More Things I've Learned at Home

Even when you're at home, out of school, you learn some things.  And seeing as I'm going to be leaving home for a job in Nebraska, it seems fitting to post this now.

1.  The people who go to free library or community events are typically the same age as your grandmother.
2.  If you knit for long periods of time, your fingers can seize up.
3.  Marshall Field's will always be Marshall Field's.  The walking tour guide said so, so it has to be true.
4.  You may follow your stomach down Epic Lane, and find yourself on an Epic adventure you didn't expect.
5.  Go to the House on the Rock in the summer.  Or go in the winter, freeze your toes off, and get a personalized tour.
6.  The creepy people will find you.  And they will talk to you.
7.  "Oh, you must have a teen at home.  Oh--oh, you just like reading...well keep reading..."
8.  The day you want to go to the library to get a movie, they will be closed.
9.  Sometimes you need to bring a bodyguard.
10.  There are significantly more interesting things to do around the city that aren't necessarily advertised or Google-able.
11.  Storytelling is beautiful.
12.  Pre-screening interview?
13.  They're your parents, so they're going to ask you where you're going and when you're going to get back.  You'll be lucky  if they don't ask who you're going with so you don't have to say, "Well...no one..."
14.  The days when you write a to do list and accomplish all of your tasks will be your more fulfilling days.  Make more of those.
15.  The cheese curds are good.  The service, not so great.
16.  "Don't mess with her, she doesn't have a pancreas!"
17.  Right hand turns on red lights are more important than the life of a pedestrian (she says after basically being hit by a car, thanks lady!).
18.  You've been to this building multiple times, you know that the elevator goes to the 8th floor, and yet you still insist on taking the stairs up to a locked door and getting lost.
19.  Not all people will understand your sense of humor and you need to be okay with this.
20.  Sugar does not alleviate caffeine jitters.
21.  Keep on writing your e-mails the way you do, because it's awesome.
22.  Sometimes being 22 is rough.  Other times it's great.  Find the in between.
23.  Demon wine.  Never again.
24.  Irrationality.  All over the place.  All the time.  And that's okay.
25.  I can't remember what I did for fun when I was 12, and I guess that's going to have to be okay.
26.  Trekking up and down all the stairs in my house is an ordeal.
27.  Interesting people are few and far between.
28.  If you bring someone to a party with you and share a drink with them, chances are the people around you will assume you're "together."
29.  NaPoWriMo exposes you to interesting poets and poetry sites if you're inclined to take a gander.
30.  Always be prepared to cry during a Doctor Who episode.
31.  Okay, so insufferable and cruel characters can turn out to be endearing and clever.  Thanks for proving me wrong, Logan Echolls.
32.  When given a number of songs to include in a playlist, you may exceed this number.  By a lot.
33.  Make change.  Yeah.  That's a pun.
34.  Carry cash.
35.  The El is awesome.  The end.
36.  Chances are there is parking where you're going.  Although 95% of the time it will be permit only parking or you'll have to pay.
37.  You'll remember the knot when you get there.
38.  You may expect to see a lot of slave Leias at the comic con, but chances are you'll only see one, and her boyfriend will be dressed as...himself.  Disappointing.
39.  Be careful who you're talking to when you joke about stealing something off a person's table.  That person just might be the writer.  Oops.
40.  Stairwells.
41.  Honesty and a lack of secrets bring you closer to a person you didn't think that was possible for.  If that makes any sense at all.
42.  "We deserve to be more than 'just' anything."
43.  Painting yellow over gray takes far more coats of paint than you originally anticipated.
44.  The thing you will miss most about college is the community.  Specifically the creative community, but also the school family.
45.  When you come home, you'll realize that having a roommate was really kinda nice.
46.  Sometimes there is an unspoken deadline.
47.  Poems sold from a gumball/vending machine are the best poems.  Well, best poems for the fifty cents you pay for them.
48.  That person you met once is now following you on all social media outlets, and you just want them to go away.
49.  There are some people who you really want to be friends with, so when you finally do make friends, this is a huge and worthwhile accomplishment.
50.  The opinions of some people matter more than the opinions of other people.
51.  Poetry readings in an apartment or a bookstore, infinitely better than poetry readings in large spaces.
52.  The poet recognized your face too, you don't have to feel dumb for not recognizing him at first.  Oops.
53.  "Are you sure you can live in a small town?  I mean, you are from Chicago..."
54.  My room will always get significantly worse before it's even close to being clean and straightened.
55.  Sometimes doing the right thing is more difficult and hurts more than doing what's easy, but in the long run, it'll all be okay.

"Puttin' on a cowboy hat and a pair of boots doesn't make you country; Like puttin' on a ball gown and heels won't make me Cinderella."

- Kellie Elmore

"She's like...twelve!"

Whenever I'm talking about someone who's much younger than me, or someone who seems much younger than me, I typically make the observation that "[NAME] can't do that, he's like 12!"  This is a tendency I picked up from a friend of mine because I thought it was hilarious, and it's been stuck in my brain's lexicon ever since then.  I think I was 15 or 16 when I picked this up.  Maybe.

So now that one of my younger cousins (who am I kidding, I only have three) is turning 12 for real, I'm realizing that I really can say what the older old people say when young people walk into the room: "I remember you when you were this big..." and suddenly I feel decades older than I really am.  And I can't even say she's "like 12," because she will actually be that age.  So this weirds out my speaking patterns.

My mom and I were out shopping for birthday presents for this cousin, because that's what you do when you're family members and you're invited to a birthday party, typically you bring presents, and I was thinking.

What did I do for fun when I was 12?

And I realized that I have no idea.

I was in middle school at the time, leaving a handful of my friends behind at the local elementary school so I could go forth with my best friend to this special program through the local high school that would involve white collared shirts, and dark pants/skirts as a dress code and French class.  I was particularly excited about learning French, let me tell you that.  So presumably, I did a lot of homework.

I don't remember hanging out at friends houses very often, and I don't particularly remember what books I was reading at the time, only that I'm sure I was reading things.

And I have no idea if I was writing at that time.  Because I'm fairly certain that there was a time in my life when I took a break from writing.  I just didn't do it.  Like ever.  I don't know if it's because I didn't have the time or the ideas or the inclination to write short stories or what, but I'm pretty sure I hadn't figured out that I could scribble down ideas or whatever randomness I wanted in a notebook and call that "writing."  Yeah, pretty sure I wasn't doing that.

I think I was doing Girl Scouts, because I had joined the local troop when I was 11, and continued on.  And I don't think that this was the time when I called my Girl Scout leader every week to ask if there was a meeting, I think that was in high school.  So 12, I probably remembered when the meetings were, and went to them as well as the camping trips and other fun things.

If I remember correctly, I did the drama club at middle school, but we didn't really do much that year.  When I was 12, we did a lot of improv.  And I wasn't very good at it.  At least, I didn't think I was particularly good at it, but I had fun, so that's all that really mattered anyway, right?

I must have hung out with friends, but considering we were 12, I have no idea what we did.  Pretty sure that would mean I went to their house and we hung out or had a slumber party.  I must have painted my nails a lot.

I seem to remember a long black skirt that I really loved to wear with brightly colored argyle knee socks under it, because this was a way I could wear bright colors and still be in dress code, because no one was looking at anyone's socks.  This is also when I started liking colored/patterned socks, because dress codes suppress pretty colors otherwise.  Though I'm not sure how this paragraph is relevant to what I did as a 12-year old.

I'm going to guess that I spent a lot of time at home reading or watching movies with my family.  I really love movies, and my grandpa has this really great collection that he lets us borrow from, as long as we swear on our lives that we'll bring them back.  They used to be all VHS, but he's since upgraded to DVD.  I wonder if he'll go as far as blu-ray, but I highly doubt it.  This was also an age when Blockbuster was thriving, so I could have gone there as well.

Not really sure, but I've got a couple ideas, I suppose.

"The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been."

- Madeleine L'Engle

Something to Blog About

Please someone give me something to blog about.

I realized fairly recently that the majority of my posts about my personal life are whiney and boring.  Well, maybe they're boring, I'm entertained by the way that I ramble, but maybe I'm the only one who's entertained.  My life is fairly mundane.  My friend, Claire, asked me what I do in the morning around nine, and I couldn't even really tell her that I have a routine because...I don't.  Which is a little depressing, but it's okay because maybe one of these days I'll be just waking up at nine and getting ready to prepare my famous French toast.  I can look forward to this hypothetical possibility.

Poem-A-Day March's challenge is "drunken poetry" given to me by my mother, which was surprising.  Especially since the first thing you think of when you think "drunken poetry" is "get drunk and then write a bunch of poetry."  I did this on a team with two of my friends once, and some really weird stuff came out of it (we passed around a piece of paper and each wrote a line).  But I've chosen to interpret this challenge a bit more liberally than that first narrow assumption.  I've written about a poet being too hungover to write poetry at all, and about a drunk poem.  Get it?  Because it's drunken poetry.  Sometimes I'm clever.  I'm not sure what else I'm going to write about it quite yet, but I may revisit my favorite Charles Baudelaire poem, "Enivrez-vous."  Because it's lovely.

I'm also working on things for Here's the Story, which is basically a dream come true, but I've heard word that there may be more interns to work with.  This tentative announcement makes me feel like an only child waiting for the inevitable arrival of a new sibling.  I already feel jealous of these new children and apprehensive that I will no longer be "the favorite."  Then again I also feel like I can easily make friends with these potential new folks because having friends is nice.  So I'm torn.  As usual.

My horoscope told me this morning that I would be making a big time decision about my life soon.  I can't even begin to imagine what kind of decision that would be because I don't really have any decisions to be making that are more dramatic than what I want to eat for breakfast in the morning or where I want to curl up to read my book in the evening.  But said horoscope also informed me that important people in my life would tell me that I was making the wrong decision, but that I should follow my intuition.  This doesn't surprise me in the least because typically the people in my life tend to be know-it-alls.  Just a little bit.  Well meaning lovely know-it-alls who I love.  They're endearing, and I hope they don't mind if I ignore them.

I had two phone interviews at the end of last week, and I'm really excited about the one that I had on Friday because I think I did fairly well.  Plus it's for a place that I would definitely enjoy working at.  They even told me to have a good weekend and laughed when I apologized for being incoherent.  I really hope they were laughing with me and not at me...but they were so nice I couldn't imagine them jeering at me.

And my brother's coming home for spring break on Friday.  This is particularly exciting because it means that for a week, I won't be an only child.  I've missed him.  And even though we're not really going to hang out, per say, it'll be good to see him.  I only hope he doesn't hate me for evicting him from his room.  We're crossing our fingers that he doesn't hate me too much.  Yeah...

I tried baking Irish soda bread last night.  I sliced part of it today, and I suspect that I worked the dough too much because it's kinda lumpy and weird looking, but you know, I'm sure it tastes fine.  I'm beginning to strongly suspect that I can't cook or bake anything delicious on purpose because of the muffins I made last month and the soda bread this month...both seem pretty bland and boring.  But maybe a little jelly will make the bread better.  This is one of my first forays into the domestic, and I really don't want my mother to think that she failed me somehow and that I'll starve if I ever move out.

And then there's the whole thing that I said I would start working out at some point.  Maybe I should have made that my Lenten promise instead of blogging everyday.  If only I had thought of that!  I keep saying that I'll go to the library and pick up a yoga DVD or something, but I keep forgetting.  Or getting distracted by other things like the stack of grant writing books that I'm cradling in my arms (because I figure if I can learn how to write grants, I'll be more marketable as a writer).

I'm reading a book that my grandpa lent me, which was really sweet, but I feel bad because I definitely fell asleep when I was reading it the other day.  Oops.  It's going to be a murder mystery, I believe.  It's called V Is for Vengeance.  And I do like the Kinsey character, but I'm thinking I need to get to know her a bit more before I get into the book.  I'm just reading a lot of books, actually.  I have a bad habit of sticking bookmarks into half a dozen books and then reading them in a circle of sorts.  So there's that one, Red Seas under Red Skies, and a couple grant writing books.  Then there are the ones that I started before the Disney College Program...and I'm not even sure where those are because they got put away somewhere.  Maybe in the dresser that's holding more books than clothes...hm...

So yeah, can someone just give me something to blog about?  Thanks.

"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge.  That myth is more potent than history.  That dreams are more powerful than facts.  That hope always triumphs over experience.  That laughter is the only cure for grief.  And I believe that love is stronger than death."

- Robert Fulghum

Make New Friends

Okay.  I have a really dumb question:

How do people make friends outside of school?

I knew this was going to be a problem when I found myself asking myself this very question before I graduated.  All my friends I've made through school and being in classes with them and living in the same building or working with them.  In theory, the same can be true of making friends in "The Real World," right? You make friends with the people you work with, invite them out to dinner or drinks after work and you hang out?  You make friends with the people you do things with.  Theoretically.

And also of note is that you keep the friends that you already had.  The ones from college and high school who you kept in touch with and still have things in common.  The problem with this is that sometimes these people are scattered.  They have different work schedules, they live just that little bit too far away to call spur of the moment to hang out.  So though you could spontaneously hang out while you were all at school and you could crash their room, now you have to plan to see these people and plan on spending whole days or evenings with them to make the most of your time because you don't know when you're going to see them again.

But for real.  How do people make friends on this side of graduation?

I'm having a distinct difficulty with this.  I'm working on going to events within the community in order to make friends.  That's all well and good except that the majority of the people who go to community events at libraries and stuff?  They're all well over 50.  Or 60.  I don't have a problem with older folk as long as they don't pinch my cheeks or condescend to me, but I can't really invite them to hang out late at night when I can't sleep.  [this is where I say/think something horrible about older people but choose not to say it because I can say it verbally to people who ask me in person]  I wanted to go to a book discussion yesterday, but when I got home in the snow, my gloves and my gym shoes were wet through and I was cold, and I just didn't want to move.  So I stayed in and watched Total Recall and The Little Mermaid, while knitting a Hufflepuff scarf.  I'll let you imagine that for a second...

Though I identify as an introvert, I need people.  I don't see people who aren't related to me very often, and when I do...it feels like I'm out of practice with the whole "social interaction" thing.  So I'm awkward.  Which is nothing new, but I notice.

So I'm trying to think of other things I can do.  It's been suggested that I volunteer.  I'm helping out with the Girl Scout troop that I've been a part of for years and helping out one of the leaders that I've known forever, but they only meet twice a month.  So that leaves 28 days out of the month with nothing to do for Brianna.  So I've got plenty of time to volunteer, I just need to find a place and a thing that I'm excited about and that's nearby and that will take all the time that I have to dedicate to it.

I'm also trying to come up with projects to give myself.  To have myself put together something, make something, do something that's constructive.  Pinterest is awesome for this.  These are mostly solo activities, so that leaves me in another lonely rut.  No people.  Unless I do these craft projects in a public place, which could be awkward, but definitely a conversation starter?

I think a large part of this could be solved by mustering the courage to go to things and do things on my own.  It'd be good for me, right?  Like vegetables.  But then I'm afraid that instead of feeling, "Yeah, I did this all on my own!" I'd feel even more lonely than I did before I went to some event all by myself.

Maybe I could take a class.  Unfortunately, spring semester's already started, so that's right out.  But maybe over the summer if I'm still in the area, I could take a class and make friends with my classmates.  That's something I'm good at.  Making friends with classmates.  Easy.

So that's what I've got: community events, volunteering, and an extra class.  Is that it?  Is this where people make friends?  Or is it the case of upperclass residence halls that everyone already has their established group of friends and they're not interested in meeting new people?  So...what then?  How am I to be expected to make friends with people who aren't interested in making any new friends or how do I find the people who want one more friend who's me?

This blog post brought to you by: The Post-Graduate Experience -- you thought it was all over when you left college, but it was really just the beginning.  Find yourself while slogging through complicated emotions, all while living with your parents!  Now for the low price of your student loans!  Don't wait, call now!

"Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: 'What!  You too?  I thought I was the only one.'"

- C.S. Lewis

Bring in the Evidence

This morning I found an evidence bag in the refrigerator (I'm not even kidding, the first shelf in front of my face: evidence bag).  It had come from a cold case, and considering I had never interacted with an evidence bag before in my life, I had some difficultly getting it open.  It was sealed, and not with tape, but with some complicated sealing process.  So I ended up taking a knife to it.  The odors from the contents of the bag wafted out of the plastic, filling up the house with the smell.  My mom would probably kill me and put me in a body bag for doing this, but I didn't care.  I was seized by a hunger I only ever felt in the mornings, a savage hunger to break my fast from over eight hours of sleeping.  So I slapped the evidence on a plate and shoved it into the microwave, listening to the pop and bubble as the microwave warmed it from the inside out.  Steam lifted from the surface when I pulled it out of the microwave as I cut into it.  Juices ran down my chin, and I stuck out my tongue to lick the juices off my face.  So delicious as I savored the cornucopia of flavors bursting on my taste buds, I realized that I would never be able to eat anything else ever again.

Mmm...pizza.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, I was going to talk about how I can't possibly talk about the Academy Awards because I haven't seen the majority of the movies that have been nominated, but when I opened the fridge and saw that evidence bag, it was obvious that I needed to write about that.  I mean, which would you rather hear?

"This morning I found an evidence bag in the refrigerator"

OR

"So I've only seen maybe three movies that have been nominated for Oscars.  I mean, that's counting animated film and screenplay and all that...I've only seen one Best Picture nominee."

Exactly what I thought.  Glad I could oblige.

"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact."

- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Dance, dance...

Q:  What is the last song you danced to?

A:  To be quite honest, I'm not sure.

Q:  What, do you dance a lot?  I thought you couldn't dance.

A:  I can't dance.  I do, however, dance in the car.

Q:  While you're driving?

A:  While I'm driving.  It's pretty much the best thing ever.

Q:  This exchange isn't going to make a very compelling blog post...

A:  Yeah, I know, that's why I'm going to tell you about a particular time that I danced that was fun.

Q:  You probably scandalized the masses.

A:  Oh, I did.

Okay, so when I was on my way home from the Disney College Program, my chauffeur and I went to Universal Studios.  Specifically, Islands of Adventure for the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  Naturally.  By the end of the day, I had a wicked headache because I hadn't worn a hat and I didn't drink enough water.  So it was my own fault.

On our way out, we were walking through the Streets of Universal because that's the only way to get to the parking lots.  Over the loud speakers and drifting over the entire area was Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe."  (Don't lie, you know you have a secret love of this song.)  Right there on the Streets of Universal, I belted out "Call Me Maybe" and dance-walked all the way over to the parking lots.  I'm pretty sure I made a little bit of a scene, but that made it about eight billion times better.  It was a lot of fun trying to get my friend to dance with me, and just...good times.  I remember it like it was only yesterday....

"Those who dance are considered insane by those who cannot hear the music."

- George Carlin

Stress

Let's face it, this post has been a long time coming.  We all knew this was coming, and now you people who actually read my blog can rest at ease because it's true, I'm stressed and I'm going to be writing about it.

After the end of the Disney College Program, I found my way back to my hometown, which means that I'm living with my parents.  This doesn't feel like it should be a really big deal, but with my brother returning to university, I'm (for all intents and purposes) an only child.  I mean this in the sense that my parents' attentions, concerns, aggression is all concentrated on me.  I've only begun to realize this now.

(BRIANNA sets about packing up a bag with her laptop and other things.  DAD comes down the stairs, just woken up.)

DAD:  Where are you going?

BRIANNA: The library.

I understand that it's a parent's job to know where their child is, and I understand that they're really just looking out for me and worrying because that's all part of their job description, but I've never given them reason to worry about me, and it really shouldn't matter where I'm going because it's broad daylight, I'm a responsible pseudo-adult, and I don't have any bad influence friends to meet up with.

That's another stress that I have.  Once again I've sunk into the feeling that if I contact the friends who are nearby, I'll be bothering them.  Only a couple of my friends have steady work right now, so I really shouldn't be worrying about this as much as I am, but there it is.  I need to see people every now and again though, because otherwise I get lethargic and sink into a funk.  Which I've been on the verge of doing multiple times right up until I go to the library for some sort of human interaction with the lady who checks out the movies I'm torturing myself with.

Because there it is, the broken heart that I'm nursing.  And the cliche of saying it makes me weep more than the actual thing, so I've been telling people that the reason I'm so cold all the time is because my soul is made of ice and I don't have a heart anymore.  Because frankly, that's what it feels like.  I'm quick to cry, and I sit there remembering good times on loop.  I feel like the epitome of a romantic comedy heroine who's stuck in the misery montage with no hope of pulling myself out.  So basically, I feel not a little bit pathetic.  Through some terrible coincidence, I keep pulling romantic films off the shelves at the libraries and insisting that they'll make me feel better...and they don't really.  Which shouldn't surprise me, really.  I'm just at a loss there because no matter what I do, it hurts.  Everything hurts.  Doing things, not doing things, listening to music, skipping the familiar songs, writing horrible break-up poetry, avoiding writing poetry at all, reading, watching movies, talking, not talking.  Everything hurts, and it feels like my insides are frozen and my outsides are burning up.  Like my skin'll just turn into steam and escape through the roof and the rest of me'll just freeze and connect with concrete.  I have no idea what to do to fix this.

Oh, and money.

(BRIANNA comes back through the back door, bright and excited from a lunch with a friend.  MOM is playing a Facebook game on the computer.)

BRIANNA:  So my friend and I are planning to go on adventures in the city and maybe take some day trips out of town--

MOM:  Brianna, I'm not going to fund your fun.  I can't.

BRIANNA:  I--what?

MOM:  I can't fund your day trips and your fun.

Once again.  I understand this.  I have no job.  I should be looking for a job.  Preferably one that will pay me money.  With that money, I can have fun.  But at the same time, I need to have fun and see my friends in order to remain sane or run the risk of becoming a hermit.  That's ignoring the fact that hermits can have friends.

Well, if I were a hermit and friends with The Doctor, things would be different.  Point being, if I don't leave the house and have human interaction, I feel less human, more stressed.

And then I'm looking for a job.  I don't even know where to start, so I'm making it up as I go.  I keep forgetting that I'm supposed to call to follow-up and make sure that places got my resume after all, and I constantly lose track of where I applied anyway no matter how many lists I keep.  I'm looking at positions in libraries, small publishing houses, and universities, anything that I might be vaguely interested in.  Once it starts warming up, I'm planning on knocking on doors all up and down the streets where the small businesses live nearby my home, but I'm really hoping that it doesn't come down to that.  And all I want to do is write.

What it all boils down to is: I'M STRESSED!  Living with my parents is a weird dance thing that I have to do so everyone retains some semblance of happiness, I have no friends, busy friends, or friends I'm afraid to bother, I'm looking for a job, dealing with a broken heart (or lack of a heart), and wanting to write.  And there it is.  So now I've spent 20 some odd minutes writing this post instead of searching for a job while I've been at the library, but you know...it kinda helped in a weird way?  Happy Tuesday!

"To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan and not quite enough time."

- Leonard Bernstein

Dreaming of a White Christmas

That's right, I'm in Orlando and I'm still dreaming of a white Christmas.  Because it's what I'm used to, and it's what I love.  When I hear about the snow back home, I feel super jealous, and then I get reminded by those people at home that "it's warmer where you are, be happy!"  And I'm here to tell you, my friends, that it's not so much warmer here, it's only about 51 degrees here, windy and humid.  Just sayin'.  This is a poem that I wrote ages ago, and I felt like posting a poem because I haven't recently.  It needs another draft, so...here we go.

August 31, 2012

On days like these
I would wish
for a light covering
of snow,
just powdered sugar
on top of this donut.
Or a blizzard.
Despite knowing
it would melt
within seconds
of reaching
this zip code.
But that never stopped
my wishing
for hot chocolate nights
when I could break out
my winter jacket
and Doctor Who scarf
because I forgot
to finish the arm-warmers.
Oh well.
I always figured
I could steal your pockets
anyway.

White Christmas

Today we're nearing the end of November and the beginning of December.  Yesterday I walked around in jeans and a t-shirt, and this morning I seriously considered taking off my army jacket that makes me look super cool because I was warm.  But for the sake of coolness, I kept it on.  (I'm sure you were worried.)  That and I didn't want to have to carry it to the Dollar Tree.

It's weird that it's so sunny all the time, and I can safely assume that what it looks like through the window is reflected in the temperature.  For example, sun means warmth.  Comfortable warmth.

And the trees haven't gotten the memo that they're supposed to get naked by now.  I'm not kidding, all the trees are still completely dressed.  Although I'm not sure I really want to see a palm tree naked, I do think it would be funny to see all those big fan leaves yellowed and crumpled on the sidewalk.

This is when I start realizing that I'm not in the Midwest, but it's supposed to be fall turning into winter.

Right about now if I was back at home, I'm pretty sure I would be bundled up in a jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves.  I would be sharing pockets with the boy because his gloves don't have fingers and my pockets are warm.  I would probably wear a sweater to class and then remember that it's in the general classroom building which is usually hotter than Hades year round.  And when I forget that I have class in the science building because that's where they stick business classes, I'd just shiver through it.

It might be sunny back home, but if you step out of the house without a jacket, you'll just have to turn around and grab it because sunshine does not equal warmth in the autumn months back home.  Some of the more reckless folk would just venture out in a hoodie, but I've always been one of those people who's always cold, so...jacket and scarf it is.

All the trees would be naked and prancing about.  That's right, the trees prance about in the Midwest.  Yes, yes they do.

And any day now there would be snow.

I'm swiftly coming to terms with the fact that I can dream of the white Christmases I used to know as much as I want, but chances are it's not going to snow in Florida.  This is slightly depressing, but the prospect of finding a palm tree to decorate with Christmas lights is just about as exciting as the idea of putting Christmas lights on a cactus.  Not sure how it work...but it would be worth a shot.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas.  Just like the ones I used to know."

- 'White Christmas'

Goodbyes

Any time you leave home, you're reminded: Goodbyes were always difficult.  It came with the territory, all wrapped up in the "seeing off" presents, but hidden in a corner away from the Hallmark cards with the checks from family members who couldn't remember what they needed when they first moved elsewhere or who had never been to college.  And it was a big box that was actually more of a glorified "nesting doll" with box within box within box, each holding a different category of farewell.

There were the family goodbyes which were the lowest difficulty.  Relatively easy when compared with others because your plans were always the talk of family dinners and gatherings, even if you weren't actually present to confirm facts or quash rumors.  Yes, you would be moving into an apartment and yes, you would have to feed yourself.  No, the pets would have to stay home, and no, you wouldn't be home for the holidays.  The "missing" of family members was a given.  They sent you with cookbooks that they probably didn't have in their own cabinets because they were thinking about your budget (or lack thereof) and how you would in reality live off of Ramen despite the fancy recipes in the cookbook.  At least one family member will send you with salt and pepper.
Your immediate family will drive you to the airport, probably even make sure that you remember to tip the skycap for taking care of your magenta rolly bag.  They'll follow you as far as they can, and hopefully you'll remember to hug them all before you put your shoes on the conveyor belt to be scanned because ballet flats are dangerous shoes.  Especially when they have cut out stars.

There were the general goodbyes, to familiar places and the librarians you probably won't miss anyway.  You'll have to bid farewell to the Walgreens within walking distance, various libraries in town, the train station, the bank where you don't have much money anyway, all the streets you're familiar with because you've lived there all your life...

Less general but still impersonal-ish goodbyes went to things like your house.  Your bedroom.  Your car which wasn't really "your" car anyway because you shared it with your brother.  The backyard.  The dog.

There are various specifications of friend goodbyes, but the most common are the last minute goodbyes that actually happen via text or Facebook post because everyone forgot that life happens.  One of you has a job and the other one of you has a plane to catch.  Some of these goodbyes could be frustrating, and that's okay.  It's one of those things that you shouldn't let fester.  Let it go.  It's really not the end of the world if you don't see every single one of your friends exactly a week before you take off.  Really.  It's okay.

And then there are the goodbyes to that special someone.  That one person who tolerates all of your cliches and all of your cheesiness and loves you anyway.  And I'm not talking about your mom.  I'm talking about your special lady friend or your gentleman...friend?  Yeah, that person.  You'll spend just about every waking moment cuddling and doing everything you can to stay as close as humanly possible and socially acceptable. You'll do all the cute little couple things and pretend that it's just another weekend, that one of you isn't leaving the state for five months.  You'll pretend that you live together and eat off the same plate because you don't want to do the dishes...some chores are just always intolerable, it doesn't matter who you're doing them with.  One of you will tell the other not to cry when they leave and the other one will promise, but they'll cry anyway when the other has their back turned.

You'll miss everyone and everything, partially because of your change of locale, the increased distance between people, and the unfamiliarity of where you'll be.  And you'll probably feel homesick.  And that's okay.  It's really just a temporary goodbye anyway.

"Why does it take a minute to say hello and forever to say goodbye?" - Unknown

Cleaning Out Jacques

So Jacques (my laptop) has been a little grumpy, leading me to believe that things need to be deleted.  But in going through this process, I found some gems:

This unfinished bit about The Search for Hogwarts:


Once upon a time in a land just over the Atlantic Ocean from the United States, the sun was just peeking over the horizon, as if checking to see if it was safe to rise.  On a random streetcurb sat two girls.  They looked somewhat out of place, and definitely lost.  The blonde one was consulting a large map and muttering to herself while fiddling with her thick maroon and gold scarf while the dark (not black!) haired girl craned over her shoulder.
“Okay, so we were supposed to pass eight phone boxes and make a left on Princes Street.  We did that,” the blonde mumbled, massaging her temple with one hand.  “Let’s face it, Maggie, we’re lost.”
“We’re not lost, we’re right in front of a bookstore!” Maggie assured her lamenting companion.
“Which translates to our being lost.”
It was clear that the two had had this conversation before, and Maggie’s continued attempts to lift the blonde’s spirits had been so far unsuccessful.
“Look, Brianna, we can take a break from our search and go into the bookstore for a bit, and then you can keep freaking out,” Maggie bargained.  Two opposing forces battled across Brianna’s features, the one side wanting to forge ahead and reach their goal the most efficient way possible, and the other side with a soft spot for bookstores of all kinds.
“Alright, let’s go.”
The two girls stood and crossed the cobbled street, attracting a number of odd looks due to Maggie’s skirt and tie and Brianna’s scarf, but neither of them took any notice.
Inside the shop were shelves upon shelves of books.  Virtual mountains of books reaching the ceiling.  At the very sight of them, two American jaws hit the dusty floor.
“Oliver, this isn’t working, no one’s coming.”
The complaining voice came from the mouth of a very well dressed gentleman

-------------------------------------------------

The Death of Creativity from a class I took once and how upset I was that my classmates were uncreative...

I feel that creativity doesn’t exist in this realm.  Creativity lies in the hallway with a pike rammed in it’s chest.  The life juices already run out.  Needles impale Creativity’s fingertips, pinning them to the ground.  Eyes open, watching the door.  It’s ears bleed.  Flesh separated from its legs, feet reaching towards the door.  Escape.  The room within welcomed not Creativity.  Spurned it.  Here was where Creativity came to die.

Outside the doorway, Creativity twitched.  Fettered to the thin wall, Creativity struggled against its bonds.  Somehow clinging to life after a mechanical pencil was rammed down its throat, Creativity rasped.

“I live,” it said.  “There’s Hope.”

But was there?  While Creativity slumped against the wall, did Hope live on as well?  In the corner of the classroom hung a dingy birdcage, the small snowy feathered Hope huddled toward the corner, its dark eyes peering between the bars.

And Creativity had flown out the window.  Looking out the window and down at the ground, you could tell it wasn’t the impact that killed it.  Creativity wore a blindfold, almost like blind Justice, an arrow buried in its chest.  Its feet and hands were bound with barbed wire and mud from the ground smeared its garments.  Hope’s dark brown eyes watched over Creativity’s unmoving form.

The horrid, hanging silence.  Creativity lying gagged beneath the desk.  It gazed out at the occupants of the classroom.

-------------------------------------------------

The beginning of a film noir parody of a campus television show I was in during freshman year which I would paste here, but who knows who might be reading this...that and it's also unfinished.

-------------------------------------------------

Soundtrack to the Movie of Your Life

So, here's how it works:

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc.).

2. Put it on shuffle.

3. Press play.

4. For every question, type the song that's playing.

5. When you go to a new question, press the next button.

6. Don't lie and try to pretend your cool...because none of us are

• Waking Up: Gimme a Chance -- Plain White T's

• First Day At School: 'Til Him -- The Producers

• Falling In Love: Big, Blonde, & Beautiful -- Hairspray

• Fight Song: Bet On It -- High School Musical 2

• Breaking Up: One Day I'll Fly Away -- Nicole Kidman (Moulin Rouge)

• Prom: Brown-Eyed Girl -- Van Morrison

• Life: Here Without You -- Three Doors Down

• Mental Breakdown: Singin' in the Rain -- Gene Kelly

• Driving: Thankful -- Jonny Lang

• Flashback: Amnesia -- Chumbawamba

• Wedding: Be Our Guest -- Beauty and the Beast

• Losing your virginity: Mischief Managed! -- John Williams (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban)

• Birth Of Child: Jimmy -- Thoroughly Modern Millie

• Final Battle: When It All Falls Apart -- The Veronicas

• Death Scene: You Get Me -- Michelle Branch

• Funeral Song: What You Own -- RENT

• End Credits: Not Alone -- Darren Criss

-------------------------------------------------

This from Baby Brianna, it's longer, but here's a snippet:

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express trilled and a small puff of smoke engulfed the waiting wizarding families.  Lily Evans bid her Muggle parents and her little sister Petunia farewell outside the barrier between platforms 9 and 10.

“Good-bye,” Lily’s voice wavered with tears welling up in her eyes.  Petunia shoved her older sister away as Lily attempted at giving her a hug, and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get all emotional,” said Petunia.

Lily gave her parents one last hug and they started walking toward the family car.  When they looked back to wave good-bye, Lily had already disappeared onto platform 9 ¾.

Once Lily had stepped onto the hidden platform, she caught sight of the Hogwarts Express.  She wheeled her trolley away from the barrier and glanced around at the people standing on the platform.  She was hoping to find her loud, outgoing best friend Vivian DeWilde.  But she couldn’t find her blonde best friend; instead, someone else found her.

James Potter waved when Lily caught sight of him.  Lily rolled her eyes and thought, Of course, the person I had least wanted to run into.  I can hear it now, ‘Hey Evans!’  He’s in fifth year with me and yet he still acts so immature.

Once James had finally gotten to Lily, he waved again.

“Hey, Ev-Lily!” he said with a big grin on his face.

“Hello, Pot—I mean, James,” Lily replied.  She sounded like she was tasting the word “James” as if she had never said it before.  In her head she thought, I’m surprised he doesn’t have Remus, Sirius and Peter tagging along with him.

-------------------------------------------------

This from quite a bit older Brianna, it's longer, but here's a bit:

The snow covered everything in a thick icing, reminiscent of gingerbread masterpieces of Christmases past.  Streetlamps cast a warm glow on the little neighborhood where families sat in the warmth of their sitting rooms, snuggled up with mugs of hot chocolate.

With a small pop, two figures appeared out of seemingly nowhere on that quiet little street.

“Sirius, you git, you Apparated us into the middle of a snowdrift!” came the whispered rebuke from the shorter of the two figures who pulled her cloak closer around her and leapt out of said snowdrift.

The taller of the two calmly stepped out of the snowdrift, trembling with contained laughter.  “It was a little difficult for me to concentrate with you at such close proximity, love.”

The young woman sent her midnight blue glare at Sirius Black, crossing her arms over her chest before turning her back on him.

“Vahn, love, it’s just snow,” Sirius pointed out, still fighting to control the laughter that threatened to burst from his throat at any second.

“You did it on purpose,” she growled under her breath, turning slowly around to face a Sirius who was significantly closer than he had been a full ten seconds ago.

“I did not,” he said solemnly, his grin the only part of his countenance that contradicted his statement.  With a roll of her eyes, Vivian DeWilde allowed herself to smile and relaxed her posture, standing on her tiptoes only to peck Sirius on the lips before turning and heading off down the street.  Sirius trotted the short distance to fall in to step with her, and by then her hand was in his and they were climbing up the steps of a little house and rapping on the door to gain admittance.

And oh, there's more...but I'll just stop there for now...

Golden

So today's my birthday.  My golden birthday.  What does that mean exactly?  Well, it's a thing that little kids like to figure out based on your birthday.  It's really not an in-depth sort of analysis of personalities and dates or anything, it's merely based on the day of the month upon which you were born.  So.  For all of you who were paying attention or just extrapolating while I rambled, I'm turning 22 today.

After spending the majority of my childhood lamenting my golden birthday's distance from whatever present year I was at, it's finally here.  I'm finally turning 22.  I'm finally experiencing my golden birthday while my other friends celebrated their's earlier.  Figures, considering how close to the end of the month my birthday is.

Born on the 22nd as I am, I'm actually on the cusp of two zodiac signs.  Gemini and Cancer.  Although I identify myself as a Cancer (don't get me started on that whole "there's an extra zodiac sign" thing because if I have to call myself a Gemini, I may just expire from exhaustion).  As the beginning of this paragraph illustrates, I'm obviously extremely serious about the zodiac...only not.  I'm just a little superstitious.  Sometimes.  So far my horoscope hasn't predicted anything traumatic, so I'm okay with that.

My mom did send me this yesterday: http://www.netplaces.com/birthday-personology/june/june-22.htm.  So I read it, because these things interest me.  It's fascinating to look at things that explain your personality based on your birthday or your zodiac sign or the number of letters in your name, or whatever it is.  I find this intriguing.  Plus it's perfect fodder for coming up with characters.  Haven't done it yet, but it will happen!  It must happen!

I would definitely agree with this little linky that my humor may be a defense mechanism.  It goes along with the idea that I'm an introvert and every time I explain that to someone they laugh.  Because I look and act like an extrovert most of the time.  I'm really quite shy.  Promise.  Also, I am an idea person, so I like getting things started.  But with my writing endeavors, I sometimes leave projects unfinished.  Yeah...  The mention of money made me laugh out loud when I first read it because I'm so cheap.  It's kinda ridiculous how cheap I am.  But I'm not even as cheap as some of my family members.  Trust.  Yeah.  I don't know what's up with that, but I don't trust myself.  And it takes me a really long time to open up to someone and come out of my shell.  Half the time I don't even realize that my shell's there being all imposing and stuff.

Oh!  AND I have also resolved to look at the world from hereon out for exciting things.  I want to resolve that I will look at the world in wonder and be filled with interest for the things around me.  Because lately I've just been hanging out at home jaded and disillusioned, believing only somewhat jokingly that I have no friends.  That ends today!  I will find joy and wonder in the everyday!

Happy Birthday to me...happy birthday to me...

Satyrs

I'm still cleaning my room, but I found some things that I thought might be fun to share.

Once upon a time, freshman year of high school, our teacher had us pick monsters or lovers from Greek mythology.  If you picked lovers, you had to write (go ahead, guess) love letters between the two.  Whereas if you got a monster you had to write a parody of a song and perform it during class.  So I chose monster, of course.  And then I picked "satyrs" out of the hat.  This is the script from my performance:

Hello.  My name is ______________.  I am a historian researching the curious activities of the satyrs of Greek Mythology.  I used this time machine that I build in my closet to go back into the time when Greek Mythology was actually happening.  I have never been in ancient Greece before, so I wore a toga of some sort so I would blend in.  Since my time machine had left me in a forest, I began looking for the intriguing goat-men known as satyrs.  Needless to say, I got rather turned around in the forest and it wasn't until nightfall that I heard voices.  I peered out from behind a large tree and saw the god Dionysus and none other than his satyr attendants drinking, laughing, singing and dancing around a bonfire.  I heard the satyrs singing a song that goes a little like this (reads off her paper):  The best thing about being a satyr, is the prerogative to have a little fun.

Well, maybe you'd understand what I'm talking about better if I sang it.  (spontaneously breaks into song)


The best thing about being a satyr
is the prerogative to have a little fun and...
oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy--just drink and be lazy
half man, half goat,
oh, oh, oh, really go wild--Dionysus style!
Oh, oh, oh, get in the action, feel the attraction,
nymphs on the run, just havin' fun,
oh, oh, oh, I wanna be free--yeah to feel the way I feel...
Man!  I feel like a satyr!

The guys/goats are thinkin', singin', dancin', drinkin',
and never let our spirits down.
We don't need romance--we only wanna dance,
chasing all the nymphs around...

[repeat chorus]

(straighten tie, etc.)  Ahem.  Yes.  I found myself drugged and in my laboratory the next morning.  I cannot recall anything else from the previous night.  I wonder, what ever happened to plain ole ordinary, normal, peaceful, sober goats?!

Prompts

In cleaning my room, I found a couple Post-Its stuck to my desk.  They had writing prompts on them.  So I'm posting them here.

From "A Brief Lecture on Door Closers" by Clemens Starck

1.  "How does it work?"

2.  Write about a process or a history.

3.  Acknowledge a metaphor.  As a metaphor.

4.  How do people interact with mechanisms?

From "Why I Take Good Care of My Macintosh" by Gary Snyder

1.  Write the answers to a "why" question.  Multiple answers.

2.  Use repetition and the line variation that Snyder uses in his poem.

From "What's in My Journal" by William Stafford

1.  What's in your journal?

2.  How do these line breaks work?  See what you can do to replicate them.

3.  What's the pacing of the list?  Is it good or not?

4.  Mix in concrete imagery with the abstract.

Make a Mess and Clean It Up

So begins my first week as a college graduate.  I have designated this summer as the summer of cleaning up my room and actually tossing some of the stuff I've been holding onto for no particular reason other than the fact that I can.  I'm going through my desk drawers right now and reading old letters, recycling the ones that I don't think are worth keeping.  I'm sad about how many there are, but I'll be thanking myself later when I have an empty couple drawers for real things.

So I found this in my drawer and thought I should share it before I recycle the paper it's on:

She definitely looked interested.
Look up
look down
lips together.
Look up
under lashes
look down.
Longing
in eyes so tired.
Studying
her own sandals
and tile floor.
A kind smile
a nod
a word of encouragement.
From those eyes,
blue like sky,
today overcast.
What clouded
those eyes?
Wishing
to be breeze
whispering clouds
away.
Wanting.
Waiting.
Pining.
Silence
guessing refusal.

That would be from that one time when I told a complete stranger to ask out the coffee boy...

She saw him every day at the coffee shop, and every day she did the same thing.  Look up, look down.  Eye contact, look down.  She told herself she was too shy.  He would reject her and then where would she get her mochas?  Because she would be too mortified to go back.
So she looked.  And she dreamed.  And she played out their first date in her head.  He paid.

--------------------------------------------

UPDATE: We (that being the royal "we") have recently discovered that we already posted that weird poemy thingy earlier in this blog.  A little less than a year ago.  So...if you feel like rummaging through past posts, feel free to see if you can find it.  It's tagged under "nerd" if that helps.

St. Patrick's Day

Today is the day when everyone would like to pretend that they're Irish.  And if they're not pretending, chances are that they're probably Irish.  And when it comes to living in Chicago, there's an even greater chance that the people you're talking to are Irish.  Mostly because Chicago is notoriously Irish.  I say "notoriously" because of our former mayor, both of the Daleys, but I have to be able to acknowledge that we have a large Polish and Mexican population as well.  I'm not going to swear on that mostly because I can't promise that I know what I'm talking about.

In Chicago, there's a tradition of dying the river green.  The Chicago River.  Because yes, there's a river through Chicago (I have a friend who didn't know that there was a river in Chicago and got confused when I told her not to cross the river or she'd get lost).

I take no credit for this photo, I found it on Google.

According to the Story Behind Dyeing the River, other cities have attempted to dye their rivers...with no success.  Clearly there's something special (or sinister) about the Chicago River that allows the dye to take hold and refuse to let go for a couple days after the St. Patrick's Day parade.  I've never seen the river get dyed this special shade of emerald, but apparently the powder they use is orange...and it turns the river green.  It makes so much sense now.

Thank you again, Google!

I have had Green River.  It's a lime pop drink that's all bubbly and delicious.  According to Wikipedia where I get all the best information, Green River was created as a non-alcoholic alternative in Chicago during the Prohibition Era.  Although after Prohibition ended, the brewery that created it made Green River a second priority to making alcohol, which would make sense considering it's a brewery.  I remember that I had Green River for the first time at my uncle's house, and I loved it.  I was probably around eight when I first had it, and my brother and I loved it so much that I'm pretty sure my dad brought home some cans of the stuff from his brother's house.  And then there was a period of time where I had no Green River.  I suspect that's because my uncle stopped buying it, but since then it's come back into my life and it's pretty much glorious.

"There are only two kinds of people in the world, The Irish and those who wish they were."

- Unknown

Cutting Hairs

Today...I got my hair cut.  This was kind of a big deal for me if only because I hadn't gotten it cut since late June, early July, and at that time, it was a pixie cut.  Super short.  Like really a lot short.

Kinda exactly like that.  This was a new and daring thing for me to do because I figured it was my last chance to experiment before I got out into the big bad real world.  Fair assumption.  I spent all of last summer making sure that I wore mascara or bows or something distinctly girly because as I said at the time, "I don't want to look like a boy."  I still find this amusing, and realize that it plays into gender stereotyping, but we're not going to go there because I was really just having fun at the time.

So.  Brianna hair got all shaggy (I know anyone who reads this is going to be EXTRA thrilled to know the history of my hair, but hey, it's a daily blog, and I'm writing, so...deal) and I wasn't too pleased with it.  My friends said it looked fine, but I maintain that the bottom most layer decided that it wanted to be straight while the rest of my hair decided it wanted to be wavy/curly.  So craziness ensued on my head.  It was good times. I was just musing about different ways I could wear my shaggy hair when I got it cut today.

So now it looks like this.  And it also looks like I'm strangling myself, but whatever.  I'm a little nervous about the bangs which my mother insists aren't "bangs bangs," a term which I'm not sure I fully understand, but the point being is that I'm mildly interested to see what my bedhead looks like tomorrow morning.  Oh the thrilling life I lead.

"The American character looks always as if it had just had a rather bad haircut, which gives it, in our eyes at any rate, a greater humanity than the European, which even among its beggars has an all too professional air."

- Mary McCarthy

4 Things

(in no particular order…)

Four dreams I’ve had about my life:

1. Be happy.

2. Be able to write whenever I want.  Read as much as I want.

3. Become fluent in French.

4. Open a café/book shop where all the drink names are literary references.

Four careers I have wanted:

1. Teacher

2. Broadway actress/director/playwright

3. Veterinarian

4. Writer (particularly a novelist, but I’m branching out into “poet” as well)

Four favorite animals:

1. PENGUIN!  (Because of the family penguin joke)

2. Flamingo

3. Unicorn

4. Phoenix

Four movies I’ve watched more than once:

1. The Princess Bride

2. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

3. The Star Wars trilogy

4. Love Actually

Four TV shows I watch:

1. Doctor Who

2. Glee

3. Once Upon a Time

4. Castle/House/Bones (occasionally)

Four places I have lived:

1. Des Plaines, IL

2. Chicago, IL

3. Bloomington, IL

4. London/Edinburgh (while on a school trip?)

Four places I’ve been:

1. Disneyland

2. The Globe Theatre

3. London Bridge (not in London)

4. The Grand Canyon

Four favorite drinks:

1. Lemonade

2. Chocolate milk

3. Grape Kool Aid

4. Orange juice

Four of my favorite foods:

1. French toast

2. Pizza

3. Macaroni and cheese

4. Green bean casserole

Four of my least favorite foods:

1. Carrots

2. Lima beans

3. Mango

4. Papaya

Four places I would like to be:

1. Home (amongst family)

2. IWU (amongst friends)

3. Scotland (amongst history)

4. In a library (amongst literature)

Four things I’m looking forward to this year:

1. Going to Disney World to participate in the Disney College Program.

2. Being able to read whenever I want.

3. Continuing the Poem-a-Day Project at least into September.

4. The Summer (Paris, house-sitting, and camping!)

Four favorite hobbies:

1. Reading (anything, but I draw the line at street signs)

2. Writing snippets of things and poetry

3. Knitting square flat things

4. Crafting

Four favorite quotes:

1. “Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, it is that we are powerful beyond measure…” – Marianne Williamson

2. “The knack of flying is learning to throw yourself at the ground and miss.” – Douglas Adams

3. “It’s not my job to be right.  It’s my job to be wrong in new and exciting ways.” – James Kennedy

4. “Life moves pretty fast.  If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” – Ferris Bueller

Tourism

Yesterday, David and I played tourist in my hometown, Chicago.  And when I say "we," I really mean me, I was a tourist, because I walked around the streets taking pictures of everything.  First, because I now have a camera that's pretty and not ancient and second, because I don't go downtown very often and third, because there were things that we saw that normal tourists probably don't think to go see.  Though we were right by the Art Institute, we avoided going there because admission prices are outrageous and we're poor students.

We did get to see the Chicago Model City.

Picture provided by me!  This is a view from the North Side of the city.

I didn't know that this or that the Chicago Architecture Foundation existed, but they had a really cool gift shop deal where they had really neat toys and books and bags and interesting things--but the model.  I tried to find where my house is, but they didn't go that far north or west.  Because apparently Chicago's too big for that.  Silly.  Anyway, I did find the Kennedy expressway which is what I would take to get to downtown while driving, and so I ended up taking a picture as if I was coming off the highway.  There was also information about how the lighting changes every so often to simulate the path of the sun on June 21st, the longest day of the year.  I'm a little unclear as to why they chose that particular day, but I suppose it might have something to do with the amount of sunlight...and that the sun's out for the longest on that day?  I guess that makes sense.

We also saw the Chicago Cultural Center which had mosaics EVERYWHERE.

This is the ceiling at the Chicago Cultural Center.  Just look at that zodiac!

It was really beautiful in there.  There were quotes on the walls in the mosaics and the names of authors and scientists, and then there were writings in different languages like Arabic and ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and Chinese, it was really pretty.  There were other sections of the Chicago Cultural Center, one which had an exhibit called "Morbid Curiosity" which I regret going to because it was super creepy.  Like really creepy.  The "Write Now" exhibit was a lot more of my taste because it was all word-based art.  Really cool.  (How many times have I used "really" in this paragraph?  Who's counting?)  But I liked just wandering around!

Throughout our wanderings I kept thinking that it was really cool that we were just wandering.  We didn't have anywhere in particular to go because all we had to do was kill time in between events.  I like the idea of just wandering around the city because I feel like that's how the hole-in-the-wall places get found.  That's how you can find little historic places and never even realize it until you're standing right in them.  Chicago's got a lot going for it, and I never really thought about it because I just grew up here.  I always think about other cities as having more history than Chicago, but this city has a lot more history than I ever would have thought.

"Eventually, I think Chicago will be the most beautiful great city left in the world."

- Frank Lloyd Wright

Excuses, Excuses

So I forgot to blog yesterday.
And the day before.
And the day before.
I think that at this point I should call it a failure because I missed three days out of my Lenten promise thingy to blog every day.  But at the same time, I feel like I should be given a little slack because I've been busy.  Sure, I'm always busy, but I'm talking about real fun busy.  I've been home.

Friday I was just so excited to go home that I spent the day reading a comic instead of packing (well, after I was done packing) and listening to Pandora.

Saturday, well, Saturday I spe---(this is when I realize that I only really missed Friday and Saturday, I didn't miss Thursday, aha!)---Saturday I spent downtown.  Doing lots of things.  Maybe I'll post pictures of the craziness that occurred that really wasn't that crazy, but might be interesting to see all the same.

Today...today I'd like to do things.  Preferably homeworky things so I don't have to worry about them for the rest of break, but I'm not sure I'll be able to revise an entire story in one day.  In theory, it can happen, but I'm not sure I want to stress myself out while I'm at home.  But what would be the fun of spring break if I wasn't stressed out, right?  So...we'll see what happens with that.  I might just end up reading about politics and religion in Shakespearean era England and then that short story I'm supposed to read for my fiction class, thereby leaving all the re-writing for later like the good procrastinator I am.

So I'll do a poetry analysis thing today to make up for Poetry Friday, and I'll do something to make up for yesterday and then I'll be on track.  And then I'll catch up on my Poem-A-Day Project.  Oops...apparently being home just throws everything off.  Weird.