Some Sentimental Glop

There's this wonderful boy.

I've known him all my life.

 

He's been a lot of things to me: competition, a playmate, a thorn in my side, an extractor of other thorns in my side, a leader, understanding, distressing, an example, a confidant, someone to tease, a teaser, a hero and a brother.

  

But mostly, he's been a friend.

He's been gone for a month now. I'm realizing that maybe it wasn't just him who didn't do his part to keep our bathroom clean.

I'm also realizing how grateful I am for his example. Even when I felt like I could stand on my own, I always had him to thank for treading the path that I followed. 

Point is, I miss this guy. 

 But I'm so proud of him, and I want the world--or whoever reads this blog--to know that.

After all, it IS the most wonderful time of the year.

Completed college applications. Submitted Sterling Scholar applications. Major tests of the week behind me. Now I can focus on the new season. I love you, Christmas.

Thank you, Elbow

I'm pretty sure that, when I created this blog, I committed to never, ever posting just a song. I'm breaking that vow. The good thing about breaking it now is that it's not because I'm hopelessly depressed or awkwardly in love and need to expell my feelings into the world through somebody else's creation. The good thing about breaking it now is that I'm in a dang good mood and I want you to be, too. Go listen to it.

One Day Like This: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQIdXKz4sE8

Drinking in the morning sun
Blinking in the morning sun
Shaking off a heavy one
Yeah, heavy like a loaded gun

What made me behave that way?
Using words I never say
I can only think it must be love
Oh anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day

Someone tell me how I feel
It's silly wrong, but vivid right
Oh, kiss me like a final meal
Yeah, kiss me like we die tonight

'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
And only now I see the light
Yeah, lying with you half awake
Stumbling over what to say
Oh, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day

When my face is chamois creased
If you think I wink, I did
Laugh politely at repeats
Yeah, kiss me when my lips are thin

'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
And only now I see the light
Yeah, lying with you half awake
Stumbling over what to say
Well, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day

So throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right (repeat)

You are very, very welcome.

Decline

The golden evening sunshine glorifies the Autumn;
Vibrant, proud and regal.
It shakes its mane back and sits with its chest high,
Quite aware it is admired.
But the haughty basking stage is short-lived.
Chill sweeps down the mountainside,
Repressing Autumn's power, wringing it dry and draining it of color,
Humbling it to the brittle, washed-out state the rest of the world has succumbed to.
And we, powerless subjects to this new host,
Drop our eyes and respectfully murmur that this is just
As we retreat into the stale, manufactured comfort of heated houses
With bitter thoughts towards that snuffer of life,
There to hibernate in monotony 
Until color graces
the world
once
more.

An update

Dear world,

I just wanted anyone out there who has been faithfully following my blog (at least for the last four or five months) that I have an update on my dental habits. Remember that toothbrush I so heartwrenchingly replaced back in June? I confess that I cheated. I kept it. I didn't use it once, but I kept it in the little penguin toothbrush cup by my bathroom sink just in case. It was a comfort issue, you know? But I've decided that it's time to let go once and for all. I threw it away, world. I threw that little pink Colgate 360 away. You may hold your applause.

And just to make this post worth reading so you don't go away mumbling about how boring my life must be if all I have to write about is my dental hygiene (I couldn't blame you, I've written about it for 1/10 of my posts thus far), take a look at this picture. I've been glancing at this toothpaste label (the red part) for weeks, trying to assign it some metaphorical or philosophical significance, but I'm coming up dry. What does it mean to you? Or what could it mean to me? Creative responses are welcome and encouraged.

Your friend,
Me.

"A broken-winged bird that cannot fly."

An idea is dropped into existence and lands in my lap. I am distracted and busy, but I can't just watch it die without ever having a chance.

So I feed it. I learn its needs and wants and quirks and cares. I cradle it when it is afraid and I eventually trust it to comfort me when I am in need. What was once a chore morphs into an anticipated pastime. Then it grows into a pleasure and, finally, a necessity. I begin to realize that it has become more of a part of me than just important to me.

Then, all at once, when the world couldn't be rosier and any clouds are obscured by the light of their own silver linings, it takes flight.

It is wrong of me to watch it go with remorse. I raised it up for a purpose. How could it ever have served its purpose while bound to me? An idea cannot be concealed or it ceases to be an idea. It becomes a stagnant thought.

So I watch the traces of its flight through the sky from my place on the gray ground, often wondering whether it ever glances in my direction. Sometimes I hope it does. Sometimes I pray it doesn't. For there is nothing left for it back here. I gave it all I could give. It needs to find others to nourish it if it ever hopes to grow.

The only regret I have left is having to watch it take half of me with it.

Photo credit: Ellie Peek

You be the oxy, I'll be the moron.

Open your eyes.

Your head is heavy. Your mind is swimming in discombobulation. And you don't even know if that's a word.

You don't know if you just woke up from a deadening slumber or if you just started dreaming, but suddenly that's irrelevant. Know why? Because a chainsaw just dropped from the sky into your heavy hands.

You become aware of your surroundings. Either that or they materialize when you look up.

You are standing in a vast field of pyracantha bushes. They are ugly and twisted and vicious and yours is the only clearing you are aware of. The sky is dimming quickly. It's as if a dry storm is rolling over you.

So what do you do? Do you stay in the clearing where you know you are protected from being poked? Do you rev up your chainsaw and start hacking away at the nearest bush? Do you curl up and cry and wish you knew whether discombobulation actually was a word?

I don't know what you'd do. I don't know how many of you followers even live up to your name, so how could I know what you'd do if I can't be sure who you are? So I'll tell you what I'd do. What I do do, I should say.

Saturated in overconfidence, I heft that chainsaw, fiddle until I figure out how to start it, and swing it towards my hostile enemy. After aimlessly attacking the obstacle for a while, I realize that I'm not really getting anywhere. All I've gained is a million miniscule scratches and a sore arm. The incoming storm blocks out the light more and more.

Do I pinch myself awake (or asleep)? Do I set my jaw and keep working at the bushes and discover a pot of gold a few feet on? Do I remember that I came to my senses sitting on a dictionary and hurry to look up the word "discombobulation," thus settling my troubled mind because it is, in fact, a word?

Don't be silly. Of course not. I realize that I have several grenades conveniently tucked cozily inside my coat. So I take them out and start chucking them into the distant bushes.

Progress is a lot quicker now and somehow immensely more satisfying. I traipse the coarse wasteland with a spring in my step and a plethora of pins dangling from my fingers.

Oh, grand grenade. You always show up exactly when I need you to, offer me a broader perspective and never fail in making my life a little more colorful.