Another Year Goes By...

Today, I'm 26, and all I can think is, "Who cares?"

I suppose it's time for me to write another lengthy update post, but let me just leave that for now.

I'm really hating my birthday and my circumstances today. There's nothing special about any of it. I know that some people are attached to the idea of birthdays being wonderful like geeks are attached to the argument about whether Han or Greedo shot first. Personally, I think they suck. Especially if you're as forgettable as I am.

Movies give you these false birthday hopes. You see people being thrown surprise parties or having a crap day that turns out to be fantastic and romantic and just what that person needed. There's this magical birthday experience that is everything that you wish your life could be, but it never happens to you.You don't see my day in movies: being kept up until three in the morning fighting with your spouse, going to class with hardly anyone knowing that you exist (except as the awkward fat girl who can't fit into the high school style individual desks), awkwardly blurting out answers which leave the room cricket-chirp quiet because no one knows how to reply, and an over-all feeling of wanting to crawl in a corner and not relinquish your place until you are forced. Perhaps movies aren't that brutally honest with patrons because they know that we don't want that. We go to movies to forget about how much our lives suck. People don't throw surprise parties for people like me. I'm supposed to go to movies to feel hopeful, like if it can happen for Amy Adams or Meryl Streep then it should give me hope so that I have something to cling to.

By the time you hit 25, all the milestones are gone. And, really, what is there to look forward to at 25 but cheaper insurance rates? (I'm pretty sure that I'm the only person out there who was legitimately excited about cheaper insurance rates for my 25th birthday. I can't figure out if that was in lieu of anything else to be excited about or if I'm really just that cheap.) I feel like 26 really is indifference territory. What's to look forward to? What's there to be excited about?

Maybe I'm just having a really difficult time finding my gratitude today. Today just feels like any other day.

Packing Up

Recently, things have been in a tremendous amount of flux for my family. Our future has been rather uncertain as of late, and certain economic hardships have forced us to make some decisions. The long and short of our situation is that we've been required to make some choices about where we're going to be living.

I've decided, after much debate, that I'll be moving back to my home state. I've thought about this for a long time, but the truth of the matter is that Ohio has never felt like a home to me. There are a lot of things that I like about Toledo, but there are also a lot of things that I don't like about Toledo. In the four years that I've lived in this state, I've never gotten over the desire to go back home to Indiana. That means something to me.

More than anything else, I'm just ready to be in a place with my family again. I don't like being so far away from my in-laws. I'd like to be able to do things with them, to spend time with them. I'd like to be around to help with my husband's uncle's fledgling business. I'd like to be able to take JJ's grandmother to dinner every now and again. None of that is to say that I don't want to do the very same things with my own family, but we simply don't have the means. My father's job may necessitate a big move in the near future, which makes the future of my immediate family much more uncertain. If they end up back in Indiana, I'll of course want to do the same things with them.

One of the other reasons that I'm kind of excited for this move is surprising to even me: I missed my church. I'm excited to go back to my hometown and get involved in my church again. I've actually missed being a part of that community. I almost feel a responsibility to that church, to be involved there. I'm the fifth generation of my family to be a member at the church. I find myself yearning to take a place at that church, to allow faith to have a bigger role in my life. Normally, I wouldn't describe myself as being a prayerful individual, but lately, things have been different. I've felt a need that nothing else can really fill; I've found comfort in my relationship with God. Maybe that sounds strange coming from a cynic like myself, but it feels more strange than it sounds, believe me.

I'm not letting this move affect my academic career. I'm transferring to another institution in Indiana. I'll be trying to become a student at Bethel College. It's a good school, and the English program at Bethel college is very similar to the English program at Lourdes. They have no limit to the amount of credits they'll accept from other institutions, so I shouldn't lose any time. My credits should transfer. Also, getting a referral from my father should help me get some financial aid, which would be wonderful. Bethel is a good school. Lourdes was also good, but I didn't feel too comfortable there. I have hope that Bethel will be better.

Additionally, my husband is already in Indiana. Things have been going much better between us lately. I feel like our separation has been beneficial for us both. We've both gotten some much-needed perspective. We've learned a little bit more about ourselves through counseling, which we were both in. I think we also learned what our relationship means to each of us. Moving back in together will help us move forward. (Trust me, I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't feel right about it. I've been getting a lot of flack from a lot of people about making this choice. My reply to any conflicting opinions is simply this: my marriage, my rules. If you don't like it, don't be married to me. It's simple.)

More than anything--and I know that I'm jumping the gun here--I'm looking forward to holidays with my in-laws. Since I started dating my husband, his grandmother and I have made Christmas cookies together for the holidays. It usually takes us several days. We spend a day on Kifli and another day or two on other types of cookies--sugar cookies, spritz, seven layer bars, snicker doodles, butter cookies, peanut butter cookies, etc etc. We go to church together on Christmas eve. It's simply lovely to be around more often, to enjoy those little family things. I guess I didn't really realize how much I missed those things until I thought about what it would be like to have them back. Thinking about the things I could be doing with my family made me excited to do them.

I'm just ready to be back in Indiana. I'm ready to move again. It's time to start over.

I Have To Say This... (AKA Why I Don't Care About Harry Potter)

I put up a Facebook status about how I have no plans to ever read Harry Potter. (Don’t you judge me, dammit! I just don’t want to read it!) What made me saddest about my status was the number of individuals who agreed with me. Let me explain…

Don’t get me wrong here, I’m an English major and in college. I plan to teach English. I love reading. I think people should read much more often. Reading is a GOOD thing! I love it when people read anything! I don’t care if other people read Harry Potter. I have no problem with other people doing that. People are allowed to read what they wish to read! If series’ out there like Twilight or Harry Potter encourage more people to read, more power to them. I don’t have to like them or agree with them to know that I agree with what they’re getting people to do. That’s the key.

What I dislike about the Harry Potter crowd is that many of them will resort to name-calling with those of us who do not wish to read their series. Nothing makes me angrier than someone trying to bully me into doing something. Calling me stupid or foolish or saying that I have no taste isn’t going to make me read a book! If you want to bring people to your cause, you’re doing it wrong, Harry Potter fans!

What really made me sad about my status, though (and back to the point of this post), is that one of the the comments I got back proves to me that people don’t read much these days. It makes me sad to think that people agree with me simply because they are too lazy to read. I know people who have vowed they would never read another book after high school and have kept to that promise for the seven years that my graduating class has been out of high school, which is even more sad. I mean, I love it when people agree with me, but I want them to do it for the right reasons!

As a side note, here are some good reasons to be uninterested in Harry Potter:

• you like non-fiction books
• you are older than twelve and would like to read accordingly
• wizards give you the creeps
• you like to read like a hipster and avoid the mainstream
• you hate J. K. Rowling and don’t want to give her a dime
• you are allergic to bullshit
• the movies have ruined it for you
• you hate books with made-up words
• you hate books that feature characters with scars
• you prefer 18th century British literature
• you just don’t hate yourself that much yet

On the other hand, as much as I want more people to crack a book and expand their minds, I don’t agree with everything in said books. The Twilight sigh-ga, for example, is a terrible message to young women about what it means to be a woman and to be in love. Bella is a horrible heroine, and Edward is a terrible hero. Neither of them are suitable role models for free-thinking and intelligent individuals. Bella is the anti-feminist, and Edward doesn’t really want that to change. On the subject of Harry Potter, my refusal to read those books restrains me from making a judgment call about the content therein.

If you want to know why I don’t want to read them, I have no problem with explaining myself. In fact, here’s a convenient, bulleted list:

• I’m not a young adult. Those books are geared toward children, and I am not a child. I am an adult, and I think like an adult. I would like to read accordingly.
• I don’t need any more heroes. My childhood has been filled with great examples of morality and heroism. You can find these examples in fantastic novels like Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time or Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women.
• I want to expand my mind. Novels that confuse me or make me ponder or even make me angry are novels that I want to read. I’m dying to get to my American Lit class at school because I want to learn more. While J. K. Rowling’s work might be good, I doubt it will be what I’m looking for in the way of stimulation.
• The movies bore me. Yeah, that’s right, I said it. I find the movies boring. They do nothing for me. My attention was hardly kept. Sorry, kids. Normally, I won’t judge a book by its movie, but this time, I will.
• I’m just not interested. No amount of arguing or salesmanship will change the fact that I just don’t care about a bunch of brats at a magic school. I know people out there will be dying to tell me, “No, Jessica!!! It’s SOOOO much more than that!” but the fact of the matter is that I just don’t care. Attempting to sell it to me will only make me care even less.
• People have pushed me too hard about it. I might have given the books a chance ten years ago, but the more people who gasp in shock when I admit to never having read them, the more people who accuse me of being stupid or having no taste for never having picked them up, just further prove to me that I’m not missing anything. When people try to drive home a point like that, something in the very fiber of my being just rebels. I can’t help it, and I don’t really want to change it.
• I’d rather spend my time reading something I actually want to read, not something that everyone else wants me to read.
• I am allergic to bullshit. (Oh, come on. You had to know I was going to include something from the above list.)

Here’s the take-home point: READ. Seriously, people, pick up a book!!! I don’t care if it’s Twilight, Harry Potter, something by Nora Roberts, something you bought at a garage sale for fifty cents, something you found in a waiting room or something you stole from your best friend’s dad’s bookshelf. READ! It’s good for you! I promise! But, whatever you do, stop trying to force people to read the same things that you enjoy. We’re all different and that’s okay!

Steel Family

One of my favorite movies of all time is Steel Magnolias. There are a few really good reasons why. First, I think there's something about a movie revolving around a group of women that will always appeal to other women. No matter how different you may be from the characters in the plot, there's just something about women and the responsibilities and shared experiences that we have that will always appeal to us because we can relate. Second, it's a wonderfully acted movie. There's raw emotion in those performances, which is part of what makes a movie great. Third, and most important for me, is the depiction of family and belonging in the movie.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've always envied other people who have large families and are close with even their far extended cousins and family members. Even small families who have tight-knit relationships have been the subject of my jealousy. I've always wanted to have a large, loving family. I've wanted to be surrounded by relatives on holidays, keeping in touch via phone, internet, or mail when we're not around each other. The sense of community and belonging that other people have with their families is not only foreign to me, but it is also very much lusted for and sought after.

There's something about that dream that I have come to realize: it is nearly impossible to achieve. No matter how much I want it, no matter the extent of my willingness to work for it, I cannot have what other people do not want. My immediate family is stressed by the financial and environmental circumstances that we face. It's much easier to draw back, to isolate, and in that isolation to lose sight of who we are and what is important to us. Our relationships are so strange now that it's hard to imagine how we can come back from all the hurt or stress.

Many of my desires for a larger family were met by marrying JJ. My in-laws are a large and loving group. Family holidays are often wonderful events full of love, laughter, and life. Seeing them together has taught me a great deal about what it means to be a family. More than that, seeing the way that they handle conflict has taught me about how families can grow and change, how groups of people can disagree but continue to love each other in spite of that. Yet, lately, even my husband's strong family has had troubles that have brought us all to our knees. There have been incredible, unbelievable disagreements, horrible circumstances that have changed everything, and an almost amazing inability for certain members of the family to see past their own feelings. Even I have been black-balled by a portion of the family for saying something that I had been asked to say in benefit of another member of the family. (Don't think for a moment that it saddens me to see things this way. What was said was said with good reason and was said politely. There is no reason for me to be seeing negatives, but I'm not sad that I am. I simply hope that reason or logic will someday prevail.)

Eventually, as is with the ebb and flow of true family, I know that my in-laws will all come back together. Soon enough, things will change for the better, and they will be able to see past the hurt and circumstance. I have faith in the strength of my family, their family, and I am sure that things will right themselves. In the mean time, I have chosen to learn and grow.

The thing that I have come to realize over the years (and especially lately, with family circumstances in my extended family and with my in-laws) is that you cannot force people to be your family. Family is as much a bloodline as it is a choice. One can be related without being a family, but what I want the most is a family. Moreover, what seems like a small fight or small slight can be more than that. It can burn a bridge. A person's lacking response to an attempt at reaching out can have a lasting impact or hurt. Those things don't always go away, and people don't always forgive. When I choose to do something, I need to mean it. I can't just do something without thinking of the consequences because those consequences may be bigger than I've ever imagined.

I've written before about my paternal grandmother. She was amazing. I think our family would be a great deal closer if she hadn't died when she did. When I think about her and the way she held our family together and about JJ's grandmother and the way the family revolves around her, I realize that I have a lot to live up to in the way of matriarchs. Someday, I hope that I can hold a family together in the way that my grandmother and JJ's grandmother did and do. If I ever have children (which, as of right now, is a pretty big if), I hope that they won't feel the same yearning for more family connections that I do. I hope I will be able to teach them how grateful they ought to be for their family. I hope that my children will appreciate their family, will be close to their family, and will love their family no matter what.

I don't know how to get the family that I've always wanted or to keep together the ones that I have. I'm willing to do the work. I'm willing to put aside differences, to apologize for past wrongs, to do as much as possible to keep in touch. I just need more family in my life. I need that support and love and connection. I've also realized that I need my family to need me as much as I need them. I need to know that I'm a part of something and that I'm wanted. I really hope that I find that soon.

Indiana and Rashes

I've had a busy weekend, full of ups and downs! Let's start from the beginning. Some time in the midst of last week, I used a different face wash than I would normally use. My face has had a horrible rash since about Thursday because of that. Even today, it's still swollen and painful. It itches slightly, but every time I touch it at all, it stings like the devil. Benadryl and cold compresses have been my friends. The moral of the story here is don't use new facial products when you have sensitive skin without making sure that the products are hypoallergenic first.

That said, this weekend, my dad and I headed over to Indiana. I saw JJ and gave him some of his belongings that happened to still be at the house here in Ohio. It was good to see him, but I'm still a little uncertain about the future. I guess time will tell.

I also went to church--our old church--for the first time in a long time. It was good to see everyone again. I got a ton of compliments about my hair. I would have thought the blue streak wouldn't have gone over so well with church folks, but it was apparently a really big hit. It was really nice to see everyone. It made me miss living in Indiana a bit, made me nostalgic. It would probably have been a lot better if I didn't feel like a leper with this giant red, swelling rash all over my face, but you take what you can get, right?

We also visited with my grandfather, who just got out of the hospital. He's been having some health issues lately. We were also told that if he doesn't start seeing some improvement with some of the issues he's been having, he may end up facing some surgery, which would not be good. He's improved slightly, however, so we'll take whatever blessings we can get. I know he feels a lot better being able to be at home, rather than cooped up in a hospital room with a roommate who can't be quiet. I suppose that would make me feel better, too.

More concerning, however, is that my great aunt Katy is in the hospital. She's been in the hospital for most of the week, but no one told our family about it. We managed to find out just before we left to come back to Ohio, so we went up to see her beforehand. She's such a fragile little woman, and I worry about her. I know that she's 92 years old, which means she's lived a pretty long life. She told us that she feels like she's toward the end of her life, and that makes me so sad. She also said, though, that she felt like she had a wonderful, long life and that she and our family are very lucky.

She's right; we are lucky. We have a mostly good family, no matter how often pettiness gets in the way. For the most part, we've got good lives and plenty of things to be grateful for. My father started to tear up in the hospital room as we were talking with her. It's very true that it will be so difficult when she passes away, but I'd rather look at it as a normal, natural part of life. I will miss her when she's gone, but she also seems very ready to go. She was calm, and she looked back on her life with a very large amount of gratitude. I'm just hoping that this wasn't the last time that I'll get to see Auntie Katy. She's done a lot for me, and I don't want her to go yet. I'm not ready to let go yet.

Coming home was both good and bad. I'm worried about the state of the things I left in Indiana. I'm glad to be comfortable and back in my own bed again. Yet, I still have a lot to do. I have more things to sort through, more things to find places for in my room. I sort of feel like I'll never be done, which is discouraging. I plan on taking my time, though. Today, I'll be mostly useless because of all the benadryl in my system, but I suppose it'll be okay. I need some time to rest and relax anyway, let my body start taking care of this rash. I'm hopeful that things will start to improve soon.

Beds Aren't Just For Sleeping

My sleep schedule is, once again, totally screwed up. I've been meaning to blog again for the last couple of days,  but I get into this terrible habit of thinking about what to write while laying in bed. By the time I think of something worth actually writing about, I'm in the process of falling asleep. Naturally, when I wake up, I don't have any recollection of what I was thinking about beforehand.

Sleeping for me has been happening in oddly placed four to six hour segments. I'll sleep from midnight to around four A.M., but then I'll be awake until around noon. Then I'll sleep from noon until around five P.M. and be awake until midnight again. It's not really allowing me to be very well-rested, but it's also not really allowing me to get a whole hell of a lot done, either.

Of course, that's based on the notion that I've been productive lately. And, let's face it, that's just not the case. I've been watching a lot of anime lately, though. I forgot how much I loved Japanese and the Japanese culture. I forgot how enjoyable anime happens to be. I also forgot that after watching two series (start to finish) in five days that, afterwards, I have a propensity for spitting out Japanese phrases as though they make sense to those around me. (For those of you who don't know, I took four years of Japanese in high school. I loved it! So, while those phrases may make sense to me, most people in the Midwest don't really speak Japanese.) Anime also makes me crave Japanese foods and green tea.

In line with my recent attempts to be neither seen nor heard in my household, most of my anime viewing has been via Netflix streaming from my laptop in my room. I usually watch it while just laying in bed, which means I probably would look pretty strange to anyone who happened to just walk in. Especially since most of the time I'm also cuddling a large, stuffed penguin.

Yeah, that's right. This is how we do anime nights.

I'm pretty sure that I spend much more time in bed than your average human being--unless, I suppose, you're comparing me to maybe John and Yoko. I'm not usually sleeping in it. I'm reading, blogging, watching anime, watching Netflix (since my TV is still not hooked up...because I'm usually too lazy to get out of bed when the laptop is right there...), surfing the internet, or whatever else. Eventually, yes, I might give in and sleep. Most of the time, though, I'm actually doing something.

I guess probably the worst part about this crazy sleep schedule is that nights can be really lonely. No one's awake in our house--not that I'd really be downstairs or in the way--and hardly anyone is online. It's pretty much just me and Netflix. I've been visiting this website, CompassionPit, which allows you to vent your problems to other people or to listen to other people who need to vent theirs anonymously. I recently connected with a young lady on there going through a bad break up, and we were able to kill a few hours together chatting.

I suppose I really should change my sleep schedule back to normal, but I guess the bottom line is that my life isn't really all that normal right now. Why modify my sleep schedule when my life is so out of whack? I mean, I know that there are people out there who will tell me that I just need to get back to a normal cycle because that will help normalize my life, but the fact of the matter is that that's just not true. My life isn't going to be normal because there's nothing normal about me right now. I suppose sleep weirdness stays until life weirdness goes.

Internets and Disenchantment

After being without internet for several days, having the internet back at my fingertips is kind of a blessing. I suppose I didn't really realize how dependent I was on the web for entertainment until I didn't have it around for a few days. I'm not incapable of surviving, but trivial knowledge was much harder to come by. (We found ourselves saying, "Well, I'd get online and google it, but..." a lot!) Our internet and phone service was down and we were missing several cable channels (and by several, I mean something like half) because of a service problem in our area.

I will say one thing, however. I was reluctant to purchase my Android phone because I was certain I'd never use it that often, and I was sure that many of its features would be wasted on me. I no longer fear that with my phone. My phone was the only internet connection in the house while it was down, and I was never more glad to have gotten an Android phone than I was these last few days. My phone kept me connected to Facebook and Twitter. While I didn't peruse those things with the same eye that I would have had I been sitting at my laptop, it was nice to have the ability to be on the social network despite the at-home technical malfunctions.

Upon having the world at my leisurely access again, I started looking a little more at Vancouver and UBC. I'm not going to lie, I'm afraid that I'm not going to have the money to go there like I want. I'm afraid that I'm not going to be able to afford school there at all, let alone housing and transportation and incidentals. Of course, I'm devastated at that prospect because I want to be in Vancouver more than I've ever wanted anything, really. I need to figure out this money situation, and I need to do it now so that I can save up for grad school. I need a car and a job, and I needed them yesterday.

I'm not trying to be bitter about my life, but I'm pretty sure that no one ever told me when I was a child that the entirety of my adult life would be spent struggling to make ends even come near meeting, let alone focusing on fulfilling my dreams. If someone would have just told me that I would be miserable no matter how hard I tried, I might not feel quite so cheated right now. But then, I don't suppose that any amount of preparation--proper or otherwise--could really prepare a person for the harsh realities of life.

It's just that, as a child, people always tell you that you can be whatever you want to be. They don't tell you that you'll never be able to afford to be what you want to be. They don't tell you that, even if you do pull off the money to be what you want to be, it's not going to be what you thought it would be and you'll end up disillusioned. No one prepares you for the let down. They build you up with all of these magnificent possibilities, but they don't tell you how impossible those are to achieve. They don't tell you about the let-down.

I realize that I'm being terribly pessimistic because I'm not sure I'm going to get what I want. It's just that I'm a little crestfallen right now. I'm still going to strive for what I want. I'm still going to do my best to make it happen. I'm just feeling the burden of how incredibly difficult that's going to be right now. I need advice. How do you make the world cough up the life that you want? Ah, why couldn't I just get a trust fund and have everything handed to me?! Woe to the unfairness of life!

Don't mind my whining. Give me a few days. It'll pass. I just need to find my motivation again. I need to find the desire to dust myself off and give it all that I have. And I need to face the dark reality that I'm going to be doing that without anyone else's support, fiscally or otherwise. It's going to be scary and difficult and I might not like it at all, but that's how it's going to be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go ponder the hysterical and radical magnitude of the fact that Lindsey Lohan has enough money to do drugs until the cows come home, but I can't afford to go to school to better myself. Good one, Jesus!

Oh...Canada?

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the future. I've been thinking about what it is that I want to do with myself, where I want to be, and where I see myself. I've been thinking about Canada.

I realize that this may seem random, but let's chat about that. You see, I've always wanted to live in a more major metro area. I like the idea of a city that never sleeps, the idea of being able to go out at 4 AM and know that I'll find people and I'll have something to do. What I don't like about most cities in the United States is how unsafe they are. Plus, let's be honest here, Citizens: people in the U.S. are a little bit twisted. Canada is safer. Canadians respect each other. Sure, there are bad eggs, but Canadians don't really have the same kind of rudeness that we have here in the States. It's just different.

That's not the only reason that Canada appeals to me, and I'm sure that, at this point, I'm not really seeming any less random. It's just that Canada feels like possibility. Canada feels like America but better. I could see myself living in Canada. I could see myself being able to thrive there. Canada could be the place that turns my life around. I've been wanting to go there for a while now. We visited Niagara and Toronto when I was about 12, and they were amazing cities. I would go back in a heartbeat. I don't have to explain all the great reasons to live in Canada or why it matters to me. I guess I just really need to put it out there to the universe that this is what I want.

I really need to start over, and I think I'd like to do that somewhere completely different. I need things to change so much. I know I have a ways to go before I'll be out of school here in Ohio, so I'm thinking that maybe Canada will have to wait until I'm ready for grad school. Yet, I think grad school will be the perfect opportunity to make that happen for me. I've been looking at graduate schools in Canada, more specifically in Vancouver. The University of British Columbia is in Vancouver, and they have a pretty good rating in Canada. Not only that, but they have MA and Ph.D. programs in English.

The more I think about going, the more scary the prospect becomes, though. I'd be starting a life (or, at the very least, a new chapter of my life) in a totally unfamiliar place--not just city-wise, but country-wise. I wouldn't know anyone there. I wouldn't know the best places to shop or who to talk to if I have car or computer troubles. I'd have to discover everything. Completely. As much as that idea appeals to me, it's also terrifying to think that I would be--for the first time in my life--totally without a safety net. Canada is also a pretty expensive place to live, so it's a pretty daunting task to go there and try to make it on my own.

For some reason, though, I can't get the idea of moving to Vancouver out of my head. It's where I want to be. It's calling me. As unnerving as it is to face the idea of heading to another country, it's even more intimidating to have to face myself and my own disappointment if I completely ignore my urge to follow my dreams. Going to grad school, going to Vancouver, those are definitely my dreams. I don't want to wait until I'm 40 to have my self-actualization moment. I want to have the courage to do these things while I'm still young enough to love them and have plenty of time to look back on them and rejoice having had those experiences.

I just need to do something for myself. I need to do what makes me happy, and I really think that this would. Does this seem selfish? Should I care if it does? I mean, at the end of the day, this is my life and I'm the one that has to be happy with it. Ultimately, it's me that has to live with me. I don't want to regret not doing this for the rest of my life. I want to do it. I want to make it happen. Is that so wrong of me?

Standing Up

Another blog inspired by a Facebook post? Why, yes!

A relative of mine shared this clip with me on Facebook. The basic set-up is that ABC News hired some actors to play a gay family at a restaurant and a waitress to behave badly and in a discriminatory manner toward them in public. They set up hidden cameras to observe the reactions of other patrons at the restaurant. The whole thing was shot in a small, conservative Texas town, by the way.

The results were somewhat surprising to me. Person after person got up and told the waitress that she was being incredibly rude. People offered to buy breakfast for the family. One amazing young man wrote the lesbian couple in the clip a note that offered them beautiful, kind words of support. It was so touching that the actress playing one of the lesbians began to cry.

The young man's note said the following:

Hello Friends,

I know it doesn't mean much, but I love you all. You have a beautiful family, and I pray that one person's judgmental intolerance does not, in any way, put a damper on your hearts or minds. In the words of MLK Jr, "In the end, we remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."

Donovan

 His letter to the couple made me tear up a little bit when I watched the story. Years ago, people could get away with saying just about whatever they wanted to gay couples and no one would stand up for them. I remember seeing the effect it had on our family friends. It could be really ugly and really hurtful. It restores some of my faith in humanity to see so many people standing up for what they think is right.

For me, this begs a question: what would you do in the same situation? Would you put yourself into a situation that had nothing to do with you in order to stop something that you know is wrong? My answer is yes. I've done it before, and I have no qualms about doing it again. It's wrong to allow discrimination to happen in front of your eyes. What I worry about is the answer that other people would give when asked the same question. How many people think, "Well, this is none of my business," and just sit back and do nothing?

Donovan is right; it is the inaction of those around us who do side with us that sticks with us in the long run. I don't ever want someone to look at me and wonder why I didn't stand up for what I believed in. I don't want to see people around me hurting when I have the chance to do something about it. I don't think it's right to sit back and do nothing. Even if what I say doesn't make a difference, at least I will have had the courage to say it, to take a stand. That's important to me.

Stand up for what you believe in. Do what you think is right. Inactivity is almost worse than aggression and hate because inactivity perpetuates aggression and hate by allowing them to go on. There is a saying that always stuck with me which fits this very well:

First they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the Communists and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.

(Martin Niemoller, 1892-1984)

 Always stand up for what you think is right. Doing so can give other people around you the courage to do the same. At the very least, it allows you to sleep well at night knowing that you didn't sit idly by and allow the perpetuation of injustice.

Creativity and Showing Up

A friend of mine recently posted something interesting on my Facebook wall. It was one of those TED talks by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love. The subject of the talk was creativity. Those of you who follow my blog more frequently may know that, for me, creativity is something of a terror. I'm not particularly creative, which is a bit of a bother considering how badly I wish to be creative. I love writing, but I've never felt like I was particularly good at it.

But today, Elizabeth Gilbert got me thinking. She feels that creativity can come from an outside source, that inspiration isn't always the product of the person. Creativity can come from outside muses, which is what the Greeks and Romans both believed. Creativity can be a force that simply enters you. Showing up and doing the work, making something out of nothing, is really a person's only job in creativity. Making an effort is part of how you make something count.

How does this apply to my life? When my younger brother and I have discussed school and the possibility of him going back to take some classes, I've been known to tell him that 90% of my success in college has been in showing up for class. The rest of the success kind of makes its own gravy, you know? Hearing Elizabeth Gilbert apply that philosophy to the creativity made me realize that showing up and doing the work is something that I often don't do when it comes to creative works.

Let me explain. I've always considered creativity to be something that a person either has or does not have. In my head, I've maintained this notion that people come by their artistic talents naturally. (I mean, surely da Vinci was able to draw and paint like that all of his life, right?) Even though I know some artists who have had to work at their craft, learn and apply new techniques, and work through trial-and-error, I never really put it together that creativity could be something that a person could work at. I guess I never did that because working at creativity means that some of your works might not be as good as the rest; some of them might be total flops and failures. I never thought that creativity could be a failure because I only thought of creativity as being something that succeeds. Something creative is always amazing. I never considered the fact that something that sucked could also be creative because I always thought that the things that I produced which--in my eyes--sucked, were totally lacking in creativity.

I haven't been practicing what I preach. I haven't been showing up when it comes to creativity. I haven't been writing as much lately because I feel like I have nothing creative or worthwhile to say. I don't contemplate writing other things. I don't push myself to come up with a concept. I don't even sit with my laptop and fake an attempt at writing something. I simply let it slide on past me. I never thought that I could be creative even in things that aren't as interesting because they help me to grow to a more creative end. I need to start showing up, doing my part in the creative dance. I need to start doing for the sake of doing and having faith that some of the things that come of it will be creative and good.

This is step one in the process of showing up. Producing something. Let's hope I can make a more concentrated effort on that front.

Privacy in the Modern Age

I read an article today that really got me thinking. In the past, the girls and I have had discussions at the dorms about the nature of rumors, privacy, and libel. I have been of the belief for quite some time now that privacy, in the modern age, is dead. Let me tell you why.

First of all, we live in an era where everything is available online. You can do a quick Google search and find out just about anything that you want about a person without having to work too hard for it. I know that this is true because I google people all the time. You can put a lot of pieces together with a well-thought foray into the joys of Internet search engines. In the past, I've started with a name and found websites, interviews, personal information, and even images of a person's home residence. It's all out there, one just has to know how to find it.

Secondly, we're coming to find that we have a generation of people who are putting their every thought out there on the web without even thinking about it. Facebook and Twitter have only added to that trend. It's possible to whip out a mobile phone and toss out 140 characters of whatever you want. It's a cultural ideal that encourages people to update, to share, to network, but it doesn't encourage them to think. It's too easy to drunk-text a Twitter update without considering the ramifications of what you're doing. It's too easy to put out a status update that outs someone as a bad friend without considering the fact that it also makes you a bad friend for putting it all over Facebook. Even the author of the aforementioned article notes that she didn't think, at the age that she started her sex blog, that people would think it was a big deal or that they'd go out of their way to hurt her for it. She didn't consider the ramifications of her writing.

Thirdly, if you're not putting it out there, someone else will or has. If you're not telling Facebook that you got hammered with your besties last night, you'd better monitor what your besties are saying. Odds are fair that one of them wrote to someone or even made a status about how you embarrassed yourself by puking in the pool. It goes beyond just personal circumstances, though. Information is disseminated pretty freely these days. Winning a contest or tournament means that your name will be out there for the world to see. More to the point, your address is on google right now, and you probably didn't put it there yourself.  You don't always have control over what is written about you.

People are ugly. We hurt each other. This is what we do. There is always going to be some hater who looks at what you've written and wants to find a way to use it to destroy you. There will always be a person that wants you to feel terrible, even if there is no logic to those feelings. Perfect strangers will find a way to hate you for no reason at all. Trolls on the Internet will use whatever they can to get to the people that they dislike. This comes as no surprise at all.

Privacy is dead because we have slain it ourselves. The information age comes at a price. Having widely disseminated information out there means that some of that information might be about you. Is that a price that you're willing to pay for the knowledge that Angelina Jolie prefers her underwear white and Hunter S. Thompson was really fond of grilled cheese? (Those are totally made up facts. I have no idea about Angelina's underwear or Hunter's food-loving ways. Frankly, those subjects are too boring for me to google.) The instant-update attitude that Facebook and Twitter add to our lifestyles only exacerbate the death of privacy, and those are based in choice. No one makes you update Facebook or Twitter with personal information that may be damning. In some ways, we play a major role in our own lack of privacy, so it makes no sense to blame others for it.

Here's my feeling about privacy: If you don't want someone to know that you did something, then don't do it. It's simple. People can't  find out about what didn't happen. Not committing an act means that you don't have to find ways to lie about it. It also saves you the embarrassment of a friend calling you out on actions that you didn't want them to find out about. If you'll feel bad for it later, if you might have to apologize for it (and apologies aren't your thing), then just don't do it. Privacy isn't an issue if you're not doing things that you feel like you might need to hide.This world is too populated and small for people to think that they would be able to have a space or forum totally free from other people and judgment.

As far as I'm concerned, there isn't a reasonable expectation of privacy any more. I live my life like people are watching what I'm doing because, let's be honest, they might be.

Discomfort and Disappointments

Well, I clearly fail at updating my blog more frequently. On the upside, I'm finally getting to a place where I'm starting to sort through all the clutter in my brain--which sort of works for me because I'm doing the same thing in my actual living space as well.

I mean, I guess calling it my living space is probably stretching things a little bit. I'm back at my parents' house for the time being, until I can get my settlement from the car accident, followed soon after by a car and, subsequently, a job. Let me just say that this is certainly not an ideal arrangement. My family is under a lot of financial strain right now, and adding another person to this mix is probably not making things much easier for them on that front. More than that, it's a personal strain for me. There are a lot of things that I'm struggling to figure out right now, and my family is not making that any easier for me.

I love my family, but we don't get along terribly well. We've never been a feelings sharing kind of family. We tend to be more of a family that places the blame, slams the doors, and makes passive aggressive quips at the dinner table. "Ketchup you say? I couldn't hear you over the sound of how much you suck." (Okay, so maybe no one said those exact words, but it's not far off!) Ultimately, we love each other, but there's never been an adequate way of showing it. And living with a group of people who may or may not love or hate you (depending on the time of day and what you've done for them lately) can be ridiculously exhausting.

Being here makes me feel like I'll never be good enough to garner the acceptance of my mother. I feel like, no matter what I do, it won't be enough to be worthy. It's my action or inaction in the house. It's my choice to get an English degree instead of a nursing degree--which she is in a constant state of trying to change my mind about with little comments like, "I never liked English. I don't really see the need for it." It's my relationships with my friends. It's my marriage. There's always something about me that just doesn't make the cut.

Then, I find myself wondering why it matters at all. If I'm never going to be good enough, then it doesn't really matter what I do at all, does it? It's time for me to start living my life for what makes me happy, not what makes everyone else happy. Of course, that's easier said than done, and it raises a whole set of questions in and of itself: What is it that makes me happy? How can I find a balance between doing what makes me happy and keeping the peace while I'm still at home? Do I have to apologize for who I am?

Mostly, being here just makes me yearn to be back out on my own again. I miss independence. I crave the ability to actually buy my own groceries, have control over my own kitchen and refrigerator. I want to the be the one who calls all the shots about how to arrange the furniture. I want to look at a mess and not be filled with resentment because I have to clean it up when I didn't make it--I want to look at a mess and know that it was all me and that cleaning it up is worth it because making it was worth it. I want to feel like I'm at peace in my own home again. Cleaning up my bedroom, arranging my desk and closets and drawers doesn't matter if I'm only coming up to my room to escape all the discord in the rest of the house. I want to be comfortable with where I'm living again.

I feel like my youth is wasting away. I should be able to go out and have a good time. I should be able to be comfortable with my life and my home. I should be having experiences, rather than sitting in my room at home and waiting for money to come to me so I can fix my fucked up life. I'm so angry about my circumstances. I'm staring to feel consumed by all the bitterness that's accumulating in me. It's not a good bitterness. It's not like the bitterness of dark chocolate which only makes the sweetness that much sweeter, the bitterness that you learn from. It's rough, tearing, horrible bitterness. It's collecting inside of me faster than I can make it go away. This bitterness just makes my need to have a life of my own again all that much more urgent to me.

It would be really great if a car and an apartment just fell into my lap. In the mean time, how do I figure out how to get it together? My counselor wants me to figure out what it is that I want to accomplish with her in my sessions. I suppose this entry alone will give me a decent place to start. The main thing I'd really like to figure out is how to lose all this anger all the time. How do I stop getting angry at other people for trying to commandeer my life? How do I stop the anger that results when other people try to make me feel like a failure for not living my life in the way that they expected me to live it? How do I do what's right for me without caring about disappointing people? I suppose if I could figure out the answers to those questions, I'd be solving everyone's problems.

Semester's End

My Spring semester at Lourdes has come to a close. It was much more difficult than I had thought it would be, and in many ways, more rewarding to finish it than I could ever have assumed it would be. During my semester, I started counseling, which has been both good and bad. It was, above all, certainly needed. My counselor has been pretty amazing, and it's nice to have a place to go to spill one's guts. There is a therapeutic value to being able to allow your feelings to gush forth like water from a broken pipe. (I fought the urge there, for the record, to compare it to blood and veins, but then I thought I might be giving the wrong impression, what with the mention of counseling in the very same paragraph and all.)

Being out of the dorms is both wonderful and awful. I made some great friends there, and I will miss them greatly. The drama, on the other hand, was getting to be a little too much to handle with my sanity in tact. Being home is imperfect, but it's also temporary. I'm almost hesitant to unpack my things because it feels like the time I spent living with all my friends at the dorms will truly be at an end. It also feels like the weight of the choices that face me will crush me.

Choice is big for me right now. I have to choose where to live, choose what to do with friends, choose what to do with my marriage, choose what to do in difficult situations, choose to stay sober. Every time I turn around, there's another tough call to make, another situation that requires the full magnitude of all of my thought. Staying sober has been difficult in all of this, but it's also been great. I am, in the face of all the questions I get day-to-day (from everyone, including my counselor), still sober. In a little less than a month, it'll be six months sober for me. While I don't go to AA or anything (yet...), I still feel pretty accomplished.

Mostly, I just wanted to update this blog before going to sleep. I know it's been a while, but I'm still here. I'm still hanging in. I'll expand on feelings-type crap tomorrow. For now, I'm content to still be. And to get a little sleep.

Best Night Ever

I'm relatively certain that tonight was, by far, the best night of my life. As some of you readers (all two of you) may know, I'm desperately in love with all things Marianas Trench. I found out a while back that they were coming to the United States--as they are a Canadian band--and I bought tickets for their show in Columbus, Ohio, the day that they went on sale. Tonight was the night of their concert, and, Readers, I must say it was epic!

Josh Ramsay is pretty sure Mike Ayley's hair is awful.

Same picture, different angle. I like this one better, I think.

First, Josh and Mike did a signing at the F.Y.E. in the Columbus mall. Kaitlin and I went early to be sure that we got to meet them, which we did. We were the second people in line, and I got all my stuff signed, including an awesome necklace that Kaitlin gave me just before the concert. If you don't believe roommate love is possible, visit Kaitlin and I for a while. It's love up in this bitch. Love.

Perfect for the occasion!

I also took a picture with the guys.

Please ignore how utterly pasty I look when compared to regular people.

After the signing was over, we headed to the venue to wait to see the show. We had to park way out in the boondocks because we couldn't find a place to park near the venue. (We were later informed by a friend we happened to make at the signing that there was a parking garage literally across the street from the venue. Balls!) We ended up parking in front of some residence. Kaitlin almost stepped on a dead rat when she got out of her car. It was unpleasant, to say the least. We waited outside in the cold with our friends from the F.Y.E. signing for an hour and a half at least, but then we finally made it inside.

The show was amazing. Josh Ramsay sings live in the same way that he sings on his albums. Mike Ayley, Matt Webb, and Ian Casselman were all amazing. They sounded so great! Lots of bands can be utterly disappointing live, but not Marianas Trench. The crowd was excited and knew a surprising amount of words to the songs. They played a five song set including (in no particular order): "All To Myself," "Cross My Heart," "Celebrity Status," "Shake Tramp," and "Beside You." It was wonderful!

Kaitlin and I left after Marianas Trench was done playing. The walk back to the car had us walking past an alley that was in the back of the venue, and I begged Kaitlin to go down with me to see if the band was outside. Just my luck, they were! After begging Kaitlin to walk further down and talk with them with me, I eventually left her side to talk to Josh Ramsay solo.

The talk that I had with him was amazing. You know that feeling that you get when you really want to meet someone and you just know it's going to be awesome? I had that feeling all day. Josh Ramsay is every bit as accommodating and cool as he seems like he ought to be. We chatted about their tour, about how I introduced my dorm friends to their music, and about sobriety, which was amazing. He was totally understanding. He asked me if I was going to meetings (A.A. for those of you that don't speak fuck-up), and he suggested that I go to them because they can be really supportive. When I asked, he made a little video to greet my friends at the dorms. When I asked, he gave me a hug, which was pretty much perfect. He thanked me for coming out to the show, and I thanked him for the awesome music.

I really don't know what to say other than that it was truly awesome to be able to converse with my favorite person. I don't think that there would have been a more ideal way for me to meet Josh or for things to go down. It was really nice to be able to talk to him about sobriety especially and to know that he understands where I'm coming from with it. It was also nice to hear him support me when there are people in my life right now that know me and don't even offer me support. (In fact, I've been told I'm going to fail. More than once. I've also been told that "Jessica plus alcohol equals a good time." Winners, all around.)

On the way home, we got lost. The good part is that we were only lost for a little while. The GPS malfunctioned, but Kaitlin had a GPS system on her phone. We made it back in one piece and incredibly happy.

Marianas Trench will definitely not lose their place as my favorite band. They've earned it for sure. And Josh Ramsay has my loyalty for sure. Today makes me feel like things are finally turning around for me, like things might be looking up for me in life. Maybe it's because this is my 77th day sober--lucky 7's. Maybe my life is going to be better than it seems. So, Readers, before I gush any more about my amazing night, I leave you with this lovely video.

Meanwhile...

Being back at school has been an interesting experience this semester. I seem to have much less patience for the people around me, as previously stated. It all seems to come in waves. I have my good days, when being around everyone is fun and enjoyable. Then, I have my bad days, when I find the people around me totally insufferable, with a few notable exceptions.

Today, I'm just feeling incredibly left out. I'm sure it seems awfully teenage and emo, but I guess blogging about it is my way of coping with it without having a childish breakdown or crying jag. I'm pretty sure that's on it's way at some point, though. Lord knows that I always manage to have a crying jag at the most inconvenient of times. Of course, all of these feelings were, in a way, precipitated by something even more childish than I'm feeling already, so it all serves to make me feel even more ridiculous. I don't really see any point in rehashing the whole situation in written form because it will just serve to make me seem as ridiculous as I am, which I'm not really interested in right now.

Mostly, I'm just tired of my circumstances. I'm tired of not having a car. I'm irritated with never having any money to do anything with. I'm sick of having to base my life around living with other people when what I really want is some solitude. I hate that I missed two classes last week because I was sick. I hate desperately trying to play catch-up when I can't because the work just keeps getting piled up higher and higher on top of me. I'm tired of doing favors for people who give me attitude or lip.

I guess I'm tired of everything. I wish that I didn't have to think or act or pay attention. It would suit me very well to simply slip away on my own. I'd love to live as a hermit in the woods for a while, shunning the physical and mental ardor that comes along with the expectations associated with being a part of a community. If I thought that going home would serve for me as some kind of small vacation, I might go there. However, it's much easier to be here than it is to be there for a large variety of reasons.

I suppose that I simply have a stunning lack of faith when it comes to other people. I would love to act like I have patience for everyone that happens my way, but the fact of the matter is that my patience is seriously limited. People never fail to disappoint me, but always fail to understand me. I don't know what's more frustrating to me: my anger with them for failing to understand me or my anger with myself for expecting that they might understand me.

Of course, this blog has predictably turned to brain vomit, but I'll go ahead and post it anyways. It's true to the blogosphere to post what you're really thinking. For now, this pessimistic drivel is what's swimming in my tired and pissy head. Sorry, world!

Return to the College Life

I have been back at the dorms since Friday evening. It's been nice to be surrounded by my friends again, but I'm surprised at how used to solitude I became during break. The thing I often take for granted about dorm living is how very few and far between any hours of solitude happen to be. There have been days when I haven't even been lucky enough to get a shower without a knock on the door, a call, a text message, or various other interruptions.

I guess I'm just having issues adjusting to the lack of personal space. Being away from the constant barrage of people and things to do and opinions to share and stories to tell sort of got me used to being able to do my own thing again. I forgot what it's like to have people want to be around me, want to share things with me, want to tell me their stories. Being in a sour mood almost makes me feel a little big guilty because I know they mean well and they want to share their joys and sorrows with me. Of the same token, I don't really know how to explain to them that, sometimes, I just need time to myself. Hopefully, classes starting will give me a decent excuse to retreat back into myself.

For some reason, I found myself in an especially foul mood this evening. There wasn't any particular reason. I missed all my girls, and I have enjoyed spending time with the new people that we've added to our group. I just found myself in a terrible mood, and there wasn't really any end to it. Of course, my roommates were accommodating and allowed me to bitch my black little heart out about it. That was nice. It's nice to have people to whom you can say all the mean things you think of without them judging you. Not that I'm all that scathing or witty--frankly, I've been too tired to be all that witty lately--but it's nice to give vent to all the socially unacceptable things that pop into my brain.

Mostly, I'm just ready for an end to all this collegiate nonsense. It would be really wonderful if someone could bestow upon me a degree for being myself. I'd really love to have a career based completely on Internet musings, critiques of other people's hard work, and a night-time lounge singing act. That's my pipe dream. Silly, considering the fact that I don't really sing acceptably well.

Health and Wellness

I'm pleased to announce that my general health is much improved. I'm still suffering some coughing and a slight bouts of troubled breathing, but it doesn't feel like anyone's sitting on my chest anymore. This is what I would call a victory.

On the subject of life in general, I'm definitely ready to return to the dorms. I love my family for the most part, but they are starting to wear very thin on my nerves. Very thin, indeed. Apart from some minor family annoyances or skirmishes, my life has been very boring. The major joy of my last few days has been loading my CDs into iTunes. With this done, I am satisfied. That's really been the only excitement of my week.

I'd love to talk about the majority of the things that are on my mind lately, but I'm not really sure that they're entirely appropriate to blog about. Frankly, I'm totally amused by a situation that has gone down between me and someone that I thought was my friend who I have blogged about here before, AW. To say that I have not been injured would be a total lie, but to say that I'm hurt to the extent that he and others probably think I am is a total falsehood as well. More ore less, I'm actually kind of laughing about it. My reasons for that would require explanation and back-story, but I'm sure they're not what you're thinking.

I know it's awkward to mention a situation and not explain it, but it's a lot more personal than it seems. And, quite honestly, I don't know if AW reads this blog, and I don't want to write something that seems like it was intended to be scathing or hurtful. I don't want to be scathing or hurtful, but I know that's how my thoughts will come across, so it's probably best to not put them out there. More than that, this a blog for me. Not a blog for my responses to people who have irked me, hurt me, pissed me off, whatever. (Don't get me wrong, I know it becomes that from time to time, but it's not the actual intent.) Plus, I'm just not that upset about it. For a plethora of reasons. It's not as big a letdown as I think he thought it would be.

This is the part of the blog where you think to yourself, "Wow. Jessica might be growing up a little..." Hopefully, you are right.

I'd love to say that I have it in me to drop some great truth or say something deep and meaningful right now, but I don't. Not really. That said, I think I'm going to take my sense of moral superiority off to bed. Extra rest should help me kick the cough a little faster. I leave you with this little joy because it's oddly fitting.

One Month!

I have reached one month of not drinking! Go me!

That is all.

Health Update

I am feeling marginally better today, but my mood is more sour. Funny how one thing improves, but the others falter. My breathing is slightly less labored, but the trade-off is that there's a lot more mucus now. I realize that this is a good thing, but my nose is starting to turn that Kleenex-chafed red. I discovered that sleeping only happens productively for me if my chest is elevated (for whatever perplexing reason), and thus, sleep has not been easy--which is what I'm attributing my pissy mood to. It's not even pissy so much as just lacking completely in any kind of patience.

My twin and his girlfriend, Jill, once again visited us. They were here from Thursday until today. I had intended to mention it in my last post, but other things were weighing heavily on my brain. The only sadness I have regarding their visit was that I spent most of it sick. Because of being sick, I stayed in bed and was mostly useless. It's unfortunate because soon my brother will be moving to Austin, Texas, and I will see him much, much less than I even see him now--which is precious little, let me tell you!

I don't really have much to say beyond that. I have no witty observations or thoughts with any depth. Mostly, I'm just ready to stop being sick and to start classes back up. For now, it's not much deeper than that.

Bill Zeller and My Pitiful Problems

Quick update: turns out that I do have bronchitis, as I had suspected (which I don't think I mentioned on here, but tweeted and facebooked about). No surprises there. I have a prescription for antibiotics and cough syrup, so things should at least get a little less painful soon. That said, let's get serious.

I don't know how many of you keep up with the news. My commitment to being an informed human being is lackadaisical at best. I spend a few days perusing NPR or The Huffington Post on the web, feel informed enough to pass as intelligent, and move on. I admit, even the subject that I am about to bring to your attention now is not the result of an interest in the news, but rather the result of a subscription to a blog.

Bill Zeller was a young man who was a doctoral candidate at Princeton. He was a brilliant computer scientist, and he was responsible for many programs and applications that are very popular today. Bill Zeller cut his own life short after spending years trapped in an emotional hell. Bill Zeller spent his college career attempting to hide the pain of his past and his rage from everyone, and everyone let him get away with that.

I truly, honestly hope that no one in my life is suffering with the kind of secrets and pain that this young man endured in his life. I hope that the people around me know that there is hope, know that there are people that care about them and are willing to help them through. I hope that the people who are in my life are aware that there are alternatives to living in their own pain.

I can't even imagine what it must have been like for Bill Zeller, to be so disconnected and despondent. I can't imagine what it feels like to have no one to trust, not because other people cannot be trusted but because what you have been through dominates the entirety of your life so greatly that you cannot get away from it, cannot escape it's hold on your thoughts and your life. I cannot even being to imagine the extent of the pain that he's experienced in his life to feel like suicide was truly his only option.

We sit in our comfortable lives, complaining about what we don't have so much that we forget what we do have. We forget about the pain of the people around us. We let it slide by because we're so concerned about the cell phone we dropped or the boyfriend we broke up with or the jerk that cut us off in traffic. How many times did Bill Zeller's warning signs slide by his peers because they were so focused on their own troubles, when they really didn't have all that many troubles at all?

Reading Bill Zeller's suicide note is heartbreaking. It left me feeling so cold and empty. I cannot imagine how it is to feel so utterly alone. It is a shame and a failure that people like Bill Zeller slip through the cracks and that we as a society allow it to happen.

All that I can say is that I hope no one whose life I've ever touched feels like suicide is their only way out. I hope that they don't feel like no one cares for them. I hope that, in my future career as a student and as a teacher, people like Bill Zeller will not slide by under my radar.

I encourage you to read Bill Zeller's note, in its entirety, here.

Congestion and Condemnation

I may have mentioned in the past that, when I am sick, I turn into a totally baby. Of course, right now, I am sick. What started out as chest congestion that I was sure was due to my asthma has become body-wracking, hacking coughing, mucous, body aches, and a terrible attitude. I sound like a dying character in a movie or television show with my labored breathing and crackling wheeze. Needles to say, it is not pretty.

The worst part about being sick is that it reduces me to an angry, whining child. When I'm sick, I don't want to do anything, and my self-indulgence tends to get the better of me. I'm so miserable that I've been on the verge of tears all day. Hardly being able to breathe has made me dread getting up or walking around because I know that it's just going to be unpleasant. It's going to hurt, and then I'm going to struggle for the next ten or fifteen minutes to catch my breath without coughing so hard that it makes me pee a little bit.

It is times like these that make me miss my husband. Any time that I have ever been sick, he has done his best to take care of me. When we were first dating, he made me soup and tea and we watched movies on his couch. (This later lead to my story about watching The Notebook, which I have tentatively titled, "How Jessica Makes A Fool of Herself by Crying Like A Child for Forty-five Minutes."It's a good story. I'll tell you about it sometime.) He has always made sure that I have everything I need when I get sick, and he has always babied me, just like I love to be babied.

Alas, due to our current circumstances, we are separated. My family has little, if any, sympathy for me, in spite of the wheezing death knell that I have right now. Of course, having very little sympathy for me means asking me to go up and down the stairs, performing meaningless tasks. It's also manifested in watching me cleaning up dinner dishes from a meal that I wasn't even invited to partake in--in fact, I had to fend for myself when it came to dinner tonight. Being that we have nothing in the house, dinner for me consisted of Club crackers, salami, and cheese. That's going to help me get better quickly, right?

I guess my thesis here today is that I miss my husband, and I feel lousy. I wish that he could be taking care of me right now, rather than sitting by myself in this king sized bed, tearing up because I'm miserable and frustrated. I know I'm not a fan of self-pity in other people, but I'm taking a day to have a little for myself.

My Grandmother

Sparked by a conversation with JJ, I've decided to write a little bit about my paternal grandmother. I believe I wrote to her for my letters project posts, but I thought that, since she's been on my mind, I'd take some time to blog about her.

Everyone generally considered my grandmother to be the person who single-handedly held our family together. I suppose this is true, when one examines the rifts in our relationships since her death. She was kind and generous, especially when it came to her grandchildren. She, like her sisters and husband, was a devout Catholic, and she took her Catholicism very seriously. I'm sure she was displeased that we were not being raised in the Catholic church, but, if she was, she never said anything that made us feel uncomfortable about it. She always made sure that we were cared for and had everything that we needed, from clothes to school supplies to snacks and toys.

I'm certain that she had her faults, like most people do, but I don't really remember them. I recall her fighting with my mother about various things over the years, but they never pulled us into their tiffs. I recall her vanity--she dyed her hair (roots, more or less, were the crux of the issue) black each week or two well past the age when flawless black would have been natural for her. She always had a signature hairstyle, and she wore signature scents as well--Imari by Avon for casual, Cinnabar by Estee Lauder for her special occasion scent. She always maintained her image by being polite to everyone, doing what was best and most socially acceptable. She was, as has gone by the wayside over the years, a true lady.

My grandmother was a lovely woman. She had a plethora of friends. She volunteered at her local nursing home. She loved her children and her husband. My grandmother gave me the lovely gift of many, many wonderful childhood memories. I may not have gotten much of her after she passed away, but I knew her and knowing her was a gift of its own.

One of the memories striking me with great force tonight is of when she was in the hospital, shortly before she died. My grandmother had been hospitalized for some time with Guillain-Barre Syndrome, and she died as a result of an embolism which migrated to her heart, which is a common complication of Guillain-Barre. Guillain-Barre has an element of paralysis to it, and since people who are paralyzed cannot use their extremities all that well, they are more likely to develop clots. Despite the blood thinners and exercises they were doing with her, she did develop a clot. The only positive thing that I can say about this is that we had seen her the day that she died, earlier that afternoon, and we had been able to tell her that we loved her. It was a minor blessing in the midst of a family tragedy.

Just before her death, I had gotten my first sort of punk notions about myself, and I had decided that it was totally imperative for me to have burgundy hair. My mother, after consulting a beautician friend of hers, reluctantly agreed, much to my father's later surprise. My father had declared that he liked it, but that he was sure that my grandmother, who was not so much a fan of odd colors of hair dye, would probably hate it. He assured me that I ought to prepare myself for a discussion of disapproval at the very least.

When we went to go see her, probably a day or so after my change of hair, I was nervous. When we walked in, she noticed my hair immediately. Much to the surprise of myself and my father, she declared that she loved my new hair style, and nothing negative was ever said about it. I remember the look on her face as she told me that she liked it, the light in her eyes. I think back to that day quite often, thinking of how her opinion on the matter could have made or broken the whole situation. Had she absolutely hated it, I'm sure I'd have been crushed.

As I am often wont to do, I think of her very much. I wonder what she would think of me as an adult, what she'd have thought of me at the worst of my teenage rebellion. Would my tattoos and piercings be met with chidings and scorn or would they have been as easily accepted as my burgundy hair was that afternoon in her hospital room? Would she approve of my major? Would I have waited so long to go back to school if she'd been around to advise me, guide me? Most of all, would she be proud of the woman that I've become or would she find me sassy and uncouth? Would she appreciate my honesty and candor or would she consider me impolite and assuming?

As I age, I try to honor my grandmother's memory in small ways, the ways that I can manage. Though I will never be as patient or as kind as she was, I do try to at least emulate some of her behaviors. She used to make Kifli, a Germanic/Polish/Hungarian pastry, every year for Christmas, even giving some as gifts to people (such as priests at her church and whatnot). I have attempted to take over her role as the family Kifli-maker. This year is the first year since I've mastered the art that we simply haven't had the money to buy the ingredients to make them--these are not a cheap pastry, I have discovered. Even dying my hair black now is done with a nod of deference to her, though I do occasionally add streaks of colors that she might have liked much less. It makes me think of her and how she always wanted to be perfectly coiffed.

My grandmother played a huge role in shaping who I have become. She continues to shape me to this day. Even though it gets harder to remember her, harder to remember the small details, there will always be important memories that stick out to me. She will always be the woman who taught me how to make Kifli in her kitchen during the chill of December, the woman who let me play in her jewelry boxes when I was just a little girl, the woman who made her basement and patio two of my most favored locations as a child. She will always be the woman who went out of her way at all times to make sure that my brothers and I felt absolutely, totally, and completely loved. There is not a single thing in this whole world, not even death, that could ever take that away from us.

The Year in Review: 2010

I thought I might do a recap of my year, being that I've had some rough stuff going on. I know that my last post noted that it's too little, too late for a recap, but I thought I'd say to hell with convention and go for it anyways.

First, let's note the negatives that happened to me in 2010:

• My car got totaled by a crazy driver who rear-ended me, from whom I still have not gotten a settlement.
• My husband and I split locations to figure ourselves out. (To be as clear as possible, we haven't given up on each other yet. We're trying to negotiate our neuroses well enough to function as a couple.)
• I discovered I hated my major, which I'd been worked on for the last two, almost three, years.
• My friend, AW, decided he didn't really want to be friends with me anymore.
• I struggled with alcohol, which I never thought would happen.
• I had a roommate issue and had to change dorms, much to my chagrin.

Okay, that's depressing enough, really. It's not as bad as it could be, but it's not the best year of my life either. It's pretty much been one of the worst of my life to date, actually. I do acknowledge, however, through the veil of the haze of my personal selfishness, that other people do have it worse than I do. That said, let's look at the positives of my year:

• My husband and I had fantastic date nights.
• My husband graduated from college, the first in his family to do so.
• I successfully completed a 30 day letters project.
• My favorite musician tweeted at me.
• I've found some sobriety (fledgling though it may be) and had some interesting revelations and moments of clarity.

In light of all that I've been through this year, the ups and the downs, I think I'm doing pretty well. My mental health is in tact. Logic still applies to my life. I still enjoy the quiet moments that I have to just myself, which is alright with me. I would still really love it if this year took a turn for the autonomous and lucky (from my lips to God's ears, no?), and I'm not above putting that out there.

Maybe, in 2011, I'll figure out how to write something that doesn't suck.

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

I keep meaning to blog more often, but I feel like I don't have nearly enough to say on the regular to make any of those blogs actually worth reading. I meant to write a recap of my year, but the time slipped by me. It seems too little, too late on that front now. Alas! Woe! I fail at creativity! Instead, I shall spout generic updates.

First, my New Year was rung in fairly quietly. My friend, Ellen, came to get me and we spent a lovely evening chilling out. We went to a Chinese buffet, and then, we went back to her house to watch a movie. We watched Valentine's Day, which was good, if a little formulaic. We watched the ball drop on television, finished our movie, and then talked for a while. My night was fun and sober, so I have been keeping to my goals so far. Hopefully, this is indicative of the kind of year that this will be.

On the first, my dad and I made the drive over to Indiana--after several notable snafus--and spent the weekend in Indiana. I wanted to do so many things while I was there, but spending time with JJ was most important. We had dinner with his mother, went to a Chinese buffet with his father, went to lunch with our mutual friend Angie, and spend plenty of time just cuddling and watching movies.

It's interesting how much a person can enjoy cuddling when they haven't had the opportunity to cuddle for a while. You almost forget how nice it is to fit in someone else's arms. Notably, I have also missed having an opportunity to spend a weekend lounging in bed with JJ. It's been quite some time since I've had occasion to lounge in bed with someone other than just myself, but lounging in bed is especially appealing when another person is there to talk to, laugh with, and enjoy. It's even better when you can watch fantastic 80s movies like Night of the Comet, which was one of my favorite movies when I was growing up.

I also had a chance while in Indiana to go to dinner with my aunt, Maria. It was nice to get an evening with a supportive female who shares a portion of my genetic code. Sometimes, I forget what it's like to have female family members support me--which is more of a tale for a tell-all memoir than it is for a blog. My point is that it was nice to have some female bonding time. I realize that I have plenty of friends to bond with, but it's different when the female is a relative. There's a different energy there, a different kind of bond.

Mostly, I'm just glad that my life is more or less on track and that I had a good weekend. It was nice to get away from things for a while, spend a few days just relaxing. It was also nice to hear someone tell me that I have a healthy attitude and mindset. Sometimes, I tend to get a little too wrapped up in my negative qualities, and it's nice to hear that other people think that I have positive qualities. Above all, it was great to spend some time with JJ that was free of fights and drama. This was a very needed weekend for us, and I'm glad that we got to have it. Hopefully, things will stay on a positive trend for us.

2011, please be a better year than 2010!