger living in an harrowing and unfamiliar world. i feel like i don't belong here anymore.

any spark of inspiration is just that - a mere spark that sizzles and extinguishes as quickly as it ignited.

at random moments throughout the day i'll perk up at the thought of writing down my daydreams or putting the odd things that go through my mind down in a sketchbook/journal or going out and putting my canon eos 40d to good use...

seconds later the minuscule bit of motivation is gone.

embraces feel cold and empty.

i feel somewhat distanced from my closest friends.

nothing is exciting or inspiring or magical.


music doesn't take me away like it used to. it doesn't quite set the atmosphere or mood to where it could be. it doesn't affect me or my emotions anymore.



how depressing.


here's the thing: i'm not depressed.


i realize these things i just listed should bother me, but i don't really feel.....anything.

just blah. very, very blah.


hopefully this will pass. it's been about a year and a half now that i've felt this way. it hasn't gotten worse. it's just been constant.

a constant, unwavering feeling of apathy, spiritless, disenchanted nothingness.

meh.

i'll figure it out.

the quiet girl

i've always been the quiet girl.

not the painfully shy quiet girl that cringes every time her presence is acknowledged or that fiddles around with her hands and nervously utters, "uhmm...umm...uhh..." when asked a question.

i've just been the quiet girl. the observer. slightly detached from the world, often forgetting that i'm a part of it.

people have always assumed that i'm shy because i wait for people to approach me first. if that makes me shy...then i guess i am. but i don't think i'm shy. the reason i wait for people to come to me is because i don't know how to break the ice. half of the thoughts that run through my mind i think aren't worth saying out loud.

i've realized that i make people somewhat uncomfortable at times. they say silence is "awkward".

silence isn't awkward. it's serene. it's beautiful. if you're with the right person, you can connect and exchange thoughts, emotions and ideas without a single word.

sometimes i miss my former best friend. sometimes.
we could both feel particularly chatty and yammer on for a few hours one day, then the next day spend 6 hours without saying as much as 5 sentences, yet still feeling completely comfortable with each other. we'd give each other a "did you just see/hear that?" glance or a "ready to go?" gesture or "what to do now?" look followed by a shrug.....

it was refreshing not to have to listen to someone talk and talk and talk and talk about anything and everything yet nothing at all at the same time. and it was nice knowing that neither one of us felt like silence had to be filled.


our society doesn't approve of those who happen to not be so verbose. quiet = boring, dumb, odd. some say the quiet are mysterious. being mysterious is pretty cool.


where was i going with this?


ohh yes, now i remember.

slightly unrelated side note: i often wonder if i misrepresent myself or if people are just really bad at their attempts to figure me out.

people often assume that i'm "hiding in my shell" and that i'll eventually come out of said shell. they're surprised to find out that i listen to mindless self indulgence and my chemical romance. i must look like a hardcore Barry Manilow fan or something. iunno.

people assume a lot, though. maybe it isn't just me.


back to the original topic: in that i'm used to being in the background, i often get caught off guard when strangers approach me out in the world and start talking to me. i usually ignore them because i've responded to a number of people who just happened to be talking into their little bluetooth device thingy (hidden behind their hair so it looks like they're talking to their head voices)....but when i finally realize they are talking to me, it takes a second before i can say anything. i just kind of stand there for a split second in a "you can see me?!?!" manner, before chatting away.

hm. bit of a run-on sentence there.

i don't mind talking to strangers. i know there are a number of socially inept individuals that give people a dirty look for a mere "hello". i usually won't start the conversation, but i don't mind carrying one with someone for a few minutes.

(it does surprise me that i look friendly enough to talk to)

it is exhausting, though. the extroverts get a high and energy from talking to people while introverts (even though many enjoy it) just get worn out after a while.

i want to go on one of those silent retreats where you meditate for 3 days in complete silence. no one speaks at all except for the first and last dinners. many people hear that and they immediately begin to panic a bit. "No talking for three days?!?!"

ahh, but it sounds amazing to me. like a dream. i would love it. i need it.

i don't get any alone time anymore and i miss it terribly.

morning of awesomeness.

i love rainy days. when i say, "it's a beautiful day," that means it's grey, gloomy, pouring down rain. bonus if it's so foggy the visibility is 10 feet.

i woke up to an absolutely gorgeous day. no fog, but still nice and cold and rainy. no sunshine to poke at me insistently, using its super-ray power to push the right button via the optic nerve to bring me back to consciousness.

i love waking up to the sound of rain.

a few minutes later my friend called asking if i wanted to go to the Arboretum.

"it's a beautiful day!" he said.
"ohh...i know," i sighed. "but i can't today. i have last minute wedding stuff to take care of."

i'm getting married in a week.


yikes.

and about 30 minutes after i hung up the phone, the rain slowly transformed itself into little icy particles. instead of plummeting down to the earth with loud "plit plat pitter" along with a soft "shhhhhhh" in the background, everything became completely silent.

one of my favorite things in the world is absolute silence. snow is up there on the list as well...and the two are rarely ever without the other.


so i'm sitting here....quite content. the wedding stress (although i am mentioning it) is tucked away somewhere in the back of my mind.

right now...this moment...everything is wonderful.

i have my mug of earl gray tea. i have my snow. silence. a sense of peace. it's refreshing.


excuse me while i go soak it all in...

hypnopompic hallucinations

more often than not i tend to have these odd little hallucinations as i wake up, whether it be in the middle of the night or early in the morning. i see things that are there, but not the way they actually are.


did that make sense?


let me explain.


the other night i was asleepin' on the couch. my cat, Marvin, was at my feet. i woke up because he decided he needed to give himself a bath at 3 o'clock in the morning. (i'm a light sleeper). so i sat up to look at him, and an orange and white cat jumped up onto the couch with us and started rubbing up against Marvin. i watched as Marvin started licking the orange and white cat....and it took me about 10 seconds to go, "wait a minute.....where the hell did this cat come from?!?!?!"

i closed my eyes, blinked a few times, and when i looked again....there was no orange and white cat, but my fiancee's calico tabby kitten. odd. why did i see a completely different cat?



years ago i had gotten a series of love letters from a boy i knew in high school. one particular morning i woke up and practically jumped out bed in a slight fit of panic when i saw Love Letter Boy lying down next to me. slowly, his image melted...faded...leaving my boyfriend there.

this happens so often. this phenomenon is called "hypnopompic hallucinations".

interesting stuff.

has this ever happened to you?

photogenic?

some days i feel like i look better in real life than i do in photographs. and i'm ok with that....as long as no one takes any pictures of me.

other days i feel like i look better through the lens. that makes me sad.

spooderz!

when i lived with my parents i had a little spider that i let live in my closet. he kept the bug population down. kept to himself. was very clean. easily the best roommate I ever had.

uh...hi.

i seem to have transformed from a nocturnal being to a day person to crepuscular.
for the past 4 or 5 months (has it been that long!?) i have experienced what it is like to not have insomnia.

i must say, i did enjoy it quite a lot. after being a night owl my entire life, it was like this funny new and different adventure to sleep and night and to actually be active during the day. kind of like how it's this massive breakthrough for a kid to discover what 3am is like at a sleepover. the last time i ever had to be up during the day was in high school. i hated it back then, naturally. but this time the whole daytime thing was fun. interesting.

for the past week i have not been sleeping well at all. aside from the fact that by the time i finally do fall asleep at the ungodly hours of the morning, just to wake up every half hour, i find that i can no longer indulge in the wonderful act of taking naps.

there was a time when i could lie down absolutely anywhere...in a chair, on the floor, leaning against a wall, on concrete...and within minutes be out cold.

i don't know if it's something people in their mid-twenties are unable to do or if i just run myself to the point of being overtired. don't know. odd thing is that i pretty much keep quiet and mellow throughout the day as well as night, but i get these sudden bursts of energy as the sun rises, and again as it goes off to wake up Japan.



So. i'm not sure how long this will last. like i said, i really did like doing the whole 8 hours of sleep thing. even if i don't get nearly as much done as when i don't sleep. and even though i miss a lot of phone calls while i'm off dreaming of ridiculous things.

it has been a long while since i've had a wonderful dream.
not fair.


if you're feeling particularly mellow and love trent reznor's voice and love beautiful music....have a listen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahBgfQeLTuU
ignore the photo clip "video". just lean back, close your eyes, and let the music paint pictures in your mind. for best results, listen with headphones. the best part comes at 2:32 so be sure to listen to the entire thing.


enjoy.

if you have any songs that paint pretty pictures in your head or that give you awesome dreams when you listen to them as you fall asleep, please share.

more to come...

'roid rage! raaa!

Between taking care of my grandfather, planning my wedding, being suddenly overcome with the urge to take part in numerous home improvement projects and dealing with my annoying parental units, I haven't had much time for a creative outlet. Whether it be in writing or a drawing or anything.

I say I'm taking care of my grandfather but it's not like he's ill or frail or anything. It's like he's on vacation. He's my guest. I'm his hostess. I take care of him in providing a bed, clean sheets, towels, and delishus meals throughout the day.
That's right. Delishus! Ooh, and free shampoo and soap.

My mother doesn't realize that I like having him here. I tell her so, but she doesn't listen. She keeps telling me that he needs to go to an old folks home and that I'll get sick and become incredibly mentally ill and that I'll develop some kind of crippling physical ailment if I continue to keep him here with me.
I understand what she means. There's only so much you can do. If things were different, yeah...I probably would have other arrangements set.

But while he's still sharp and energetic, he's mine.

She doesn't quite understand coming from a large family.

I am an only child. My father is an only child. We are all my grandfather has. And he's the only grandfather I've ever known. Why on earth would we send him off when he's in good shape?!?

Normally I'm pretty laid back but lately people have been pissing me off.
And by people I mean my mom. Occasionally my dad. People in general...but wait, that's normal.
Same goes with my mother-in-law. I don't think she understands certain things. Either that or she just doesn't think before she speaks, and on top of that doesn't listen to herself as she keeps repeating the same phrases over and over and over again.

Though it's a nice break from listening about her Boston Terrier.

She started giving me this odd, borderline manic lecture on how when it's your time to die, it's your time. Started talking about the lord and such. It really freaks me out when people talk about the lord. Talk about death and cadavers and pine boxes for all I care...but the lord?!

Scary.

I didn't know whether to laugh or to yell at her. Mama-in-law is obsessed with the fact that my mother won't dye her hair. My mom has developed an allergy to hair dye, you see. If she dyes her hair, her entire head, face and neck swells up. Her throat begins to close up. She has trouble breathing. Not a pleasant experience. Sooo, adding that paranoia on top of her already existing irrational paranoia, my mom doesn't want to dye her hair ever again. I'm right there with her. She doesn't want to risk trying any of the natural stuff out there like henna or whatever.
Well...with the wedding coming up, my uber image-conscious mother-in-law to be keeps insisting that my mom dye her hair. I keep explaining over and over again that my mom doesn't want to, and why. That's when my fiance's mom starts about how, "When it's your time to die...it's your time. Whether you're on your way to church or you're sitting on the toilet or you have an allergic reaction to hair dye. If it's your time to join the lord, then it's your time."

I froze, horrified. Major WTF moment. Let me remind you that this woman is not normally like this. Maybe she hasn't been taking her happy pills and was feeling particularly imbalanced that day. Who knows. The only thing I managed to spit out was, "Uh, have you ever heard of PREVENTATIVE ACTION?!?!??

Wheee! <-- (me slipping off the edge of the earth)

Is it mere coincidence that the time I stop updating my blogs, everyone (with 2 or 3 exceptions) I'm stalking following seems to have also vanished.

And for the record: I miss Twisted Ellen's hilarious blog. *Cries* Come baaaaaack!!!


Soooo. I am currently sipping on my free sample of Teechino's herbal coffee.
Yeeeaaaah.
You have to tell yourself "This isn't coffee. It's just a warm, brown beverage," before you brew up a cup of this stuff. Otherwise you're in for a huuuuuge disappointment. It's not bad. Well okay, it kind of is. It smells like dates and mock coffee flavoring (awful!) and tastes like water. Warm water. Warm sugar water if you add come evaporated cane juice in there.
It looks exactly like coffee if you pour it into a mug, black. It could be the perfect coffee impostor if you're ever in a situation that requires such a thing. Like in a spy mission. Or you could use it as "prop coffee" on a movie set. It could certainly serve well as an April Fool's joke.

Or if you're in that in-between state of deciding "do I want coffee or do I want tea?" then maybe this Teechino stuff will do the trick.

I'm glad this was a free sample.



In case any of you are curious, my absence was due to "Operation Kidnap Grandpa".
My parents and I have joint custody of my grandfather. He's been spending the week with me, weekends with the 'rents. We've had enough of his "living alone 300 miles away" business.



More to come later. I'm going to dump this herbal stuff down the drain and make some real coffee. From Brazil. Mmmmm....

Ta-ta.

SIG and Moth Ball Lady

On my latest train-ride adventure, I became fascinated with a complete stranger.

I stepped onto the train expecting to have a row to myself. Standing in the aisle, awkwardly, I surveyed the car and realized that I was either going to have to sit with someone, or wander aimlessly about the cars until I found a less populated area. With the contents of my orange backpack poking me and my dad's old, brown suitcase (that has been around the world and back) tugging at my arm (begging to be dropped) I decided against the search option and sat next to the least hostile person I could find.

I looked to my left and without saying a word, a kind-looking gentleman and I had a silent conversation. I pointed to the seat, fixing my face in a questioning expression. He smiled briefly and gave me a slight nod before returning to The Washington Post.

It took me a few minutes to get myself situated. I noticed the gentleman was surveying me - or perhaps he was just looking. I locked eyes with him again because his mouth had opened slightly. I was under the impression that he wanted to say something. But, no. He said nothing. Turned back to his newspaper articles. I put my bags away and plopped down in what was now my seat. Glanced around, checked out the people around me, and pulled out my copy of The Thirteenth Tale.
It wasn't long until I became completely absorbed in the story, almost forgetting where I was. Every once in a while a glint of light would catch my eye and I'd gaze out the window, enjoying the view of....er...some body of water.
I wish I could be more like my father - he can identify any body of water just by knowing what state he's in and what direction he's traveling. I would need a map. And he just knows.

Every time I looked out the window, the gentleman would look at me. He didn't glance quickly just to see if I was looking at him. He'd look up and just continue for a few moments before looking out the window or going back to whatever it was he was doing.

I'm not quite sure why, but this guy was interesting. Maybe because he didn't make small talk. I hate small talk. Maybe it was because he hadn't said a word at all. Or maybe it was because I had a 6-hour journey ahead of me and I needed something, other than the book, to entertain me for a while.
It was then I decided to play a game. I was going to find out as much as I could about this guy without asking him a single question.

And....here's what I got:
He was wearing a business suit. Ironed shirt, sharp tie, polished shoes. He was in his mid to late 40s. Maybe even in his 50s. He had dark hair that was just starting to evenly sprout little white hairs. He looked good for his age. He was fit - not muscular. Not scrawny. He wore rectangular glasses that didn't have frames.
He carried an attache.
Total business man.

He read all of the sections of The Washington Post (including the comics! how cute is that?) except for the front page, metro, auto, real estate, and sports. He sighed, deeply and loudly, in between each section. I had to keep myself from laughing. He did it every single time.

I couldn't decide if he was deaf or not. He had a blackberry...but both deaf and hearing people use them. Hmm.

He was Italian! Or, at least he could read Italian. From the looks of it he either taught Italian and was grading a students' paper or he had written the paper and was correcting his own work. For a second I thought that maybe he didn't speak English...but then I remembered he had been reading The Post. OK.

Silent Italian Guy kept pulling out all of these papers and booklets from his attache, most of them in Italian. Every now and then he pulled out a map or driving directions. Aha! His stop was in Philadelphia. As soon as he got off the train he was going to rent a car and drive 30 minutes to his destination.

SIG was kind of anxious. He kept checking his watch.

This guy entertained me for a solid 2 hours. After he left I took his seat by the window and hoped no one weird would sit with me. No such luck. A creepy owl-eyed lady that smelled like moth balls practically threw herself in the seat, coming dangerously close to my personal bubble. She sat there huffing and puffing for about 20 minutes. I guess she ran? I don't know. She glared at me through her thick lenses. Internally I rolled my eyes and hoped she'd get off at the next stop. Every time she shifted around I got a whiff of that awful moth ball smell. She wiggled around a lot. Wrinkling my nose I turned slightly away from her and kept myself in my fantasy world for the rest of the trip.

She ended up being there until I got off the train.

Oooh! We passed through The Hell Gate Bridge in New York. Hell's Gate! How cool is that?!

I don't really look good in white....

What's with the "every woman has been planning her wedding ever since she was a little girl" nonsense?

Is that true? It certainly isn't for me. Never in my life had I ever daydreamed about getting married. I'd always imagined myself getting married someday, but I never put much thought into the details. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to get married at my church...even though I'm not terribly religious. I never thought about flowers, the dress, the decor, or anything else.

Which is probably why I'm having a bit of difficulty planning my wedding, which will take place in December.

Planning a wedding is....kind of fun. Stressful. But...fun. Kind of.

Ok. To tell you the truth, I wanted a small wedding. And by small I mean 20 people or less attending, including immediate family. If I had it my way, we'd have a small little ceremony before heading off to this uber-expensive, fancy restaurant in Baltimore I've been dying to go to.

According to my mother-in-law(to be), this was completely unacceptable. My fiancé, to begin with, was right there with me. But the more and more he thought about it (and perhaps the more and more his mom insisted), he decided that he wanted a big wedding.

Sigh.

Isn't it usually the other way around?! It's usually girl wanting something extravagant and the guy wanting the complete opposite.

Here I am all for saving money, keeping things a bit more private and personal, happily refusing to spend hundreds...or thousands...of dollars on a ball gown I will wear only once in my life... and everyone starts acting as if I'm being utterly absurd.

Well excuse me for not being a Bridezilla!

I've managed to keep the guest list to 50 people total. We don't have the money to invite everyone we want (the guest list would have included about 300 people. Why invite mere acquaintances? I don't get it) and I refuse to go into debt for this. And I won't let my future in-laws do such a thing either. My parents aren't contributing much to this because I asked them not to.

My fiancé's parents are still paying off their other son's wedding...which was 2 years ago.

Here's something that kind of made me laugh: My fiancé's mom made a comment about how it's the bride's parents that should pay for the wedding, if not most of it. She started complaining about how much money she had to put into the other son's wedding and how she didn't have to and blah blah blah. So I told her, "Well don't worry about my wedding. I can pay for exactly what I want. I have money saved up for that. I don't have money for what YOU want. This is my wedding."
Yet she insisted on paying for the bulk of it. And continues complaining about the other wedding.

What?!?!

That's her problem, I guess.

Now don't get me wrong. My future in-laws and I get along really well. Better than most people that are brought together by marriage. We're all really close. But ever since this wedding planning junk has started I've been butting heads with mama there 'cause she's the typical "I want things my way" kinda lady.


Have I mentioned that I'm absolutely horrified by the idea of being the center of attention for 6 straight hours? Some people love it. I've heard many girls say, "It's the one day that everyone's eyes will be on me". They love the attention. They crave it.

I, however, do not.

I'm no attention whore. I don't like being in the spotlight. I'm perfectly happy in the shadows. I'm debating as to whether I should pop some Valium before the ceremony...or if I should just skip the pills and go straight for the booze at the reception?

I have time to figure that one out.

undapantz!

I am such a dork. I remembered to pack my laptop and my schoolbooks. I remembered to slip all my vitamins and my bottle of stevia in my bag. Didn’t leave home without my snacky foods. Books, check. Mp3 player, check. Cell phone charger (I always forget that!) Check!! Toothbrush, toothpaste, sunscreen, everything is there! Except for…

Uh. What am I missing.

Oh.

Underwear.



Underwear!!! Of all the things I could’ve forgotten, I forgot to pack my underwear?!? My goodness. And the funny thing is that as I was packing I was texting back and forth with my buddy who was also getting ready for a road trip…and I jokingly said to him, “Don’t forget to pack your undies!”

And I end up leaving them behind. Go me.

So yeah. Greetings from Connecticut! It’s miserable here. Now that my grandmother is gone the place is drenched in sadness. Clinging onto the curtains, seeping from the walls, hanging on to anything and everything you touch or just merely look at. The love and joy that radiated from my Grammy is no longer here. The house feels like….an empty house. No longer like a home, even though my grandfather still lives here. He’s depressed, of course. He lost the love of his life. I think he needs a change of scenery which is why I’m going to kidnap him! MUA-haha!

But man, not even the sunlight flooding in through the windows can beat the gloom.

In 3 weeks my dad and I will be coming back for Easter and we're going to arrange everything and pack everything so that my grampy can live with meee!! My grandfather is awesome. He's so laid back and positive about everything. Has a great sense of humor. He's 91 years old, almost 92 and he looks like he's in his 70s. My dad is 66 and he looks like he's 45. I want THOSE genes! Whatever they have that makes them age reeeaaallly slow....I want it. Up until last year I got carded for alcohol.

Ooh and people would ask me, "So, what high school do you go to?"

I'd tell them, "I'm in my twenties" and they wouldn't believe me. I liked that! I liked being 24 and being mistaken for a seventeen-year-old. But now...at 25....I don't get that anymore. Do I look my age? Or maybe I at least look 21 now. Hmm. Maybe people are just bad at guessing my age and I've looked my age all along.

My mom is the same way. She looks absolutely amazing at 52. Very youthful looking, very beautiful. Which kind of baffles all of us because she's been smoking for over 30 years. *Shrugs*

skool and...stuff. ooh, road trip!

soooooo school has kinda been kicking my butt these past 2 weeks. Midterms and all.
i haven't much time to say anything right now.

my dad and i are going to Connecticut this weekend (road trip! woo!), so i'll be sure to tell you all about that when i get back.

until then, i leave you with this tiny little Röyksopp music video. hope you like! if anything, the flashing lights and shiny things should keep you entertained. i know it kept me mesmerized :) i like shiny things. oooh. so pretty.


ta-ta.

♪♫♪ lalalaaaa snow ♪♫♪

Ah, snow days. Delightful, serene snow days.

Tropical climates are fun and all for a week’s vacation, but it’s a snowy landscape amidst the brilliant blue sky that leaves me shivering with rapture.

...and with cold….

But I like the cold!

Summertime is magical. Fireflies in the trees, the aroma of honeysuckle in the air, and the nocturnal symphony playing from sunset to sunrise together make summer nights...so....beautiful.

I love sitting outside in the dark, just listening to the crickets play strings and the frogs and owls sing their hearts out. Taking in deep breaths of the cool humid air, practically tasting the aroma of flowers on my tongue. Watching cats slink by. They think they're ninjas and that no one can see them! If only nights lasted longer in the summer.... I'm not exactly a sun-worshiper.

I love my winters. (The snowier the better!) There's something so poetic and enchanting about wearing long wool coats and scarves, sitting by the fire, sitting in a coffee shop sipping a chai latte as you watch the snow fall outside...

Parties are more festive (not necessarily holiday-related). Snuggling into a fleece blanket (even better if there's someone else under that blanket with you), admiring glassy icicles, seeing how the snow sparkles under the light, enjoying the absolute silence following a blizzard....*sigh*

Beautiful.

i had to.

me: ☺

vic: that smiley face bothers me to no end tonight

vic: :P

me: how come?

vic: my cryptography program randomly decided to throw it into things for no reason

me: sooooo its, in a sense, haunting you?

vic: yup

me: ☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺
☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺
☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺
☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺
☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

vic: you're a horrible person

me: ☺


I just had to. You understand...

drug dealer's office for candy!

Months ago a friend of mine asked if I would accompany them to their psychiatrist's office. She couldn't miss this appointment--she had canceled the last four. We had plans for later that afternoon and my morning didn't involve anything terribly interesting so I agreed to go along.

"I just don't feel like going by myself," she explained. So I grabbed "The Historian" (which i still haven't finished reading...arg!) and my ingenious portable music device. That should keep me entertained. Who knows how long she was going to be in there.

We got to the doctor's office, she signs in and we take a seat. Waited for about 20 minutes, engaging in mindless chatter. I was completely unaware of the other people in the waiting room until my friend got up and went through the door.

Headphones already in place, I hit play on my Mp3 player, pulled my book out and opened it up to where I left off...but I was barely able to read a paragraph. I was suddenly aware of the presence of others. I could feel eyes all over me. Slowly, I lifted my eyes and glanced around the room. On the opposite end from where I was at, there were two men. One was looking back with a curious expression on his face, the other with a slight smirk. The one to the left was probably in his mid-20s, with blond hair and dark eyes. The other had darker features and was well into his 40s. To my left was a pimply-faced teenager, looking so sweet, awkward and insecure it almost made me feel embarrassed. He kept glancing over nervously, jerking his head every time I shifted in my seat.

I looked back down to my book, but didn't read. Everyone was looking at me as if they were waiting for me to say something. I smiled inwardly as I realized what was going on.

They were all sizing me up.

Probably wondering, "Why is she here?" Asking themselves questions along the lines of "is she crazy?" and "what kinda pills does she like to pop?"

Or maybe they were just wondering what my book was about.

Maybe my hair was looking particularly Helena Bonham Carter.

The middle-aged man started talking to the blond-haired guy. He was going on about how he had been seeing this 'shrink' for a few months. His daughter had her own doctor somewhere else. She takes antidepressants and adderall, and she steals whatever medication she can get her hands on that are prescribed to him. He didn't mention what it is that he takes. Hmm. I stifled a laugh and looked up. I almost asked the guy if his daughter went to River Hill. But I stayed quiet. (Half the kids I went to high school with were medicated one way or another.) Blonde-guy kept glancing over at me every 20 seconds. He was still wondering about me. Maybe expecting me to open up to them, just as they had to each other? I can't remember blonde-guy's story. Something about panic attacks.

Odd. The way they were talking...it almost seemed as if they were....bragging? Their tone of voice held something more than just casual conversation.

"I've been on 20mg. of Cymbalta for the longest time."

"Oh, yeah? Well I'm on 60mg. of Cymbalta and I've been taking Zyprexa, too."

"Oh. Well, my daughter's on all of these medications...." blah blah blah...

I listened, very much amused by the fact that they were so open about their personal lives. (I'm pretty open about things when it comes to writing them down, but 90% of what I write you probably can't get me to say out loud, especially if I'm out in public. Unless I'm drunk. Or in a particularly chatty mood. Neither of which happens often..!) :) I was mildly amused yet at the same time felt unsettled by the fact that the older guy just chuckled as he was talking about his drug-abusing daughter in a "kids do the darndest things" kind of manner.

All this took place in a 10-minute time frame. After the "I'm more medicated than you" dance-off, the two men started leafing through magazines.

I caught zit boy looking my way again and I smiled at him. Oops. I scared him. His face turned red and he looked like he was about to pee his pants.

I checked the clock. Sighed. Actually started reading the page I had been staring at. Made it through a page or two when suddenly my friend appeared through the door . I looked up in surprise. "You ready?" she asked, walking over to the front desk to schedule her next appointment.

I got up, checking the clock again. 15 minutes...? That's it?

We walk out of the office and into the hallway and I asked, "What could you possibly have had time to talk about in just fifteen minutes?"

With a grin she held up 5 pieces of paper, fanning them out. Prescriptions. I grabbed them out of her hand and checked to see what kind of candy she got. Hmm. Quite the combination. Adderall, sleeping pills (that can't be a good mix) anti-anxiety meds...and of course...antidepressants.

I was shocked. "You guys didn't talk about anything?"

She shrugged. "Nothing really to talk about."

I thought for a moment. "But the first few times you went to see the doc you probably had longer sessions, right?"

"Uh. No."

I stopped walking. "You mean all this time you've just been going in there for 15 minutes...twice a month....to pick up prescriptions?!"

With a laugh she said, "Yep."

"I thought you said you were seeing a psychiatrist?!"

"I am."

"No...that wasn't a psychiatrist you just saw. THAT was a drug dealer!"

She laughed even harder. "Yes. I know."

depersonalization

i'm not depressed.

i just feel really detached from everything.

normally the right use of pathos will get me, usually by making my heart flutter.
if a certain song came on the radio that made me feel particularly nostalgic, often times i'd have to fight back tears. at the same time, movies that were notorious for being a tear-jerker usually didn't phase me. there were some things that hit me hard, and others that did nothing for me.
my emotions, on a normal basis, were pretty stable. i didn't cry over everything, but i wasn't completely cold-hearted either.

then came my weird emo phase. (though this was before "emo" really existed. i didn't get an asymmetrical haircut and wear skinny jeans. i just mean everything, and i mean everything affected me emotionally) i was so freakin' sensitive. to everything! watching The Little Mermaid made me sob once, despite the fact that i had already watched the movie about 50 times before. commercials on TV for diapers would make me teary-eyed because seeing a happy, laughing baby - for whatever reason - made me sad. i couldn't listen to the radio because any song that came up that reminded me of high school resulted in sobbing. if i laughed too hard at something funny, i cried.

that lasted for a long time.

then i went back to normal. figured it was just hormones or something.


and now....


i'm just going through the motions.

nothing feels real. i feel like i'm just going through this long, slow dream.
i'm not sad. if anything, i'm actually feeling quite indifferent. though i don't seem to care about much i am, at least, rational enough to realize that this isn't normal.

or is it? maybe it is normal. maybe it'll only last for a little while.

(see how i always second-guess myself?)

i'm not reacting to things properly. my father-in-law was taken to the hospital the other day. he was at the doctor's office for a routine check-up, and the doctor didn't like what she saw on his EKG so she called for an ambulance and had him sent off to the hospital.
when my mother-in-law called to tell me, i said oh so casually, "ok, i'm heading over right now." gently put the phone down, drove over to pick her up and listened to her freak out all the way to the hospital. i managed to calm her down a little bit, pointing out the fact that if he hadn't had a heart attack. and not to mention that since he was able to pick up his cell phone to call and casually tell her, "i'm going to the hospital. i feel fine, so don't worry. it's just a precaution." that he's alright.
i didn't get that sense of dread i usually feel upon arriving at a hospital. not that i've ever had a bad experience at one, but i don't particularly like the way they smell. and i feel bad for all the sick people. and i'm a teeny bit of a germophobe, convinced that i'll contract something just by walking around. but...none of those usual feelings hit me this time. i walked into that hospital and into his room like i was at home.

i adore my father-in-law. i know that under normal circumstances i'd feel something about all this. concern, at the very least. yet i still felt...well....nothing. i joked around a little bit to release some of the tension. he did look kind of worried. apparantly his father had heart problems. scary.
i wasn't worried. it's not like i didn't care. i did care. i do care. but my heart didn't give that lurch i usually feel at the mere thought of a loved one getting sick or hurt.

so at first i though, "hey...maybe i'm just a lot more stable now with the emotions! i'm cool as a cucumber! that must be it." even "denial" had crossed my mind.

but i dont think i was merely remaining calm. even if you're able to maintain composure, either the emotions are buzzing around within your mind or they'll resurface later if you're able to block them out completely for as long as necessary. i'm feeling....well....nothing.

things that normally annoy the hell out of me don't phase me.
i used to take everything so personally. if a stranger was mean to me i'd dwell on it for hours, wondering why they had to be so rude and what i had done to deserve it in that i'm so polite to everyone.
now, i barely even notice if anyone in public addresses me, let alone insults me. (this one day i had gotten really bent out of shape because the Starbucks barista at my school had greeted everyone ahead of me with a "good morning!" and a smile, and when i came up to the counter i smiled, said "morning" just to be greeted by a half-hearted, "hi". this had severely hurt my feelings to the point that i never bought coffee at school after that. i'd go down the street instead. ridiculous!)
i used to cringe every time my parents started bickering. which is always. no matter where we are. now, i barely even hear them.

one could argue that i'm just developing a shield. does having thick skin seriously mean you don't care about a single thing?

i don't think so.


i catch myself zoning out while people are talking to me. doesn't matter who it is or how important the conversation is. i have to struggle to pay close attention, otherwise i just drift off into the world in my head. (it's okay, they know me there!)


all this change in personality and emotion (or lack thereof) started about 2 years ago.
i'm not particularly bothered by any of this. but i am rational enough to recognize the fact that this isn't "normal".



maybe it's a side-effect of the insomnia. it is, in fact, 4a.m. and i haven't gotten a good-night's sleep for days and days. hmm.

so uncertain...

i'm 25 years old. should i be able to tell you who i am? should i have a concrete sense of self?


my list of likes and dislikes, my accomplishments, my character flaws, my beliefs, my quirks...they're all there, very real. i know the fact that i love psychological thrillers, pho, post-hardcore punk, frogs, bonfires and ghost stories are there in that "me" box. but...i don't know. all of these things that make me who i am...seem to just be there without making me who i am.

that makes no sense.

i seem to be having an identity disturbance. not only do people not get me, but i don't even know myself. while people around me are very present and solid, i feel like i'm just halfway here. in the scene, but translucent. not quite a whole person. people can see me but they don't know what to make of what they see.

something seems to be missing. is it passion? have i not "found myself"?

can you be perfectly content with yourself and your life even if you're not entirely sure who you are and what exactly you're doing?
i'm sure a good number of people have no idea what they're doing here. the lucky ones have found their dream jobs or are out on a mission. but a lot of us haven't a clue.

but there are many people i look at and i can tell they know exactly who they are. not only do they know who they are, but they present it as well. in subtle ways.

i, apparantly, do not present myself accurately. i'm not sure what to make of that. i have no idea what people see when they look at me.

last year, a friend of mine and i were bored with the music on our Mp3 players. so we traded to see what the other one liked to listen to. after about an hour my friend approached me...in awe...saying that she would've never guessed that i liked such "hardcore" music like Nine Inch Nails or My Chemical Romance.

"You just don't look like the kind of person that listens to that kind of music," she had said.

er...what kind of music do i look like i listen to? Kenny G?

i'd gotten comments like this quite often. am i misrepresenting myself or are people just really, really bad at reading me?

i'm not sure. a little bit of both, perhaps?

ok, enough rhetorical questions for today.

hooray for sleep deprivation! no...wait...

i've always been nocturnal. a creature of the night! for me it's normal to want to sleep all day and stay up all night.

throughout my entire childhood my parents had trouble putting me to bed. when i was a baby my grandfather noticed that i always fell asleep on car rides, so at night he'd strap me up in my car seat and drive around the neighborhood till i dozed off.

how cute is that?

to this day i sleep very well in a moving vehicle. luckily when i'm behind the wheel i don't get drowsy or anything. unless of course i've been up for x amount of hours, like i wrote about in my 2nd blog entry (ack! sparrows!). i do get reeeaaally bored when i'm driving though. but that's what music is for. XM radio....even better!

when i was a kid my bedtime was at 9pm. naturally, i expressed my strong objection to this every single night. after my dad would read to me i would just lay in bed... in the dark...bored out of my mind. hours later i'd finally drift off, usually waking up multiple times throughout the night/early morning.
most nights i spent under the covers with a flashlight and a book. good thing i had a lot of books. i guess that's how i maintained my sanity!

kindergarten was great because i only went for half a day, in the afternoon class! so i'd sleep in till about 11a.m. every day. i still had difficulty getting up at 11, though! and when i started the 1st grade...man! talk about a rude awakening. for 10 years, every single weekday morning throughout the entire school year was miserable.

high school wasn't so bad because i found out that i could function rather well with a mere 3-4 hours of sleep each night. i'd go to bed between 2-3 a.m. and wake up at 6 to be at school by 7. I actually felt more alert and had tons of energy when i got less than 5 hours of sleep.
hmm...now that i think about it...i did occasionally indulge in the art of napping.

on the weekends i'd get 6-8 hours of sleep. i'd stay up till 5am or so...stumble out of bed in the afternoon. as long as my parents let me get away with it, that is. but i'd feel so sluggish for the rest of the day.

well anyway. i seem to always give so much background information.

i am so irritated with the fact that:
a) it takes me forever to fall asleep, no matter how tired or sleepy i am.
b) i dream every single night. sometimes my dreams are fun and interesting. other times, they're stupid and pointless. really think that my nighttime head trips just tire me out.
and i can actually read in my dreams. i don't think you're supposed to be able to do that. if i'm not mistaken, the portion of your brain that reads text isn't active as you're sleeping.

ooh, maybe i'm not dreaming and actually traveling about the astral plane!

cool!

yeah, i don't know about that.
but, hey. who knows?!

could it be lucid dreams? would that tire me out, though? hmm. i have some research to do.

c) when i finally do fall asleep, in between dreams, i wake up throughout the night. sometimes it's two or three times. other times it's every hour or so.

i'm not anxious. i meditate. i practice yoga. i don't play video games/use the computer/watch tv/get overly excited before going to bed. i have a few hours of "quiet time" to just wind down. sometimes i'll read or listen to some relaxing trance or classical music.

i remember there was a time when i couldn't sleep without the radio on. but that was when i was in high school.

i really don't know what to do.
i guess i have some kind of a sleep disorder. i don't think there's anything really wrong with being a night person *hisses at the sun*...but there is something wrong with waking up 5,395 times a night and sitting around for hours waiting for the sandman to come (did he get laid off?!?).

i don't like the idea of taking sleeping pills. the last thing i need is to develop an addiction.

maybe i'll look into going to a Sleep Center. let them stick those...erm...thingies all over me and monitor my brain waves, breathing, heart rate...all that stuff.

(note to self: invest in a vocabulary builder. thingies? come on, now.)

oh well.

carpe noctem!

the condition of not existing

I don't exist.

Well....yeah, okay. I do exist.

But I'm usually off in the background. Hidden in the shadows. Blending in. Watching. Listening.

My parents certainly didn't neglect me in any way. Growing up as an only child, believe me, I was the center of their world. I wasn't shy. At all. I would walk up to strangers and just start talking to them. I charmed my parents' friends whenever they were over for dinner. I'd mingle at adult-only parties.
But as I got older I became withdrawn. I did socialize in school, and during my high school years I was on the phone...a lot. I'd go over to a friend's house to hang out every once and a while. The year after graduation I was out every single weekend. Either with the usual suspects or out meeting new people.

Then, something happened. I don't know what it was, but I became very withdrawn. Aloof. The social butterfly in me had its wings ripped off....or....something. I don't know! But whatever it is that made me drop all of my acquaintances and give my undivided attention to my closest friends has now made me let go of everyone. The fact that I've cut all contact with everyone (except for my parents, my fiance, his parents and my "brother") worries my family. I don't particularly care, but they find something wrong with this.
I can recognize the fact that, yeah, this isn't terribly normal. I'm not being irrational or anything.
I don't know. I don't know what's going on. But it doesn't bother me.

I've always been an observer.
I just watch people.
...avoid interaction.

Whether in public with strangers, or in my home with family...I usually won't engage in conversation.
Sometimes I get caught off-guard when someone asks me what time it is or what my opinion is on something.
It's silly, but I seriously feel like no one realizes I'm around. So when I'm addressed in any way I have to remind myself " People can see you!" before answering them.

Mini-Rant! damn YouTube

I can't stand the people who insist on posting their junky videos on YouTube.
They think that just because they can haphazardly put together random clips with music, they have some kind of talent.

Yeah, you know what? You don't! When the clips don't sync up to the music, when the song has absolutely nothing to do with the video, and when the clips aren't related to each other in any way...it's junk.

All I want to do is find a video clip from a TV show or a movie that is funny and I want to watch it...just cuz.
I keep running into these damn videos where the title matches my search, but to my horror, 9 out of 10 times they turn out to be these ridiculous "music videos".

For the love of all that is unholy, PEOPLE. Either do a good job, or don't bother. Quit ruining songs and quit messing up my searches!!

*Deep breath*

The First Ghost.

The "Pepper Ghost" is only the latest of the strange happenings I've experienced in my life.

Before we start, let me tell you that my memory is absolutely amazing. I can remember things from when I was 2 years old. Those memories are a little fuzzy, but very much there in the area of my brain that can be reached. Memories from when I was 4, 5, 6 years old...and up...are vivid. I can remember certain events from my pre-school days with such clarity it seems like it happened 10 years ago...rather than 21 years ago.

Because of my freakish ability to remember details of my childhood, my short-term memory is....oh...um...what was I talking about?

Yeah! It's awful. I can't remember what happened last week. I have to stop what I'm doing and think very hard.

So. Short-term memory=virtually non-existent. Long-term memory=awesome.


My first encounter with a ghost was when I was 6 years old.
My parents and I were in Brazil, visiting family and friends for the entire month of December. We spent most of the time in São Paulo, but also ventured off to Mato Grosso and I think Minas Gerais if I remember correctly.

My mom introduced me to the beautiful country she grew up in. My dad showed me all of his favorite elements of Brazilian culture. It was great.

On a few occassions my parents dropped me off to spend the the afternoon with my great aunt (such a beautiful woman) so they could go on day trips, just the two of them.
One weekend my parents decided to go...I don't know where. My mom's cousin (Tia Lete) insisted that I stay at her apartment and that my parents go off on their own. So, my parents were off and I had a blast hanging out with Tia Lete, Xander (her hubby) and their son, Felipe. Well, actually...Felipe was a brat and was constantly trying to fight with me. But for the most part, it was a fun weekend. We watched movies, played games, the food was awesome, and even though I hadn't met them previously, I felt a deep connection with this side of the family.

The only thing that was slightly bothersome was going to bed early. I've always been a night owl, ever since I was a baby. Still am to this day. And I have always, always, always had trouble staying asleep once I finally drift off.

Tia Arlete's apartment was kind of small. When you walked in through the front door, you were immediately in the dining/living room area. To the left was the narrow kitchen that fit one adult at a time. Not a good area to run to when you're being chased. It's too easy to get cornered and trapped in that kitchen. Take a few more steps into the flat and on the left were two bedrooms. The master bedroom at the end of the hall, Felipe's room to the right, bathroom to the left. Felipe's room was about the size of a walk-in closet. With a twin-sized bed.

Sooo, for fun (and due to the lack of space) Arlete made a little bed for us kids on the living room floor. We were camping out, you see.

I woke up in the middle of the night. The apartment was illuminated by a few nightlights placed here and there, any by the light from the streetlamps that made it in through the cracks in the blinds.

I let my eyes wander around the room when suddenly they locked on to the silhouette standing in before the front door. I sat up, startled, and said, "Hello?".
I was more curious than I was scared.
I guess I knew that the building was very secure with watchmen 24/7. And I'm such a light sleeper I knew for a fact that I would have woken up to the sound of the place being broken into. I kept waking up every time someone got up to go to the bathroom or to get a drink of water.

I stared at the silhouette, which I suspected to be a man. His arms were crossed, and it looked like he was staring at me (that's kinda important....there's a pattern. Remember that as you're reading my next few posts on ghosts). I couldn't see any features. Couldn't see what he was wearing. He just stood there, motionless. Staring. I looked over at my cousin. He was sound asleep. I looked over into the master bedroom. Both Tia Lete and Xander were in bed.

Hmm.

I looked back at the silhouette, confused. I couldn't figure out why the nightlights weren't casting any light on him.
Where this...thing...was standing, he was just a pure black shadow. Not the glow from the nightlight nor the light coming in from the back porch touched him. And where he himself should have cast a shadow on the wall and the floor...there was nothing.

I grabbed my cousin's teddy bear and threw it. It flew right through the figure, hitting the door with a dull thud before dropping to the floor.

I decided that it wasn't a threat and went back to bed.

For an entire week I told everyone about what I had seen. No one really believed me. They said, "It's just your imagination."

Which it very well may have been. But to this day, I'm still convinced that this was my first encounter with a ghost.

The next one I saw was when I was 9 years old.

To be continued...

my pepper ghost!

I decided that I needed to organize the contents of my spice cabinet. There were plenty of things of the non-spice variety that didn't belong in there, so those items were removed. I wanted to make everything from the Old Bay seasoning to the hot Jamaican curry to be easily accessible.

(This story will get more interesting. I promise.)

I took everything out of the cabinet and set them on the counter. So...the cabinet was completely empty. Before I had emptied out the cabinet, the counter had absolutely nothing on it.

I looked over all the little containers and vials to see if I needed to add anything to my grocery list. Sure enough, I was out of black pepper. The can I had was completely empty, so I tossed it into the recycling bin. I walked off into the living room to add "pepper" to my grocery list. When I came back to the kitchen, something caught my eye. There was a full, brand new can of McCormick's pepper sitting on the ledge of one of the shelves in the spice cabinet.

um.

The very cabinet I had just completely removed all innards from.

I stood there, struck with astonishment and surprise.

Where did that can of pepper come from? Who placed it in the cabinet?

The only thing I could come up with is something paranormal. There's no way my significant other could have crept downstairs and snuck into the kitchen without my noticing. For starters, he's no ninja. Secondly, the kitchen is open to the living room. So even if he had managed to make it down the stairs and across the hall without a sound, he'd have to have been wearing an invisibility cloak.

I flat out asked my fiancé if he had even gone to the store and bought the can of this pungent condiment and he gave me a strange look before answering "no".

After the "Inexplainable Pepper Incident", my kitchen ghost did a few more things to make his presence known. This mostly involved throwing items across the kitchen. Not in a hostile way. In a playful way, if you can imagine. I'll be cooking something on the stove and I'll put the spoon/fork down on the spoonrest. There is no possible way that this utensil can roll off the stove. However, on many occasions, the spoon or fork has ended up on the floor on the opposite side of the kitchen. Even if it had fallen off the stove, how could it have possibly propelled itself across the room? Exactly! It didn't. The ghost did it!

I'm not sure if this is the same guy or not, but there is a "creepy basement ghost"

Many people have witnessed this guy.

Years ago a friend of mine and I were watching TV in the living room. It was about...oh...5 in the morning. We both heard a sound coming from behind, like someone was walking up the basement steps. She and I both turned and looked at the same time...and right then the basement door closed. She and I saw, I kid you not, someone pulling the door shut. Just the hand and arm. Very pale. Kinda translucent.

A few weeks later on a Friday night I had a few people over and almost everyone had made some comment on how they didn't like having the door open to the basement because it creeped them out. Two different people claimed they had seen a pale guy standing in the doorway for a split second.

Creepy.

After a while the spiritual activity had subsided. Significantly.I'm not sure why. But it seems to be picking back up.

Just this morning as I was eating my delicious breakfast of Autumn Wheat and black coffee, I was watching my cats. They were going nuts and I couldn't figure out why. I almost dropped my mug as the refrigerator door opened (all the way) then closed after about 5 seconds.

Interesting. Some incorporeal being was raiding my fridge.

Or maybe they're taking inventory. Maybe a carton of soymilk, some fruit and a bottle of seltzer water will magically appear in my fridge!

I've had things like this happen to me ever since I was 6 years old.

More on that next time...

lucky 13

Happy Friday the 13th!

i'm not superstitious. at all. are you?



i love Joss Whedon. Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the TV show. not so much the movie) has been an obsession of mine since season 1. and i absolutely love Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog!!! I highly recommend you click the link and watch it.


it'll change your life.



ok, maybe not. but still. it's funny!



despite these obsessions of mine, i'm not really a hardcore Whedon fan. i haven't made any attempt to watch Firefly or Serenity. i did, however, watch Dollhouse today. i'm not quite sure how i feel about it yet. the concept is intriguing. it has a lot of potential.

"In Dollhouse, Eliza Dushku plays a young woman called Echo, a member of a group of people known as "Actives" or "Dolls." The Dolls have had their personalities wiped clean so they can be imprinted with any number of new personas, including memory, muscle memory, skills, and language, for different assignments. They're then hired out for particular jobs, crimes, fantasies, and occasional good deeds. On missions, Actives are monitored internally (and remotely) by Handlers. In between tasks, they are mind-wiped into a child-like state and live in a futuristic dorm/lab, a hidden facility nicknamed "The Dollhouse". The story follows Echo, who begins, in her mind-wiped state, to become self-aware."

good stuff. if you're into that nerdy, sci-fi stuff like i am :D


when it comes to my brand of comedy, Joss Whedon and Jhonen Vasquez are all i need. Whedon's witty, brilliant dialogue and alluring charaters, and Vasquez's dark humor and use of misanthropic themes bring such joy to me. no one can make the combination of cute and psychotic work quite as well as Mr. Vasquez does. or dark and funny like Whedon.

did i mention that i love Joss Whedon and Jhonen Vasquez?




i also like curly fries. a lot.

sparrows....everywhere...!

Sooo...where did we leave off?

Oh, yes. The quitting of the job. Which leads to the Road Trip of Craziness. Also known as "The Road Trip of Irony" and "The Sparrow Incident".

I missed my cousin's wedding to attend my grandmother's funeral.

*Sigh*

The wedding took place on December 6, 2008. In Florida.

The plan was for my dad and I to drive, mom and my significant other to fly, and we'd all meet up on the 4th. Dad and I left the day after Thanksgiving, giving us plenty of time to go sightseeing before the rendezvous in Ft. Lauderdale. We'd go to the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, then drive/fly back.

My parents and I are spontaneous. We rarely ever make plans. When we do, we realize that we'll probably stray from the itinerary one way or another. We know to expect the unexpected. Stuff happens.

Somehow I knew...I just knew that something was going to happen to my grandmother. As I was packing my suitcase, for just a few seconds the thought flickered in my mind. I said to myself, Wouldn't it be crazy if as soon as we arrived in Florida, Grampy called with bad news about Gram..
Just as quickly as that thought had entered my mind, it was gone. My mind concentrated on getting ready for this adventure.

Day 1
Ok. So we left on time (amazing! that never happens) and had a lot of fun, stopping wherever we wanted to check out the view.

The Blue Ridge Parkway is - for lack of a better word - stunning. Forget the interstate highways. When you're on a road trip you need to take your time, enjoy the sights, and see what's out there. The point isn't to get from start to finish in as little time as possible. If you're terribly impatient and don't have any interest in the scenery, then flying is for you.

Dad and I stopped for the night in North Carolina. That is where I, for the first time in my life, ate a bbq pulled pork sandwich. It's funny how the most mundane foods are new and different to me.
After the delicious meal and an ice-cold beer, I just about passed out in the hotel room.

Day 2
The Blue Ridge mountains had me speechless. Grandfather Mountain took my breath away. I'd never seen such beauty.
We arrived in Pensacola, FL at 4a.m. We slept in the parking lot for about 3 hours after driving all night. (Since we had actually backtracked to check out Grandfather Mountain, and since we were not the least bit sleepy, Dad and I had decided to drive all night so we'd have the entire day to devoted to Pensacola and Gulf Breeze adventures.)

Ventured off to Gulf Breeze to check out the little plot of land we have. Drove back over the bridge to the Naval Aviation Museum. One of my most favorite museums...ever!

By 6pm we were both pretty exhausted.

The sleep deprivation had finally caught up to us. My dad, being 65 (at the time), got major bonus points for keeping up with his hyperactive 24-year-old (at the time) daughter.

Just minutes before checking into the hotel my mom called telling me to call my grandfather.

So I did.

Knowing exactly what I was going to hear.

Sister Jilda Marie (Grampy had nuns over?!) answered the phone and informed me that my grandmother had passed away. She then handed the phone over to my grandfather. My heart broke when he said, "Grammy's gone." The pain in his voice struck my chest, and I cried more for him than for anything else.

I, of course, had to be the one to tell my dad. He took it rather well.

And he, being the mildly psychotic, and the rarely (yet surely) irrational man that he is, insisted on turning the car right around and driving up to Connecticut. Immediately.

I couldn't stop him.

He wouldn't listen to reason.

Of course the day we arrived in Florida we'd have to turn around. AHA! I knew it! I had totally imagined a scenario such as this one.






I appreciate the irony.





So my dad and I took turns driving home, stopping about every hour or so to take a catnap. When we finally arrived in Maryland he agreed to getting some rest and leaving the next day.

Thank goodness.

From the sleep-deprivation, grief and exhaustion I was to the point where I was hallucinating. I kept seeing sparrows appear and disappear in front of me. Why sparrows? No idea.


Until I had reached 24 years of age I had never been to a funeral for a member of my own family. It's weird.

I met the side of the family I never knew. That was nice. They all know my name. Bonus points. I didn't know any of them, though I'd heard of some of them.

A lot of people said they were going to stop by the house after the burial. My dad went overboard (as usual) and bought 1 pound each of ham, salami, turkey, cappicola, swiss and provolone. He bought 4 different loaves of bread, 2 gallons of already made coffee, 3 dozen breakfast danishes. Cousin Marge had brought over a box of doughnuts.

No one showed up. Not a single person.

Hours after the funeral my dad wanted to get in the car and drive right back to Florida.

He's insane.

Instead I spent the week with Grampy. I couldn't just leave him.

Which resulted in my mom's refusal to speak to me for two and a half weeks, because I missed my cousin's wedding.

It was a nice, quiet two and a half weeks.

as of recent...

Good evening sirs and madams!

I have abandoned the MySpace blog. For what reason? Eh. Got tired of it is all. I used to be quite the MySpace junkie.

I got over it.

And you can, too! ::thumbs up::

Sorry, Tom.


Sooooooo I quit my job at Kohl's in October.

You know, I actually enjoyed working the graveyard shift! Sure, my social life came to an abrupt halt (not that it really bothered this schizoid). I never had to worry about rush hour. I dealt with no more than a dozen people which kept the introvert in me from screaming in anguish. I enjoyed making a lot of money. And holding the job title that gave me power over minions. Minions! I didn't treat them as such. They were actually my friends, and I could trust them to do their jobs. So I let them run freely with very little supervision as I sat in the back office reading books and texting my friends (huh? work ethic?). Sometimes I'd wander aimlessly. Whenever anyone needed help, I was there. Plus, working in advertising was fun in general.

It was awesome.

Funny thing is that everyone I worked with had at least 1 year seniority over me. Why they didn't apply for the supervisor job, I don't know. So I took it. And how cute it was to have all of these middle-aged co-workers of mine come to me whenever they were having problems with their assignments. They were the very people that trained me for goodness sake! It was very strange. I never did get used to it. I couldn't even enjoy going on the obligatory "power trip" because I was too weirded out by the situation.

Oh well.

Many things contributed to my quitting this awesome job.

1) I knew that my grandmother was going to, you know, die. Like, any day now. (Tactless? Nay. Straightforward! Ok...same thing, but word choice makes all the difference.) My dad and I had to make bi-monthly road trips to Connecticut to help out Grammy and Grampy. Work just wouldn't allow it. That was reason enough.

2) I was having trouble sleeping. My neighbors were too noisy during the day. I don't mind rap music, but when it wakes me up from a deep sleep i find myself with this sudden desire to kill, kill, kill! Namely, my neighbors. Hm. Interesting.
But you know what? Now that I think about it, pretty much anything that wakes me up makes me violent. :D

3) I wanted to go back to school. Full-time. I don't have the discipline to work full-time AND attend class. Let alone actually complete any homework and actually pass said classes.

I felt like I was at a dead end. It didn't matter that I was having fun at work every night hanging out with the crew, reading my vampire novels and texting my partners in evil. It didn't matter that my weekly paychecks made me do the "Happy Dance" as I deposited them into my checking account.

I did not have my dream job, nor was I on the path to it. I was sucked in, but I refused to stay trapped.


So. I quit!

To Be Continued....




Next time on "the condition of not existing":
A road trip to Florida.
A wedding.
A funeral.
Perhaps some clichés? Stay tuned!