27 December, 2012
On the rare occasion I actually did make a New Years' Resolution, it was purely coincidental, as I had just gotten tired of where my life had led me up until then. After a bit of thinking, I took stock of my life and decided to do something about the situations I didn't care for, which, I know, makes it sound dreadully easy (which it wasn't), but there were also a lot of factors in play at that time, such as being without a job, or freshly out of a relationship, or some other such thing.
Now, I'm not trying to say that I am anti-New Years' Resolution; I am simply wondering why April 3rd or June 19th or September 30th are less valid days than January 1st. Why do people wait around for the beginning of a new year to make a new self? Is the dawning of a new year going to suddenly bring realizations of how to correct past failures?
Not in my experience! That's what LIFE is. Do you remember that day, a Monday, two Augusts ago? I believe the date was 22/8/2011. I do. That's the date I made the resolution to go back to school.
Or how about Sunday, 18 March, 2012? I resolved that I couldn't be in the unhealthy relationship I was in anymore, and from then on, I resolved to be a little choosier with whomever I gave my heart to.
Then there's Thursday, 15 November, 2012. I thought I had made a wise choice re: my heart, but I was wrong, and that was the date I realized I had fallen from the healthy wagon and realized that the relationship I was in was just a game. I resolved to, once again, be pickier with the recipient of my heart.
I put the same (-ish) resolution up twice to demonstrate the fact that it's okay to fail from time to time. Well, 'failing' is a gray area with me, but...that's another blog for another time. It's okay to fall off the wagon. Just pick yourself back up and get back on again.
(I think I've begun derailing myself. Better wrap this up with a point quickly, before it gets even further from me.)
The point to all this going-on is this: If you don't like something about your life, or if something just isn't going the way you want it to, then change it right then and there. Or, if that's not feasible, begin working to change it. Life is too goddamned short to wait for January 1st. Also, who knows how long you'll be miserable until then? Give some credence to the mid- or end-of-year resolutions.
Who knows? Maybe you'll wake up on some random day, 19 June, and realize that you're not living the life you want. In that case, 19 June sounds like a wonderful first day of the rest of your life to me.
Now, some things I've been wanting (and working toward) for the past several months:
-I want to be an actual, published author. I took the first couple of steps already, but the bulk of the work still needs to be completed. Time to roll up the sleeves and get to work.
-Mrs. Saturday. She's out there. I want to find her. I don't know who or where she is, but I'm not going to give up the hunt until I find her.
-I want both my blog and vlog to take off. I'll be combining them once I get into the swing of blogging every day. My goal is to blog Monday through Friday, put up a video on Saturday, and maybe do a guest blog on Sunday. HOWEVER, I'm NOT going to beat myself up if I miss a day.
25 December, 2012
So, apparently I had my ass grabbed by an insomniac on Saturday, and I guess, in the blogging world, that means I get five wishes. Or something. I don't know; the actual process was very confusing (there were so many forms, I never want to sign my name again), and I think I remember someone losing a finger. And I still don't know what to do with the shaman that's been following me around since.
Anyway, since I didn't have an opportunity to do this until just now, these are going to be my wishes for next Christmas.
1.) My first wish is the same wish I make when I blow out birthday candles, see a shooting star, eat a green M&M, find a genie's lamp, or rescue damsels in distress. I wish to be as happy as I possibly can be in every given situation. I'm not asking for a life of Prozac, I just want to be able to enjoy my time spent on this ball of rock and ice hurtling through space as much as I can.
2.) Secondly, I wish for confidence. My level of insecurity with myself is pretty ridiculous and I know that it's unwarranted, but it's still a part of my reality. I think that's going to be a lifelong battle, so then...
3.) ...I wish for the strength to persevere. I fight a lot of battles with personal demons. Not just insecurity, but several other things. Some are merely imps and not that powerful, like dealing with weight issues, but my fight with some resembles the struggle of Gandalf and the Balrog in that I'll need all my cunning and wits (and strength to spare) to win.
4.) This one is a bit more selfish than the others. I wish to be published. I want to be able to go to a particular bookstore in Maine, take a copy of MY book off the shelf, and show that barista in the café section that I wasn't being a creeper, that I actually had a reason for going in almost every day and writing, or just reading. Hoo, that was a long sentence, but I think that adequately describes that wish, so....
5.) Finally, I wish for the physical strength to punch through steel, the charm to melt cold butter, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I'm supposed to tag five people, but I don't KNOW five blogging people who read my blog, so...I guess I'm exempting myself from that part.
19 December, 2012
I'm walking around the Maine Mall, thinking to myself. Mostly, I'm wondering how I get myself into certain situations. One after another, I cycle through the list of extraordinary circumstances that find their way to my door, and find myself dwelling on how they become a part of my story.
Then I find myself thinking about the odd little things in my life that make me happy, and how they came to be that way. Specifically, as I'm sure you can tell from the blog title, my Twitter peeps, who, with the exception of Freddy, are all HMWs.
I attended my first #wineparty while I was at work, as every other Friday, I do my 8p to 8a overnight job. I don't really remember it, but some of my jokes were instant hits. And, what makes it even weirder are the jokes I don't even think are all that funny. (They have since ranked higher in my 'What is funny?' list, but only because they have grown and evolved since their original conception.)
Time (albeit not very much, maybe two months) has passed, and the highlight of my week is talking to the Hot Mom Writer's Guild. Or #wineparty, as it's known on Twitter. All my life have I dreamed of making connections with people, and I truly feel that it's the purpose of my life, so when I get on Twitter and I start talking to the Bard, or Mary Beth or Jenn, it makes me light up like a Chinese New Year's festival.
The acceptance and camraderie I felt within my first conversation with all of them has left me floored. I feel hilarious and intelligent and it's something I feel I'm missing in my "real life," but I enjoy it all the more because they're more accessible than most of the people off Twitter.
Honestly, I'm just glad that the Hot Mom Writer's Guild has a place for me, be it superficial or not. I'm sure some feel more strongly than others, but I don't care, I'm very proud to call them friends.
11 December, 2012
09 December, 2012
Oh, my poor neglected blog. Don't worry, Daddy's here. I haven't forgotten about you, it's just taking me longer to get back into the swing of things re: blogging. Not since my livejournal, back in the day, have I blogged.
Also, not having access to a computer when I feel like writing is sort of a hindrance, meaning a large portion of these blogs will be typed on my phone. Hooray.
Then there's the personal demons I have to deal with. The demons who smile sickly as they ponder over which weak spot they shall poke at first, then decide to jam their cold iron weapons into multiple holes in my natural defenses simultaneously, finding rather surprising methods of tying their attacks together to form an all-out assault the likes of which aren't enough to kill, but just enough to make one feel like crawling into the bottom of a bottle. However, being a mental-health patient for as long as I have been has taught me how to resist (if only barely), which is the main reason I only drink Red Bull at #wineparty.
Now that the excuses are out of the way, it's time for a story about adorable people doing adorable things, in which a "character" is introduced. Well, she is quite a character. No real names here, save mine-ish. Mine's the only one I can actually throw around helter-skelter, because then only I have to deal with those consequences, but I think by now you've realized that Saturday isn't actually my surname.
Anyway, I had an idea a few months back about something I wanted to try this December, so I bought a Santa hat, sewed some wires into the seam and angled it so the pom hangs in front, but above my face. When that was finished, I strung some mistletoe from the pom, allowing the wearer (me) to be continuously beneath it. I thought it was a cute idea, and if someone had been wanting to romantically approach me this semester, I was giving them the perfect opportunity.
I wore it to school last Tuesday, just to see what would happen. Now, I've never exactly considered myself to be incredibly attractive, despite having my days where I do, but I'm no piece of abstract art, either. That being said, I actually got laughed at several times, and I think that one girl I shared an elevator ride with assumed I was going to make her uncomfortable (to put it nicely) by the way she kept shifting her weight back and forth, giving off a nervous vibe.
I was starting to lose the confidence that I had kept all day, despite the laughter and the few times people made it a point to give me a wide berth. The only thing damaged wise my pride, but as I didn't want to make it any worse, I decided to put the hat in my car (and fix my hair, I hate the way hats make it look). It rode on my head for one last trip through the school, from the library, down the elevator, and as I passed through the lobby, I caught the eye of one of the girls in my American Sign Language class through the wide open doors to the café, and she gave me a playful kind of look and indicated that I should go sit with her and another female classmate at their table.
Upon joining them, I braced myself for more of the same, but it did not happen. Instead, I was asked how many kisses I had received (0) and if I had singled out anyone specifically with this admittedly attention-seeking ploy. I explained the 'perfect opportunity' bit to them and immediately received a kiss on the cheek from the one who invited me over.
"I didn't want it to go to waste," she said. Not too long later, a few minutes, I think, the three of us went to our ASL class. I didn't have a chance to put the hat in the car.
Afterward, I was walking down the hallway toward the main entrance when I felt an arm slide into mine, linking at the elbows. It was the girl who pecked me on the cheek before class. We walked in silence until we got halfway through the parking lot.
"Aww, is this you walking me to my car?" I asked.
"How gentlemanly of you." When we got to my car, I unlocked it, opened the door and threw my bag in. I hadn't seen her walk off, so I assumed she wanted to talk about something, and (because, yes, I am this dense) I just assumed it was about class.
"So, what's up?" I asked after climbing back out of my SUV.
"Like I said before, it would be a shame for it to go to waste!" And she planted another kiss on me, square on the lips.
While I was still reeling in shock, she took out her pen and wrote her number on the palm of my hand. We spent four hours on the phone later that night. I was going to wait until the next day to call, but I wanted to know what that kiss was all about.
Apparently, she had been planning it for a while, but was going to wait for the voices-off ASL after-finals class party-thing to approach me. "You just looked too adorable in that hat. I couldn't resist." So we made plans to go out last night.
And because of the cuteness of the story, and the fact that it's what started us talking, her pseudonym will be Mistletoe. Look forward to hearing more as time goes on.
Also, the picture is because she spent so long (fifteen minutes-ish) trying to stack those utensils and finally got it.
30 November, 2012
I hope you'll forgive me, but tonight, my heart's not really into #wineparty. I feel like I know why, but just don't truly want to admit it. I'm lonely. Yes, it's okay to laugh at the irony. I don't want to talk to people because I'm lonely.
Lately, I've felt like my brain is on the opposite schedule as the rest of the world. I have always wanted time to be with others and time to be alone. Usually they just bleed into each other in cycles, like the seasons the tides that fade in and out.
However, for the past few weeks, there have been ridgid periods of "I don't want anyone within miles" and "Please don't leave me". Randomly occuring, and driving those closest to me up a wall, presumably. They have been randomly littered throughout my day, and the abrupt shifts leave me feeling almost short-circuited.
(I failed a test in my American Sign Language class on Thursday because, moments before I entered the room, I just stopped caring about paying attention to others. I zoned everyone out and at the end of the test, realized I had only two or three words per sentence, in an eight-sentence story, written down.)
They're talking about my age at the #wineparty. I only know this because my phone keeps updating me with texts. Tonight, I find it mind-boggling to think that I'm interesting enough to discuss when not present in the conversation, but I know that's just me giving in to my darker thoughts.
The one downside to writing when I feel this way is that I never found a method of forcing my thoughts to make sense, and so I usually go through endless revisions after only several sentences, but this time is different as I'm allowing myself to do absolutely no editing. I'm just plowing through, and leaving those who aren't keeping up in the dust.
Then again, maybe tonight's moodiness is all based on the full moon. That would make me a lunatic. Eh, I've been called worse.
29 November, 2012
Hah, despite my initial post, which began as a Facebook status on the same topic, I am currently having difficulty finding adequate words to describe myself. I mean, if we are the sum of our experiences, what does that say about me? Probably that I am a relatively easy mark. I've been mugged thrice in my life. The first time ended with a steak knife jutting out the back of my right knee as I hobble-ran away, eventually to a Starbucks where I found concerned looks (I hadn't noticed the knife until someone pointed it out to me. I had only thought I was a wuss due to the pain.) and liberally-applied napkins to dam the bleeding after working the serrated blade out.
The denim covering the back of my calf had turned from a cerulean to an almost-purple as blood soaked into it, staining the half-macabre/half-hilarious story into permanence. By the end of the experience, I used the very knife that had threatened my walking ability (let alone my life) to cut away the bloodied pant. I limped out of the Starbucks with a jury rigged bandage of paper towels and elastics protecting the weak underbelly of my knee from further harm.
The scar is all but gone now, but my leg still spasms whenever I look at the knife and its stained blade.
I don't know why that story was the one I chose to tell, but there it is. I'm not used to speaking about myself (more on that on Day Ten) and it all makes me a little uncomfortable, made even more so by the fact that I've never told anyone that half of it, but I can tell stories. I am enamored with telling stories, the act of creation. Crafting worlds with my bare hands, inventing scenarios (or, in this case, just re[p]laying them) to make those within earshot lean in when the drama gets thick, or when someone in the story says something witty or does something amazing.
The grammar bits of this blog may be slightly off at times, but that's okay. As glad to have you here as I am, I'm not doing this for you. I will try to remain consistent with my updates, but this is Therapy for me.
In any event, I'm sure there are more stories I could tell in this introductory post, especially since I haven't really introduced myself, but there will be more time for that later.
Welcome aboard, it's a pleasure to have you with us!
27 November, 2012
'But Dy,' you may say, 'where do I start gaining courage? If it takes so much work, then why bother?' That is step number one: Prepare yourself for the work you need to do to become courageous. Come to terms with the fact that you will not just be handed courage. If you want an example, look no further than Gandhi. With no army at his beck and call, with no force of any kind, he almost single-handedly defeated the British Empire, winning the independence of hundreds of millions of Indians. And that was all with non-violent protest!
I'm not saying you'll have it as bad as he did, but think about where he must have started in order to be that courageous. Start small, in the little areas of your life. Stop lying. Don't cheat. If you're a man (or woman) of your word, then prove it. Show the world who you are. Open up to someone. Tell them a dirty secret. Own up to your past mistakes, and show that you're learning from them.
Read more often. You'll find that people with grand and amazing ideas have come before you, and although filling their shoes can seem pretty daunting, there is absolutely no reason why you can't. None. I dare you to challenge that idea. Challenge other long-held beliefs you have. Are they getting you to where you want to be in your life? Are they helping you achieve any of your goals? If not, then do something about them.
If you have an idea that you think merits sharing, then share it. However, be open-minded about it. No one else sees the world through your particular lens. If your idea merits sharing, it can most likely be improved upon, so do not be offended if someone offers improvement.
'I am' is the most powerful phrase in the English language, for what follows opens us up to others, and spills our metaphorical guts to them. The adjectives that we put after that two-word phrase are then subject to intense scrutiny by those reading or listening. Even ideas left unsaid that exist only in the intonation, the verbiage or the facial construction at the time of speaking are transmitted to others, as 'I am happy,' said with a smile is worlds apart from 'I am incredibly happy,' or even 'I am happy,' said with a frown or a grimace. Intonation can be rather important to getting your message apart. If you use an intonation that is ironic, you send a message that is the polar opposite of being genuine.
The unfortunate side-effect of using the phrase 'I am' is that it puts us in boxes. 'I am an artist' implies that I do things all artists do, or that I like things all artists like. 'I am of French descent,' brings all the stereotypes to mind: I surrender easily, eat snails (Ew.) and don't shower. Care must be used in all instances of adjective, but particularly this one, for to say something false is anathema to the idea of becoming close to those around us, and that's what life is all about, isn't it? Making connections to enrich our own experiences so that we may partake in everything that is available to us. That's what keeps me going, anyway.
Similar dangerous phrases include 'I believe,' and 'I think.' Those both precede wholly personal ideas.
Finally, in that spirit of making connections, I'd like to say that I am happy to know you. Whether you know it or not, knowing you has helped me evolve into who I am today, and I am thankful for your input into this person I am. He's pretty cool, if I say so myself.