Stuffed Confidantes

After taking a VERY (note the intense tone) long break from writing after this past semester, I finally decided to write a blog. Mostly due to the fact that I had a couple topics in my head that I just kept wanting to talk about. So to spare those around me, I figured writing would fix things.

Seriously, I don't know about other writers out there (as I've realized other English Majors like myself have similar tendencies) but every now and then I have some topic on the brain that won't leave me alone until I write about it. It could be something sad, like my dream about my friend Daniel, or it could be some as random as what I am about to show you.

Meet Seymour the Seal. Seymour, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Seymour. Whilst going through a plastic tub of stuffed animals I saw him peaking out and yelled "Seymour! I haven't seen you in AGES!" I got him from the Brookfield Zoo in middle school, at that age where children start to act more like teens but with some childish tendencies thrown in. Mine was stuffed animals.

Well....it still is. I can't say no to a cute stuffed animal. (shhhhh....don't tell!)

My family (which consisted of le parents, sister Katie, and Poppo) had spent the majority of the day wandering around the Zoo, looking at animals (Katie), imitating the animals (Me), or trying to locate various sites such as a restroom or juice stand (Momma). My parents wisely chose to go to the gift shop after Katie and I were tuckered out, since that meant we were less likely to ponder over everything in the store. We were more than likely wanting to take a nap in the car instead of begging for everything we thought was "needed" from the gift shop. 

Did this mean my parents got away without buying me anything? Nope. I probably meandered around the fluffy items while Katie looked at the artistic gifts (like painting a mask or something like that). All I can remember is seeing this pile of stark white seals with plastic whiskers staring at me from across the room. I went over to the pile and noticed that this one seal didn't have straight whiskers like the others. His were a little askew and some were curved. He was a little weird, but I guess I thought it gave him character. Next thing my mother knows, I'm running up to her yelling "Momma! A seal!! I could name him Seymour!!" I slept all the way home cuddling the newly bought "Seymour".

Turns out the name Seymour means "Marshy land near the sea." So I guess you could say, water-wise, the name kind of fit. Seymour was my sleeping buddy for the years when I had to let go of my Barbie's and embrace girl talk. He listened to all my thoughts on subjects such as:

-Teasing: 

        With an third-grade teacher for a mother, I never dealt with much in the way of teasing. Probably because most kids thought my mother could bring down the whole school system if they tried. This isn't to say I was never teased in elementary school, but more that it was a slight annoyance once in a while, or a passing comment that never panned out. So imagine my surprise when, upon reaching middle school, all the barriers lifted to reveal mean-spirited, judgmental, conniving twelve year old's. At night, I would whisper the most annoying comments or harassments that had occurred during the day. "I can't help it that my pants aren't long enough" or "So-and-so said I shouldn't wear shirts like that, cuz they aren't girly." My favorite though, hilarious-wise, was "They said I should cut my hair, that having long hair isn't cool." Didn't matter that an extremely popular girl kept her hair long. Nope. 

-Puberty

        I like to say that my family seems to know things. For example, my Christmas gifts in 5th grade consisted of games, dolls, the usual updates to my wardrobe, books, and various other toys. 6th grade on the other hand consisted of books, the usual updates to my wardrobe, more clothes, make-up kits, and jewelry. My parents still got me some "childish" gifts, but the rest of my family was all "Whoa, smell that? I smell puberty!" I had to deal with the uncomfortable new sensations of having to use deodorant, wearing training bras, and my female peers wanting to discuss boys. BOYS. What was this new world? Why couldn't I stay flat-chested, stink-less, and naive longer? Say, the rest of my life?

When I wanted to rage about the aspects of my life I couldn't control I'd grab Seymour and rant. Usually the things I told him were the thoughts that I kept even from my mother, as I was starting the stage in my life where I blushed at any topic involving my body that wasn't medical. After one talk with my mother about "that time of the month" where I blushed the whole time, she never brought up the subject unless needed.

-Girly.....things.

         As previously stated, I had a hard time being a girl in middle school. I was in my tomboy phase. I loathed skirts, (mostly due to hose/tights. Wearing skirts=hose/tights.) constantly had grass stains on my knees, and the only time I ever looked put together was in the morning and on holidays. So all of a sudden, my fellow friends were gushing over make-up they sneaked in to school and I was trying my hardest to understand the obsession. I mean, as I told Seymour, I liked to put on eyeshadow when I went to church or if I was going to a wedding or something like that. But everyday? That was what my momma did and she had a reason! She had a job!

         Boys were a topic I studiously ignored. The only boys I stated as cute were the ones in N*Sync and Backstreet Boys. Boys were my friends, the half of my peers I got along with. My best friend was a boy, which was a constant subject of scrutiny. Except for my closest friends who knew we weren't dating, it seemed as though no one could understand why a boy and a girl would hang out other than to date. While my friends had boyfriends and learned to flirt, I learned how to climb fences and have mock wars using snowballs as grenades.

Eventually I gained a slow acceptance of everything I dealt with. The fact that I whispered thoughts to a stuffed animal wasn't the only reason. I had my family who helped me to understand the changes going on in my life and the support of friends. But there were many times I needed to repeat my feelings or practice what I would say if someone were to tease me. Seymour was perfect for that.

So I gained a backbone, and learned how to defend myself. I accepted that my body was going to change and that some things in life were just not under my control, so why freak out over it? I also accepted that yes, I did have a secret love of skirts and make-up and that boys were suddenly becoming cute in my eyes as well as remaining my friends.

I realized my best friend was pretty adorable in those years. I also realized that recognizing that didn't mean I liked him either.

Seymour listened to it all and he's officially out of storage, ready and waiting to listen again.

Yay for Plays!

Once upon a time, there was a girl who tried out for a Shakespearean play.

That girl was me. I had decided that I really should push myself out of my comfort zone, and what better way than to try out for a play? I had enjoyed my time in the musicals in high school, and sure I was never in an actual role, but hey! I was going to push myself!

Then I got there and internally I began to curse myself at this lame brain idea. "Suuuure. Make a fool of yourself. Show the guy what a CHORUS girl can do."

Suffice to say I was a nervous wreck. I got up there and said my lines. I imagined myself to be at home, with no one around to hear me, and blazed through every word. Afterwards, I was so happy and confident that I thought oh, who cares if you don't get a role? You did what you meant to do!

Then came the hints and excited discussions from dear Elyse. "Do you know who you are yet?" "I think I know whether you're a male or female!" "I got the role of Beatrice!" "DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE YET?"

All of a sudden I had to deal with the idea that I might actually have gotten a role. A pretty decent one at that. Maybe my grandmother's acting ability had actually been passed down to me. A phone call later and I had a meeting set up to discuss the whole situation.

Next thing I know, I'm heading to my religions class with a script in hand and a role in my head. I was to be Claudio! A pretty big role, almost a lead role!

Cut to earlier this week and you have me freaking out. I have all my lines memorized, but the one's near the end never seem to show up when I need them. On top of all that, I was fighting off a cold that was mixed with the homework, job, and everyday life responsibilities which had turned into some crazy exhausted cold with an abdominal migraine added on.

I did not like Monday. So as much as I'm enjoying my time with this play, and as much as I can't imagine it being over, I will be very happy when I don't have to worry about play practice.

My worst fear is that I'll be on stage during one of my solo moments and the words will leave me. I won't have anyone to back me up or try and jog my lines and slowly people in the audience will realize that I'm not remembering what I need to remember.

Oh well, if it does happen, at least I'll have a funny story to tell my future kids. Shameless Plug!:

COME SEE THE PLAY! April 16 at 8pm, 17 at 3pm, 22, & 23 at 8 pm at the Main-street Theater!

Random Blog of Random Thoughts

I'm having various thoughts running through my head right now. This is not helpful when writing a blog (for me anyway) as I like to plan out what I'm going to write. I usually decide a day or so ahead of time on what topic is most interesting right now (again, for me), outline a plan of attack, and then I start throwing down whatever comes forth.

At this moment I am remembering moments of my life that are bittersweet, political quandary's, Glenn Beck's idiocy, Japan's crisis, and cheesecake.

Why the cheesecake? Because I want some. Really bad.

I wasn't sure if I should write about my Poppo or save that for the next class project. I also thought about how, in my fraternal Grandmother's last few weeks, I was given a more loving statement than I had ever received from her. But then I thought "Wow, way to be depressing......but it is a good story..."

I thought maybe I should switch things up a bit and talk about the various going's on in Politics right now and how Republicans (official, in elected seats Republicans that is) are trying to ruin our country. "Oh, we don't want OBAMAcare, but we're willing to sacrifice millions of jobs so we can keep our cushy support from various corporations and industries. Unions are awful because they get in the way of us giving tax breaks to the rich so they will keep voting for us. Not to mention the fact that we want to make it so you can't even be assured that you will be able to keep the elected officials YOU voted for, in Michigan, in office. That's just our way of fixing the country."

They are so on my dirt list right now.

But then again, it's politics, and that's always a touchy subject. Even if various measures Republicans are taking will screw over the rights that teachers deserve and thereby screw over the students they teach.

But like I said, I shouldn't get to involved with that.

Of course that leads me into wondering, are there really people who listen to Glenn Beck and actually consider him a smart man?

No really. I want to know. Because if the crisis in Japan can be considered the beginning of Armageddon as stated in Revelations, I think there are a lot of people liquidating their assets right now. Get ready for the rapture people! 2012 just came early!

Which then leads me to thinking, how can he even discuss that on air, much less think it? There are millions of people in Japan that are either homeless, injured, or in possible risk of radiation exposure and you focus on RELIGION? It makes more sense to keep the country in my thoughts and send a donation via the Red Cross.

As stated before, many thoughts are rushing through my head and these are only the thoughts on the surface. I have more, lots more, concerning the treatment towards education in this country. But that is worth a blog of it's own.

I still want that cheesecake as well.

Mornings Suck

Some people say being sick sucks, or that being sick is one of the most horrible times in their life. They hate it, they can't stand it, etc... You get the idea.

I see it as fodder for my writing. 

For example. I had no idea what I was going to write this blog on an hour ago. Then whilst talking to my sister about various Shakespearean ideas it hit me. I can write about the fact that I was a whining idiot for five days. Well, maybe not whining, but I didn't move from my bed for two whole days. 

I lived off of tea, soup, and Miyazaki movies. He is an artist that Miyazaki. When I get sick, my comfort is in the international. I either end up watching Dr. Who episodes or my Japanese movies. Then my cat joins in by climbing underneath my covers and taking a nap with me. I usually end up awakening to cat fur in my face and kitty snores. 

Yes she snores. Don't judge her, it's actually very cute.

What I love is the fact that when I'm sick, I act just like I normally do most mornings. I stumble out of bed, wobble towards the kitchen where I throw some water or juice in my stomach before I pass out from low blood pressure. Then I proceed to sit for a good fifteen minutes to actually wake up. It's also not unusual for me to wake up with a stuffy nose that recedes within a half hour or so. When my stuffy nose doesn't go away after an hour, that's when I know I'm getting sick.

Among other signs. But we will not get into those.

So yeah, I am not a movable object in the mornings. Which is why if my mother needs me to get up in the early morning for whatever reason, she always makes sure to give me a good ten minutes to wake up before rushing me out the door. There is a good reason for this and it's a damn good one.

My sister was home from college for some reason or another (I think spring break...) and she was making brownies for my mother. My mother needed the brownies relatively quickly if I'm remembering correctly and she had told Katie that I should be sent to get eggs in the morning as we had run out. So being the obedient daughter that my sister is, she woke me up and sent me out the door. The conversation went like this:

Katie: "Suz, get up. I'm making momma's brownies and I need you to go to the store to get eggs."

Me: * unintelligible mumble*

Katie: "SUZIE. WAKE UP."

Me: "Whaa.....hmm?"

Katie: "You need to get eggs!"

My sister is a loving person and definitely not a slave driver. But that morning I was rushed out the door before I realized what happened. At the grocery store I had my keys and money in hand while shuffling towards the eggs. Apparently, I looked out of sorts in my pajama pants with unruly hair splayed all over the place and an employee decided to check on me. That conversation went like this:

Lady: "Hi there, can I help you find anything?"

Me: "S'fine, going," mumble mumble "eggs."

Lady: "I'm ....sorry?"

Me: "Eggs. Need them...jhust going tha way."

Lady: "You sure...you don't need any...help?"

Me: "Nope! Getting eggs. Good ta go."

I sounded like a drunk person trying to find their fix. I was wearing pj's with a light jacket, sneakers, my hair was unkempt and I was shuffling around like I forgot how to walk. It was no wonder that I was followed all the way out the door. I paid, shuffled out the door and got in my car. Upon reaching the house I ambled into the kitchen and dropped off my package with a simple "Got the eggs....going back to bed..."

When I awoke an hour later I walked determinedly into the kitchen with "Never do that again." My sister, utterly bewildered, asked what I meant. I replied that I didn't remember driving to or from the grocery store and that freaked me out. 

"Next time," I told her, "Give me a few minutes to process!"

Apparently if not given the proper amount of time for my body to wake up, I will have pieces of my memory disappear. Trippy. So that's why I'm always given plenty of time to move in the mornings. Being sick for me is kind of like having a constant morning. Of course when reminding my sister of this event, she could barely remember it. 

Le sigh. That's what you get for artistic fodder. No one remembers it but you.

Going to the Chapel and We're, Gonna Get Married.....

I love weddings! Love, love, love them. Especially when I am involved.

My dear friend Ashley, on Saturday, will no longer be a single woman. Well, legally, since she's been dating this guy for I think three years now. She is one of my oldest friends, and the only one that I've stayed friends with since elementary school. A little scatterbrained at times, but then, so am I.

This is my second time in the role of a bridesmaid. The first time was with my friend Kelly who now has an adorable baby that I'm addicted to. Seriously, every time she comes over to my house, I'm all "BABY!" Considering I have no need for a baby at this point in my life, I figure I'll live vicariously through her for the time being. When Kelly got married, it was stressful, but not in a crazy bad way. Just oh my goodness, I have a LOT to do! So when Ashley informed me of her pending nuptials I thought, oh boy. Here we go.

Yeah, this time 'round it hasn't gotten crazy yet. Then again I'm not having to calm Ashley down about a lot of the tiny details. I figure as we get closer to the actual wedding I and Laura (my other friend who is a bridesmaid) will be in charge of calming her down just due to normal wedding stress. Which considering the date is tomorrow, will be happening relatively quickly.

Wedding stress. It doesn't just hit the brides. Not that I've had a lot to do or that Ashley's been a bridezilla (far from it actually). Just that it's the final few days before the big day and I'm in school. I have homework and papers. I need to focus on what's important but with my duties I have these moments of "So what's more important right now?" Wednesday night for example, Laura and I went to Ashley's to tie ribbons onto cutlery, and as a result of that, I barely read what I was supposed to have read for class yesterday.

Ooops.

To make matters worse, my aunt came over the morning after, so I couldn't even read before class. I hate not having homework done, especially when all I have to do is read this semester. Then I'm sitting in class dreading the moment when the professor will go "Suzie, what did you think about (insert random topic here.)?"

Somehow, saying you're a bridesmaid in a wedding for a best friend just doesn't seem to cut it. No matter how true it is.

So I get to decorate the reception hall, then go through the rehearsal and finally head to dinner. Then the impromptu bachelorette party followed by furious pre-wedding preparations. Like my hair. Oh my gosh, my hair is going to be EPIC.

Had to brag a little.

Yes, the bride is the main show, and she will shine far prettier than me (literally, her dress is blinged out man), but my hair is awesome naturally. So I can't really help it. But the day of will consist of hair being curled, bags being packed, make-up being applied, and dresses being thrown on.

The only downside, I've discovered, to being a bridesmaid is that during the wedding itself you actually have to pay attention. Oh, and you can't sit. Not sitting for almost an hour is no good for a girl in heels.

But as far as the rest of the night goes, there will be plenty of fun with dancing, food, and drinks. Last time I was not yet twenty-one, so this time around will be interesting. Once all is said and done though, Ashley will be gorgeous and her fiance is going to be blown away by the gorgeous-ness and I'm probably going to tear up at some point.

Must remember extra make-up supplies.

Natural Disasters and Medication

I haven't left my house since Monday. I didn't need to leave since Snowpocalypse 2011 is upon us. Or Snowmageddon. Or Snoblivion.

Whichever strikes your fancy. I personally enjoy Snowmageddon. :D

As it is, I've come to a decision. I love where I live and I have good reasons for it. Yes, I have to deal with massive amounts of snow in the winter (though not as much as some of the more northern states I assume) and crazy humidity in the summer (though I love heat, so who cares?). So as long as you drive like a sane person and realize that yes, the snow will leave, you'll be fine.

I mean, the Midwest is just awesome. Where else can you go outside when it's 33 degrees and say "Wow, it's warm today."

Living where I do I don't have to deal with hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, or random tidal waves. Of course I do realize that earthquakes can happen near me (and have in fact) or that tornadoes could still hit. But they are not a REGULAR occurrence. Point made! 

Seriously, if you watch History Channel at all you know that a massive Tsunami could hit the east coast of the USA or that massive earthquakes in California could totally bring down all of LA. Nope I'll take the part of the Midwest where you are less likely to die thank you very much.

Plus I'm like an hour away from Chi-town. Awww yeah. 

So why am I pondering how great it is to be a Midwesterner? Mostly because I am bored and have nothing to do. This is due to the SNOW. ALL the FREAKIN' snow. Being stuck in your house for three days will make you ponder interesting things.

Plus I might be a little crazy from medication. I had a cold start up on Monday and it got worse Tuesday. So when I was informed that there would be no school for the next two days I was really happy. Not only could I recover, but I wouldn't have to miss class because of it!

Also, I'd rather have this hit now than next week. I'm in a wedding next week, fate would not be kind if I had this next week.

So I'm high on meds and trying to sleep and this is the result of that.

Phantom Pains

It always starts out the same.

I enter the room wearing my pajamas, my eyes staring down at my feet with each step. I've just left the bathroom and I stop almost as soon as I leave it. The place that I'm at will be my home for the next three days, although I will never call it my room. Slowly my eyes raise from my feet upwards and the first thing I notice are the walls and the sickly off white color. Next comes the tray sitting at the end of the bed with the Styrofoam cup filled with water. I know this because I slowly head over and take a sip from a straw. The bed is immaculate, but lacking any of the magic that my bed at home holds which causes me to jump on top. The window a little ways across from the bed shows the sun shining down on the water and the cars passing on the highway below me. The room has a stylish feeling to it, but is overshadowed by the odor that can only be attributed to hospitals and pill bottles. A TV hangs from the wall but I ignore it. I sigh and walk over to my bag where I proceed to reach in and grab a book. I never seem to see the title, but I know it's The Phantom of the Opera.

While flipping through the pages my feet shuffle my body back to the bed. I flop down, one leg under me, the other hanging over the edge of the bed. I immediately regret this action as pain lances through my head and I have to close my eyes to shut out the light in hopes it will help. Suddenly the slight humming of the air vents seems too loud, the odor permeating the room is too strong, and the sun shining so prettily is my causing the pain to increase. Every noise, every spectral of light is too strong and as I sit there I can feel it increasing and increasing and -

"Hello! I'm Marilyn."

Glancing up, the woman who's just interrupted my train of thought and pain, which thankfully has lowered. If it was due to her or just my imagination that the pain was getting worse I won't know. That's just what everyone would want to hear me say out loud anyway, that I was just imagining it all.

"Now I just have a few questions for you. You are here to receive the D.H.E. drip correct?"

"Yes. I've had the pain for a week now."

"Alright, on a scale of 1-10 where's the pain at?"

On the inside I want to say "Oh, I'd say about a 50, but that's more than 10 isn't it? It's a lot and I've been dealing with it for a week, so let's skip past the formalities hmm?", but instead I just flick my eyes out the window and mutter "A 9, maybe 9 and a half."

A few more seemingly inane questions later and I'm about ready to rip my hair out if that wouldn't increase the pain I'm in. I start to wonder what is taking my mother so long that she would leave me with this woman who smiles too much and keeps calling me honey.

"Well, now that we have that done, I'm going to get your IV all set up OK?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you honey, what did you say?"

"I said no. I don't want the IV."

"In order to have your medication you need the IV. Now I know it hurts a little, but-"

At that point I tune her out and curl into myself. A little? A LITTLE? The needle pinches my skin and causes my hand to loose feeling due to the fact that I can't move my fingers without feeling said needle in my hand, which means I won't move my hand for pretty much the whole time I'm there. A sick feeling creeps through my stomach as I see the glint of the needle out of the corner of my eye. It's not the needle I'm most afraid of, even though I would like to run as far away as possible from that sharp object. Momma will never have to worry about me wanting a tattoo, that's for sure.

No, it's the medicine that, while helping to relieve my immense and almost indescribable pain, is it's own form of torture. It burns as it goes in and then burns as it spreads through my hand and up my arm. Over the next few days I'll lose my appetite and won't want to eat anything other than ice chips or jello. Then the pain and stiffness in my joints and muscles will begin and won't abate until at least 3 days after I leave. Any time I try to get up, the dizzy feeling will return and my stomach will threaten to toss what little I've thrown down there.

The nurse is still giving me reasons why I need to "let" her poke my hand when I feel close to breaking.

"I don't want the IV and that's final. No, nada, nein, whatever language helps best NO."

She stops mid-step and stares at me, face still stuck in a smile. Then the smile slowly slips away and I see the true feelings behind the facade all nurses now seem to wear around me. She's had a crap day and I'm the last straw. Soon she'll snap herself out of whatever she really wants to say to me and attempt yet again to get me to take the IV.

But anything else that might've been said is lost as my mother has finally appeared in the doorway. Looking tired, her eyes flick back and forth between the nurse and myself.

"Hi there, I'm Suzanne's mother. Is something wrong?"

A look of triumph appears behind her eyes and without skipping a beat she turns and says "Well, a little. Your daughter is acting belligerent and won't allow me to insert the IV. She is adamant that she doesn't want the medicine."

I whip my head up so fast I should have felt pain, but instead all I can focus on is the anger. Who is she to put words in my mouth? I don't like needles, I don't like IVs, but I never said I wouldn't take the medicine damn it! My anger apparently does the trick as my mother responds with "Give us a minute will you?"

The nurse attempts to open her mouth again when my mother states "Before coming here, we just went the the memorial of her friend who passed away from cancer." Pausing she gives a mother bear expression and then continues with "Give us a minute will you?"

Shame spreads across the lady-who-would-be-my-fake-best-friend. She mumbles something along the lines of "Of course" and leaves without moving or taking any of her supplies. My mother sits on the bed next to me and puts her arm around my shoulders. I automatically lean into her and put my head on her shoulder as she starts to lightly rub my head.

"Do you really not want the medicine that much? It's going to help you know."

"I want the medicine, I never said I didn't. She lied. I don't want the IV. "

"Is it the IV? Or is it Daniel?"

I don't respond and just clutch my book tighter to my chest.

"Suzie? Come on, let me know what's going on inside that brain of yours."

I still don't respond, but this time tears run down my cheeks and my chest heaves as I begin to sob and shudder with pain that has nothing to do with a migraine.

Then I wake up.

I was sixteen, almost seventeen when I lost Daniel. He was my oddball friend, the one who shared my issues with ADD, watched random SciFi movies with me, and the one I sent books to and vice versa. He was the one who understood my love of ballet even though I was only taking the lessons for fun, he was the one who I could have seen as a professional dancer with scores of girls screaming his name. After all, as he always told me, there has to be some perks to be one of the only straight men in ballet. He had made me jewelry for my sixteenth birthday and had bought my precious copy of The Phantom of the Opera. He knew how much I loved the musical and told me I should read the book and tell him if it was truly something or if the musical was better.

He had been in remission, then the cancer had returned with a vengeance and a prediction of 4-6 months left of life to look forward to. He left this world in January a little bit before his sixteenth birthday, which may be why I keep having this dream.

For the past week this memory, for this is a memory, has been plaguing my dreams almost every other night. I don't know why as I've worked through my grief  over losing him. I had, for some reason, decided to act completely out of character that day. In high school I was plagued with constant debilitating migraines that would keep me out of school for days or even weeks at a time. It wasn't unusual for me to have to head to Chicago for a weekend treatment that would finally cut the migraine. Normally I was very helpful as my thinking was "Well, if it stops the pain, drug me up. I'll deal with the aftereffects when they happen."

I went to the hospital for a D.H.E. drip that would stop the most recent migraine right after his service despite my pleas. As it was, we had moved the hospital visit back a day so I could go to Daniel's service, but Dr. Merle wouldn't allow a day farther. I don't remember much after that, but apparently my mother got me calmed down enough that I finally received the IV and promptly zoned out to the TV while holding my Phantom book.

My mother believes that's when my fear of needles truly began, started by the intense emotional loss of a friend. I personally believe it's just because I can't stand sharp objects sticking into me. It's unnatural. While I had thought about blogging something happier, this had to be done. At least in hopes that by writing this, maybe the dreams will stop and I can stop waking up with tears in my eyes and wanting to cry.

Themes, projects, and Korean Music Oh my!

One of my New Year's resolutions was that I would blog more. 

Ha. Look how that turned out. 

Well, I have the rest of the year to make up for it. I mean, I shouldn't have to update every other day and in no way, shape, or form, will I have an adequate amount of time to blog during the semester. Usually I do better during the breaks. Yet what do you know, I didn't blog the whole winter break. 

Le sigh. I'm pathetic.

I spent all of winter break trying to figure out what my next project on here would be. For the summer that is. (*cough*SCHOOL*cough*) I originally thought of reviewing classic novels, or my journey into reading all those classics that everyone is "supposed" to read. No offense to the classics, but sometimes I want to bang my head against a wall when I'm trying to figure out what the hell is going on. It could be the writing style of specific time periods, but then I probably wouldn't have fallen in love with "Phantom of the Opera."

Actually, strike that. I'm just obsessed with anything Phantom related. (Yep, totally listened to musical first, read the book second. Bad Suzie. BAD.)

But I thought, maybe just maaaaaaaybe, I could try reading some of those novels again and blog my thoughts, feelings on the subject, etc. The thought sprung up at work when I was shelving an Ayn Rand book. I was reading the back of the book, skimming through the pages, totally uninterested (I haven't met anyone who loves her yet....if you do, feel free to try to convince to me read her books. I probably won't...) and proceeded to look over some more titles saying to myself, yet again, "I really should read some of these."

The next idea sprung up from my sister who is a well-spring of themes for blogs. Sitting in the living room a couple days after Christmas, I was looking at my "Good Eats: The Middle Years" cookbook/anthology that I had received as a present. Katie states that I should attempt a Julie/Julia project. After my response that it had already been done, she just continued with "No, with Good Eats! You can make all the recipes out of your books!"

"Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"That would require me to make sushi and squid. I'm not going to attempt that. Ew."

"Ok, not every recipe then."

So with that in mind I skimmed through my book trying to figure out what I wanted to make first. Then I promptly lost interest as we began to set up a Kinex roller coaster. 

That's ADD for ya.

Then I considered making it a confessions type blog. You know, random things I'm interested in or actual thoughts about situations I'm in....but the theme would be as though I was confessing it... Yeah it sounds more lame as I type. I think that came about just because I was trying to figure out a way to write about my recent love affair with the Korean music scene. 

Really, it's a lot more interesting than one would assume. They fulfill my boy-band craving from my childhood. That and the talent over there is just burgeoning. Like every few months I feel like I've found a new group or artist. Plus, it's not just me! MTV has a web page dedicated to just Korean music and the whole culture. MTV! Also apparently many celebs have an interest in their music. Will.i.am is currently working on an album with this edgier girl group (2ne1, weird name, awesome music.) that will debut in the good ol' US of A. 

Well, now that just looks bad. I promise that this was not supposed to end up on the subject of Korean music. It has taken over my free time. If an artist is talented, I don't care what language their songs are in, I'll listen to it. I'm just hoping that some of those artists are able to make it in the US, if only for the fact that so far, no Asian artist has made it big in America. (As far as I know....I'm just getting into this whole subject.) 

So yeah, projects.....not sure what I'll end up going with, but for the rest of this semester I think I'll just stick with my usual whatever-the-heck-pops-into-my-head-nonsense. Maybe I'll do all three. Just not in any order. Who knows, lets see what happens hmm?