Higher Power

I have a bone to pick and it's with the big man upstairs. Or with nature... maybe science. It would seem one of these three has an affinity with taking my loved ones from me. It's been a rough year, no doubt. This would be expected when the majority of your family is over the age of 70. However, the family has been thrown through loops. First my Grandmother is dying. Then she's miraculously recovering and is better than ever. Then my Great Aunt is dying. And then she's fine. And then my Uncle, only in his 50s, out of nowhere, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, stage 4.

This of course was heartbreaking. One of the kindest, most intelligent, and logical men I have ever known, was being ripped from my family, too quickly, yet far too slowly, in the most painful of ways. In his last days we sat with him while he read us the the same children's books he read to me and his daughters as kids. We worked on puzzles together. He told us how much he loved us. He told me how proud of me he was and to follow my dream of film. And then he was taken from us. And it was awful. And the sadness and breakdowns and random bought of tears consumed months.

And then things started to go back to normal. And then they didn't.

My Grandmother, the woman that would buckle my seatbelt for me when I was little, and listened to Brittany Spears and Backstreet Boys and whatever else was on channel 95.5 at her own accord, who would sing "I love you a bushel and a peck" to me, and never ran out of hugs or kisses, she is sick. And sick is putting it too lightly, as she is, in fact, dying, as we all are. She isn't dying today, or at this moment, or tomorrow even, but she is dying. And it's so uncertain, and it's the New Year, and it's supposed to be a happy time but it's not. I feel sad. I feel very sad and I say I'm tired but I'm sad.

So here's my bone for whoever is in control, stealing my loved ones. Stop. Stop stealing our happiness, and our joy and the days of celebration. Let us be. Let us live, and do so happily. I think I'm an averagely intelligent person, but whoever you are, you're confusing me and I hate it.

I hate the lack of control, and the sadness, and the tears, and knowing that when I wake up tomorrow I better opt for the waterproof mascara instead of the normal goop cause who knows what the day will bring.

So stop it. Please.

Cheers :D

Realistically, I'm in LA over break, alone for the most part. Virtually, I'm in good company. I've got butterflies in my stomach. Keep on keeping on.

Letter 1

To my Dearest,

Today is Christmas. I'd like to think that wherever you are snow is floating, petrified and slow, through the air. Here it just rains. As per every Christmas the family relaxed today. I spent the afternoon watching movies and reflecting on the years past. These two activities hardly go together as I tend to get so wrapped up in thought that the movies become a soundtrack to my rapid-working mind.

We attempted our tradition of Chinese Food for Christmas Dinner, however Bamboo was 2 hours late on our reservation. We ended up dining at Jerry's, eating food all too familiar. It was quite lovely though. Brian's old friend, Matt, and another buddy joined the family. They'll be off to Mexico in two day's time for Holiday.

I'm sure Mexico is quite nice this time of year.

Cheers, love, and kisses,

Your Dearest

Hubert Selby Jr.

Hubert Selby Jr. developed his writing craft in his 40s after a life of drug and alcohol addiction. He would write letters every day to his friends. Soon he began to write short stories and novels. This is the route I've decided to take. Not the alcohol and drug addiction route. I'm going to write letters. If I can't tell someone about my day, life, year, thoughts, hopes, or dreams, how will I ever perfect my ability to create characters that have all of those elements?

Tomorrow I write letters.

"Odd Numbers"

That drunken smile did nothing for me
I sit on my windowsill at night replaying your laugh in my head
I notice the details, not the obvious ones like she does
The freckle on your left cheek closer to your bottom lip than your top lip
How many of your eyelashes face up; how many face down
The imperfect blemish above your right eyebrow
That’s what we are, imperfect
Imperfect like your face, your nose, your freckles, your eyelashes
They always come out in odd numbers, the ones facing up and the ones facing down
Your nails are uneven, splitting, like the ends of your hair
She sees your beautiful blue eyes, and your soft, supple lips
She notices your dark, dessert skin and your well-parted hair
She chose you like the spider chose its prey
As for me, all I can do, is sit here imagining what no one else would think to look for
Is this what I chose for myself, a lifetime of windowsills and imperfect eyelashes
No, you chose it for me, when you looked deep into my eyes and whispered those words
Your eyelashes come out in odd numbers, the ones facing up, the ones facing down
Then you kissed them, sentencing me to a world of dark, bleak, despairing windowsills

I've become that flighty girl

There is a pattern that occurs in my life when I travel that I think says a lot about me. When I'm in LA I want to be back in East Lansing. When I'm in East Lansing, I want to be in LA.

That saying, you know, "The grass is always greener on the other side." Yeah. I feel it. The thing is I don't think I'd feel this way if I knew more people in LA. I can count on one hand the amount of friends I have here, however unlike in Michigan, those include the people that I wouldn't hang out with all the time. I love them all, but some people I just don't know well enough to say "lets go to coffee," or "lets hit up a movie," at the drop of a hat.

Or, quite the contrary, it could simply mean I'm the kind of girl who doesn't know what I want until I have it, and then I don't want it anymore. I feel like that sentence could have came out of an Audrey Hepburn movie or an Elaine Dundy novel, and normally I'd love to emulate one of those characters, but for now it bothers me. I don't want to be the flighty girl in the movies or novels. I want to be strong. I want to know what I want. I miss the strength I had going into University. I used to have this sense of being that no matter what, I was strong and I didn't need people, I could be okay on my own, but with all the changes that have happened over the last 4 years that has gone away, and I'm left with a sense of vulnerability that I can't shake for the life of me.

I just don't know what I need to do to get that strength back. Suggestions?

Labels

Sometimes I think about all of the titles we give for people based on their beliefs. Feminist, Liberal, Conservative, Egalitarian, Libertarian, Empathetic, etc. But when I think about all of the beliefs I possess and all of the things I'm still unsure of I find it hard to ever pick a label.

For instance, I feel strongly about breaking the stereotypes of women in order to progress the idea of equality between the sexes. But at the same time, staunch feminists would probably look at me and laugh. I frequently visit Jezebel.com, a feminist blog. Today they had a post dedicated to "Bridalplasty" a new reality tv show where the winner gets free plastic surgery before their wedding. For the most part Jezebel puts down the idea of the show, but between the lines they obviously have strong feelings about the idea of plastic surgery in general.

I've had a nose job. I got it the summer after my senior year of high school before going to college. As a kid I was made fun of constantly for the size of my nose and I was always so self-conscious about it. I mean, I was getting made fun of for something I had absolute no control over. I was born that way, if I had the option I obviously wouldn't have 'given' myself a big nose at birth. So, I got the surgery and guess what? My self-confidence was restored and I felt great. At the same time, I finally graduated high school, was never going to see those mean people ever again if I didn't have to, and was growing up. So was my confidence attributed to the surgery or to the fact that I was growing into myself and finally given the chance to start fresh? I'll never know, but I'd like to think the surgery opened my eyes to the fact that I could start fresh and be whoever I wanted, so a little bit of both.

It's hard for me to identify myself as a feminist while, at the same time, knowing that others would never see me as one. But the thing is, I don't get my hair done, and I didn't have the surgery in order to be better for those around me, but instead I do this stuff for myself.

I think it's a common misconception that if you spend a half hour putting make up on, an hour doing your hair, and you have plastic surgery, that you automatically are a 'fake' person, or that you're propelling the image that society wants you to be. Because maybe sometimes this is the case, but for me, these things aren't for other people. They're for me. They make me feel good.

In my eyes the feminist movement is about having the confidence to be a great woman, as well as an equal. So in reality, what does it matter where that confidence comes from?

If I could go back I would still have gotten a nose job. It doesn't make me any less 'me'. In fact, I think it helped me discover that I was a 'me', and not just an open target for mean people.

I think people get so caught up in labels that they lose sight of the fact that no one can fit into a cookie-cutter ideal. Everyone's views, opinions, actions, etc. will vary. Call it contradictory or hypocritical, but I'd rather call it reality.

My Hair

Sometimes when I'm really in a funk and I can't seem to get myself out of it there's only one thing that cheers me up.

Getting my hair done.

I don't go on large spending sprees because, lets be honest, I really have nothing to spend. When I do have money, however, I love going to my Aveda salon and getting pampered. I hate shopping for clothes because guess what! People grow out of clothes, and some days they just don't look how you want them to. But when you get your hair done, it always looks good. It always feels good. And it leaves you feeling like something finally changed in your life.

This last visit? Purple and blonde streaks, as well as a trim.

Pictures to come.