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