She stretches lazily across a bed of silken linens, slowly swinging her feet behind her as she lounges, waiting for her lover to come. The crimson bulbs overhead cast a hazy glow across the room; reflecting off scarlet sheets and pillows, and creating an illusion amongst her perfectly coiffed raven locks of a soft glow. She lays with one arm propped at the elbow; her curled hand just beneath her chin; the other dangling off the foot of the bed where a black padded leather bench stands; currently being employed as a makeshift table. Her manicured fingertips also reflect maroon as they lightly graze the sides of a glass of merlot; slowly swirling the dark liquid in passive, dreamy circles; the warmth already creeping across her cheeks from drink. I'm not like the other girls, she thinks to herself; her head feeling heavy in her hand. I'm class. I'm better than all of them put together. I don't have to stay here. I can leave any time I want to. I'm only here because I want to be. It was the same story that she told herself every day; it had been resounding in her mind for so long that she'd even begun to believe it.
As a twinge of nagging doubt starts to enter her mind, she tosses back another long gulp before abandoning the now-empty glass on the bench. She shifts to sit; the motion nearly causing her breasts to spill out from the top of her black negliee as crawls across the bed to retrieve her Marlboros. She lights the cigarette and drags deeply as she sinks back against the pillows, smoke swirling in tendrils around her as she crossed one leg over the other; still privately enjoying the feel of silken stockings rubbing against each other. The soft wail of a sultry trumpet sounding from a speaker off in some dusty corner of the room only further carried her away from reality, having long since forgotten how sleazy it had once made her feel when she first came here. After so much time had passed, she'd not only learned to embrace it, but she had become the illusion. The innocent, timid blonde girl-next-door Daisy had died long ago; she'd been re-born as Babette after she'd blackened her hair, re-invented her face with a pound of makeup and false lashes, adopted a fake high-class accent, and for all intents and purposes, had become the femme fatale from another era. Once soft and kind blue eyes had turned icy cold as a result of circumstance, which she would refer to as nothing more than "worldly experience".
She nearly jumps out of her skin as she hears a hand on the doorknob, snapping her out of her reverie. She quickly snuffs out the cigarette and returns to how she'd laid before, except with both arms folded now just below her bust; making every effort emphasize every last bit of cleavage she could possibly employ as her eyes lock on the doorway. She can hear muffled male voices negotiating outside, and although her outward appearance remains stoic, she feels the familiar fluttering in her chest of whether or not she'll find work tonight. Only clearly making out the words "you can't afford her" and hearing the hand leave the doorknob, she sighs and slumps forward, feeling deflated that it had happened again before reaching down for the remainder of the bottle of Merlot. Fuck them, she thinks to herself; trying to shift her mood defensively. I'm too good for them anyway. This time, she doesn't bother with the glass as she quickly empties the rest of the bottle to drown the ever-present feeling of rejection that had followed her throughout her life and brought her here in the first place, and desperately wanting to kill the infantile fantasy that one of these johns would be the prince to deliver her from the life she managed to get herself stuck into. Through half-lidded eyes, she focuses on the hypnotically blinking red lights just outside her window as she guzzles the last of the wine.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Thursday, October 13, 2011
A follow-up to yesterday's post
After much speculation all day yesterday about whether I should go back and take a picture of that heart I found on the ground or not, today I went out in search of it to see if it was still there.
It was.
I was surprised at just how easy I was able to find it again when I went looking for it!
Now yesterday, when I had seen it, I had assumed this to be a chunky plastic bead or some such thing. As my eyes landed upon it today, I thought it to be a piece of painted wood. No, no... Upon closer inspection, this is actually a colored piece of soft foam. (Annnnd into the pocket it goes.)
How interesting, though, that as I began to walk with it, the same sort of deep introspective thoughts began tol roll around inside my brain. When I first passed this by, I had thought it was plastic - and metaphorically, when I passed it, I thought it was something cold and hardened, able to weather the storms of the world, even if a little worse for wear. Able to fend for itself, I left it be. Yet, when I came back to it and actually looked at it for myself, I found it to be something soft, vulnerable, and warm. Something that would certainly be destroyed if left alone again. I picked it up and turned it over while still looking at it and dusting it off and found the damage to the back, where it clearly used to have been glued to something - who knows what - but had fallen off. Yet it took the eyes of someone with a gentle nature to recognize it as something of worth, something lovely, something worth saving.... I can't help but make the comparison to those of us who've had our hearts broken, been left behind, kicked to the curb, but eventually became loved again once someone special found us who saw us for what we're truly worth. Perhaps a little worse for wear around the edges, but still good.
For the record, I took it home, washed it clean, and glued it to the side of my bookcase. Now she has a permanent home. :) I know, it's something small and silly, and all of you reading this probably think I'm nuts for making such a big deal out of it, but it was profoundly meaningful to me. It's often the tiny things like this that make the biggest impact for me.
Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at will change.
It was.
Now yesterday, when I had seen it, I had assumed this to be a chunky plastic bead or some such thing. As my eyes landed upon it today, I thought it to be a piece of painted wood. No, no... Upon closer inspection, this is actually a colored piece of soft foam. (Annnnd into the pocket it goes.)
How interesting, though, that as I began to walk with it, the same sort of deep introspective thoughts began tol roll around inside my brain. When I first passed this by, I had thought it was plastic - and metaphorically, when I passed it, I thought it was something cold and hardened, able to weather the storms of the world, even if a little worse for wear. Able to fend for itself, I left it be. Yet, when I came back to it and actually looked at it for myself, I found it to be something soft, vulnerable, and warm. Something that would certainly be destroyed if left alone again. I picked it up and turned it over while still looking at it and dusting it off and found the damage to the back, where it clearly used to have been glued to something - who knows what - but had fallen off. Yet it took the eyes of someone with a gentle nature to recognize it as something of worth, something lovely, something worth saving.... I can't help but make the comparison to those of us who've had our hearts broken, been left behind, kicked to the curb, but eventually became loved again once someone special found us who saw us for what we're truly worth. Perhaps a little worse for wear around the edges, but still good.
For the record, I took it home, washed it clean, and glued it to the side of my bookcase. Now she has a permanent home. :) I know, it's something small and silly, and all of you reading this probably think I'm nuts for making such a big deal out of it, but it was profoundly meaningful to me. It's often the tiny things like this that make the biggest impact for me.
Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at will change.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
How Easy It Is To Pass Love By
I took my morning walk, as I usually do, and brought my camera with me today. Sometimes I do that. I get into a mood where I just feel artistic and see the world through a pair of rose-colored glasses, and I see the art and beauty in everything and just want to capture it as best I can the way that I see it.
As I was walking up my street, in the final stretch to my house (it's a long street), something on the ground caught my eye and made me pause for just a moment. A little pinky-purple plastic heart was laying on the ground, amidst the leaves and suburban debris. I smiled to myself a little and continued walking. As I walked, I found myself waxing poetic (probably much more than I should have) about my secret find.
Love is everywhere. Even in the most unexpected of places. You might pass right by it and not even know it. Not even recognizing it for what it is and dismissing it without a second thought. Taking it completely for granted.
I started to debate whether or not I should walk back and take a picture of it after all, given all these deep thoughts it was sparking...or better still, go and pick it up and keep it. I decided against it, figuring that maybe I'll just take a picture of it tomorrow and take it if it's still there and if no one's looking. This, too, evoked deep thoughts.
How careless and thoughtless we can be sometimes with other people's hearts. Putting it into perspective, I might say that this could be a reflection of the way we've been known to treat people before. We may know damn well someone has feelings for us, but frankly, we just don't about them. Or we don't want to take the time of day and effort involved in it. Or we're worried about how it would look if we were seen with so and so and only dare give them the time of day if nobody will know about it. We might put this person on the backburner... Not completely shooting them down, but keeping them in mind as a 'just in case all else fails' type of thought. You assume that if nothing else, they'll still be there later and if you feel like it, you might pursue something then. And then the reality of life sets in when you realize that when you're ready for them, they probably won't still be there...either metaphorically speaking (i.e. they're now taken), or physically they are no longer there. And yet, we let pride run our lives. We usually don't even realize it when it's happening, and it's only upon deeper inspection and reflection that we realize this about ourselves.
As humans, we are very strange and complex creatures. It's part of what makes us wonderful and beautiful, but it's part of what sets us apart from all of God's other creatures as well in a negative way too. It's easy to say things such as all you need is love, but when it comes down to it, how many of us *actually* live by such words? I'll give you a hint: there wouldn't be so many lonely people in the world if we did as we said. We're picky, we're egotistical, we're spoiled. As such, it's so easy to walk right past love and not even recognize it for what it is....and you may have just walked past Mr. or Ms. Right, for all you know. We need to really learn to open our eyes and listen with our hearts. This is something that as a society, we're progressively losing a grip on. Technology has come so far, and brought so many people together that otherwise never would have met for geographical or other reasons...and yet, we're losing the simple art of human touch and connection.
Food for thought.
As I was walking up my street, in the final stretch to my house (it's a long street), something on the ground caught my eye and made me pause for just a moment. A little pinky-purple plastic heart was laying on the ground, amidst the leaves and suburban debris. I smiled to myself a little and continued walking. As I walked, I found myself waxing poetic (probably much more than I should have) about my secret find.
Love is everywhere. Even in the most unexpected of places. You might pass right by it and not even know it. Not even recognizing it for what it is and dismissing it without a second thought. Taking it completely for granted.
I started to debate whether or not I should walk back and take a picture of it after all, given all these deep thoughts it was sparking...or better still, go and pick it up and keep it. I decided against it, figuring that maybe I'll just take a picture of it tomorrow and take it if it's still there and if no one's looking. This, too, evoked deep thoughts.
How careless and thoughtless we can be sometimes with other people's hearts. Putting it into perspective, I might say that this could be a reflection of the way we've been known to treat people before. We may know damn well someone has feelings for us, but frankly, we just don't about them. Or we don't want to take the time of day and effort involved in it. Or we're worried about how it would look if we were seen with so and so and only dare give them the time of day if nobody will know about it. We might put this person on the backburner... Not completely shooting them down, but keeping them in mind as a 'just in case all else fails' type of thought. You assume that if nothing else, they'll still be there later and if you feel like it, you might pursue something then. And then the reality of life sets in when you realize that when you're ready for them, they probably won't still be there...either metaphorically speaking (i.e. they're now taken), or physically they are no longer there. And yet, we let pride run our lives. We usually don't even realize it when it's happening, and it's only upon deeper inspection and reflection that we realize this about ourselves.
As humans, we are very strange and complex creatures. It's part of what makes us wonderful and beautiful, but it's part of what sets us apart from all of God's other creatures as well in a negative way too. It's easy to say things such as all you need is love, but when it comes down to it, how many of us *actually* live by such words? I'll give you a hint: there wouldn't be so many lonely people in the world if we did as we said. We're picky, we're egotistical, we're spoiled. As such, it's so easy to walk right past love and not even recognize it for what it is....and you may have just walked past Mr. or Ms. Right, for all you know. We need to really learn to open our eyes and listen with our hearts. This is something that as a society, we're progressively losing a grip on. Technology has come so far, and brought so many people together that otherwise never would have met for geographical or other reasons...and yet, we're losing the simple art of human touch and connection.
Food for thought.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Writing Prompt #6
PROMPT: Imagine yourself in a place you like to be (not necessarily someplace you like to *go*). What do you like about it? What are the most intriguing/appealing aspects?
As anyone knows, I'm primarily a homebody and generally don't leave home unless I absolutely have to. However, home life has become more and more strained as of late, and I'm finding that I'm not 'liking' being here so much anymore... so there goes my initial first answer. But after some reflective thinking, the obvious answer came to me. I'm not sure whether this counts as one or two (or more) places, but I'm going to go ahead and count it as one. Right behind our old house (it's on the same property as our current one, just the opposite end), there's a nature trail that leads to a nearby lake. Not very many people take this trail, and with the exception of a couple months out of the year, not even that many people go to the lake. Although, the part that I go to, practically nobody ever goes to. (You're not even technically supposed to be able to get to it.) But still, I digress.
The trail is a very tranquil, quiet, and peaceful stretch of land that always leaves me in awe of the beauty and power of mother nature. No matter what it is that should be troubling me, all it takes is a quick walk up and down those hallowed hills, and I find that even upon turning that first bend through the trees, I find myself with a sense of inner peace and understanding of myself, my thoughts, my emotions, current situations, life in general... I don't know what exactly it is that makes it so different from anywhere else, but I can always feel a definite positive shift in energies every time I walk through them. The deeper I go, the more powerful it becomes. I would say perhaps it's the getting up and around and getting my blood flowing that maybe gets things going, but this has never happened with me anywhere else I should take walks; only there. Although generally I don't opt towards being completely alone, when it comes to that trail, I find that I really need to walk that path with nobody else with me to feel the full effects of nature's energy all around me, lifting me up, cleansing my soul. The smell of redwoods and leaves; the sound of trickling water across the rocks in the brook beside the trail; the gentle breezes through my hair; the warmth of the sun kissing my face. No words can truely do it justice; it's a thing that must be experienced firsthand. Even when having been stuck in writer's gridlock for months on end, I find that as soon as I get out there, even if it may not solve the problems of the current project, it certainly starts to immediately open my mind to the possibilities of other things deep inside that yearn to be written; simply needing me to be the go between to put my pen to paper. If I were wise, I would bring a notebook and pens whenever I go out there, but I never seem to think of this until I'm already out there and it's too late to turn around and go fetch them. One would think it could wait until I get home, but honestly, my mind brims and bubbles over with so many deep, introspective ideas that trying to remember all of them by the time I get home is always a losing battle. If I can even remember a handful of them by the time I get back so that I may flesh them out into something beautiful, I consider it a success.
Although the path may be very dusty and the rocks mossy and spiderweb-laden, it never stops me from finding a quiet spot and just taking it all in, sometimes for hours. Some may find the silence deafening for so long, but I don't hear it that way. I hear a constant stream of birds chirping, leaves rustling, water flowing, life becoming. I feel the closest thing to "zen" I've ever felt out there.
Nearing the lake, you start to encounter more people, although I've yet to find one - even one - who didn't seem to be as at peace as myself strolling through there. Be they on foot, bicycle, or horseback, it's a common thread that all seem to share who come through, and it's another thing that I've yet to encounter anywhere else. Where the trail begins to curve into a paved path, on one side of you, there's a small waterfall with benches nearby; each dedicated to someone's loved ones. On the other, there's the sprawling lake, glimmering in the sunlight. It doesn't matter what time of day it is, this view is absolutely idyllic and seemingly out of a painting. If you follow the paved path, you'll reach the 'proper' entrance to the lake, where more people are. However, if you go around the other way, off the beaten path and through the trees and tall grasses.... You'll find a few more benches, and a creaky wooden dock, seemingly abandoned and forgotten by time. In younger years I used to dare to wander out onto it, but nowadays, you set one foot onto it and it sways heavily from side to side. It's a pity that its strength seems to be going and no longer able to support the weight of people, as was once intended, but that's alright. There's a small hill through the trees that will bring you right down to the water's edge if you know the exact spot to follow it down at. My mother knew about it and used to bring me down there every weekend to enjoy nature, and to let me collect leaves and shells and rocks, sometimes bird feathers, or anything else that happened to strike my fancy that I found down there. The trees that now mask this area have since grown thick and heavy, but at one time they were pruned back neatly, and you could see the small 'stairs' that had been carved out in the dirt. I can still find this spot easily, nearly with my eyes closed, as it's so deeply imprinted on my memory. The stairs too have seemingly eroded away with time, but I don't mind scaling down this hill the hard way. (I won't lie - I've taken a few small tumbles down it before getting down and back up it since those steps have worn away, but it never seems to dissuade me away from that particular clearing.) But once down the other side of that hill, it's the same as it ever was. It's hard to really describe the terrain of this clearing.... It's a mixture of dirt, sand, pebbles, and larger rocks. At certain points there's tall cattails growing out of the water near where the water becomes land. It does so in such a way that it seemingly encloses the sides of this clearing into a small safe haven, provided by nature, untouched by man. It seemingly provides you with the perfect front row, center seat of the lake. During the day, every little ripple in the water sparkles and glitters in the sun, but even this beauty can't hold a candle to the view at sunset. It's one of the most, if not the most, breathtaking sights I've ever seen in my entire life. During my angst-ridden teen years, it wasn't too uncommon for me to 'run away' (always short-lived) from home and find solace in my own secret world here that nobody else seems to know about. There were two occasions where, although probably not the safest move, I stayed out all night and slept against a couple of the larger rocks. (Not the most comfortable thing in the world, nor would I recommend this, but I digress.) Typically though, all it would take was a good cry to get it out of my system, knowing that here, nobody would ever have to know; just me and God. Then the sunset would come, seeming to embrace me in its gentle golden glow as if to comfort like a mother with her child. Ever since having lost the ability to turn to my own mother for comfort, this is a very intensely emotional and powerful feeling for me, and does make me question how real (and I feel they are) that spirits really are. Every ripple, every wave on the water slowly begins the realization that whatever may be troubling me will too eventually pass and change, just as the water ebbs and flows. Every time someone's hurt me, every time something goes wrong, it's ultimately just a change in the tides of the human experience that make up this crazy thing we call life. Some may be larger than others, and may take a little longer before the water becomes tranquil again, but it always eventually does. But likewise, the water is never 100% completely still - a gentle reminder that there will always be problems that come up in life, but that they aren't the end of the world, no matter how painful or unfair they may seem at the time.
Walking back home I always feel I have a clearer head and perspective about things and a more positive outlook on things in general. Slowly as I near home the sounds of normal life begin to become nearer, and things begin to feel a little more normal, simply with a much more peaceful feeling about me. I only wish that everyone could find their place like this, although some never do. I also sincerely hope that the inevitable day comes when I'm finally able to move out on my own, that I should be able to find another equally as powerful place to be able to retreat to near wherever that new home may be.
As anyone knows, I'm primarily a homebody and generally don't leave home unless I absolutely have to. However, home life has become more and more strained as of late, and I'm finding that I'm not 'liking' being here so much anymore... so there goes my initial first answer. But after some reflective thinking, the obvious answer came to me. I'm not sure whether this counts as one or two (or more) places, but I'm going to go ahead and count it as one. Right behind our old house (it's on the same property as our current one, just the opposite end), there's a nature trail that leads to a nearby lake. Not very many people take this trail, and with the exception of a couple months out of the year, not even that many people go to the lake. Although, the part that I go to, practically nobody ever goes to. (You're not even technically supposed to be able to get to it.) But still, I digress.
The trail is a very tranquil, quiet, and peaceful stretch of land that always leaves me in awe of the beauty and power of mother nature. No matter what it is that should be troubling me, all it takes is a quick walk up and down those hallowed hills, and I find that even upon turning that first bend through the trees, I find myself with a sense of inner peace and understanding of myself, my thoughts, my emotions, current situations, life in general... I don't know what exactly it is that makes it so different from anywhere else, but I can always feel a definite positive shift in energies every time I walk through them. The deeper I go, the more powerful it becomes. I would say perhaps it's the getting up and around and getting my blood flowing that maybe gets things going, but this has never happened with me anywhere else I should take walks; only there. Although generally I don't opt towards being completely alone, when it comes to that trail, I find that I really need to walk that path with nobody else with me to feel the full effects of nature's energy all around me, lifting me up, cleansing my soul. The smell of redwoods and leaves; the sound of trickling water across the rocks in the brook beside the trail; the gentle breezes through my hair; the warmth of the sun kissing my face. No words can truely do it justice; it's a thing that must be experienced firsthand. Even when having been stuck in writer's gridlock for months on end, I find that as soon as I get out there, even if it may not solve the problems of the current project, it certainly starts to immediately open my mind to the possibilities of other things deep inside that yearn to be written; simply needing me to be the go between to put my pen to paper. If I were wise, I would bring a notebook and pens whenever I go out there, but I never seem to think of this until I'm already out there and it's too late to turn around and go fetch them. One would think it could wait until I get home, but honestly, my mind brims and bubbles over with so many deep, introspective ideas that trying to remember all of them by the time I get home is always a losing battle. If I can even remember a handful of them by the time I get back so that I may flesh them out into something beautiful, I consider it a success.
Although the path may be very dusty and the rocks mossy and spiderweb-laden, it never stops me from finding a quiet spot and just taking it all in, sometimes for hours. Some may find the silence deafening for so long, but I don't hear it that way. I hear a constant stream of birds chirping, leaves rustling, water flowing, life becoming. I feel the closest thing to "zen" I've ever felt out there.
Nearing the lake, you start to encounter more people, although I've yet to find one - even one - who didn't seem to be as at peace as myself strolling through there. Be they on foot, bicycle, or horseback, it's a common thread that all seem to share who come through, and it's another thing that I've yet to encounter anywhere else. Where the trail begins to curve into a paved path, on one side of you, there's a small waterfall with benches nearby; each dedicated to someone's loved ones. On the other, there's the sprawling lake, glimmering in the sunlight. It doesn't matter what time of day it is, this view is absolutely idyllic and seemingly out of a painting. If you follow the paved path, you'll reach the 'proper' entrance to the lake, where more people are. However, if you go around the other way, off the beaten path and through the trees and tall grasses.... You'll find a few more benches, and a creaky wooden dock, seemingly abandoned and forgotten by time. In younger years I used to dare to wander out onto it, but nowadays, you set one foot onto it and it sways heavily from side to side. It's a pity that its strength seems to be going and no longer able to support the weight of people, as was once intended, but that's alright. There's a small hill through the trees that will bring you right down to the water's edge if you know the exact spot to follow it down at. My mother knew about it and used to bring me down there every weekend to enjoy nature, and to let me collect leaves and shells and rocks, sometimes bird feathers, or anything else that happened to strike my fancy that I found down there. The trees that now mask this area have since grown thick and heavy, but at one time they were pruned back neatly, and you could see the small 'stairs' that had been carved out in the dirt. I can still find this spot easily, nearly with my eyes closed, as it's so deeply imprinted on my memory. The stairs too have seemingly eroded away with time, but I don't mind scaling down this hill the hard way. (I won't lie - I've taken a few small tumbles down it before getting down and back up it since those steps have worn away, but it never seems to dissuade me away from that particular clearing.) But once down the other side of that hill, it's the same as it ever was. It's hard to really describe the terrain of this clearing.... It's a mixture of dirt, sand, pebbles, and larger rocks. At certain points there's tall cattails growing out of the water near where the water becomes land. It does so in such a way that it seemingly encloses the sides of this clearing into a small safe haven, provided by nature, untouched by man. It seemingly provides you with the perfect front row, center seat of the lake. During the day, every little ripple in the water sparkles and glitters in the sun, but even this beauty can't hold a candle to the view at sunset. It's one of the most, if not the most, breathtaking sights I've ever seen in my entire life. During my angst-ridden teen years, it wasn't too uncommon for me to 'run away' (always short-lived) from home and find solace in my own secret world here that nobody else seems to know about. There were two occasions where, although probably not the safest move, I stayed out all night and slept against a couple of the larger rocks. (Not the most comfortable thing in the world, nor would I recommend this, but I digress.) Typically though, all it would take was a good cry to get it out of my system, knowing that here, nobody would ever have to know; just me and God. Then the sunset would come, seeming to embrace me in its gentle golden glow as if to comfort like a mother with her child. Ever since having lost the ability to turn to my own mother for comfort, this is a very intensely emotional and powerful feeling for me, and does make me question how real (and I feel they are) that spirits really are. Every ripple, every wave on the water slowly begins the realization that whatever may be troubling me will too eventually pass and change, just as the water ebbs and flows. Every time someone's hurt me, every time something goes wrong, it's ultimately just a change in the tides of the human experience that make up this crazy thing we call life. Some may be larger than others, and may take a little longer before the water becomes tranquil again, but it always eventually does. But likewise, the water is never 100% completely still - a gentle reminder that there will always be problems that come up in life, but that they aren't the end of the world, no matter how painful or unfair they may seem at the time.
Walking back home I always feel I have a clearer head and perspective about things and a more positive outlook on things in general. Slowly as I near home the sounds of normal life begin to become nearer, and things begin to feel a little more normal, simply with a much more peaceful feeling about me. I only wish that everyone could find their place like this, although some never do. I also sincerely hope that the inevitable day comes when I'm finally able to move out on my own, that I should be able to find another equally as powerful place to be able to retreat to near wherever that new home may be.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
WRITING PROMPT #5
Beginnings, Middles, and Ends
Beginnings are a funny thing. They're awkward and mysterious and exciting and uncertain and hopeful and you don't know quite what will happen. You dream on things, you picture every glamorous way your mind can conjure up that the situation (or the relationship, for that matter) may go. Many of those dreams are unrealistic, although they feel very real and very accomplish-able at the time. I love the beginnings when everything is magical and sparkling; unsullied by the ravages of time, like a new nickel. It seems as though you have found the answer to what it is that you're looking for -- companionship for life, a home, a family, a job, financial security... Oh, but how things change with time...
But then you hit that middle ground. Sometimes it's a gradual shift, sometimes it all hits at once. You hit that plateau of middle ground. It feels comfortable like a warm, fuzzy sweater. You generally know how things are going to work by now. Sometimes you still have some dreams left, but for the most part, the illusion is shattered. The glitter begins to fade, the shine begins to tarnish... You've fallen into a rut of sameness with your lover. Your home has grown dusty, dirty, and cluttered. The kids grow up. Your job is soul-crushingly boring. The financial security you dreamt of in your youth didn't pan out. But the world goes round and round.
Then of course, the inevitable comes along that we all fear and dread: the endings. You fall out of love. You lose the house to foreclosure or it falls into dilapidation. Promises are broken, as is trust. The kids move away and move on with their lives. Friendships disintegrate. You lose your job, or go into retirement. And of course, the ultimate ending of all that nobody escapes: death.
The human experience is unique to all who live it. No two paths run completely parallel, nor will anyone walk your path with you from the moment you're born until you die except for you yourself. Nothing is permanent. No problem lasts forever... but likewise, nothing is forever, either, and we're only kidding ourselves when we try to believe otherwise.
I realize I'm very young to be so jaded about the whole world as I am, but it's something I've both witnessed and experienced time and time again. One thing I have always lacked in my life -- and so desperately envied others for -- is permanency. Of anything. All the people who've had lifelong friends from the time they were kids, the people who met The One and were lucky enough to get to spend their whole lives together; the ones who got to live in the same place their whole life; the ones who got to keep the same job from the time they started working til they retired; the ones who don't have to wonder and worry where their next paycheck is coming from -- or if there'll be one. I know there's got to be people out there who've been blessed with being so lucky as to have such stability in their lives as this, but I unfortunately wasn't one of them. Fight and try as I might for anything even remotely resembling what I assume to be normalcy, and grasping for stability at the same time, it's never happened in my whole life -- the rug ALWAYS gets pulled out from under me. As they say, when man plans, God laughs. And it's true. (If you're of the non-religious persuasion, then okay, fate laughs.) So in trying to let things unfold as they will and in attempting to not be quite so much much of a self-described control freak, it's come to my attention that perhaps, maybe it's not just unlucky folks such as myself who seem to be doomed to lives where nothing's permanent... perhaps it truly is one of those crazy things that nobody ever wants to admit to, but everybody has to go through? Maybe? Just a thought. If so, on one hand, it doesn't give me much hope that I'll ever find the stability I so desperately crave and need in my life. On the other... If that's the case, then it's a little bit of an empowering feeling that maybe someday there will be something in my life that's rock steady that I can cling and anchor myself to in this crazy sea we call life. It certainly would be nice to be able to start something for once without having to worry about when it will end.
Beginnings are a funny thing. They're awkward and mysterious and exciting and uncertain and hopeful and you don't know quite what will happen. You dream on things, you picture every glamorous way your mind can conjure up that the situation (or the relationship, for that matter) may go. Many of those dreams are unrealistic, although they feel very real and very accomplish-able at the time. I love the beginnings when everything is magical and sparkling; unsullied by the ravages of time, like a new nickel. It seems as though you have found the answer to what it is that you're looking for -- companionship for life, a home, a family, a job, financial security... Oh, but how things change with time...
But then you hit that middle ground. Sometimes it's a gradual shift, sometimes it all hits at once. You hit that plateau of middle ground. It feels comfortable like a warm, fuzzy sweater. You generally know how things are going to work by now. Sometimes you still have some dreams left, but for the most part, the illusion is shattered. The glitter begins to fade, the shine begins to tarnish... You've fallen into a rut of sameness with your lover. Your home has grown dusty, dirty, and cluttered. The kids grow up. Your job is soul-crushingly boring. The financial security you dreamt of in your youth didn't pan out. But the world goes round and round.
Then of course, the inevitable comes along that we all fear and dread: the endings. You fall out of love. You lose the house to foreclosure or it falls into dilapidation. Promises are broken, as is trust. The kids move away and move on with their lives. Friendships disintegrate. You lose your job, or go into retirement. And of course, the ultimate ending of all that nobody escapes: death.
The human experience is unique to all who live it. No two paths run completely parallel, nor will anyone walk your path with you from the moment you're born until you die except for you yourself. Nothing is permanent. No problem lasts forever... but likewise, nothing is forever, either, and we're only kidding ourselves when we try to believe otherwise.
I realize I'm very young to be so jaded about the whole world as I am, but it's something I've both witnessed and experienced time and time again. One thing I have always lacked in my life -- and so desperately envied others for -- is permanency. Of anything. All the people who've had lifelong friends from the time they were kids, the people who met The One and were lucky enough to get to spend their whole lives together; the ones who got to live in the same place their whole life; the ones who got to keep the same job from the time they started working til they retired; the ones who don't have to wonder and worry where their next paycheck is coming from -- or if there'll be one. I know there's got to be people out there who've been blessed with being so lucky as to have such stability in their lives as this, but I unfortunately wasn't one of them. Fight and try as I might for anything even remotely resembling what I assume to be normalcy, and grasping for stability at the same time, it's never happened in my whole life -- the rug ALWAYS gets pulled out from under me. As they say, when man plans, God laughs. And it's true. (If you're of the non-religious persuasion, then okay, fate laughs.) So in trying to let things unfold as they will and in attempting to not be quite so much much of a self-described control freak, it's come to my attention that perhaps, maybe it's not just unlucky folks such as myself who seem to be doomed to lives where nothing's permanent... perhaps it truly is one of those crazy things that nobody ever wants to admit to, but everybody has to go through? Maybe? Just a thought. If so, on one hand, it doesn't give me much hope that I'll ever find the stability I so desperately crave and need in my life. On the other... If that's the case, then it's a little bit of an empowering feeling that maybe someday there will be something in my life that's rock steady that I can cling and anchor myself to in this crazy sea we call life. It certainly would be nice to be able to start something for once without having to worry about when it will end.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
WRITING PROMPT #4
When We Were Wee
There's so much that the word "childhood" brings to mind. Childhood is imaginary friends and skinned knees, climbing trees and going on adventures to places the grown ups can't understand, yet you've never left your backyard. It's a time when the worst thing you have to worry about is whether or not you're invited to so and so's birthday party, and when all the hurts of the world could be fixed by a kiss from mom and a cookie. The possibilities for life seemed endless, limited only by one's imagination. Any hobby seemed like not only a potential future career, but you'd dream of being the best in the world at it. (I played piano, so I thought I'd be the world's greatest concert pianist. I've written since stories since I was 3 years old, no lie, and thought I'd have bestselling books published that would make me rich someday. I thought I'd go to art school and become a world-renowned artist. I also thought I'd be a doctor, a horse rancher, a gymnast, a ballerina, and a rockstar.) You feel no guilt about doing anything but playing with toys or coloring all day. At some point, we lose sight of such things when a pesky little thing called "reality" sets in. You realize you could've been doing something productive with your time. You find you have to settle for something that is possible where careers are concerned, even if to you, it's the equivalent of selling your soul. (Can you tell I'm still bitter about my art dream dying?)
However, this is not how I intended on this post going. Looking it over, I just said "WOW. That's way too much bitterness about what's supposed to be such a happy time. Let's fix that." So, I'm going to veer this in a completely different direction. I can't promise that it will be a meaningful, introspective post; just that it won't be so damn pessimistic.
Back in about 1996 or 1997, the digital pet craze hit. Oh, did it ever hit. I'm normally not a person who ever follows trends, as they strike me as mindless and conformist, but this one was a little different and I couldn't resist. All it took as my seeing one Tamagotchi on the last day of school in 6th grade, and I HAD to have one. This was when I was still in private school, and this girl's father was an international businessman who always seemed to pick up the latest and greatest new toys before they got big over here. Normally I wouldn't give a rat's ass, but with how I and electronics are........ all it took was my eyes locking on that little egg-shaped keychain with the three buttons, andi t was love. However, try as he might, my own dad turned up empty-handed when I asked him for one.
About a month or so into the summer, I was talking to one of my cousins on the phone (as I did every day with her, since she was pretty much my only friend growing up) and I kept hearing this beeping in the background. I finally asked her what it was. "Oh that? That's my Gigapet Kitty!" "Your what?" "It's this little virtual cat that you play with and raise from a kitten and watch it grow up!" "...Is it on a keychain by any chance?" "Yeah, why?" "Does it have 3 little buttons at the bottom?" "Mine has 4." ".................Is this like one of those Tamagotchi things?" "Yeah!! KB Toys is selling them!"
DAAAAAAAAADDYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!
He'd barely even gotten in the door from work by the time I was dragging his ass out that door in search of the elusive GigaKitty. (Unfortunately, to be fair, we had to take Nicole too. Laaaame.) So the first store we went to was wiped out and didn't have a single one there. Okay, to the mall!! We checked every toy store in that damn mall, and they were all sold out too. Not to be deterred (since god knows when I was still that young, I usually got whatever I wanted....I should really lay off Kimmy for being just as bad now that she's that age and acts the same exact way), I made my dad go to Toys R Us.
.......We stopped at 3 different Toys R Us stores, none of which had them in stock either. My dad was about to give up for the night, and out came the pouty lip and the puppy dog eyes with the threat of impending tears... "Okay. We'll try one more store, but then we're going home."
I honestly couldn't even tell you what store it was anymore, but it was some tiny little hole in the wall place. I remember groaning as we pulled into the parking lot. "But dad! This place is TINY! They'll never have them here!" "Well, if you don't want to go in, we can turn around and go ho--" "I'll go in." "Okay then."
So we go inside, and this place is little more than about three racks of stuff, and a wall of shelves behind the register. I was midway through asking if they had any Gigapets or Tamagotchis (skeptically at that, since I never figured this rinkydink little place would have them) when my eyes locked on a little green egg-shaped keychain on the wall, with the little three buttons at the bottom......
"We're all out of Gigapets and Tamagotchis, but we have these Nano Puppies!"
"I'LL TAKE IT!"
I got the green one, my sister got the orange one. All was well in the world. The entire car-ride home, all I could think about was how incredibly cool this thing was, and was practically pawing at it through the plastic, as I couldn't open it without scissors. Never would one thing that some simple little black and white pixels on maybe an inch tall screen could make a kid so excited. I got home and read every word of the instruction manual while I ate dinner. And then proceeded to stay up until about 2 in the morning playing with this new acquisition while watching Bumpety Boo cartoons with my little brother.
I thought I was such hot shit with my new toy. Even if it did keep beeping every half hour all night, wanting to be played with... Unlike Tamagotchis, Nanos didn't have a pause button. Or a sleep mode. Sure, they slept...but not for very long. But that didn't bother me any. Anyhow, within 24 hours, we go over to show off our new toys to the neighbors' kids. (More or less to do a "look what we have that you don't!", I have to admit. Kids are cruel.) They, on the other hand, just got a new pool. And you can see where this is going already. My sister could put hers down long enough to go in, so she wore it around her neck on a chain. Leant over once.....bye-bye, puppy. She drowned it. Literally. That thing was fried. Being the mean little kid I was, I laughed and wouldn't let her anywhere near mine, because DUH, she'd kill mine too! Did she get a replacement? No.
Is karma a bitch? Yes.
The day after that, my aunt took me out for lunch at Carl's Jr (why I still remember this, I don't know). No sooner had I set my Pepsi down in the car did we drive over a bump that made it spill all over my lap.....and all over the Nano Puppy. FFFFUUUUUUU-- So here I am, trying to dry it off as fast as possible, shake it out, ANYTHING to avoid it dying a similar fate my sister's had. (I may have given it a feeble attempt at mouth to mouth, because I was a stupid child.) And mine still worked, sure.... But forever had a dark cola stain inside the screen I was never able to do anything about. I'd always get asked if I broke the screen. "No. My puppy got a pepsi tattoo."
That craze encompassed a couple of years, and between my siblings and my cousins, we amassed countless Nanos, Gigapets, Tamagotchis, 8-In-One pets, Disney pets, Avon pets, Digi-Panda, Digi-Fish, Dinkie Dinos, Yuki Penguins, you name it, we had it. I had quite an obsession with them, and I would always offer to "babysit" them (which would consist of me clipping them onto my purse and pretending they were mine). If someone pissed me off while I was babysitting theirs......someone would just accidentally hit the reset button on them. >_> (Thus why I never let anyone babysit mine but my mom.) Slowly my cousins and my siblings outgrew these, and rather than throw them out, knowing I was all obsessed with the damn things, would typically offer them to me. Of course, I'd take them.
I kid you not. I ended up with over 70 of the damn things. All functional, all active, all being played, all being carried everywhere.
I was soon carrying old lady purses so there was enough clips and strap room to attach them all. The arm strap of my purse alone would have about 20 pets clipped onto it. It looked ridiculous, and you could probably of called me the digital equivalent to a crazy cat lady (well, I had cats in there, too!). I was a digital pet hoarder.
I've been the butt of many jokes for still owning them, although they haven't been touched or even really thought about for about the past decade. They've been sitting in shoeboxes, collecting dust. Hopefully I took the batteries out so they didn't corrode. Regardless, something randomly spurred me a few weeks ago to search ebay what some of these might be worth now.
Holy crap. Even out of the package, a LOT of these can go for about $40 a pop. SERIOUSLY?? And if they were in the cases, they go for well over a hundred bucks. Fffffuuuuu....... wow. As soon as I can find what the hell I did with them again, someone's going to make a killing on ebay, no doubt. And yet, when I thought about it, I realized there's still one that even though I'll probably never play it again, I doubt I can bring myself to give it up. You know what it is?
That little green Nano puppy with the pepsi tattoo.
There's so much that the word "childhood" brings to mind. Childhood is imaginary friends and skinned knees, climbing trees and going on adventures to places the grown ups can't understand, yet you've never left your backyard. It's a time when the worst thing you have to worry about is whether or not you're invited to so and so's birthday party, and when all the hurts of the world could be fixed by a kiss from mom and a cookie. The possibilities for life seemed endless, limited only by one's imagination. Any hobby seemed like not only a potential future career, but you'd dream of being the best in the world at it. (I played piano, so I thought I'd be the world's greatest concert pianist. I've written since stories since I was 3 years old, no lie, and thought I'd have bestselling books published that would make me rich someday. I thought I'd go to art school and become a world-renowned artist. I also thought I'd be a doctor, a horse rancher, a gymnast, a ballerina, and a rockstar.) You feel no guilt about doing anything but playing with toys or coloring all day. At some point, we lose sight of such things when a pesky little thing called "reality" sets in. You realize you could've been doing something productive with your time. You find you have to settle for something that is possible where careers are concerned, even if to you, it's the equivalent of selling your soul. (Can you tell I'm still bitter about my art dream dying?)
However, this is not how I intended on this post going. Looking it over, I just said "WOW. That's way too much bitterness about what's supposed to be such a happy time. Let's fix that." So, I'm going to veer this in a completely different direction. I can't promise that it will be a meaningful, introspective post; just that it won't be so damn pessimistic.
Back in about 1996 or 1997, the digital pet craze hit. Oh, did it ever hit. I'm normally not a person who ever follows trends, as they strike me as mindless and conformist, but this one was a little different and I couldn't resist. All it took as my seeing one Tamagotchi on the last day of school in 6th grade, and I HAD to have one. This was when I was still in private school, and this girl's father was an international businessman who always seemed to pick up the latest and greatest new toys before they got big over here. Normally I wouldn't give a rat's ass, but with how I and electronics are........ all it took was my eyes locking on that little egg-shaped keychain with the three buttons, andi t was love. However, try as he might, my own dad turned up empty-handed when I asked him for one.
About a month or so into the summer, I was talking to one of my cousins on the phone (as I did every day with her, since she was pretty much my only friend growing up) and I kept hearing this beeping in the background. I finally asked her what it was. "Oh that? That's my Gigapet Kitty!" "Your what?" "It's this little virtual cat that you play with and raise from a kitten and watch it grow up!" "...Is it on a keychain by any chance?" "Yeah, why?" "Does it have 3 little buttons at the bottom?" "Mine has 4." ".................Is this like one of those Tamagotchi things?" "Yeah!! KB Toys is selling them!"
DAAAAAAAAADDYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!
He'd barely even gotten in the door from work by the time I was dragging his ass out that door in search of the elusive GigaKitty. (Unfortunately, to be fair, we had to take Nicole too. Laaaame.) So the first store we went to was wiped out and didn't have a single one there. Okay, to the mall!! We checked every toy store in that damn mall, and they were all sold out too. Not to be deterred (since god knows when I was still that young, I usually got whatever I wanted....I should really lay off Kimmy for being just as bad now that she's that age and acts the same exact way), I made my dad go to Toys R Us.
.......We stopped at 3 different Toys R Us stores, none of which had them in stock either. My dad was about to give up for the night, and out came the pouty lip and the puppy dog eyes with the threat of impending tears... "Okay. We'll try one more store, but then we're going home."
I honestly couldn't even tell you what store it was anymore, but it was some tiny little hole in the wall place. I remember groaning as we pulled into the parking lot. "But dad! This place is TINY! They'll never have them here!" "Well, if you don't want to go in, we can turn around and go ho--" "I'll go in." "Okay then."
So we go inside, and this place is little more than about three racks of stuff, and a wall of shelves behind the register. I was midway through asking if they had any Gigapets or Tamagotchis (skeptically at that, since I never figured this rinkydink little place would have them) when my eyes locked on a little green egg-shaped keychain on the wall, with the little three buttons at the bottom......
"We're all out of Gigapets and Tamagotchis, but we have these Nano Puppies!"
"I'LL TAKE IT!"
I got the green one, my sister got the orange one. All was well in the world. The entire car-ride home, all I could think about was how incredibly cool this thing was, and was practically pawing at it through the plastic, as I couldn't open it without scissors. Never would one thing that some simple little black and white pixels on maybe an inch tall screen could make a kid so excited. I got home and read every word of the instruction manual while I ate dinner. And then proceeded to stay up until about 2 in the morning playing with this new acquisition while watching Bumpety Boo cartoons with my little brother.
I thought I was such hot shit with my new toy. Even if it did keep beeping every half hour all night, wanting to be played with... Unlike Tamagotchis, Nanos didn't have a pause button. Or a sleep mode. Sure, they slept...but not for very long. But that didn't bother me any. Anyhow, within 24 hours, we go over to show off our new toys to the neighbors' kids. (More or less to do a "look what we have that you don't!", I have to admit. Kids are cruel.) They, on the other hand, just got a new pool. And you can see where this is going already. My sister could put hers down long enough to go in, so she wore it around her neck on a chain. Leant over once.....bye-bye, puppy. She drowned it. Literally. That thing was fried. Being the mean little kid I was, I laughed and wouldn't let her anywhere near mine, because DUH, she'd kill mine too! Did she get a replacement? No.
Is karma a bitch? Yes.
The day after that, my aunt took me out for lunch at Carl's Jr (why I still remember this, I don't know). No sooner had I set my Pepsi down in the car did we drive over a bump that made it spill all over my lap.....and all over the Nano Puppy. FFFFUUUUUUU-- So here I am, trying to dry it off as fast as possible, shake it out, ANYTHING to avoid it dying a similar fate my sister's had. (I may have given it a feeble attempt at mouth to mouth, because I was a stupid child.) And mine still worked, sure.... But forever had a dark cola stain inside the screen I was never able to do anything about. I'd always get asked if I broke the screen. "No. My puppy got a pepsi tattoo."
That craze encompassed a couple of years, and between my siblings and my cousins, we amassed countless Nanos, Gigapets, Tamagotchis, 8-In-One pets, Disney pets, Avon pets, Digi-Panda, Digi-Fish, Dinkie Dinos, Yuki Penguins, you name it, we had it. I had quite an obsession with them, and I would always offer to "babysit" them (which would consist of me clipping them onto my purse and pretending they were mine). If someone pissed me off while I was babysitting theirs......someone would just accidentally hit the reset button on them. >_> (Thus why I never let anyone babysit mine but my mom.) Slowly my cousins and my siblings outgrew these, and rather than throw them out, knowing I was all obsessed with the damn things, would typically offer them to me. Of course, I'd take them.
I kid you not. I ended up with over 70 of the damn things. All functional, all active, all being played, all being carried everywhere.
I was soon carrying old lady purses so there was enough clips and strap room to attach them all. The arm strap of my purse alone would have about 20 pets clipped onto it. It looked ridiculous, and you could probably of called me the digital equivalent to a crazy cat lady (well, I had cats in there, too!). I was a digital pet hoarder.
I've been the butt of many jokes for still owning them, although they haven't been touched or even really thought about for about the past decade. They've been sitting in shoeboxes, collecting dust. Hopefully I took the batteries out so they didn't corrode. Regardless, something randomly spurred me a few weeks ago to search ebay what some of these might be worth now.
Holy crap. Even out of the package, a LOT of these can go for about $40 a pop. SERIOUSLY?? And if they were in the cases, they go for well over a hundred bucks. Fffffuuuuu....... wow. As soon as I can find what the hell I did with them again, someone's going to make a killing on ebay, no doubt. And yet, when I thought about it, I realized there's still one that even though I'll probably never play it again, I doubt I can bring myself to give it up. You know what it is?
That little green Nano puppy with the pepsi tattoo.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
WRITING PROMPT #3
“The highest form of ignorance is when you reject something you don’t know anything about.” ~ Dr. Wayne W. Dyer
Whether we want to admit it or not, ALL of us have been guilty of this one at some point in our lives or another. As I sit here sipping my morning coffee, contemplating what to write about this morning with the given writing prompt, one particular example of this stands out in my life that I don't think I'm ever going to completely live down. Actually, it's a rather silly one, but its appropriateness still rings true, as it's something that I once felt SO passionately about in my rejection of them. My ignorance once took its shape in the form of...
The Monkees.
As a die-hard life-long Beatles fan, back in the tender years of my youth, whenever I heard mention of The Monkees, it filled me with waves of anger, hate, and despise. As far as I was concerned, they were a RIP-OFF of the Beatles and were just trying to cash in on everything they did (much in the same way that David Gest still tries to cash in on Liza Minnelli...) through their own shoddy attempts at trying to become them, while still clearly falling short since they never sold as many records as the Beatles. Hell, they never even made it into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They weren't even a real band.
The truth of the matter was.... I had never so much as heard ONE Monkees song, seen even 5 seconds of an episode, or seen anything more than just a photo of the group. I had no idea what the hell I was talking about. I thought I did, in all my Capricorn stubborness, but if you'd asked me what, specifically, it was about them that filled me with such resentment? I couldn't give you a clearer answer than simply, "THEY'RE A RIPOFF!" If you asked me how they ripped the Beatles off? I'd quickly change the subject, because I honestly didn't have an answer for that.
Fast forward to about age 17...
Seemingly every single person I knew who had both a foot in the Beatles fandom and a foot in the Who fandom all seemed to be OBSESSED with the Monkees. Every fansite I went onto of either band ALWAYS had crossover fanfic, artwork, you name it. I couldn't make any sense of this. Why would these intelligent people who were just as devoted to the bands as I was support THEM??? I was like a stubborn two-year-old throwing a tantrum. (NO! I WON'T LISTEN TO THEM AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!! I DON'T WANNA!!!)
Then one fateful day, as I was channel surfing, I stumbled upon some show that I didn't recognize, but for some inexplicable reason drew me in. I couldn't look away. Who WERE these four guys??? This was AWESOME! It was like the Beatles had their own TV show! .........WAIIIIIIIIIIT A MINUTE. Did someone just say Peter Tork? ......FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU--
It was too late. I'd already watched it. And I'd LIKED it. I was disgusted with myself and thought I was a traitor. I bitched online for WEEKS about this. This had to be a fluke. It HAD to be. And yet, I couldn't get those four idiots out of my mind...
Fast forward a few more months.
I've always been a big fan of TV Land and considered it to be one of my necessary staple channels, since I shun most things modern and stick to the classics. Well, on this particular night, guess what 4 guys come lolloping onto my screen? RIGHT. THEM. Did I change the channel? NO. What's wrong with me?? I'm supporting the traitors!! And yet, by the end of this episode? I begun to understand. They're not a ripoff. They're their own thing. They remind you of other people, but....not even always the Beatles. For instance, Micky Dolenz's insane personality reminded me of a sober Keith Moon. CRAP. Too late. I've been sucked in!! NOOOOOOOOOO....
The following night, they were on again. (Is it sad that I can stil to this day remember about the first 6 or 7 episodes in a row that I saw? ...Yeah, I suppose it is...) I begun doing a crazy thing: I started to TAPE EVERY EPISODE.
I'd put up such a long, hard fight for YEARS against these guys, and why? Because of what I THOUGHT I knew about them. Little did I know that they would encompass EVERY facet of my life for years to come afterwards, and that I would go to extreme and insane measures to follow these guys in their current tours. (Those of you who know me know exactly what I'm talking about; if you don't, let's leave the past in the past where it belongs, since those days have since ended.)
I've since grown up and moved on, but I'm the type of person who, once I'm obsessed with someone or a band, they're never ever completely gone from my life. I continue to keep up on whatever they're currently up to. This particular group has been on my mind again lately as three of them have been gearing up for a 'reunion' tour (sorry guys, it's not a reunion without Nez, so I won't be attending...words that my 19 year old self would have NEVER believed I'd ever say), and bringing up a lot of memories, both good and bad. They defined a section of my life.
The point of this post however is that this experience has taught me an important life lesson about not judging things that I don't truly know anything about. If you judge purely on things that you think you know about them, you'll potentially miss out on some of your life's greatest pleasures. Likewise, this also carries over to people. If you judge them on what you think you know about them, either of your own perceived notions or going by heresay, you may miss out on a potential best friend, or maybe even the love of your life. Food for thought.
Whether we want to admit it or not, ALL of us have been guilty of this one at some point in our lives or another. As I sit here sipping my morning coffee, contemplating what to write about this morning with the given writing prompt, one particular example of this stands out in my life that I don't think I'm ever going to completely live down. Actually, it's a rather silly one, but its appropriateness still rings true, as it's something that I once felt SO passionately about in my rejection of them. My ignorance once took its shape in the form of...
The Monkees.
As a die-hard life-long Beatles fan, back in the tender years of my youth, whenever I heard mention of The Monkees, it filled me with waves of anger, hate, and despise. As far as I was concerned, they were a RIP-OFF of the Beatles and were just trying to cash in on everything they did (much in the same way that David Gest still tries to cash in on Liza Minnelli...) through their own shoddy attempts at trying to become them, while still clearly falling short since they never sold as many records as the Beatles. Hell, they never even made it into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They weren't even a real band.
The truth of the matter was.... I had never so much as heard ONE Monkees song, seen even 5 seconds of an episode, or seen anything more than just a photo of the group. I had no idea what the hell I was talking about. I thought I did, in all my Capricorn stubborness, but if you'd asked me what, specifically, it was about them that filled me with such resentment? I couldn't give you a clearer answer than simply, "THEY'RE A RIPOFF!" If you asked me how they ripped the Beatles off? I'd quickly change the subject, because I honestly didn't have an answer for that.
Fast forward to about age 17...
Seemingly every single person I knew who had both a foot in the Beatles fandom and a foot in the Who fandom all seemed to be OBSESSED with the Monkees. Every fansite I went onto of either band ALWAYS had crossover fanfic, artwork, you name it. I couldn't make any sense of this. Why would these intelligent people who were just as devoted to the bands as I was support THEM??? I was like a stubborn two-year-old throwing a tantrum. (NO! I WON'T LISTEN TO THEM AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!! I DON'T WANNA!!!)
Then one fateful day, as I was channel surfing, I stumbled upon some show that I didn't recognize, but for some inexplicable reason drew me in. I couldn't look away. Who WERE these four guys??? This was AWESOME! It was like the Beatles had their own TV show! .........WAIIIIIIIIIIT A MINUTE. Did someone just say Peter Tork? ......FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU--
It was too late. I'd already watched it. And I'd LIKED it. I was disgusted with myself and thought I was a traitor. I bitched online for WEEKS about this. This had to be a fluke. It HAD to be. And yet, I couldn't get those four idiots out of my mind...
Fast forward a few more months.
I've always been a big fan of TV Land and considered it to be one of my necessary staple channels, since I shun most things modern and stick to the classics. Well, on this particular night, guess what 4 guys come lolloping onto my screen? RIGHT. THEM. Did I change the channel? NO. What's wrong with me?? I'm supporting the traitors!! And yet, by the end of this episode? I begun to understand. They're not a ripoff. They're their own thing. They remind you of other people, but....not even always the Beatles. For instance, Micky Dolenz's insane personality reminded me of a sober Keith Moon. CRAP. Too late. I've been sucked in!! NOOOOOOOOOO....
The following night, they were on again. (Is it sad that I can stil to this day remember about the first 6 or 7 episodes in a row that I saw? ...Yeah, I suppose it is...) I begun doing a crazy thing: I started to TAPE EVERY EPISODE.
I'd put up such a long, hard fight for YEARS against these guys, and why? Because of what I THOUGHT I knew about them. Little did I know that they would encompass EVERY facet of my life for years to come afterwards, and that I would go to extreme and insane measures to follow these guys in their current tours. (Those of you who know me know exactly what I'm talking about; if you don't, let's leave the past in the past where it belongs, since those days have since ended.)
I've since grown up and moved on, but I'm the type of person who, once I'm obsessed with someone or a band, they're never ever completely gone from my life. I continue to keep up on whatever they're currently up to. This particular group has been on my mind again lately as three of them have been gearing up for a 'reunion' tour (sorry guys, it's not a reunion without Nez, so I won't be attending...words that my 19 year old self would have NEVER believed I'd ever say), and bringing up a lot of memories, both good and bad. They defined a section of my life.
The point of this post however is that this experience has taught me an important life lesson about not judging things that I don't truly know anything about. If you judge purely on things that you think you know about them, you'll potentially miss out on some of your life's greatest pleasures. Likewise, this also carries over to people. If you judge them on what you think you know about them, either of your own perceived notions or going by heresay, you may miss out on a potential best friend, or maybe even the love of your life. Food for thought.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
WRITING PROMPT #2
Real Life
Wow, that a fairly ambiguous prompt, now isn't it? Well, I'll try.
There seems to be quite blurry lines defining just what is and what isn't "real life" in today's digital age. One can easily lose themself amidst All this technology, sure. And it's happened to many. But at the same time, who's to say what counts as real life and what doesn't? We are all human beings, breathing in and out. If I talk to you through the internet, guess what? That's still real life. It may not be face to face, there may not be tangible contact, sure. But unless I'm sitting here talking to a bot on the other end, I'm pretty sure that I didn't imagine you and conjure you up out of my imagination. Therefore, online friends ARE "real life friends", despite what (typically older) people would like to say about that. There really ought to be a better term coined for this, a less insulting one for those of us who value our online friendships. Personally, I feel even close to "online friends" than "in real life" friends, since I feel comfortable telling them so much more. I am a socially awkward person, I tend to not speak unless spoken to. In some ways, that sometimes even carries over online (i.e. I never send the first instant message, usually pissing a lot of people off because they feel I don't care about them since I'm so adamantly against making the first move). But I was a lonely kid growing up. I went to a private school where my entire grade seemed to be nothing but stuck up, full-of-themself snobs who couldn't pull the stick out of their ass long enough to even consider making friends with someone who wasn't born into privilege. On top of which, both of my parents were druggies and alcoholics, and on top of that, my mother was a hoarder. (There, I said it. After all these years.) I was never allowed to have ANYONE come over to the house for fear of somebody calling the CPS for seeing these conditions, and I was pretty much never allowed to go over to anyone else's house because *gasp* I might rat them out for their drugs! *facepalm* (Like I even cared what they were doing? I knew. But I didn't care.) So I grew up wanting to learn as much as I can about everything, immersing myself in book after book, finding that it dulled the loneliness a little bit. I began to write my own stories, creating characters to keep me "company", in a weird sort of way, but I was always well aware that was not real life, it was fantasy. As were my musical obsessions and daydreams about hanging out and doing things with each of them.
Somewhere around age 9, I discovered the internet, Now initially, I was originally just going on there to play games and to continue on reading up about things at the drop of a hat whenever I had questions. But it didn't take me long to discover chat rooms, and while I wasn't stupid about what I'd write there, I suddenly understood what it was like to talk to people and actually have them listen to what you have to say, and seemingly actually care. That was groundbreaking for me. I forayed into message boards (where I can still be found, 17 years later...) , which soon led me to instant messengers. I quickly cultivated friendships. There's a handful of them that I STILL talk to, this many years later. Including the first person I ever chatted with on AIM, completely at random, when they still had the people search functionality. I've kept up with their lives, and they mine. I have still, to this day, never had an "in real life friend" (as people keep calling them) stay in contact with me for that long or even CARE about me for that long, because I know as well as anybody else that I'm a boring person. But somehow, there's something more to me on here. I don't freeze up so badly while speaking, I don't have the awkward body language, the inability to hold eye contact, any of that. I can just be me. And I appreciate that very, very much.
I'm also just as aware as anybody else that people aren't always who they say they are on the internet, but I'm usually pretty good at sniffing those types out within a few weeks of speaking to them. They're NEVER the ones who stick around for years and years and keep contact, so I don't worry too much about it. I let it roll off my back like water on a duck. People will do what they do.
People can bitch all they want about the "depersonalization" of a generation because of the digital age, but I personally am very, very thankful for this gift that is the internet, because it brought some "real life" to me that is quite possible I would have completely missed out on altogether if it did not exist. Through these wonderful people, I have experienced every possible feeling and emotion, good and bad. I've experienced love. I've experienced attachment, and more importantly, I've experienced feeling wanted and like I belong somewhere. Again, this comes as a double-edged sword, as bad can come from this too, but the good makes it all so very much worth every ounce of pain and frustration I've felt. I think I feel them all that much more intensely here than I do with "in real life" people. When I've fallen out of contact with the "IRL" folks, I don't feel anything. If it happens online, there is a little mourning period and sadness that comes along with that. Probably the reverse of most people, but it is what it is for me, and I can't judge anybody's life experience but my own. Probably the most notable way in which it has been a blessing has been that in a VERY stark contrast to "real life", when I've been suicidal, the people here have DESPERATELY wanted to reach out and help me, and they became the ones that made all the difference in my not going through with it, as opposed to the "real life" people who are so cold as to say "go ahead, not like anybody's gonna miss you". (Yes. Those words have been said to me at a time I felt so vulnerable.) So guess what? This IS my real life. I'm still here, still breathing in and out, because of the kindness and caringness of people who, I may never have physically met, but have made the monumental difference in whether I acted on my feelings or not. And for that, people can try to discredit my online friends all they want, but I value them EVERY bit as much as one does their "real life" friends. Yes. All of you. Every single one of you reading this: I value having you in my life, and am more grateful than anything that we met. <3
Wow, that a fairly ambiguous prompt, now isn't it? Well, I'll try.
There seems to be quite blurry lines defining just what is and what isn't "real life" in today's digital age. One can easily lose themself amidst All this technology, sure. And it's happened to many. But at the same time, who's to say what counts as real life and what doesn't? We are all human beings, breathing in and out. If I talk to you through the internet, guess what? That's still real life. It may not be face to face, there may not be tangible contact, sure. But unless I'm sitting here talking to a bot on the other end, I'm pretty sure that I didn't imagine you and conjure you up out of my imagination. Therefore, online friends ARE "real life friends", despite what (typically older) people would like to say about that. There really ought to be a better term coined for this, a less insulting one for those of us who value our online friendships. Personally, I feel even close to "online friends" than "in real life" friends, since I feel comfortable telling them so much more. I am a socially awkward person, I tend to not speak unless spoken to. In some ways, that sometimes even carries over online (i.e. I never send the first instant message, usually pissing a lot of people off because they feel I don't care about them since I'm so adamantly against making the first move). But I was a lonely kid growing up. I went to a private school where my entire grade seemed to be nothing but stuck up, full-of-themself snobs who couldn't pull the stick out of their ass long enough to even consider making friends with someone who wasn't born into privilege. On top of which, both of my parents were druggies and alcoholics, and on top of that, my mother was a hoarder. (There, I said it. After all these years.) I was never allowed to have ANYONE come over to the house for fear of somebody calling the CPS for seeing these conditions, and I was pretty much never allowed to go over to anyone else's house because *gasp* I might rat them out for their drugs! *facepalm* (Like I even cared what they were doing? I knew. But I didn't care.) So I grew up wanting to learn as much as I can about everything, immersing myself in book after book, finding that it dulled the loneliness a little bit. I began to write my own stories, creating characters to keep me "company", in a weird sort of way, but I was always well aware that was not real life, it was fantasy. As were my musical obsessions and daydreams about hanging out and doing things with each of them.
Somewhere around age 9, I discovered the internet, Now initially, I was originally just going on there to play games and to continue on reading up about things at the drop of a hat whenever I had questions. But it didn't take me long to discover chat rooms, and while I wasn't stupid about what I'd write there, I suddenly understood what it was like to talk to people and actually have them listen to what you have to say, and seemingly actually care. That was groundbreaking for me. I forayed into message boards (where I can still be found, 17 years later...) , which soon led me to instant messengers. I quickly cultivated friendships. There's a handful of them that I STILL talk to, this many years later. Including the first person I ever chatted with on AIM, completely at random, when they still had the people search functionality. I've kept up with their lives, and they mine. I have still, to this day, never had an "in real life friend" (as people keep calling them) stay in contact with me for that long or even CARE about me for that long, because I know as well as anybody else that I'm a boring person. But somehow, there's something more to me on here. I don't freeze up so badly while speaking, I don't have the awkward body language, the inability to hold eye contact, any of that. I can just be me. And I appreciate that very, very much.
I'm also just as aware as anybody else that people aren't always who they say they are on the internet, but I'm usually pretty good at sniffing those types out within a few weeks of speaking to them. They're NEVER the ones who stick around for years and years and keep contact, so I don't worry too much about it. I let it roll off my back like water on a duck. People will do what they do.
People can bitch all they want about the "depersonalization" of a generation because of the digital age, but I personally am very, very thankful for this gift that is the internet, because it brought some "real life" to me that is quite possible I would have completely missed out on altogether if it did not exist. Through these wonderful people, I have experienced every possible feeling and emotion, good and bad. I've experienced love. I've experienced attachment, and more importantly, I've experienced feeling wanted and like I belong somewhere. Again, this comes as a double-edged sword, as bad can come from this too, but the good makes it all so very much worth every ounce of pain and frustration I've felt. I think I feel them all that much more intensely here than I do with "in real life" people. When I've fallen out of contact with the "IRL" folks, I don't feel anything. If it happens online, there is a little mourning period and sadness that comes along with that. Probably the reverse of most people, but it is what it is for me, and I can't judge anybody's life experience but my own. Probably the most notable way in which it has been a blessing has been that in a VERY stark contrast to "real life", when I've been suicidal, the people here have DESPERATELY wanted to reach out and help me, and they became the ones that made all the difference in my not going through with it, as opposed to the "real life" people who are so cold as to say "go ahead, not like anybody's gonna miss you". (Yes. Those words have been said to me at a time I felt so vulnerable.) So guess what? This IS my real life. I'm still here, still breathing in and out, because of the kindness and caringness of people who, I may never have physically met, but have made the monumental difference in whether I acted on my feelings or not. And for that, people can try to discredit my online friends all they want, but I value them EVERY bit as much as one does their "real life" friends. Yes. All of you. Every single one of you reading this: I value having you in my life, and am more grateful than anything that we met. <3
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
WRITING PROMPT #1
What would you attempt if you knew you would not fail?
Honestly? That's a simple one for me to answer: college. I can make excuse after excuse for myself of why I haven't gone, and yes, they are true. However. I'm well aware that if I really wanted to badly enough? I could make it happen. ...I could make it happen right now without much difficulty if I really wanted to. So what is it that holds me back, more than anything else? The answer isn't what you'd probably assume it to be. It's not laziness, nor lack of motivation, nor that I'm too obsessed with my fandoms (I can push them aside when I need to), nor my supposed "internet addiction" (I could debunk that one in about 2 seconds), nor even my agoraphobia, as I've proven time and time again on that last one, since if I really want something, I leave the house just fine. It isn't about money, it isn't about my having no transportation, it's not about my father constantly convincing me of how stupid I am--wait, that last one. Actually, that does have a lot to do with it. The real reason that I have yet to bring myself to enroll in college is.........
I am terrified - beyond words - to fail.
That probably sounds like the most bullshit excuse on the face of the planet, coming from the girl who repeated 9th grade 3 times. Who never did her homework. Who flunked almost every test. Who couldn't be bothered to do half of the in-class assignments even. No.... I pulled my act together by the last year of high school, I'm well aware that I can put in the time and effort necessary. That's not what worries me. I'm terrified that I will get overwhelmed by the courseload, even if I take one class at a time. I'm terrified of my health failing on me again to where I miss a ton of school, fall behind, and end up failing the class. But the one that scares me more than all that put together? Math. For either career route that I'd want to go into? There is NO way of just avoiding to take math. Hell, you have to take it as part of your general ed; but I'd have to take ADVANCED classes to go into any sort of computer field, OR to go into the medical field. I don't see myself bothering with college for any other reason than if it's to pursue one of those two dreams. (And to be honest, I'm falling more and more out of love with the computer field....yet if I can get my ass driving, I may just join Geek Squad and call it a day. I seem to be more capable than they are of fixing everyone's shit, time and time again. Hey, I'd get to drive around in a cute little Beetle all day, my dream car. Why not? Something to consider as a safety net plan if all else fails me.)
So why is this such a big deal to me? Because, for one, god...you don't know my father. He seems to delight in regaling the entire rest of the extended family what a failure at life I am and how I'll never be useful for anything whatsoever and I'll probably die alone and get eaten by cats (dead serious, those words left his mouth at the last holiday get-together) and that "she didn't even finish REAL high school"......because apparently, in his brain, home study is cheating the system and that "a monkey with a typewriter could have graduated from that". *eyeroll* He then goes on to point out that he will not be paying for me to go to college just to waste his money by failing, and that if I fail so much as ONE class, I'm cut off and my education will continue no further. Real sweet, huh? Despite the fact that I've told him that it's fairly inevitable that yes. I'll probably fail math. I'll likely fail it more than once because no matter what I do, I DON'T GET IT. These words matter not to him; what he says goes. Ugh. And he tells me that if that's how it's going to be, don't bother even going to school and wasting his money in the first place. So....here I am. There has to be a better way.
Now, it seems like the "easy" answer would be, of course, to get a tutor. ...Tried that. Over 2 dozen tutors ALL failed in teaching me even basic math. I can add, I can subtract, so long as they're whole numbers and no fractions whatsoever. I can multiply in my head up through about the 5's multiplication tables. Division? Don't get it at all. Decimals? Nope. Fractions? Nope. I couldn't even grasp pre-pre-algebra. How fucking sad is that? And before you go accusing me of not caring enough or not trying hard enough? ....On my *own* merit, with my own money, SINCE graduating high school, I tried employing a tutor once again to attempt to teach me math. Guess what? Tanked again. My brother has stayed up long, long nights with me, trying to make it make sense. He made it work with Kimmy; why doesn't it click in my brain? Am I that damn brain damaged? I'm honestly beginning to wonder. I'm not sure if it has something to do with the fact that I'm somewhat dyslexic or not. Or if I'm just a victim of bad timing in missing about 7 weeks' worth of school in 2nd grade when they were teaching such fundamentals as this. Or maybe something else that I don't even know. The bottom line is, no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, no matter how many prayers I pray, no matter how many tears I shed... I just. can't. learn it. And it frustrates me to no end.
If there were some magical way that I could, indeed, ensure I would not fail? You sure as hell could bet I would take it. In the meantime, a certain Liza May lyric comes to mind...
"I'm just a victim of time
Obsolete in my prime..."
Honestly? That's a simple one for me to answer: college. I can make excuse after excuse for myself of why I haven't gone, and yes, they are true. However. I'm well aware that if I really wanted to badly enough? I could make it happen. ...I could make it happen right now without much difficulty if I really wanted to. So what is it that holds me back, more than anything else? The answer isn't what you'd probably assume it to be. It's not laziness, nor lack of motivation, nor that I'm too obsessed with my fandoms (I can push them aside when I need to), nor my supposed "internet addiction" (I could debunk that one in about 2 seconds), nor even my agoraphobia, as I've proven time and time again on that last one, since if I really want something, I leave the house just fine. It isn't about money, it isn't about my having no transportation, it's not about my father constantly convincing me of how stupid I am--wait, that last one. Actually, that does have a lot to do with it. The real reason that I have yet to bring myself to enroll in college is.........
I am terrified - beyond words - to fail.
That probably sounds like the most bullshit excuse on the face of the planet, coming from the girl who repeated 9th grade 3 times. Who never did her homework. Who flunked almost every test. Who couldn't be bothered to do half of the in-class assignments even. No.... I pulled my act together by the last year of high school, I'm well aware that I can put in the time and effort necessary. That's not what worries me. I'm terrified that I will get overwhelmed by the courseload, even if I take one class at a time. I'm terrified of my health failing on me again to where I miss a ton of school, fall behind, and end up failing the class. But the one that scares me more than all that put together? Math. For either career route that I'd want to go into? There is NO way of just avoiding to take math. Hell, you have to take it as part of your general ed; but I'd have to take ADVANCED classes to go into any sort of computer field, OR to go into the medical field. I don't see myself bothering with college for any other reason than if it's to pursue one of those two dreams. (And to be honest, I'm falling more and more out of love with the computer field....yet if I can get my ass driving, I may just join Geek Squad and call it a day. I seem to be more capable than they are of fixing everyone's shit, time and time again. Hey, I'd get to drive around in a cute little Beetle all day, my dream car. Why not? Something to consider as a safety net plan if all else fails me.)
So why is this such a big deal to me? Because, for one, god...you don't know my father. He seems to delight in regaling the entire rest of the extended family what a failure at life I am and how I'll never be useful for anything whatsoever and I'll probably die alone and get eaten by cats (dead serious, those words left his mouth at the last holiday get-together) and that "she didn't even finish REAL high school"......because apparently, in his brain, home study is cheating the system and that "a monkey with a typewriter could have graduated from that". *eyeroll* He then goes on to point out that he will not be paying for me to go to college just to waste his money by failing, and that if I fail so much as ONE class, I'm cut off and my education will continue no further. Real sweet, huh? Despite the fact that I've told him that it's fairly inevitable that yes. I'll probably fail math. I'll likely fail it more than once because no matter what I do, I DON'T GET IT. These words matter not to him; what he says goes. Ugh. And he tells me that if that's how it's going to be, don't bother even going to school and wasting his money in the first place. So....here I am. There has to be a better way.
Now, it seems like the "easy" answer would be, of course, to get a tutor. ...Tried that. Over 2 dozen tutors ALL failed in teaching me even basic math. I can add, I can subtract, so long as they're whole numbers and no fractions whatsoever. I can multiply in my head up through about the 5's multiplication tables. Division? Don't get it at all. Decimals? Nope. Fractions? Nope. I couldn't even grasp pre-pre-algebra. How fucking sad is that? And before you go accusing me of not caring enough or not trying hard enough? ....On my *own* merit, with my own money, SINCE graduating high school, I tried employing a tutor once again to attempt to teach me math. Guess what? Tanked again. My brother has stayed up long, long nights with me, trying to make it make sense. He made it work with Kimmy; why doesn't it click in my brain? Am I that damn brain damaged? I'm honestly beginning to wonder. I'm not sure if it has something to do with the fact that I'm somewhat dyslexic or not. Or if I'm just a victim of bad timing in missing about 7 weeks' worth of school in 2nd grade when they were teaching such fundamentals as this. Or maybe something else that I don't even know. The bottom line is, no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, no matter how many prayers I pray, no matter how many tears I shed... I just. can't. learn it. And it frustrates me to no end.
If there were some magical way that I could, indeed, ensure I would not fail? You sure as hell could bet I would take it. In the meantime, a certain Liza May lyric comes to mind...
"I'm just a victim of time
Obsolete in my prime..."
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