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.