When I started this blog, I said I might do some freewrites, but I haven't done one yet. Today I think I will do a freewrite on a random topic selected by one of my goofy friends on trillian. For those of you not familiar with the format, a freewrite is a type of writing in which you set a certain amount of time and don't stop writing for that period of time. It's very "stream of consciousness", so I don't know how much sense this will make, but, nonetheless, I will be spewing forth god knows what for the next 5 minutes.
My goofy friend has chosen "Bornea feline population". I honestly know nothing about this other than the fact that Bornea is a country and "feline" means "cat". I like cats a lot. They are cute, but I am very allergic to them. My parents still have the cat I had when I was in high school. He looks like a rabbit. We got him from my friend Melissa. The cat before him got run over by a car. Princess was really sweet and was a tortoise shell. I think tortoise shell cats are awesome and really pretty,--much prettier than calicos. That reminds me: There was a lady once with a kitten on a plane. She had him in a kennel under her seat, and he was tranquilized, I think. However, she took him out during the "walking around" time and kept him in her arms. He was adorable, and the stewardesses all cooed. You know what else coos on airplanes? Babys. Except they more scream than anything. I think that if you have a baby over the age of about 12 months, you should them in a seat next to you. Toddlers do not do well being held in someone's arms. They try to wiggle out and scream when they can't go. Which brings me to another topic: If you have a child of any age, and you are bringing them on an airplane, BRING STUFF FOR THEM TO DO. They will sit much stiller and be much quieter if you do. This also goes for bringing your children to anyplace where they will have to wait a long time or sit a long time--dr's offices, restaurants, etc. Now I'm out of thoughts so I will just talk about chocolate. I love chocolate. Can you believe that I actually got enough material out of this method of writing to do a really cool mixed media art project for someone? It wouldn't seem like it the way this freewrite is going. I just feel like I'm rambling. But now, it's time for me to be done.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Wake up
There's something so positive and glowy and awesome about watching them wake up the shuttle crew. I think space travel is awesomeness, even though I couldn't understand it if I tried. Aside from that, the wake up call is just plain neato because they always play a song and congratulate somebody on something and then the astronauts say "thank you" and everyone is happy. It's just an all around positive thing that happens every day during what must be one of the most physically and mentally difficult jobs out there. They work their assess off all day and night, and then the next morning, they get woken up with a song they like and a nice southern lady saying "good morning discovery". And then they go back to work immediately as she gives them their notes for the next couple hours.
I wish my mornings were like that. A nice happy shiny song, and I hop out of bed and am ready to work within 2 minutes! But my mornings go more like this: Whitey's alarm goes off at 7:00. Five minutes before whitey leaves at 7:50, I realize that I need to get my ass out of bed because I have a meeting at 8:30. I find some clothes, pull my hair back, eat some cereal and make it to the meeting 10 minutes late where I am barely awake enough to comprehend what's going on... And sure as hell no one congratulates me on nothing.
I guess we can add astronaut to the list of things I want to be when I grow up
I wish my mornings were like that. A nice happy shiny song, and I hop out of bed and am ready to work within 2 minutes! But my mornings go more like this: Whitey's alarm goes off at 7:00. Five minutes before whitey leaves at 7:50, I realize that I need to get my ass out of bed because I have a meeting at 8:30. I find some clothes, pull my hair back, eat some cereal and make it to the meeting 10 minutes late where I am barely awake enough to comprehend what's going on... And sure as hell no one congratulates me on nothing.
I guess we can add astronaut to the list of things I want to be when I grow up
Thursday, July 28, 2005
I'm going fucking crazy
I have issues at any job that I have if I don't have a calendar and write all of my appointments down on it as soon as I'm told when they are. That's easy enough. I have a bigass binder from staples with both a monthly and daily calendar as well as other paperwork I need for work. I shouldn't have any problems, right? WRONG! I write things down on the wrong day. The bad thing is that I *know* that I repeat myself when I'm talking to whomever to make sure I'm getting it down correctly, and somehow I still get stuff on the wrong day. HOW THE FUCK DO I DO THAT? And, more importantly, WTH do I do about it? My work relies on me to help my clients however they need. I'm not going to be very helpful if I always get people's Dr's appointments on the wrong damn day. Blah, if I can't get this straightened out, I may just have to start working somewhere where the work is the same every damn day, like a call center.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Death isn't always permanent...
...But I wish it was.
When I was about 10 years old my grandfather had surgery and wasn't doing well, but things started looking up, the day before he died. When we got the news about his death, we disrupted everything, and flew to New York, where I spent large parts of the day listening to people's memories of grandpa and the details of the last few days of his life. There was an open casket wake, which I managed to hang out at for about 30 minutes before I got so uncomfortable that my mom had to walk me home. There I spent the evening with the people preparing food and such for the gathering after the wake--a great distraction for a ten year old who's never dealth with death before. The next day there was a long, elaborate funeral with a priest and incense and the whole bit. It was rather dramatic and did nothing to lessen the pit in my stomach. Thank goodness for gatherings with food and my awsome uncle who took me to the arcade countless times. Death is never pleasant to deal with and this was a very emotional time for me. But at the end of it all, I understood that Granpa was never coming back, but that I was lucky to have known him when he was alive.
About three years later came his wife. We disrupted, saw the open casket, did the funeral thing and did the gathering thing. We followed the same procedure for My mom's mother, father and grandmother throughout my high school and college years. It did get a little easier with time, but every time, I was emotional and sad when I had to come to the realization that this was permanent and these dear people were never coming back to me.
One death in particular stands out as having taught me a lesson about the beauty of life and the abruptness with which it can end. In my senior year, I walked into dance one day and the studio owner sat us all down and said "Shannon was in an accident coming down the mountain on her way to dance. She didn't make it." Immediately we had a whole studio of heartbroken girls.
It took a while for the permanance to hit me, but when it did it felt like someone had offset the very balance of nature itself. She was 18 and had just graduated. I was 17 and had just graduated. She was my age and she died. This was, to say the least, mind boggling. I think alot of the girls felt the same way because what followed was a barrage of planning for how we were going to deal with this for the recital which was all of two weeks away and outpourings of emotion and just a virtual whirlwind of... everything.
To have someone your age die when you're young is a serious mindfuck because, at the age of 17, you know everything and only grandmothers die. I think all the girls felt a similar confusion and dysphoria because we weren't sure if we wanted everything to stop or to go on or to go on slightly altered. One of the girls who also happened to teach, performed a solo she had taught to shannon at the recital. The first words out of her mouth were, "I want her solo" when we found out what had happened. There were girls who said things like "Mom, i don't know if i can make it. I'm going to cry in the ballet dance where I'm supposed to hold her hand." Simple choreography became a complex emotional obstacle. Death had never been so painful, so real and so permanent as it was in may of 1995.
Throughout my life people have continued to die, and I have mourned them because even if I didn't know them very well, because those who did had lost someone important forever. Sometimes, they are not lost forever.
The first person who didn't really die was a boy who had gone to my high school and sang in choir with me. Micheal was not my best friend and not really in the crowd I would normally hang out with, but he was a good guy at heart. We never had any heartfelt conversations, but I did have to sit on his knee in show choir once. This was utterly nerve racking experience for me because I have difficulty with physical contact with people I am not dating. He helped me relax, and I always felt a little tiny connection with him because of that moment.
When I was in college Micheal was shot because he happened to be in the house of someone who supposedly stole a cell phone or some such nonsense. His death was stupid and in vain. But, to me, he never died.
I was in college and very busy at the time, and it was not feasible for me to disrupt or do much of anything to mourn his death. I was trying to pass classes, I was rehearsing for a dance job I had gotten, and I was in a long distance relationship. When my mom told me, I just kind of went on about my business and it never really hit. Someone else my age had died, and I barely even noticed.
When I think about high school reunions and seeing my colleagues from choir, Micheal is there just as if he had never really died. In my mind, he is still joking around, smoking weed and dating his high school sweetheart.
The second person whose death wasn't permanent was my husband's grandmother. "Meemaw" was an amazing woman. During the few years I knew her, she was always amiable, gracious, accomodating, patient, principled and stubborn as mule--the perfect combination if you ask me. She cooked for us everytime we visited pensacola. She also often took us out to eat, refusing to accept any money to help pay for the bill. She was the first person to know about our engagement. That was the last time I saw her.
We kept saying we needed to go see her, especially after the wedding, but we never found a time both of us could go. My husband and his mother got to go right after easter, and she at least got to see our wedding pictures. However, meemaw's health was starting to go downhill. I kept sayng that I wanted to go visit her, but not too long after easter, we found out we were moving here. I desperately wanted to see her before we moved, because I knew it would probably be my last chance, but the move just happened too fast.
We moved up here and everything got frantic between finding a place to live and unpacking and getting utilites turned on and getting directv set up and me finding a new job and all those crazy little things that happen when you move.
One day my husband told me that meemaw had died. I continued frantically on. When newscasters talk about hurricanes hitting pensacola, I still think "oh, I hope meemaw's going to be okay". Maybe one day I will finally be heartbroken when we visit florida and I realize that she is not there too cook potatoes for me in her convection oven.
When I was about 10 years old my grandfather had surgery and wasn't doing well, but things started looking up, the day before he died. When we got the news about his death, we disrupted everything, and flew to New York, where I spent large parts of the day listening to people's memories of grandpa and the details of the last few days of his life. There was an open casket wake, which I managed to hang out at for about 30 minutes before I got so uncomfortable that my mom had to walk me home. There I spent the evening with the people preparing food and such for the gathering after the wake--a great distraction for a ten year old who's never dealth with death before. The next day there was a long, elaborate funeral with a priest and incense and the whole bit. It was rather dramatic and did nothing to lessen the pit in my stomach. Thank goodness for gatherings with food and my awsome uncle who took me to the arcade countless times. Death is never pleasant to deal with and this was a very emotional time for me. But at the end of it all, I understood that Granpa was never coming back, but that I was lucky to have known him when he was alive.
About three years later came his wife. We disrupted, saw the open casket, did the funeral thing and did the gathering thing. We followed the same procedure for My mom's mother, father and grandmother throughout my high school and college years. It did get a little easier with time, but every time, I was emotional and sad when I had to come to the realization that this was permanent and these dear people were never coming back to me.
One death in particular stands out as having taught me a lesson about the beauty of life and the abruptness with which it can end. In my senior year, I walked into dance one day and the studio owner sat us all down and said "Shannon was in an accident coming down the mountain on her way to dance. She didn't make it." Immediately we had a whole studio of heartbroken girls.
It took a while for the permanance to hit me, but when it did it felt like someone had offset the very balance of nature itself. She was 18 and had just graduated. I was 17 and had just graduated. She was my age and she died. This was, to say the least, mind boggling. I think alot of the girls felt the same way because what followed was a barrage of planning for how we were going to deal with this for the recital which was all of two weeks away and outpourings of emotion and just a virtual whirlwind of... everything.
To have someone your age die when you're young is a serious mindfuck because, at the age of 17, you know everything and only grandmothers die. I think all the girls felt a similar confusion and dysphoria because we weren't sure if we wanted everything to stop or to go on or to go on slightly altered. One of the girls who also happened to teach, performed a solo she had taught to shannon at the recital. The first words out of her mouth were, "I want her solo" when we found out what had happened. There were girls who said things like "Mom, i don't know if i can make it. I'm going to cry in the ballet dance where I'm supposed to hold her hand." Simple choreography became a complex emotional obstacle. Death had never been so painful, so real and so permanent as it was in may of 1995.
Throughout my life people have continued to die, and I have mourned them because even if I didn't know them very well, because those who did had lost someone important forever. Sometimes, they are not lost forever.
The first person who didn't really die was a boy who had gone to my high school and sang in choir with me. Micheal was not my best friend and not really in the crowd I would normally hang out with, but he was a good guy at heart. We never had any heartfelt conversations, but I did have to sit on his knee in show choir once. This was utterly nerve racking experience for me because I have difficulty with physical contact with people I am not dating. He helped me relax, and I always felt a little tiny connection with him because of that moment.
When I was in college Micheal was shot because he happened to be in the house of someone who supposedly stole a cell phone or some such nonsense. His death was stupid and in vain. But, to me, he never died.
I was in college and very busy at the time, and it was not feasible for me to disrupt or do much of anything to mourn his death. I was trying to pass classes, I was rehearsing for a dance job I had gotten, and I was in a long distance relationship. When my mom told me, I just kind of went on about my business and it never really hit. Someone else my age had died, and I barely even noticed.
When I think about high school reunions and seeing my colleagues from choir, Micheal is there just as if he had never really died. In my mind, he is still joking around, smoking weed and dating his high school sweetheart.
The second person whose death wasn't permanent was my husband's grandmother. "Meemaw" was an amazing woman. During the few years I knew her, she was always amiable, gracious, accomodating, patient, principled and stubborn as mule--the perfect combination if you ask me. She cooked for us everytime we visited pensacola. She also often took us out to eat, refusing to accept any money to help pay for the bill. She was the first person to know about our engagement. That was the last time I saw her.
We kept saying we needed to go see her, especially after the wedding, but we never found a time both of us could go. My husband and his mother got to go right after easter, and she at least got to see our wedding pictures. However, meemaw's health was starting to go downhill. I kept sayng that I wanted to go visit her, but not too long after easter, we found out we were moving here. I desperately wanted to see her before we moved, because I knew it would probably be my last chance, but the move just happened too fast.
We moved up here and everything got frantic between finding a place to live and unpacking and getting utilites turned on and getting directv set up and me finding a new job and all those crazy little things that happen when you move.
One day my husband told me that meemaw had died. I continued frantically on. When newscasters talk about hurricanes hitting pensacola, I still think "oh, I hope meemaw's going to be okay". Maybe one day I will finally be heartbroken when we visit florida and I realize that she is not there too cook potatoes for me in her convection oven.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
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