Last night I lay under the stars in my parking lot waiting for my ride to pick me up. After the grey, cold winter, even the slight chill in the air is a welcome change. Mild though this winter may have been were it to have taken place in the north, terrible it was for the south. For almost an entire month we had no sun and no stars, complete cloud cover. If you thought winter was harsh enough by just being cold, try having no sun. Even a single ray beaming on your face, a trifling hint at the meekest hope of life, brings a rose to your ghostly pallor and a glimmer to your glazed eyes. Last night, however, the glint in my eyes came not from the sun, but reflected the joy of a single, far-off, blazing orb. Of all the stars in the crystalline sky, one caught my eye and I gazed longingly at it, desiring nothing but to join in its dazzling dance, forever away. I often think of what things would be like away from here. Not necessarily off in outer space, but in a different city, in a different state, in a place where no one knows who you are and you are free to be whomever you would choose. However, I’ve had that experience twice before: moving to college and then moving after college. While both situations have caused growth and change within me, I still come back to the truth, that whatever changes take place; they are still housed within me. As hard as I try, I cannot erase the past or take away the events that have shaped me thus far. I can learn from them, and some I can even overcome, but they have still played a role in shaping my identity, and continue to do so. We are not bound to be the sum of our experiences alone, but often, that’s all we see ourselves as. I would, instead, prefer to be shaped by my experiences, with an eager expectation for the future and a peace over everyday life; living in today, but having reverence for both what has happened and what is yet to come. If only it were that easy. But I guess that’s why they’re called ‘ideals.’ posted by me 11:02 AM . . .
So, this is my first attempt at any sort of website, shy of the few things I've done from my jobs. This is just a place for me to share my ramblings with friends, and heck, why not complete strangers. Plus, it gives me something to do during the day. yay. And, since I have been accused of having no inner monologue, I have chosen to use this medium as a way to speak my mind in an effort to hold my tounge at later dates and times. Enjoy! posted by me 11:35 AM . . .
Ah, the day I become one of ‘them.’ Yes, that’s right. Them. Them being not you, not me, not us, just them. The grown-ups of the world. Those whose email addresses are igloomom@home.net or stephensdaddy@boyscouts.org. I mean, when is it that we go from being cool to being them? Does losing touch with style and wearing sparkly sweaters with embroidered teddy bears have to come with wisdom? If they were wise, wouldn’t they know they look ridiculous? And when is it that we become too outdated for our own stomping grounds? What is the fine line between hep cat and old maid? Perhaps I have even dated myself with the phrase ‘hep cat.’ However, that would date me back to the 40’s or 50’s, so it’s not an altogether accurate dating, now is it? Speaking of dating. When does dating become tiresome? Was it ever not tiresome? Dating becomes tiresome when you stop going to meals with your best friends and start having to learn everything from siblings to shoe size of a complete stranger. So what if that stranger is debonair, intelligent, handsome, witty and amusing underneath it all. It still begins with the art of telling each other stories that no one really wants to hear but the person telling them and then pretending that you actually learned something about this stranger across the table from the story he just told you about his Aunt Marty’s favorite goldfish ‘puppy,’ which you didn’t really hear anyway because you spent half of the conversation trying to decipher his murmurs over the din of the surrounding diners and the other half of the conversation trying to figure out if his aunt’s pet was actually four-legged or flippered. Not to mention that the half of you that is trying to hear him amidst the rattling conversation can’t help but overhear the ostentatious woman two tables over who has obviously had too much to drink, but is, sad to say, telling a more interesting story than Mr. Puppyfish. Perhaps being one of ‘them’ is a treat to this seemingly never-ending trail of Mr. Puppyfishes that appear to be the only men in the world actually bold enough to ask a woman out. What if I’m just a Ms. Puppyfish and no one has told me? How regrettable that would be. Dear Ms. Puppyfish, I’m sorry to inform you that you only attract Puppyfish men because you are, in fact, a Puppyfish woman. Sad. Well, if that be the case, then perhaps I should get with it and actually pay attention to the fact that Mr. Puppyfish was trying to illustrate with his grand story the fact that he is a humane and gentle person who enjoys the company of pets, whether they wag a tail or steer with it. Or maybe he was just informing me of his family’s odd and inappropriate name choices so that if I were to become Mrs. Puppyfish, I wouldn’t be overly shocked and able to dismiss them when my in-laws suggest we name our daughter ‘George’ or our son ‘Mary.’ But then again, maybe Puppyfish isn’t so much a person as it is an occurance in which two, seemingly normal people find a disconnect in their humor or lifestyle which makes the other person seem different in an altogether too abstract way for each other to handle. In that case, we will all be and meet up with Puppyfishes at sometime in our lives, until, that is, we meet Mr. or Ms. Right and are freed from the watering fishbowl of the dating world and settle into being ‘them.’ posted by me 11:13 AM . . .
