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."

Wishing Myself Luminous

When I was little I used to pretend I was a firefly. I would prance and twirl but MOST importantly, I would glow. Golden glitter became my favorite accessory, because who doesn't want to sparkle and shine?

I caught myself longing for the life of that firefly this evening. But instead of wings and a glowing butt, I have a "Must Do List."
Finish degree,
work hard,
save some money.

Then, I can serve Haiti or Uganda...I can go anywhere, I can focus on more important things. Like writing a novel.Like traveling the world-- not just to see it and learn it, but to meet it and embrace it.

Those thoughts kept me going for four years..But now, in a state of whole-hearted-burned-out-ness I ask, who the hell made up that "Must Do List" in the first place? I honestly can't remember. Was it me? And if it was, was I conforming to God's path or to the world's expectations?



...None of this really matters at this point. I cannot simply leave it all behind and jump on a plane tomorrow (as much as I dream about it).




All I can do is pray for patience and wish myself luminous.

Resolutions of the 2010 Persuasion

Okay, so maybe I'm a little late on these, but forgive me--I was avoiding that whole failure vibe that will no doubt haunt me come March.

75% of New Years Resolutions fail, you know. Or at least thats what a Home Improvement commercial just told me. And Tim the ToolMan wouldn't lie.

Looking back, I'd say 2009 was probably my sickest year yet. I'm talking swollen lips(I'm allergic to mangoes apparently),3 days in bed because of a "noisy" head--you'd have to ask the pills what that meant,iron shots, iron pills, back issues, arm issues, "broken" toes, ear infections, food poisoning, I can keep going.
Surely then, my first resolution would be along the lines of health- take a daily vitamin, eat more vegetables, exercise, etc.

Wrong. I started a three day diet of nothing but grilled chicken and vegetables yesterday.Guess what I came home and made for dinner? Tacos.

Instead, I'm keeping it complicatedly simple with one change for 2010: No quitting.


Easy concept, but complicated in the way that it applies to EVERYTHING. Unfortunately, diets too..which is why you won't catch me saying anything crazy--like a 3 day chicken and vegetable diet.


I've been quitting things my entire life. Gymnastics, Ice Skating, Softball, Soccer, Sign Language, Stamp Collecting, Rock Collecting, APEX crap, Philosophy Classes, Sunday School Classes, Piano, Guitar, Voice Lessons, certain book lists I created, cooking, relationships...I just quit. Sometimes, I got bored. Other times, it just got hard. And I became a master at finding easy-way outs.

So now for 2010; I will fight.

Grasping

Loss.
It's such a simple word; Four letters, one vowel, three consonants. Yet it contains so much fear, so much pain. Addictions are born--television shows, alcohol, sex-- I'll do anything to escape. Prescription pills are swallowed-- for this agony, this hole in me-- is all caused by a chemical imbalance, right? Questions are asked, demanded, and pleaded from God—who else could be to blame?

As a human, I've experienced loss enough to fear the word with a complex.
I've had sisterly friendships turn to ash over misunderstandings and unspoken hurts.
Grandparents taken from the slow deterioration that comes with a lived life, others lost to battles with cancer, and another through unyielding depression, ultimately won over with a shotgun. Three years ago, my best friend was murdered.
I've lived loss. I know the stages as if I were an actress following a script.
And while every bit has molded me into who I am today, into the safety I know the Lord to be, and though I've learned from every ending, every goodbye, and lost chance—

I'm still left with scars..and the fear of a simple word.

Badges and Stones

For weeks now, my eyes have been drawn to a small garden stone adorning my neighbors front yard.
It's nothing fancy, nothing that would attract a lot of attention or for any reason be the central focal point from my bedroom window. It is simply a rock painted an understated shade of white, embellished with a cross the color of ash.

A stone so subtle...but nothing other than Hester Prynne's scarlet 'A' in my eyes.

It was my badge of shame, a reminder in the form of a guilt trip. Or those were my thoughts as I momentarily considered stopping my empty endeavors and reaching for my Bible. Instead I would close the blinds, close my eyes, and shut out the Light that so relentlessly chased my gaze.

It's now the first day to a new year and God, as He so often does, has used my circumstances to push, pull and prod me in the direction of Him.

So here I sit, amazed at the simplicity & complexity of His teachings, of His works & ways, of how I keep falling slave to happiness while somehow stumbling and stepping over Joy every time.


So here's to yielding, to finding Joy, and to the beginning of a new year completely and wholly following, pursuing, and living for Jesus Christ, our Lord, our Savior.
(This is as much a prayer as it is a toast)