might be a quarter-life crisisI'm so unbelievably bored.
And not just in that if-I-could-find-something-to-do-I'd-be-happy way. No. In that restless I-don't-want-to-do-anything vicious cycle kind of way. So, to swipe an idea from
Wil Wheaton, here's a random stream of thoughts. Possibly with editing. Here goes:
My parents came today. My mom bought me an orchid, which I may or may not kill in short order, depending on how black my thumb is. They took me out for a truly delectable dinner. Then we sat around my apartment , doing nothing, for a couple hours.
I'm really better at doing nothing by myself.
I love my parents dearly, but I'm glad I don't live at home anymore.
I've quoted from two John Mayer songs today.
Marcus and I broke up 17 days ago.
Lately, my domestic instincts have gone into overdrive. This has led me to clean a lot, buy new plants, sheets, and blankets, and dream about buying a house, complete with a friendly cat to keep me company and a yard with a compost pile and a large garden. Where I'd attain perfect serenity and forever banish afternoon bouts of boredom with my diligent weeding. To top it off, as I was reading something about the annual home and garden show,
I actually found myself interested and contemplated going. As a child, I was routinely dragged to this show against my will, seething with aggravated disinterest in windows, hot tubs, and perennials. You see? You see why these fantasies are a problem?
No one told me this came with the twentysomething territory. At least people respect twentysomething angst. Teenagers just get indulgent smiles and lectures about hormones and how life's not really that bad.
Sigh.
Not that I have anything against domesticity, mind you. These things are all appealing to me. I just don't understand these sudden, inexplicable desires.
On another note entirely, I'd like to say that I'm afraid. Not of terrorism, and not of Iraq. I'm afraid of a war with Iraq and what will happen in the aftermath. I'm afraid of losing rights and freedoms that I hold dear. Most of all, I'm afraid of my own government and what it will do.
And I'm angry. Angry that the government may perpetrate in my name a war I don't support. Angry that it will give billions to secure military advantage when those billions could save so many lives. Angry that people believe terrorism can be destroyed by force, or at least by force alone. People don't become terrorists because they're leading posh and happy lives. I'm angry that I feel the representative government of this nation is no longer within the control of those it represents. Angry that I've lost my innocent belief in my country's leaders. Angry that paranoia is being exploited and brandished in the faces of fearful people, and that patriotism is being used to stifle dissent and thought. This is no time to stop examining the world around us or to be blind followers.
Finally, I refuse to live my life in fear. I will not buy duct tape and plastic wrap and glance with suspicion at people standing in the grocery line or sitting next to me on the plane. I'm pretty certain the odds of my being a grouchy old maid are greater than my chances of dying in a terrorist attack.
Maybe I'm stupid; maybe I'm naive. But maybe I'm right. And that's enough for me.
plot it out in black and whiteWelcome to blog v. 2.0. I was never happy with the previous incarnation of this page, but I didn't have any ideas about how to fix it until now. I think I'm satisfied. For the time being, anyway. Also, as per
Arlie's request, I've also finished everything in the people section.
I've been neglecting this blog lately. This is due in part to
lauren's and my project,
The Spinster Sisterhood, a blog we lauched for the lot of us. So now I'm posting some things there that I'd have normally written here. Really, though, the reason is that I haven't felt like writing lately. There's no good reason. I have lots of things in my head to write about, but I can't find the motivation. Much like my strange lack of interest in buying music lately. I never thought I'd see the day.
Don't worry. My apathy will pass. But not today. I've been in front of this computer for way. too. long.
Friday, February 7
your mind may wanderYesterday I spent almost an hour writing about my trip. Then, just as I hit the post button, Explorer, everyone's favorite browser, decided it would be an excellent time to freeze, thereby sending my efforts into the digital abyss.
Piece of crap.
Anyway, the condensed version goes something like this. My planes did not crash and there were no terrorist incidents (although we sat on the runway for an hour and a half in Minneapolis while they de-iced the last one, which seemed to make some passengers want to commit a terrorist act). Leslie and Adam and I ate a lot of food, played a lot of games, spent a lot of time talking, and generally enjoyed getting to spend more than three hours together.
There was also this entertaining (well... to me) incident involving the toilet. As I was preparing for bed one night, the toilet, which is the most easily clogged toilet in existence, did just that. I plunged away for a while, decided I had done an adequate job, and went to bed with passing thoughts that the bowl was still rather full and the next hapless toilet user might get an unpleasant surprise. What I didn't know about the toilet is that in addition to its weak flushing capabilities, it also fills the bowl twice. Hence, if it becomes clogged and is flushed a second time, you're guaranteed an overflow. Which is precisely what happened at 2 a.m., when I awoke to the sound of water cascading onto the floor as the toilet fulfilled its dream of becoming a fountain. Leslie, who'd gotten up to feed the baby, had noticed the toilet's dubious state but flushed anyway, and was then forced to sop up the ensuing lake and bleach the floor.
Whoops.
I'm not really a bad houseguest. I was just ignorant of the toilet's many problems. And the level of effort it takes to solve them. Once I was armed with this information, conveyed to me over waffles the next morning, I was able to foil further misbehavior on the part of the porcelain god.
Anyway. I also met the baby. I shot two rolls of film while I was there, and many of them are of her. Because she's adorable, as most babies are apt to be. Observe:
I don't actually know what's happening in the last picture. I just remember that Alice was screaming and it was funny for some reason.
We also walked on Lake Michigan, which was frozen for as far as we could see:
When we first got to the beach, there were these big hills that looked like sand dunes, but were really piles of ice that formed as the waves froze. From the front, they looked like this:
Also, because of the wave action, the lake surface freezes in chunks instead of smooth sheets, and then the pieces eventually freeze together, so it looked like huge pieces of glass were scattered everywhere:
It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. Because everything was frozen, it was almost silent. The only sounds to hear were some people shouting farther down the beach, the noises we made as we walked, some birds crying too far away to see, and, if we were very quiet, the soft creaks and cracks of the ice shifting. The world was white and soundless and still for as far as we could see and hear. Beautiful and bleak.
Here, however, it's gorgeous and sunny, albeit rather chilly. But the trees outside my window are budding. Spring is in the air. Suddenly, I want it to be summer. Right now. But I have to work. So I suppose I'll have to admire the day from the newsroom window and daydream of being warm.
