Things Change

We already know this as humans that things change.  Everything changes.  Sometimes it’s gradual and occurs so slowly that one day you open your eyes and feel your breath catch at the sight before you.  Other times, it’s so quick that no matter how many times you look at the change, over and over again, you can’t bring yourself to fully understand how much it’s not the same.

Summers are like that.  Each summer has its own flavour and its own unique changes that make it what it will be in your memories.  You sort through each of these archetypes that you have built and ask yourself what each summer is and how they changed from one to another.  Did you adventure on the train to Kansas and Colorado?  Did you go to nerd camp and Kansas City?  Did you leave on a whirlwind trip that took you half of the way across the world and challenge every preconceived notion that you had of another country?  What did you learn in that summer when you stayed home reading 500,000 words of fanfiction and planning a zombie-themed dance?  And what did you learn when you got your first summer job and spent two weeks trying to hide?  Or when you realised that it would be the last summer with her and last cruise and last anything?

This summer is met that flow.  It’s a question of what I’ve learned and what has changed.  Between friends being more or less scattered because of university, to the family dynamic completely changing from Grandma’s death.  From feeling more grounded in Saint Charles due to my job and having broken up with my boy-friend (and here I didn’t even tell you that story, and it has already ended).  There’s a natural progression that is both frightening and welcome because it is the meaning of what it is to live.

Living can be difficult.  Feeling can be difficult.  Waking up in the mornings to a task you don’t want to do can be difficult.  Taking pills, testing your heart, doctors visits.  They can drain you slowly, but they can’t slow down what a summer can do to the body.  How much more alive I, personally, can feel from the rest. I can feel the change, feel my joints go out of socket less and need less sleep.  Slow moving, but there.

It’s strange how I forget about this place.  I forget that I can write here because I’m so busy writing on tumblr.  Granted, it’s not personal writing but fiction, but nonetheless, I’ve become amazed at how much I’ve written in the past few months.  Thousands upon thousands of words with some truly amazing people. And there were some questions upon writing yesterday that reminded me of this.  Reminded me of Germany and the Roessles und die perfekte Welle und der perfekte Tag.  All of it came rushing about again, which brings back all of those memories that, if you’ve read anything here, you know that I still hold dear.  Scarcely a post goes by that I don’t at least briefly mention Germany. 

Things change.  They truly do.  But some things stay fairly static inside of their change.  And maybe that’s Germany.  Maybe that’s what it is to remember and hold on to something so tightly.

Das ist die perfekte Welle
Das ist der perfekte Tag
Lass dich einfach von ihr Tragen
Denk am besten gar nicht nach
Ich bin hier
Ich bin frei

–Perfekte Welle, Juli

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House of Tom Bombadil

Did I tell you all that I lost fifteen percent of my body weight last semester within three months?  Did I forget about that?  No…  No, I briefly mentioned losing weight, but I didn’t mention how much.  Twenty two pounds.  That’s how much.

You know, when I tell people about this, it doesn’t matter how negative my tone is or how upset I look–they congratulate me.  When I explain that it was stress and Ehlers Danlos Syndrome related, they still congratulate me.  When I say that I have never felt more weak and more tired in my life, that I’m blacking out more and not able to finish what I need to for uni, they keep on congratulating me.

There’s a major problem when health is pushed aside in favour of lost weight.  My weight has become more important and worthy than my own wellness, and it sickens me that shape is valued over substance.  I’m chronically ill with EDS, most likely POTS (I’m getting tested this summer), and now mono for the past two months.  I just can’t get well, and I’m dropping weight again, even though I’m already right at the line of having an underweight BMI.  And yet, I’ve never been told more in the past few months just how good I look.

I feel like I’m dying.  I need to be sleeping over twelve hours per day.  I am dizzy.  Tired.  Weak.  In pain.  Scared.  And I’m told that I look beautiful.  It doesn’t make any sense at all.

I guess that all I’m trying to say is that, you can compliment my looks all you please, but if I tell you that I am unhappy about losing weight because I’m slowly succumbing to some terrible diseases, please don’t tell me that my looks are more important.  I would gain back all of that weight and be pudgy again if it meant that I felt well.  I’d gain even more to feel like I wasn’t some elderly folk inside of a twenty year-old’s body.

Sorry.

I’ve spent a lot of the past month spiralling into another depression from health.  It’s caused me to re-evaluate a lot of my life, change future plans, and start doing some things for me.  I’m tired and upset and causing permanent damage to my body, so I’m taking a year off after I graduate from uni so that I can get an internship and then travel before starting grad school.  I’ve dropped tumblr recently since I think that an hiatus will help me focus more on my health and course work.  I’ve stopped trying in some of my classes. I haven’t turned in online French homework in a month, and I don’t even care any more.  I’ll have to find some time this week to finish it amongst all of the other things, but I just…  I don’t fucking care.  There’s so much else in my life right now.

This is so rambly.  Es tut mir Leid.

Last time that I spoke with you all, I was writing about my grandma.  I still think about her so much, but things get better with time.  They always do, emotionally speaking.  And I mentioned a few things about losing and gaining people.  December…  Well, I got a boy-friend.  Which sounds like I caught a Pokemon or something, but I assure you that’s not quite the case.  Our story will probably be better saved for another time, but at least I’ve finally mentioned it (only four and an half months later, tralalala).

No really.  This has just about been the shittiest post I think I’ve ever made on this blog.  But call it free-writing.  Train of thought.  Just some things that I need to get out.  I listened to Miho Fukuhara’s “Let It Out” one too many times this morning; blame that.

Anyway, this summer, I plan on getting better.  Lots of rest, working three days per week until I feel a little more human, seeing doctors to get diagnosis and help, going to Florida to visit family.  That sort of stuff.  I’m looking forward to the end of the semester so incredibly much.  Sleep.  It’s all I need and all I want.  Just sleep.

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Official Summer Tidings and Ramblings About the Northwest

I officially booked my trip to Chicago/Denver. After wanting to cancel and take an aeroplane instead, I realised the difficulty of that and decided to just stick with my original plan and head out to Chicago before getting to Denver. Booking my hostel was the last step, and now it’s all finished up. To those that I’ll be seeing in Denver, I’ll get to see you just as much with either plan, and I’ll be there from Thursday, the tenth, until the following Sunday or Monday. I’ve already forgotten which.

In other news, summer is going… all right, I suppose. I’ve been working a bit more than thirty hours per week at my summer job down on Main Street. It’s hot and sweaty work, but there’s a lot of it that I really enjoy. I wasn’t expecting to feel so stressed about it this summer as I am, but I’m attributing that to the increase in hours and the bizarre weather that we’ve been having. It’s far too hot for June. This weekend has been the first time in three weeks that it’s been even remotely nice outside. Sorry, but I’m so sick of constant 37 degree days over and over again. I need to be in the Northwest stat. I’m pretty sure that I’m far too Irish to put up with these extreme weathers from the Midwest. It’s just not suiting me any more.

It’s all that I can think about any more: how much I don’t belong here. I used to only get upset about the Midwest because of the lack of culture and things to see and do, but now I’m finding that it’s far more than that. Even aside from the fact that I am meant for cool and rainy weather (oh, hey Northwest), the personality of where I live just doesn’t fit me. It’s been difficult to explain this to my mother who doesn’t understand why I’d ever want to leave. This is, after all, the place where I have grown up. But I just can’t stay here any longer; it’s like trying to fit a puzzle piece where it doesn’t quite go. Sure, you can keep it there, and from a distant it won’t matter, but in the end, you know that piece doesn’t go there. That’s the best way that I can describe it.

I’ve started looking into grad schools, and I’m so sure that I want to go to the Northwest. Everyone asks me why. They tell me that it rains constantly there and that people are depressed. I tell them that there are book stores and coffee shops and interesting people there. I tell them that I avoid the sun like the plague to begin with, so this would finally allow me to live freely. I’ll keep searching in other locations, too, but I can’t deny that I’d like to spend some time there. At least for the five years of grad school. After that’s all finished up with, I can decide for sure what’s right for me. That, or I can take my doctoral degree and get the hell out to some place else; sometimes these things take experimentation.

I’m just a little torn between the fact that I want to go to the Northwest, yet a large university near my home town also offers the degree I want (family and marriage counselling at SLU). Everyone wants me to go to SLU.

Well, everyone except me, I suppose.

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Books I’d like to read some time soon.

There are so many books that I’d like to read, but I can never find the time during the school year.  But, come this summer, there’s a big long list waiting for me.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to read/reread some of them.

• The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald)
• Voyage of the Dawn Treader (C.S. Lewis)
• 1984 (George Orwell)
• Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (J.K. Rowling; yes, I’ll try to reread this one)
• The Lost Symbol (Dan Brown; everyone keeps telling me that it’s the best of his yet)
• Hiroshima (John Hersey; in which I will cry in my backyard while reading)
• Faerie Tale (Raymond Feist; I may actually get this one finished by May)

If you have any recommendations for things I should read this summer, please don’t hesitate to tell me!  I’m very receptive to new books.

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Startin’ my resume for the Travel Channel, yo.

This morning started at 6.30 with getting all of my last minute preparations finished before setting out for Florida, and by 8.00, I was being dropped off in front of the airport with my bright red suitcase and leather carry-on bag.  And I’d like to say that I did all right, thank you very much.  Granted, I spent the first twenty five minutes waiting in the wrong line for Delta, and I was clueless as to where to pick up my ticket after finding a more correct line, but after an hour of lines and security, I was finally sitting in the correct terminal and waiting for my 10.05 flight to Atlanta.  The first leg of my journey was from Saint Louis to Atlanta and went quite well.  Window seat.  Hardly a cloud in the sky.  No turbulance.  Even with sitting right next the engine, I could still listen to my iPod at half level and be just fine (which, by the way, my Florida playlist is pretty kickin’: Vampire Weekend, Imogen Heap, Arcade Fire, Nickel Creek, and a plethora of just about everything.  No really, I even have some Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls on there.  Eat it!).  The Atlanta airport was the only thing I was worried about–mostly because my first flight had been delayed by an hour, which meant that I had missed my second flight to Fort Lauderdale.  On the bright side, the second leg of my journey had also been delayed, so I ended up at the correct terminal in plenty of time.  Definitely beats my similar experience two years ago.

And that was something that really struck me.  Exactly two years ago, to the day no less, I was in the Atlanta airport, running back and forth between terminals that didn’t even exist just to get to my aeroplane for Germany.  It had been a total mess, with my friend and I running between trains and construction to get to the right spot just in the knick of time.  So, it slightly amazed me that I should have almost the exact same experience today, only not.  It was the same connecting flight, the same terminals.  Everything the same except that I found where I was going quickly and easily.  Maybe it’s the lack of construction.  Maybe it’s the fact that now I’m an adult and could trek there on my own without having to be with a group.  I’ll never know, but if things are going to work this well, then I don’t care to figure it out.

The second leg of my trip was terribly bouncy, and I was stuck in an aisle seat next to a very bored five year-old.  Half way through, I pulled out a National Geographic and began to flip through the pages of wonderful photos, being sure to tilt the magazine so that Xavier (yes, I learned his name while on the flight) could see it.  Later, I nonchallantly flipped through photos on my laptop for him to see.  And I’m not sure if it completely was enthralling, but he did look over quite a bit.  So maybe I made his trip a little less monotonous.

Anyway, I finally reached Fort Lauderdale after a long day of travelling and delays and no food, and my dad was there waiting at the exit for me so that we could fetch my luggage.  We drove to his house in Pompano Beach, had salad with fish–

WAIT.  Fish?

Yes, I ate fish, and will eat fish over this holiday.  It’s hard to avoid, and I’m not picky enough or a bitch enough or even someone who cares enough to refuse.  So, yes, I had fish.

–sat around on the porch and chatted, et cetera.  He mentioned that I should blog about my trip as a start to my dream career of being on the Travel Chanel.  As ridiculous as it is, I thought I’d do that.  So, expect some blogs from me over these next two weeks.  Hopefully nothing daily; I wouldn’t want to read that, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to, either.  And, who knows, maybe this will be the start to my fabulous life as a professional traveller.

Or maybe I’ll just share with you my adventures.  You know, same same, but different.

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Holidays in the Sun

…but not too much in the sun.  Just enough for Zooey Deschannel to be proud of me and sing along, being adorable and such.

Tomorrow morning, I take out on a flight to Florida to visit my dad for nearly two weeks.  We’ll probably head the beach (Atlantic side, thank goodness), visit some family down there, and meander around the state.  We were thinking of the going to the new Harry Potter park in Universal Studios, but between the 100+ dollar ticket price and the massive lines and waiting times from it being just opened a week, I’m thinking NO.  I’ve spent my fair share gushing over what house I’d be at Hogwarts (Slytherin), wearing my Hogwarts messenger bag, reading the books, and dressing up as Hermione Granger, but I just can’t see myself forking all of that time and money over for a mediocre time.  I told one of my sisters today that I might as well just plan something out with friend for after university, when the lines are shorter and we can plan a multiple day trip down there and stay at a resort.  Personally, that would be much more enjoyable.

But I shall be off and about until the middle of July, so don’t be expecting me too much on Facebook or the like.

On a completely separate note, I gave my first official tour at work yesterday, and it went really well.  I felt like the seven year old artist afterwards saying, “I did such a good job!  Look at what I did!”  Yeah, I was that kid in my head and for the first five minutes after I got back from the tour.  Great day, great group, great conversations about politics and cooking, and great times spent reading National Geographic and sipping lemonade.  Unpaid labour has its upsides.

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Animosity, Wow!

(Note: I originally tried to hide this from third parties, but because of the drama and hurt I caused with it, I’m putting it fully into the open.  I better ready myself for deleting the spam comments.  There will be a follow up blog or two to explain some actions.  But you won’t see the full repercussions.)

Woah.  Just woah.  Where the hell have I been?  Has it really been more than two weeks since I updated?  Have I really said ‘ef it’ to everything online?  Yeah, turns out.  Somehow, I’ve ended up with only two public posts so far in May, which is a major turn around from my average of twelve, post-non-depression.  Oh wait, I’m sorry, let me put that in layman terms: I posted a shit tonne when I was depressed and stressed with school.  Now, I just sit in my room and internet around, or I’m flitting off with friends, having adventures and catching shit on fire.

Should I say that?  Adventures and fire?  Will that go against me?  We’ll pretend it won’t.

All right, making a mad dash to fill in crap.  Feel privileged–I haven’t even been writing in my diary because I’ve either been doing too much or just haven’t cared.  I guess that’s what summer does to you.  So, where do I begin?  Well, I’m still unpacking (my room looks ganky as fack; I can’t wait for everything to be put in its rightful place), I’ve hung out with my friends literally every day for nearly two weeks, and I don’t have a job.

Let’s start with the friends department.  We’ve been hanging out, catching up, blah blah blah: enjoyable.  Some friends and I meandered to the Renaissance Faire today (kick ass, let me tell you), have made far too many trips to Main Street, and have had a few get togethers that have all either ended in a bonfire or watching a movie or both.  Somehow, we end up adding gossiping like bitches and throwing dance parties into that mix, which then leads to trips to Steak and Shake in the dead of night.  I don’t know how this happens.

Something I do know that happens, and will most likely happen until the end of time, is that our friends will find gossip and drama to parade around.  Whether it be talking too much about the girls who are preggers or getting pissed off about not being invited to watch a television show that you don’t even like watching, we manage to claw at each other when backs are turned.

Now, I realise that this is just girl life (though how that ever became a standard, I’m unsure of), but damn it!  Can’t some people just hide their bitch-card once in a while?  For heaven’s sakes; I have a friend mad about not being invited to a small get together and another mad at me for eating a slice of pizza that I paid for.  And then the smart Facebook statuses full of complaints about it?  Really girls: get over it.  We’re all bitches to each other, so don’t feel so hurt.

I sound really negative, maybe on the edge of upset, but I’m not.  My mum even commented that I take social drama more maturely than anyone she’s ever met.  I don’t let my emotions get involved, and it’s why I am rarely disappointed or upset or angered over things that happen.  Not to mention that I accept the fact that I’m not everyone’s best friend and thus will not be invited to every little get-together.  I accept that I make other people uncomfortable at dance parties and that you’re afraid to touch me (unless you’re Alex, who decided to-hell-with-it and gave me a four second-long lap dance at a party because everyone else was too intimidated by me.  You win, Alex!).  I’m fully aware that people say mean things behind others’ backs then smile at them ten minutes later.  It’s kind of life, so I don’t get upset by this petty drama or how people treat me.  Getting bothered seems like a waste of time.

I guess I’m just trying to say that I wish others didn’t feel the need to be so upset by such small things.  No wonder heart-failure is so prevalent in this country: everyone is constantly moving fast and getting angry.  We all need to chill; have a Meditation With Missi day.  It will be glorious.  I promise.

Meanwhile, no job.  Not surprising, actually.  With this economy, even my friend who has applied for seventeen jobs can’t manage to grab one (and she’s one of the workers people should fight over).  You could say that I’ve given up without trying all that much.  After all, the Historical Society must need me in order to bring me in, and without the need, you might as well sit back and think of other things.  That ‘other thing’  for me has been painting.  I recently decided to start a miniature painting business (as in, I paint you a crappy picture for twenty bucks that you’ll probably hang in your dorm room).  It’s part hobby, part that I need the practise, and part summer job.  Maybe I can paint enough to have a little spending money for the summer (like, an extra fifty dollars, yo).  Nothing high-roller; I think of it more as bartering anyway.  You get a painting, I get a full tank of gas.  That sort of thing.

If you’re interested in purchasing a painting, let me know.  I’m best at abstracts and landscapes.  Give me the information, I’ll tell you size possibilities and prices.  We’ll work this old school.

Anyway, I can’t find much else to say.  This was more of a ‘let me fill you in and be a bitch along the way’ kind of blog.  And to anyone who would be upset by anything said: please take some time to chill and not let little things ruin your life.  You owe it to yourself.

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Oh yes…

…I know where I’ll be this November.  Oh no…I don’t know where I’ll be in two weeks.

Dear goodness, the final weeks are upon us at university, and the realisation that I will be back home in less than two weeks slightly terrifies me.  Part of it is the looming desire to get a job that I just can’t get.  The other part is the angry rumble of finals starting this week and lasting until 7 May, which, by the way, is my birthday.

Now, I won’t say that I feel so old, because damn-it, nineteen was never meant to be old, but I won’t say that I’m particularly thrilled with getting to be another year older.  And it’s funny, too, because I used to scoff at people who feared their next birthday.  Sure, I don’t really fear the 7th.  I’m already an adult, so what can another year do aside from lower my drivers insurance?  But it’s still an odd realisation that I’m two years from drinking age, four from when I’ll have to get my own insurance, and six years from when I hit that middle bump in the twenties.  All of this is coming closer like a squall line.  You see it moving awfully slow, but before you know it, the rain comes.

Squalls have been moving in quite a lot lately, and my window gets pelted with mist and water droplets continuously.  It’s relaxing to just sit with the window open, feeling the mist pour into the room and stick to the cover of a National Geographic in hand.  Because, as we all know, I’m an addict for National Geographic magazines.  Add in some NPR, BBC News, and a cup of tea, and I’m set.  Set to be either educated or a fifty-two year old man: you decide.

Really, though, this grandmum of a girl has no clue where she’s going.  In two weeks, will I be getting calls about my volunteer job that the State said I’d get?  Or will I be listening to some Joanna Newsom and painting?  Never before have I been so fearful of what I’m doing in my future; I’ve always been a planner who knew exactly where she was going.  But the summer is a gaping hole in my vision.  Once uni starts up again, I’ll be right back in the swing of things: I know where I’m living, how my room will be set up, what classes I’ll be taking, the clubs I’ll be in…  I even know that I will be seeing Harry Potter in the theatres and Muse in concert in November.  Oh yes, MUSE!

I rant and rave about my favourite bands–Nickel Creek, Vampire Weekend, Regina Spektor, et cetera–and Muse is no exception.  I’m incredibly blessed to have the opportunity to see them and be in good seats.  The only downside is that buying tickets didn’t go according to plan, so my group will not all be sitting together.  But, such is life.  I figure that I did the best I could, so it’s time to except what it will be, get the fuck over everything, and just muse at, well, Muse.

Anyway, I’ll leave you with a poem.  It’s nothing fantastic, but I feel like I should add some of my more creative works onto this blog as well.

– – –

Invisible and present only to reflections

in glass ponds upon southern streets,

Drift the tears of ghosts once

scattered by the angels.

They miss the sun piercing the hearts;

the hearts of blossoms in mourning

of a spring that never came.

But Mason jars brushed with dust

lie in the arms of the angels

who wait beneath the spektors’ cry.

Sweet circles echo upon the mirrors;

rubbish from the point-of-view

of those so desperate to touch God.

And so, invisible be the mourning,

never viewed by the humans

who pass by the blossoms,

still lit in cold,

but in the pools of glass on southern streets.

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Farmers’ Market

To my friends and readers in the Saint Charles area, I’m thinking that we should go to the local farmers’ market over this summer.  It’s supposedly right by Lindenwood University, and I’d love to check it out.  Here is some information about it from the Missouri Farmers’ Market website.

St. Charles County
Town/City:	St. Charles
Name:	St. Charles Lions Club Farmers’ Market
Open Days:	Saturdays, 7:00 a.m. – Noon May 16 – October 31
Contact Person:	Gerry Shatro
Mailing Address:	907 Lindenwood St. Charles, MO 63301
Phone:	636-723-2412
Directions:	Take Riverside Drive 1 block north of Frontier Park in downtown St. Charles, on the riverfront.

I’ve never heard anything about this market, but if it is really there, you can bet that I will be going each week this summer.  That way, I’ll actually be able to live while home from university.  Seeing as how more than half of my diet is only fresh fruits and vegetables while at school, going home is rough where everything is mixed with meat or the oranges have been in the fridge since I was last home (whaddup four month old oranges?).  My plans are to be able to buy tomatoes, fresh greens, and berries to help sustain me through the week.  Then I’ll supplement my diet with the usual fresh baked bread, humus, cheese, store-bought fruits (bananas, pears, oranges), home-made apple sauce, and lots of chickpeas and red kidney beans.

Ugh.  I overly enjoy healthy food.

So, if you are interested in coming with me this summer, let me know.  And if you have recommendations on other markets, things to try, recipes, et cetera, leave a comment.  I hope you guys can attend a local farmers’ market this summer.  It’s a sure way to get organic and local foods.

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