Good Adventure

Say It to Me Now

I think there's a real truth in journaling and spilling all of your feelings on to a page; not only is it highly cathartic, but you can come back months later (or even simply days later) and roll your eyes at yourself. I suppose blogging is a sort of journal for myself except for the part where it isn't entirely private. Which is, I'm finding, a bit unsettling. Ever feel pulled in too many directions? I find that juggling rarely works. I don't ever drop the ball, mind you, I just manage to throw it at the nearest person and then subsequently duck and cover, hoping there won't be too much backlash. It's those little seemingly insignificant doubts that become significant. Those little unseemly creatures that climb in to the back of your skull and fester there for a while. That begin to draw out other doubts, feeding on insecurities, on misgivings, adding fuel to the industrious fire. Like rabid pack hunters, they will chase down each hope until they are cornered ala Jack London style, picking off each new one until all of the old ones themselves abandon reason. Doubts that have no reason or logic, doubts that are based within fogginess and have a certain indefinable quality. It's the indefinable part that makes doubt so powerful--you can't quite ever put your finger on what it is.

"I'm scratching at the surface now

And I'm trying hard to work it out

So much has gone misunderstood

This mystery only leads to doubt."

In any case, sometimes I recognize the doubts for what they truly are and still invest my time in them, feeding the caged beast. It's this highly illogical bit that really throws me. It's been said that insanity is the act of doing the same thing over and over with a different expectation of result. Well, that's the way it is with me and doubt. It's almost as if the acknowledgement of those said doubts doesn't serve to dissipate them, rather it seems to enlarge them and solidify their hold. I've been told that there's no reason to cling to doubt, to shame, to fear. That there's always hope. Hope, that's the dangerous word. Hope, defined as "a feeling of expectation and desire for a thing to happen" doesn't really fit into my recollection of the work; instead, I seem to associate hope with a far more cosmic meaning. As if hope negates these doubts, these misgivings, this surrender to apparent taboo feeling. 

"And I didn't understand

When you reached out to take my hand

And if you have something to say

You better say it to me now."

Ever feel like you've had the same expectation, theory, ideology pounded into your head for so long that you think you might be going slightly mad in your want to reconcile it with your own experiences? For me, it's this idea of trying to realize what's up and what's down, the up you told me or the down you showed me? In any case, the problem here is the fact that some things will never be truly reconciled. And maybe that's sacrilegious. Maybe it's blasphemous. I feel like I'm right on the edge of discovering something truly defining, but it seems to be just out of my grasp. In any case, I'll be tackling doubts by the dozens and be prepared to utterly lose it when said epiphany happens to break over me like a tsunami on dry rock. 

"Cause this is what you've waited for

Your chance to even up the score

And as these shadows fall on me now

I will somehow."

"Cause I'm picking up a message Lord

And I'm closer than I've ever been before."

"So if you have something to say

You better say it to me now.

Say it to me now

Say it to me now

Say it to me now."

--Glen Hansard, Say It to Me Now

And in the darkness when you find this I'll be far to sea,

M

You're Stuck In A Metaphor - The Trip, Episode 6 - BBC Two

Hell Hath No Fury

See, here's the thing: you ruffle my feathers and there will be hell to pay. Or more literally hell will be handing out currency by the bucket loads to me for going on the war path. Because once it starts, there better be a hell of a good reason for me to stop. There usually isn't. 

Cross me and you're crossing Cerberus. The river Styx. Cross me and you'll wish you were Tantalus. Wish you were Prometheus getting your unmentionables eaten out every day. 

See, I have this thing, called a sense of justice, which likes to rear its ugly head in the most uncomfortable situations. Second only to cutting off my right breast like an Amazon to get the efficient kill, I will find you, I will expose you for the fraud you are, and you will regret it. 

I'm zealous.

Watch your back, because I'll be coming for you.

Found my melodrama,

M

Edit: Oh, how the resolutions we make seem so bright in the late hours of the night and then the following morning look absolutely absurd. It seems another venting session has successfully been fulfilled. Hopefully I'll be able to keep the rants on the down low from now on. Just laughing as I re-read this today. Melodrama for sure.

Death First

Oh, the Princess Bride. There's really not much else to say after those words. Well, I suppose a few could follow: fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles. This one just never gets old, as it is, I'm currently in a room surrounded by a multitude of amazing people, each with their own stories and differences, united by one simple thing: their love of this film. Of Inigo's courage. Of Fezzik's loyalty. Of Vizzini's generous ability to utter the word "inconcievable" at every turn. Of Buttercup's vapidness. Humperdink's foppishness. Count Rugen's posterity. Of Westley's mustache. (Incidentally the only man on the planet to pull off a mustache without looking creepy, like a pedophile, or a porn-star.) Major props, Westley.

There's just something about the language, the inspired pauses, strange faces, and chemistry. I sincerely hope that this film is never redone. To do that would be unholy, a grave sin. Sacrilege! I could gush for pages, but the truth is, this film just doesn't get any better. What many people don't realize is that this film was actually based on a book, and a completely hilarious one, at that. I can't get through a page without physically laughing out loud. It's made for several untimely utterances in places where utterances don't quite belong. Apologies. In any case, find some time to add this one to your respective book list. You won't regret it. Well, you might. But I wouldn't. And definitely take the time to watch it. You'll never be the same. 

And remember this is for posterity so be honest,

M

Why Yes

I actually do take my scarf off like this.

We are men of action. Lies do not become us. 

Lake Bushwhacking

Today was just a day when I could not get down. I tried. I was given ample opportunity, but try as I might, that not-so-elusive melodrama as of late was missing. 

Everything just clicked today. This morning, when I woke up, I decided to have a what-the-hell-moment and change my hair part to the other side. Why, you might skeptically ask? Because I wanted to know how the rest of the world saw me. Yeah, that's me for you. 

Although this may sound like an un-bothersome occurrence it did in fact become a bothersome occurrence. 

I'm so used to having to flip my head in the opposite direction to get my bangs out of my eyes, that by the time I had flipped them in the wrong direction and then compensated for the now new direction I had developed a decent case of whiplash. I feel like I became slightly ambidextrous today, what with the having to use my left hand to move my hair out of my face. Okay, I'm a bit far off from that one. But I will tell you that ambidexterity is certainly on my horizon.

I had an excess amount of time today during lunch because one of my classes was cancelled, allowing for ample opportunistic reading time. Essentially, the best thing that ever happens to me. 

I've recently acquired a copy of Moby Dick and I can't stop laughing. I'm not entirely certain Herman Melville's intention was to make me laugh, but I can't help it. It's the little idiosyncrasies of several of the characters, the information that Ishmael feels the reader should know, and veiled truths that punch you straight in the face. Those don't make me laugh so much, but they certainly make my heart burn. There's one passage in particular that jumped straight off the page when I read it: "Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope."

Chew on that one. 

After class in the afternoon I meant to jump into the car and drive home, but the car itself meant to be jumped. And so, instead of calling someone to come jump the car, I decided to go on an adventure. After all, there'd be nothing to talk about if I had waited for aid. Instead, I decided to spontaneously bushwhack my way home, saying "of course not" to paths and demarcated roads, instead deciding to trudge across the frozen tundra of the lake. It was absolutely exhilarating, and freezing, what with snow up to my kneecaps in places, and utterly brilliant. It took a half an hour to get across, far from my guesstimate of a 10 minute jaunt. It was strangely surreal, walking across that frozen desert marked by car tracks and ice fishing shanties, the occasional Minnesotan waving in the distance. (Of course,  I didn't wave back--didn't want to encourage them, never know who's a psycho stalker, what with me being alone and in the middle of a lake trudging through snow trying to make sure that I didn't die from falling in or from being kidnapped, seriously people, my imagination is ridiculous and nefarious and absurd.)

Finally made it to the edge of the lake, at which point I sunk into a snow drift up to my hips. Which is saying something, considering my 5'10" frame. Then I had to scale the cliffs of insanity, well not really, but they were quite insane, and I felt a wee bit like Bear Grylls. Totally worth it. I must have looked like a crazy idiot crawling on all fours attempting to scale the hill, pulling off dead branches and splitting my coat zipper in the process. At which point I managed to make it to the road, the very slushy road, that would lead me to the house. Of course, not before every car on that road subsequently slowed down and looked at me in their rearview mirrors. The long trek of awkward social situations as I spontaneously burst out laughing at cars as they passed me by. Really, there must be something in the water here. 

Joy is inescapable.
On top of that, I get to go watch Braveheart tonight with a friend, which will just be a brilliant end to an even more brilliant day. 

And that's that for you. Just wittering on. 

Embracing adventure and taking control of my story,

M

Sometimes It's All There's Left to Say

Cheesefest Epiphanies

I have epiphanies, left and right. The problem is, I have so many epiphanies that by the time I'm three or four away from the last one I've completely forgotten the first one. I always manage to have them when I'm nowhere near a pen/paper, sharp rock/dull earth, electrical pulse/brain, or otherwise. They just don't want to solidify. You have those ahah! moments and just as soon you're on to the next. It's almost as if each idea isn't given enough time to marinate--and maybe fester is the correct term here-- but the ideas certainly aren't given enough time to truly sink in. 

See, that's the thing that happens when you ride for hours on end in a car listening to folk music.  Which is what I did all day, driving home from Minneapolis. Anyways, I'm hoping to train my brain in the art of festering epiphanies. A true art. 

Continuing in brain wave melting material: right now, I'm writing this as I'm sitting in on a showing of the '87 cult show Beauty and the Beast. It's painfully dreadful and terribly awful. And maybe that's not the correct term here. I'm certainly not full of awe regarding it, but I can't look away. Even the people who made the show are fully aware of how much a cheesefest this thing really is as they pan away to a shot of the moon. I really can't handle any more of this and as I have to awake in the wee hours of the morn, I'll be hitting the sack. 

It's epiphany marination time.

Cheesefest coma commencing,

M

Premonitions

Information Release Form

I secretly love when it's so absurdly cold outside, because in that moment when I step out of any heated building into the frigid air, all of my nose hairs freeze. I know, completely weird. But I just love that feeling, especially when I scrunch my nose around and flare my nostrils. Not so secret anymore.

Sharing far too much information these days,

M

Highly Unsatisfactory Tauntauns

Let it be known that yesterday I was flirting with myself. Today is a different character altogether.
The only thing better than waking up at 6:15 to get to your morning class on time, the car failing to start in the frozen tundra, and managing to get to class on time and then realizing it's cancelled, is absolutely realizing that the wind chill is ranging from -30 to -50 [how the hell do you make degree symbols (jeeze I need to figure out how computers work) there's really no excuse for that]. I said it was terrifyingly/exhilaratingly cold yesterday. God must have thought that was hilarious because I'm now convinced that I no longer dwell in Bemidji, MN, and have instead been transported to the frozen tundra of Hoth.

Seriously, I need me one of those tauntauns. They're perfect. No batteries, no gas, although I suppose you would have to give them some sort of sustenance, but if you ever get attacked by a sasquatch creature you can always cut open your tauntaun and climb inside to redistrubute your body heat. It's the perfect vehicle for  especially-Northerly-Northern Hemisphere dwellers. Well, heating aside. You'd have to have a hell of a coat, face mask, hat, bushy scarf (of the non-vegetative variety) mittens, twelve layers of thermal underwear and possibly even keep hamsters in one of the layers just to stay mildly warm and keep your body from freezing into a cadaverous state. See, but that would be a bother as well, because then you'd have all of these rodents slowly shuffling about in your clothing, which would not only look entirely awkward to whoever you happen to converse with that day, but would also be incredibly ticklish. And probably smell.

So. Things I've determined:

1. Tauntauns, although highly fictionalized and somewhat of a satisfactory ride, would not make things easier. They would in fact cause more problems. Just imagine the droppings.

2. Never use the term terrifyingly/exhilaratingly cold. There is colder and you can bet your arse you will feel it someday.

3. Checking email to find out that morning classes are cancelled usually helps you to not wake up early and madly dash about the house trying to gather all of your schmutz.

4. Plug your cars in overnight when you live in a frozen wasteland of particular iceberginess.

5. Keep calm and carry on.

6. God laughs.

So, here I will be, wittering away my time and subsequently spend my break hours reading. It's practically a holiday. Speaking of which, I'm about to go on a four day holiday to Minneapolis to catch up with old friends, family, and just have some plain good fun. Can't wait to reunite with the art museums. Mmmmm, good. There will be much partying, much frivolity, far less sleep than I can ever hope for, and even more laughter. Oh, and cake. I'm turning old on saturday.

Sadly there are no tauntauns for me,

M

Frozen Flirt

And now I can say that my arse is officially frozen off. It's terrifyingly cold today. But not really.

It's exhilaratingly cold today, in the damn-it's-freezing-but-i-really-love-it-why-is-there-a-paradox-here kind of way. I think I figured out why I was so inherently happy walking around campus freezing my arse off. Because I was outside when it was actually snowing. When any type of precipitation falls from the heavens I get unusually giddy. I laugh uproariously at nothing. Literally. I'll be walking along, smiling like a dope, and then laugh at nothing. And then proceed to laugh at the fact that I'm laughing at nothing. It's really a conundrum wrapped in an enigma surrounded by a question. And it's never ending, ever-spiralling. 

Seriously, people must think I'm insane. 

And then that laughter sets me up to spontaneously combust later as I'm reading hundreds of pages of textbook material. Luckily, the only other inmates in my presence at the moment are a large, unassuming dog that I've dubbed Jackleton [based off of shackleton's arctic adventures] and a really fluffy cat named Chloe that I've taken to calling Drunk kitty [whenever she wakes up her hair is all rumpled and she has one eye half closed in a "could you be any louder as you enter this room" kind of way]. I mean seriously, guys. This is a problem. I'm using the word kitty and laughing at everything today. 

I'm practically flirting with myself. 

Maybe that's what it is. Whenever there's rain or snow I fall in love with myself all over again. So. I'm going to go keep reading exorbitant amounts of text, laugh uproariously at nothing, and in general finish out my day.

Laughing for no reason and Loving it all the same,

M

Dagwood

Dagwood sandwiches again?

You Can't Bloody Be an Astronaut

And then there's that whole responsibility bit, when everyone's madly dashing about saying to you over and over again in a never ending matrix of infinity "you should do so and so and you should be with so and so and you should go to the moon even though NASA isn't sending anymore astronauts there and you should just grow a pair and get over it and you should just spend thousands of dollars on an education and you should just settle down and you should just keep a straight face and bend over and take it and you should just do an endless supply of things that I think would make you happy or at least keep you occupied". Sometimes it's a bit flustering. More than flustering, I should say. 

I find myself in a rather defiant mood at the moment (but who's kidding I've been in a defiant mood for the last several years) and I'm not one to roll with the punches. A bit tired of having my life dictated to me by everyone. I'm even tired of having my life dictated by me. And that's where the paradox comes in folks, because apparently I can't even bloody dream big enough to get the rest of the cloying noise out of my own ears. 

Rant, rant, nudge, nudge, say no more, say no more. 

I want to do things. And who's to say I shouldn't? Shan't? A lucrative career apparently isn't one of those things. I have a brilliant idea that I've managed to hatch so far: maybe I should graduate from high school early, move to Minneapolis and start a degree in English Literature and then say "hang this" and move to Bemidji to start a degree in Modelmaking. Hell, I can read all the books I want for the rest of my life, but I don't want to teach them to people. I want to horde them like a jealous thief and change the password from "open sesame" to something no one else will ever figure out. I just want to see mountains again, Gandalf, and then find somewhere to finish my book. I can work for Weta Workshop, not minding of course the fact that getting to work there is highly competitive and they won't add you if they have a similar person with credentials in New Zealand, so hang immigration! 

And then there's the whole wanting to move to Scotland bit. How in the hell can I work for Weta Workshop (New Zealand) when I'm living in Scotland? There's a bit of a distance issue here, at least cartographically. So. My ideas flummox me just as much as everyone else's ideas about where I should be going and what I should be doing. At the moment, I'm supposed to be working on learning Adobe Illustrator for Technical Foundations II class, but hang that,  because now I'm just spiraling into a rant about how not thought out all of this really is. Every once in a while you'll hear me exclaim "my life is in shambles" and then go about the rest of my day. It's just what I do. So. There. I've done it.

My life is in shambles.

And yet, I have hope. I'm surrounded by people I love, people who love me and don't give a rat's ass what I do as long as I'm happy. And that's a support system Batman could only dream of. I don't think it's quite near the hour to throw in the proverbial towel, so to speak. Hell, I want to learn Gaelic as well--better shove that in somewhere. Here I'll be. Trying to figure things out and failing miserably and triumphing greatly in my ineptitude and descrying my future. 

Ranting, raving, and altogether looking up,

Mo

Edit: Actually, I'm loving what I've chosen to do at the moment. Adobe Illustrator is actually completely interesting to me and is currently occupying my time. I'm not in a real huff. This isn't sarcastic, for those of you concerned, I'm excited about it. Uncertain, but certainly excited. Had to fit my rant in somewhere, too much straight-facing it these days. My life isn't really in shambles. It's just a bit disconcerting at the moment, is all. Keep calm and carry on!

Saying No

When the man tries to take your head, simply smoke derisively in his direction. It usually works.

Sometimes.

The Road Goes Ever On and On

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

Roads go ever ever on,

Over rock and under tree,

By caves where never sun has shone,

By streams that never find the sea;

Over snow by winter sown,

And through the merry flowers of June,

Over grass and over stone,

And under mountains in the moon.

Roads go ever ever on

Under cloud and under star,

Yet feet that wandering have gone

Turn at last to home afar.

Eyes that fire and sword have seen

And horror in the halls of stone

Look at last on meadows green

And trees and hills they long have known.

The Road goes ever on and on

Out from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

Let others follow it who can!

Let them a journey new begin,

But I at last with weary feet

Will turn towards the lighted inn,

My evening-rest and sleep to meet.

-- JRR Tolkien

Shortcut to Mushrooms

I tend to get ahead of myself. Not ahead of myself in a "right then she's gone over the deep end with ideas" sort of way but more of a "she's got a future persona who jumps through wormholes and gives her intelligence on what to do and not to do" way.

Unfortunately, this future persona who jumps through wormholes and gives her intelligence on what to do and not to do is entirely "un-forthwith" [making up words] in information. And maybe that's a good thing, present M decides, as knowing things usually tend to lead to choices. 

Ahh, choices. That's the rub here. 

Good choices, bad choices, outlandish choices, what-the-hell choices, possibilities, more possibilities, decisions, an unending string of possibilities that tend to swallow each other in the giant maw of hindsight. This choice leads to this and this choice leads to that and this other choice leads to both this and that. Choices, choices, choices, choices. That's all they ever say and that's all they ever want to know. 

Ever feel stuck fast to something? Someone? Cosmic irony?
Ever feel like you're right on the edge of discovering something truly profound, yet all the while there's a gnome hitting you on the head with an absurd pair of dull sardines hoping the elusive truth won't quite come to you? Well, maybe not. But the sentiment is the same.
It's like I'm aware, deep down, that something's about to break; there is a certain expectancy permeating the air at the moment.

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

Because that's the rub, isn't it? Two paths diverged in a wood...and I took one of them. Maybe not the one less traveled. Maybe the one everyone else decided was right and true. Then again, maybe I took neither--maybe I foraged ahead and bushwhacked my own trail. The thing about it is, I don't really think there are black and white choices, decisions, possibilities; in fact, I think they're infinitely limitless. Cause and effect, the close comrades of hindsight, rear their gruesome bulbous heads in a fashion each time. See, that's the thing about this metaphorical road, endless possibilities. It's true that when you step on to the road there's no knowing where you might be swept off to, there's no knowing the outcome, good or bad, no knowledge of what is to come. Sometimes it leads to mushrooms. Sometimes it leads to lovers. Sometimes it leads to terrible endings. To new friends. To loss. Sometimes it's a bit like hope. A bit like expectancy. But how will you ever know if you don't venture out? If you don't step onto the road you sure as hell aren't going to be swept off anywhere. You'll just rot in stagnancy.
Choose a road, choose a path, just choose. Decide.

"It's late, the road is long. Yes...it's time."

Half thought out,
M

Let's Be Honest Here

So, I made some resolutions this year, after avoiding what fate chose to throw at me with the new year, and not wearing the same clothes tomorrow is definitely not one of them. 

One of them was making my bed everyday. Almost made it four days in a row. I can't kick my habit of completely and shamelessly messing up my bed; it's messy now, it's messy in the morning, and you can bet your arse it'll be messy when I sleep in it tonight. But still. Four days--that's gotta count for something. I've heard somewhere that if I were to make my bed for five days in a row some person in Russia is supposed to fire a nuclear missile at the US, who in turn will fire an exorbitant amount of nuclear missiles in return, therefore causing the end of the world. 

So, if you're a betting man, you can bet your arse the reason that the apocalypse happens on December 12th will be because I made my bed five days consecutively. 

Another one is...nah. No more divulging. No more of this free information.You'll just have to ask. 

Possibly wearing yesterday's clothes,

M

And Now For Something Wildly Inappropriate

Signing Off

What's happened to me so far since starting this and coincidentally what you may have missed: 

Much love

Crossing my fingers and Dreaming big

Scratching away and Blotting my paper

Breathing easier

Winking and not blinking

Dancing like a European

Demarcating the space between today and tomorrow

Getting bled on

Still dreaming of Scottish beans

Avoiding the situation

Constructing fortifications around my bed

Avoiding fate as well

Rubbish in general today

Disregarding thermometers and meteorologists everywhere

Treating third degree burns

Bushwhacking/recovering addict of Scotland

Don't you feel caught up?

This Is How Michael Caine Speaks - The Trip - BBC Two

Bushwhacking and Jealousy

Went bushwhacking yesterday which was completely fantastic. Climbing over frozen waterfalls, cliff faces, and crossing semi-frozen-questionable rivers by jumping across stones. Just utterly brilliant. 

Let's just say that I've lost control of several of my extremities today, sore muscles and all. But that's completely fine. Spontaneous bushwhacking does that to a person. 

Some of my good friends are heading to Scotland tomorrow. I'm completely jealous but overly excited for them. Can't wait to get back over. Whiskey. And accents. And Scotland. And whiskey.

Bushwhacking/recovering addict of Scotland,

M

I could say so much more. But I won't. Didn't get much sleep last night because I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning cavorting with friends in their flat. So there. No more for you. That's right, sticking my petulant tongue in your direction.

And Then

Scalding Paranoia

So. I'm a completely paranoid person. I'll admit that. Always looking for a way out, scanning the crowds and surroundings, cataloguing the exits and so on and so forth. Looking out for Swiss officers and the like.

This comes in handy if and when I ever do get attacked or the zombie apocalypse occurs. 

This, however, does not come in handy otherwise.

In fact it actually usually ends up incapacitating me. 

It's also the reason I don't watch thrillers or particularly creepy films; the crazy in me comes out. I jump at every bloody moment ridiculously engineered to mess with the faculties and make you scream and shout like you'll never get to the end of War and Peace.

The other night I started watching a show called Grimm, which may not be particularly creepy to the general populace, but to me it's a regular thriller. Within the first thirty seconds of the show starting.

So there I am. Sitting on the couch with a scalding cup of tea. My sense even tried to save me from this altercation. It said "self, you should not hold a full scalding cup of tea while you watch this as you are likely to freak out at some point" and then I said to my sense "rubbish, I've made it through loads of things without jumping or screaming uncontrollably" to which my sense responded "whatever helps you sleep at night".  And so I sat on the couch with my full cup of scalding tea.

10 seconds. Perfectly fine, jogger going through the woods listening to her ipod. 

17 seconds. More of the same. Friend starts talking to me and I stop paying as close attention to the flick.

23 seconds. DAMMIT. 

23.10 seconds. An unearthly sound emerges from my throat. My arm shoots up.

23.23 seconds. Boiling scalding murderous tea begins to dissipate through the air and my sense says "bloody hell not again"

23.5 seconds. The tea has landed. On my arm. On my stomach. On my legs. 

23.52 seconds. In shock.

23.55 seconds. Screaming bloody murder again. 

23.75 seconds. Cursing rather loudly and then muttering an apology to those present. 

24 seconds. Deciding to never hold a hot beverage while watching anything ever again. 

So being paranoid. Really not an asset at this point. Crossing my fingers that someday it will be. 

Treating third degree burns,

M

Blasted Bird Signals

Feeling a bit surreal at the moment. It took me a while to figure it out, but as I'm sitting here in an empty house, I can hear everything. That's right, I know what you said this morning. 

Well, of course not, silly. Just whatever sounds are in the general vicinity. 

The wind trying to rip the house down. Huff Puff. The incessant tick-tock of a clock on the mantelpiece. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The creaking of old boards in the house and that inescapable electrical noise that hums low in the background.

And then I figured it out. It's the birds.

They're chirping. 

It's January 3rd. There shouldn't be any chirping. Not that it's a crime. Well, sort of.

 Isn't it an unwritten law that there's to be no chirping in MN after November 13th, that there's to be at least five feet of snow by Decemeber 15th, and that it shouldn't bloody look like fall on January 3rd? 

Not that I mind. I love it. 

Except for the fact that it makes me leave my coat lying about when I go outside and I don't realize how ridiculously cold it's becoming outside until I'm physically there and then I'm freezing my arse off, but I can't be bothered to go back and fetch my coat. 

So. Birds are chirping, and I love that, the grass is brown, and I love that.

Now if I can only get my head wrapped around the fact that it is in fact January and not September. 

Disregarding thermometers and meteorologists everywhere,

M

Commercialization: Roadside Ditch

I don't know what it is, but I have seen an uncommon amount of commercials over my break from university this year. This is another gem I managed to stumble across in my pursuit of lazing about and thoroughly giving myself over to the sofa. In fact, I may have assimilated a cushion or two in the process. Enjoy.

Melodies and Prose: Sondre Lerche

HUMAN HANDS
I've been talking to the wall and it's been answering me
Oh darling how I miss you
I'm just the mere shadow of my former selfishness
I crave the silhouette of your kiss
With only the blue light of the TV on
Lip reading threats and false alarms
There's a boy somewhere holding hands with himself
And a girl in a window on the Reeperbarn
Whenever I put my foot in my mouth and you begin to doubt
That it's you that I'm dreaming about
Do I have to draw you a diagram?
All I ever want is just to fall into your human hands

With the kings and queens of the dance hall craze
Checkmate in three moves in your heyday
But the girls don't listen to your line anymore
Now you're part of someone else

On the factory floor and you still say "Wheres the action?"
Now you manufacture happiness
And get sold on the cheap for someone's satisfaction

All you toy soldiers and scaremongers
Are you living in this world sometimes I wonder
In between saying you've seen too much and saying you've seen it all before

Tighter and tighter I hold you tightly
You know I love you more than slightly
Although I've never said it like this before

Rubbish

Well, I've discovered that I have far too many passwords jumbling around in this thing they like to call a cranium. Signing into anything has really just become preposterous. 

Far too many passwords. Far too less space to remember them. 

Especially when they are all one-offs of each other. 

At the time I'm constructing a password I think, "oh wouldn't it be brilliant if I just change one character for this password that would really fool them' except I'm the one who ends up in a pit of shallow despair trying to figure out what on earth the one-off character is for each little doohickey. 

It's become far too much work. And so I've decided to release my passwords to the world. 

Not really. That would be ridiculous.

And to think, you all got a bit excited about having free reign over whatever I'm currently plugged into. 

Strange phrase, plugged into. 

Anyways. Ahh, my phone has just made a beeping noise. Probably wants me to check it, but we'll fool all those well wishers on the line looking for some answers by not checking. That's the thing about my mobile, I'm completely rubbish at being aware of its position in the known world and then responding accordingly. Although, as I'm now aware of where it actually is at the present moment, I shall endeavor to sate the needs of so and so. 

One moment please.

Ahah. Just telling me it's fully charged. How nifty.

Damn, I wanted to leave that plugged into the wall for three days until I next remember to even look for my phone and in doing so waste energy and cause the spike in electricity that in turn incites a rebellion in some far reach of the world that causes the downfall of Nabisco! 

So. Passwords. Really rubbish at those. Phones. Really rubbish at those as well.

Rubbish in general today,

M