The following message appeared on my facebook wall this week, compliments of Riley's girlfriend Caitlin:
"Your blog feels abandoned. Your readers feel unloved. Stop kissing Mike and type more."
Would anyone else like to use this opportunity to offer their opinion?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Peace Train
There is a road near my house that runs parallel to the railroad tracks. Sometimes when I'm driving home at night the trains are moving slowly, about the speed of my car, down the tracks. I turn off the radio, roll down my window, and listen to the wheeze of the gears. Oddly quiet scraping of metal. It's incredible.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
What you can't have
Philippians 4:11 says, "I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances." I find this to be one of the most difficult aims in life. And thus, I find it to be one of the most intriguing, irresistible, and admirable things to fight for.
Keep fighting, my friends. When you're tired, fight. When you're angry, hungry, hot, cold, wanting to be somewhere else, with someone else, in another time, when you don't want to do work, when you're bored. Let's fight together. Because who doesn't want a piece of that Philippians 4:11? I know I do.
Keep fighting, my friends. When you're tired, fight. When you're angry, hungry, hot, cold, wanting to be somewhere else, with someone else, in another time, when you don't want to do work, when you're bored. Let's fight together. Because who doesn't want a piece of that Philippians 4:11? I know I do.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Blow to the Ego
I've never had tennis elbow. But I think I might have it now. But if we're going to get technical--and we are--then I would have to say this is not tennis elbow, but foosball elbow. Yes. Little plastic men have beaten me up. Woe is me.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Showers=Friends
Riley: I thought you were going for a run...Oh you already went. I can smell you.
Sick.
Sick.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Annoyances
My car has quite the social calendar. It is getting acquainted with multiple mechanics in the area, and I gotta say, bad timing, Lance[r]. I mean really, do I not have more important things to do?
However, during this week's particular repair adventure, I get to drive a rental car for free (repair from an accident that wasn't my fault). Holla!
Stay tuned for next week's trip to the car doctor when Bailey's car gets new sway links! Whatever those are.
However, during this week's particular repair adventure, I get to drive a rental car for free (repair from an accident that wasn't my fault). Holla!
Stay tuned for next week's trip to the car doctor when Bailey's car gets new sway links! Whatever those are.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Your Coach in Awkwardness!
Conversation between Bailey and customer this past Friday. Time, approximately 6:30am:
Bailey: Your change is 87 cents. Do you know the significance of the number 87?
Customer: [stare]
Bailey: Well yesterday was day 87 of the oil spill, and they capped it! So today is still day 87 because it is no longer leaking, so therefore there is no day 88!
Customer: [stare, slowly backing away with frightened quarter-smile]
Coworker Katie: [escorting Bailey away from the register] Bailey, let's not talk to the customers anymore...
Bailey: Your change is 87 cents. Do you know the significance of the number 87?
Customer: [stare]
Bailey: Well yesterday was day 87 of the oil spill, and they capped it! So today is still day 87 because it is no longer leaking, so therefore there is no day 88!
Customer: [stare, slowly backing away with frightened quarter-smile]
Coworker Katie: [escorting Bailey away from the register] Bailey, let's not talk to the customers anymore...
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Kitchen Error
Tonight I made one of my favorite recipes. And by favorite, I do in fact mean one of my favorites, but I also mean one of the ten recipes I know how to make.
Anyway, it is a beans and rice recipe from Jerusalem, and I looooove it. Cayenne pepper, cumin, coriander, turmeric, garlic, rice, chicken stock, black beans and chickpeas. Mmmmm.
Well everyone who knows something knows that with fantastic Middle Eastern food you should top it with yogurt. So I did. And took a bite. And tasted vanilla.
Whoops. Check the container, definitely not plain yogurt. With some scraping and rescooping I managed to salvage dinner. And had a pretty delightful evening. As I type this, Dibbs has successfully located my position in Riley's room where I am using his laptop (thanks, Ri), and is lying in corpse pose on the carpet. Time to smooch his belly (Dibbs', not Riley's) and sleep! Smooches to you!
Anyway, it is a beans and rice recipe from Jerusalem, and I looooove it. Cayenne pepper, cumin, coriander, turmeric, garlic, rice, chicken stock, black beans and chickpeas. Mmmmm.
Well everyone who knows something knows that with fantastic Middle Eastern food you should top it with yogurt. So I did. And took a bite. And tasted vanilla.
Whoops. Check the container, definitely not plain yogurt. With some scraping and rescooping I managed to salvage dinner. And had a pretty delightful evening. As I type this, Dibbs has successfully located my position in Riley's room where I am using his laptop (thanks, Ri), and is lying in corpse pose on the carpet. Time to smooch his belly (Dibbs', not Riley's) and sleep! Smooches to you!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Singin' a Song
For a long time I never let anyone hear my singing voice. My brothers and I would put on Christmas Eve "shows" for our parents, and for the majority of them there was singing involved, usually with a solo for each child. For the first few years we did a Nativity reenactment, with Scripture reading and traditional carols.
Now, let's see if you intelligent readers can guess, with a cast of three brothers and a lone sister, who was cast as Mary each and every year? In eighth grade I said I was no longer going to stuff a pillow up my shirt to play the virgin and we switched to Veggie Tales and The Grinch for our inspiration. Come to think of it, even then I used a pillow for stomach padding, as I was cast as Bob the Tomato. Patrick was Larry Boy, though, and had to wear tight purple shorts, so I guess things were evened out to semi-fairness.
I humbly accepted my parents and brothers' praise of my solo of The First Noel one year at Christmas Eve dinner, in the humble manner that a ten year old girl can only manage when it is Christmas Eve and she is wearing her Sunday best best with the knowledge that presents are coming within 24 hours. I would like to give myself more credit here as a pretty good kid, which I was, but this hyperactive personality did not just appear overnight, so to ask me to nibble quietly as accolades for my beautiful singing voice were heaped upon me is and was a little uncharacterstic. Just sayin'.
I had a solo at school in the fourth grade, for which I had to audition. We sang a song called "Aspen Leaves are Falling," written by our (Colorado) music teacher. In college my friend Lisa caught me singing "You Were Meant for Me" by Jewel and got very excited, and my friend Kelly heard me singing "That's the Way it Is" by Celine and I believe her exact words were, "Bailey has a good voice!" Not that I remember it verbatim or anything...
So I was aware, by young adulthood, that I could sing well.
But like kissing, I find that singing is one of the most vulnerable activities a human being can engage in. Many people feel that way about dancing, I imagine, although I think it gets misunderstood by the non-dancers themselves even as being embarrassing instead of actually vulnerable. I find dancing to be my happiest activity, even moreso than writing, I think, and feel free rather than vulnerable when I direct my limbs in all directions, beats bumping through the air. I think if people were simply embarrassed by dancing, they would probably do it much more often. But my theory is that it is deeper than that, and that is why alcohol enters the picture so often at dance scenes. I can't tell you how many times people have told me, "I'm not drunk enough yet to dance." Personally, I'm a little offended if someone attributes my dancing skills to a beer, because that is so not the case. But I digress.
I've been digressing a lot so far in this post. Thanks to all who are still with us here in paragraph seven. Buckle up for the next few.
The summer before I left for a semester in southern Africa I, much like now, began to freak out. At the time I, much like now, knew I was making the right decision in going, but during the final countdown of weeks realized I needed gifts for my host families in the southern hemisphere, needed a conservative wardrobe, a swimsuit, a sulfa allergy medical alert bracelet. And I also realized, "OH MY GOODNESS I AM LEAVING THE COUNTRY FOR THREE MONTHS!!!!!" Ahem. Of course I was fine, packed myself into one suitcase (holla), had friends with me for three months, and don't regret a minute of my romping about and communing with my new friends who taught me so much.
But during that summer, in the moments when I wasn't able to keep my hands busy filing license plate renewals at my air conditioned job, I found a way to take off the edge of my freak outs. I don't know the exact moment, an exact song, a specific car ride with the radio blasting, but that summer I began to sing. Out loud. And loudly. There was something inside me that said, "To Hell with my fear, let me be heard!" I discovered, simply and only, that I felt better when I was singing than when I was not.
One's volume comes from his middle, her unique "you" sound from the throat, and the final nuances grab on to the rush of breath on the way out of the mouth. I guess it's so significant to me because an untamed tongue can get you into so much trouble, and this is not untrue when singing instead of speaking, but it is so unexplainably powerful to sing. For both the singer and the listener.
When we got to Africa we immediately began spending hours each day in 15-passenger vans, with no air conditioning, summer heat, thus windows always open, ourselves, and a radio/CD player. So naturally, we began to sing. Every time we got in those kombis (vans). I think exactly half of our group loved to sing and the other half hated it. But that did not stop us singers in our obnoxious, constant belting for the entire semester, never ceasing until we were dropped off at our departure terminal headed back to the States.
During our time there, particularly with my host families, I discovered that no one there seems to feel strange or shy about singing. I even asked someone at one point about the concept of feeling unsure about singing in front of others, and I remember she shrugged her shoulders because the idea was so foreign (pun intended?) to her and had never crossed her mind. I credit this to the tight knit communities, as well as the practice of group singing from infancy, something not exactly present in America, save around campfires and, depending, in churches. Obviously people are asked to sing together, the National Anthem at baseball games, "Happy Birthday to You," but there's a very easy out in our culture. You can just fake it, lip sync, or not move your lips at all. We're much more comfortable in our culture, I would say, to boldly not participate than to participate.
And here I will stop. Take this post for what it is. I was going for something poetic, but I fear it sounds a little opinionated (Gasp! Not that!), but hopefully thought provoking. And hopefully inspiring to crank the tunes and let loose. You'll feel better, I promise. Stress level, down. Inner bubbles, up. On that note, pardon me as I peruse my Celine library...
Now, let's see if you intelligent readers can guess, with a cast of three brothers and a lone sister, who was cast as Mary each and every year? In eighth grade I said I was no longer going to stuff a pillow up my shirt to play the virgin and we switched to Veggie Tales and The Grinch for our inspiration. Come to think of it, even then I used a pillow for stomach padding, as I was cast as Bob the Tomato. Patrick was Larry Boy, though, and had to wear tight purple shorts, so I guess things were evened out to semi-fairness.
I humbly accepted my parents and brothers' praise of my solo of The First Noel one year at Christmas Eve dinner, in the humble manner that a ten year old girl can only manage when it is Christmas Eve and she is wearing her Sunday best best with the knowledge that presents are coming within 24 hours. I would like to give myself more credit here as a pretty good kid, which I was, but this hyperactive personality did not just appear overnight, so to ask me to nibble quietly as accolades for my beautiful singing voice were heaped upon me is and was a little uncharacterstic. Just sayin'.
I had a solo at school in the fourth grade, for which I had to audition. We sang a song called "Aspen Leaves are Falling," written by our (Colorado) music teacher. In college my friend Lisa caught me singing "You Were Meant for Me" by Jewel and got very excited, and my friend Kelly heard me singing "That's the Way it Is" by Celine and I believe her exact words were, "Bailey has a good voice!" Not that I remember it verbatim or anything...
So I was aware, by young adulthood, that I could sing well.
But like kissing, I find that singing is one of the most vulnerable activities a human being can engage in. Many people feel that way about dancing, I imagine, although I think it gets misunderstood by the non-dancers themselves even as being embarrassing instead of actually vulnerable. I find dancing to be my happiest activity, even moreso than writing, I think, and feel free rather than vulnerable when I direct my limbs in all directions, beats bumping through the air. I think if people were simply embarrassed by dancing, they would probably do it much more often. But my theory is that it is deeper than that, and that is why alcohol enters the picture so often at dance scenes. I can't tell you how many times people have told me, "I'm not drunk enough yet to dance." Personally, I'm a little offended if someone attributes my dancing skills to a beer, because that is so not the case. But I digress.
I've been digressing a lot so far in this post. Thanks to all who are still with us here in paragraph seven. Buckle up for the next few.
The summer before I left for a semester in southern Africa I, much like now, began to freak out. At the time I, much like now, knew I was making the right decision in going, but during the final countdown of weeks realized I needed gifts for my host families in the southern hemisphere, needed a conservative wardrobe, a swimsuit, a sulfa allergy medical alert bracelet. And I also realized, "OH MY GOODNESS I AM LEAVING THE COUNTRY FOR THREE MONTHS!!!!!" Ahem. Of course I was fine, packed myself into one suitcase (holla), had friends with me for three months, and don't regret a minute of my romping about and communing with my new friends who taught me so much.
But during that summer, in the moments when I wasn't able to keep my hands busy filing license plate renewals at my air conditioned job, I found a way to take off the edge of my freak outs. I don't know the exact moment, an exact song, a specific car ride with the radio blasting, but that summer I began to sing. Out loud. And loudly. There was something inside me that said, "To Hell with my fear, let me be heard!" I discovered, simply and only, that I felt better when I was singing than when I was not.
One's volume comes from his middle, her unique "you" sound from the throat, and the final nuances grab on to the rush of breath on the way out of the mouth. I guess it's so significant to me because an untamed tongue can get you into so much trouble, and this is not untrue when singing instead of speaking, but it is so unexplainably powerful to sing. For both the singer and the listener.
When we got to Africa we immediately began spending hours each day in 15-passenger vans, with no air conditioning, summer heat, thus windows always open, ourselves, and a radio/CD player. So naturally, we began to sing. Every time we got in those kombis (vans). I think exactly half of our group loved to sing and the other half hated it. But that did not stop us singers in our obnoxious, constant belting for the entire semester, never ceasing until we were dropped off at our departure terminal headed back to the States.
During our time there, particularly with my host families, I discovered that no one there seems to feel strange or shy about singing. I even asked someone at one point about the concept of feeling unsure about singing in front of others, and I remember she shrugged her shoulders because the idea was so foreign (pun intended?) to her and had never crossed her mind. I credit this to the tight knit communities, as well as the practice of group singing from infancy, something not exactly present in America, save around campfires and, depending, in churches. Obviously people are asked to sing together, the National Anthem at baseball games, "Happy Birthday to You," but there's a very easy out in our culture. You can just fake it, lip sync, or not move your lips at all. We're much more comfortable in our culture, I would say, to boldly not participate than to participate.
And here I will stop. Take this post for what it is. I was going for something poetic, but I fear it sounds a little opinionated (Gasp! Not that!), but hopefully thought provoking. And hopefully inspiring to crank the tunes and let loose. You'll feel better, I promise. Stress level, down. Inner bubbles, up. On that note, pardon me as I peruse my Celine library...
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Teamwork
I was telling Mom over lunch today that while it's been a fun summer, I have felt bone exhausted the entire time. I may have made that term up, but it is my way of saying that I am exhausted down to and through my bones. You know, where you feel like you may never fully recover. If I keep moving I don't quite feel it, but as soon as I stop I wonder how on earth I am still working, keeping up a social life, and mentally managing my stress.
I use the term "manage" here loosely. Unless you count watching "The Hills," whining and not acting, and worrying as management activities.
So tonight, though I had told Michael I would spend the evening with him, I decided to stay in. Riley made mac 'n cheese for us while I took a shower, finally, after this long day, and we channel surfed through such gems as "Wipe Out" and "Tinker Bell" during dinner. Yes, Tink in fact kept our attention for minutes, as there was little else on and Riley wouldn't let me watch "The Hills." He says it's "crap TV" or something...
Eventually Ri moved on to video games, and realized a dilemma as he had a popsicle in one hand and remote in the other. Clearly, what are sisters for? I held his popsicle while he played. Between levels, he took bites, until it started dripping on the couch and he quit the game to finish dessert.
I use the term "manage" here loosely. Unless you count watching "The Hills," whining and not acting, and worrying as management activities.
So tonight, though I had told Michael I would spend the evening with him, I decided to stay in. Riley made mac 'n cheese for us while I took a shower, finally, after this long day, and we channel surfed through such gems as "Wipe Out" and "Tinker Bell" during dinner. Yes, Tink in fact kept our attention for minutes, as there was little else on and Riley wouldn't let me watch "The Hills." He says it's "crap TV" or something...
Eventually Ri moved on to video games, and realized a dilemma as he had a popsicle in one hand and remote in the other. Clearly, what are sisters for? I held his popsicle while he played. Between levels, he took bites, until it started dripping on the couch and he quit the game to finish dessert.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
My Hero
Dibbs loves plastic bags.For those of you just joining us, Dibbs is my cat. Also answers to Smoochie Pookin Pudding Pie.
Ever since kittenhood, he has become instantly elated and distracted by a plastic bag, particularly the grocery variety, discarded casually--or often on purpose by smitten humans--on the floor. Sometimes he gets tangled in the handles (don't worry, we are not horrible owners, he doesn't choke himself) and then we have a cat with a cape. I love it when Super Kitty comes to visit, and always wait a few moments before freeing him.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Rascals!
My hands and feet are like little bratty children. They become freezing cold every time I stop paying attention to them.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Aaaaaaa (Get it? The opposite of Zzz?)
My sleep record is less than ideal this summer. I always cringe when people say, "I'll sleep when I'm dead," but right now I am looking ahead to the bumper to bumper summer to school schedule I have, and I'm not foreseeing much sleep until Thanksgiving, maaaybe Christmas.
Sweet dreams, y'all. Make sure you catch an extra REM cycle for me every now and then.
Sweet dreams, y'all. Make sure you catch an extra REM cycle for me every now and then.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Gelatinous Fighters
I had dinner with Tommy tonight, and when dessert rolled around I asked our waitress if we could get the dirt cups that were advertising themselves on the kids menu (because earlier we had requested kids menus and crayons). She said "of course" and brought us two large cups of pudding with gummi worms on top.
Tommy was trying to slice one of his worms in half with his spoon, which wasn't working out too well, so I suggested he use his steak knife. Eventually he did, but was still having trouble. When he caught me smirking at him, his tongue sticking out, concentrating very hard, he said, "What?! These worms are very resilient!"
Tommy was trying to slice one of his worms in half with his spoon, which wasn't working out too well, so I suggested he use his steak knife. Eventually he did, but was still having trouble. When he caught me smirking at him, his tongue sticking out, concentrating very hard, he said, "What?! These worms are very resilient!"
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Lazy and a half
If I were a rock, there would be lichen growing on me by now.
Meaning, even a rock would have been more productive today than I was.
I did go to work, and I did get up very early to do so. But I got off at noon, and activities since have included:
make and eat mac and cheese
watch America's Next Top Model
shower
take five minute nap
watch more TV
play solitaire on the computer
play solitaire with real cards
create an event on facebook and freak out a few times with frustration in the process
eat bowl of cereal
eat graham cracker
Yep. That is in fact, it. Oh wait, I picked my car up from the shop. Yay! I have wheels again! And I played secretary, as our family phone rang approximately 20 times today. "Thank you for calling the Daily residence, how may I help you?" (Eye roll. Let's just say I have put in my time as a receptionist for the corporate world, so I'm not too thrilled about revisiting such work at home.)
Meaning, even a rock would have been more productive today than I was.
I did go to work, and I did get up very early to do so. But I got off at noon, and activities since have included:
make and eat mac and cheese
watch America's Next Top Model
shower
take five minute nap
watch more TV
play solitaire on the computer
play solitaire with real cards
create an event on facebook and freak out a few times with frustration in the process
eat bowl of cereal
eat graham cracker
Yep. That is in fact, it. Oh wait, I picked my car up from the shop. Yay! I have wheels again! And I played secretary, as our family phone rang approximately 20 times today. "Thank you for calling the Daily residence, how may I help you?" (Eye roll. Let's just say I have put in my time as a receptionist for the corporate world, so I'm not too thrilled about revisiting such work at home.)
Monday, July 5, 2010
Can I keep him?
I am loving the book I'm reading right now. I've been extremely busy, meaning consequently late nights are becoming my norm; since pre-pillow time is reading time, my fatigue has only allowed two to three pages at a time to be ingested before the eyelids quit resisting gravity for the day. This is unfortunate because a)I love to read and haven't done tons and tons of it lately, and b)it just so happens that one of my largest pet peeves in life is being unable to read at least 30 pages of a book in one sitting.
Point being.
This book I'm reading
(which, by the way, is called John Chancellor Makes Me Cry by Anne Rivers Siddons)
is so wonderful that it is not only a treat to read even a few pages each night if that is all I am allowed, but I also kind of like that the book is taking some time to get through. It's being savored, and I'm sipping* it, like tea. Siddons is from Atlanta, and the book was published in 1975. It's a compilation of essays following her through a year of life, offering a beautiful blend of snarky, feminine humor, inner calm, tastes of married life, the stress and value of a working life. I also love her timeless archaism (yes, oxymoron), and many of the book's main characters are rescued stray pets. Cats, mostly, which obviously gains Anne points.
I found John Chancellor (the book, not the journalist) while wandering from the history section to the travel section to the...I don't know, essay section? I went to the self check-out and was rejected! in my scanning of John. Rude. So I visited my human librarian at the front desk who said, "Hmm," and informed me that it was not even in the system!
I found an orphan book! She put John in the database so he could make some friends in cyberspace, and then let me take him home for three weeks. I'm loving him so much that I feel I want to keep him. The library didn't even know what they had! If it weren't for me, he wouldn't be in the system. I mean, People. So I don't know about you, but I feel like I have automatic adoption rights here. Anne gets to keep her cats, why can't I keep John?
*I cannot take credit for this term "sip" concerning a book; while she may not even remember saying it, I first heard this phrase from my friend Carly. Hey girl.
Point being.
This book I'm reading
(which, by the way, is called John Chancellor Makes Me Cry by Anne Rivers Siddons)
is so wonderful that it is not only a treat to read even a few pages each night if that is all I am allowed, but I also kind of like that the book is taking some time to get through. It's being savored, and I'm sipping* it, like tea. Siddons is from Atlanta, and the book was published in 1975. It's a compilation of essays following her through a year of life, offering a beautiful blend of snarky, feminine humor, inner calm, tastes of married life, the stress and value of a working life. I also love her timeless archaism (yes, oxymoron), and many of the book's main characters are rescued stray pets. Cats, mostly, which obviously gains Anne points.
I found John Chancellor (the book, not the journalist) while wandering from the history section to the travel section to the...I don't know, essay section? I went to the self check-out and was rejected! in my scanning of John. Rude. So I visited my human librarian at the front desk who said, "Hmm," and informed me that it was not even in the system!
I found an orphan book! She put John in the database so he could make some friends in cyberspace, and then let me take him home for three weeks. I'm loving him so much that I feel I want to keep him. The library didn't even know what they had! If it weren't for me, he wouldn't be in the system. I mean, People. So I don't know about you, but I feel like I have automatic adoption rights here. Anne gets to keep her cats, why can't I keep John?
*I cannot take credit for this term "sip" concerning a book; while she may not even remember saying it, I first heard this phrase from my friend Carly. Hey girl.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Nontraditional
I did not watch fireworks tonight. I did not shoot off any combustibles. I did not eat a hot dog, watermelon, chips, or corn on the cob. I did not wear red, white and blue. (I did drink beer.)
But I had lunch with a dear friend, and I hung out with three fabulous people. In a cozy, quiet apartment on an overcast Fourth. And when the rain started to fall, we went out and conquered the puddles with our stomps.
My kind of day. :) Thanks for all who contributed to the much-needed therapy.
But I had lunch with a dear friend, and I hung out with three fabulous people. In a cozy, quiet apartment on an overcast Fourth. And when the rain started to fall, we went out and conquered the puddles with our stomps.
My kind of day. :) Thanks for all who contributed to the much-needed therapy.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Ponderment
I think I'm maybe experiencing a stereotypical summer for the first time in my life. I am up late most nights, always tired but always moving, swimming, running, working. Tonight I went to see Annie (holla!) at an outdoor theater--so very summer. What else? There has been a lot of beer (in moderation, just cold beer on hot nights), I've been to the movie theater at least twice...Lots of pizza, I've made new friends.
This is all just so weird for me, because I seldom participate in stereotypical activities. I so often reach a breaking point of too much fun and activity where I say, "See ya" and head home to go to bed while everyone else pretends they're teenagers and stay up 'til 2am.
It feels good to be involved in these communal bonding activities, and it is helping thwart my need to always be different and my always-there-under-the-surface-somewhere feeling of being left out. Lonely in a crowd? Yep, that's me. But maybe I'm shedding a piece of my shell, and popping out is a new limb. One that's not always too cool for school, one that's reaching out for contact with other limbs. Always being different makes you stand out, but it often leaves you always different and thus, always alone in one way or another.
Thoughts...my apologies if I've confused anyone.
This is all just so weird for me, because I seldom participate in stereotypical activities. I so often reach a breaking point of too much fun and activity where I say, "See ya" and head home to go to bed while everyone else pretends they're teenagers and stay up 'til 2am.
It feels good to be involved in these communal bonding activities, and it is helping thwart my need to always be different and my always-there-under-the-surface-somewhere feeling of being left out. Lonely in a crowd? Yep, that's me. But maybe I'm shedding a piece of my shell, and popping out is a new limb. One that's not always too cool for school, one that's reaching out for contact with other limbs. Always being different makes you stand out, but it often leaves you always different and thus, always alone in one way or another.
Thoughts...my apologies if I've confused anyone.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Virtuality
I played a video game tonight. While I have some expertise in, namely, the departments of Dr. Mario and Donkey Kong Country, thanks to years of childhood with brothers and then some, it's been a while since I've really bonded with a controller. Tonight I played a game called Trine (?), and at first I didn't expect to really get into it, but I laughed a lot. I also enjoyed slicing skeletons with my fire sword. (Why a fire sword would kill a creature that should, presumably, already be dead, is beyond me.)
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