Defective

I have this habit. I have a myriad of things to be reading,interpreting, and writing. But I have this habit, and I have this inability to focus, so here, so now, I write.

~~~

I've got a secret. Want to hear?

I own every Ryan Adams album he ever made.Including his beginnings in Whiskeytown and stint with The Cardinals. Seriously. Every one of them. At one point in time, I listened to them regularly. I knew them, I hid behind them.

Which brings me to the real secret;I have this quirk about artists and names--I don't remember them. At all. Period.
I may own their albums, know their music backwards and forwards, and the story behind why he wrote it, but out of context, if I hear Ryan playing all bucolic in the background, there's a 99% chance, I'll say, "hey, I like this song, who is it?"
This has elicited quite a few 'good-grief' looks from Laura--because she knows I know...But I don't, I swear.
It's a strange thing, memory.
I'm like this with books too. After a few months, I'm content if I can remember the main character and plot. I'm flat out astounded if I can remember who wrote it. I may even buy myself a cupcake in celebration.

But this quirk, this annoying mind facet, never stops my brain from remembering every story a friend has told me, every lesson learned since I was 4, every phone conversation, middle name, birthday, and favorite color; Real people and their lives--I can remember.

And today, it irks me.

Spazzy

Wow, what a sad entry to just leave it on. My apoligies to all of one reader.

I was reading 1 Kings the other night..or at least I think that's where I was. But it was a verse that said to pray morning, noon and night..or maybe I had flipped to Psalms by then...That sounds like Psalms. I don't know, but it stuck with me regardless--I tend to get caught up in between so many hours, so many lists,I end up seperated from the complient girl who prayed in the morning and the submnissive girl who prays at night.

So I did it.

~~~~


Lately, I've made quite a few decisions involving another person. That makes me nervous, more specifically, it makes me a nervous dweller. If I could refrain from causing people pain completely-- I totally would.
And yet, a lot of great things derived from pain... alas, I say whatever.

Through my new prayer regimen, I've been cloaked in comfort and certainty. This is the right thing.

Assurance has become my only peace in this.


Oh and my newest friend.:)

Dear David,

It's odd how we're coming up on 3 years. Three. That's a lot of moments separate from you.


I can see you so perfectly still. And sometimes, at the most innocent moments, when I'm looking for a pen or brushing my hair, I can feel you. I can feel the pain just as I felt it that day. I can feel the confusion, the panic, the shock, all of it.

And then it's lost again in the whirl of living. Sometimes, I'll think of you as forever ago, just a distant memory, a friend from a lifetime ago. Sometimes, it's more like you were a story from someone else's life, completely separate from my own.

I tried to move on.

Actually, I think I may have ran into moving on...So desperate for the okayness of the future, I didn't stop to just be. His arms were so comforting. I chanced it. It was worth it.

I'm still not sure what we are, or if we'll ever be something together. But I did learn one thing: It sucks that anyone will always be compared to you.


I don't do it on purpose. I try my best not to compare people; We're all such different souls. But you truly loved me. And if he doesn't do something that you would...it makes me wonder, it makes me question.
I hate that.

know what else I hate?

You died and I was left only with a heart of golden memories,the perfect parts and sweet bits. I can't remember anything bad, anything you did wrong, any of those times you hurt me. It's as if my mind chose to honor you by way of a haze of happiness. It makes the comparison thing that much more unfair.

We were not meant to be, you and me. I've known that, it just took a while for me to admit it.

Maybe I wasn't meant to be with anybody.

Strangely, this scares me less than the actually being with somebody part..I don't want to end up like my mother.

I'll be 22 soon. Remember when I turned 20? You took me to the movies where I made you buy me candy, popcorn, a hotdog AND an icee?... I'm all the sudden missing that metabolism. Oh, how fast things change. How fast I can go from feeling as though I barely know you to completely missing you.

Laura and I are planning another trip. This one's not nearly as costly as a 2 week road trip to Maine though. I think we're going to try a cruise. What do you think, Key West? Bahamas? We're still researching...Who knows, maybe we'll just go back to that little town in Connecticut or for a stationary stay on the beach.


You always understand me, even if only in my head.


Missing you much,
Manda

Overheard

Call it what you want--nosy,inquisitive,curious,bored; I am an avid eavesdropper. It doesn't matter where I am--If you're within the range of my ears, I will be listening.

I blame my childhood. Actually, more specifically, I blame the youth at Bellevue. And yes, while I'm sure those kid's mouths may have contributed to this minor character flaw--the fact that I avoided them to no ends is more likely the culprit.

See, my parents had this rule. It wasn't always there, like 'don't hit your brother' or 'don't color on his face,' but was manufactured specifically for me during the era we now refer to as "Mandy's Evil Years." (1998-2009)


Anyways, the rule was: If you miss church, you're grounded until the next service.
Simple as that, 1 week--no friends, no tv, no computer, no phone, no outside.


Needless to say...I spent half my childhood grounded.

It worked out well though. Because what I was left with was books. TONS of books, most of which my mother would die if she ever knew I read (thank you, Grandma Lee). Honestly, books were like movies to me. They were stories,not meant to be put down until you finished, until you knew the ending, and experienced the bitter-sweetness of reading the last line. Which is probably why
most Sunday's when Dad would wake me up and remind me of "The Rule," I would simply shrug my shoulders and roll over in bed.

Lesson to be learned here: Don't ground readers, spank them.


I think I got off topic. The point is that reading turned me into a story-freak, which later developed into a writer, and hopefully one that will soon be published. And the better point is that EVERY writer (of Fiction anyways) is constantly aware of the people around them, for it's these people that make for the truly great characters. The real people, not the perfect versions of ones we made up in our head.



So yes, while it may look like I'm quietly minding my own business in that homey, coffee-shop chair--I'm not. Just thought I'd warn you.

Okay, so I took a snow day anyway.

But it doesn't really matter since I have a 2:40 class and lack an excuse. I'll be at school shortly.

Until then however, I will finish half my to do list from the comfort of my bed, lit by sunshine and snow (makes for a bright reflector, if good for nothing else).


Just thought I'd say good morning.So Good Morning. :)

A series of names or other items written or printed together in a meaningful grouping or sequence so as to constitute a record: a list of members.

There's a collection of lists I had planned to finish today...

For instance, Madie's litter box is way past its day to be soaked, scrubbed, and sterilized until it resembles something more akin to a pee-box of lemon scented pleasantness.

The dishes are beginning to hover over the sink again. If I didn't take issue with the use of paper plates and cups(darn this new era of greenness),life would equal un-chipped fingernails and never having to rinse out a mug upon first awaking...*insertlongfulsighhere*

My school work took on another list of it's own. I have completed exactly one assignment and that's simply because it is due by 11pm tonight...Procrastination is my vice, if you weren't already aware.

There is a pile of cans and general car trash that has accumulated in the garage. See..It's like this;every morning I chunk my 3 bags (Lunch,School,Purse) into the passenger seat and climb in behind them holding my other vice: Caffeine. Only I never emptied out my cup holders from yesterday or lunch. or from ever. So every morning I remove one, set it on the floor outside my door (because who actually has time to get out of their car again?), and replace it with my mocha wonderfulness..

I had planned to do so much today.

But Sunday's always call for lunch after church, which always means a nap after lunch, which always equals 30 more minutes, which then inspires a sluggish evening of fiction reading, Gilmore Girls, and a day spent confined to my bed.

My heating blanket is on, the window is open, and that crisp wind--that can only come from night--is whispering in my ear, "who cares? It's Sunday."