Yeah...

I'm not sure what made me think I could write 50,000 words in a month, but I am sure that I didn't. I think the proper phrase would be, "She lacks focus."

PPD*

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. Turkey and stuffing and green bean casserole. Family and friends, laughter and games, and arctic winds blowing over the back patio, which we had to make time to stand in.

In my family, we've never had a huge tradition of saying what we're thankful for. We should. Most of us need to take the time to remember what's important, what we should be thankful for. But as it happens, we've all got avenues to exploit to that purpose.

It wasn't until after reading Samia's note on facebook that I even remembered this was part of the tradition. But the truth is, I never know what to be thankful for. I'm thankful for having an EFC of 0, and for finding Kings Quest VI. I'm thankful for my purple coat and my iPod. I'm thankful for rummy and spare change. I'm thankful that I don't have any debilitating diseases or injuries and that I don't live in a country that's always at war.

There's a lot of things that I'm glad I live with and without, but most of them seem like background noise. The things I'm most thankful for aren't things, but people. And there are a lot of them.

I'm thankful for my whole family. Dad, for spoiling me to the bone, and for having given me the wisdom to stick to my principles. Mom, for being so neurotic that it forces me to get the ball rolling, and also for teaching me to be open minded. Jimmy, for being the comedic jackass that he's always been, and for letting me watch while he drew pictures that blew my mind. Joey, for buying my cigarettes when I had no ID, and for being a rock I can always turn to. Samia, Sim-Sim, my sister, for being a total brat who lies and always remembers wrong and tries very hard to make sure I don't dress like I'm blind, and for always making sure I'm okay. And then there's Sawsan and Molouk. I talk like they're the most annoying people in the world, but I've had so much fun with them. And I have to be thankful for Jim. I live in his house.

I'm thankful for my friends. Paul, for pestering me about The StrangeLand and Xiggysisklism, and for having weird philosophical conversations with me deep into the night. Geof, for listening to me pine after girls that will never be interested, and for being my soul-brotha. Chance, who "just went into rap mode," for putting on show tunes and singing at the top of his lungs with Samia and me, and for always making conversation. Travis, Samia's boyfriend, for saving my ass in Halo all the time, and for letting me spend the night at their place so often that I practically live there. Stephanie, for trying to set me up with a girl just a bit too late, and for having a car that always stalled, which always meant up to an hour of us just sitting and talking and chilling with each other. And of course Carissa, for a lot of reasons that I've probably gone into detail about so many times it's pathetic.

There are others. There always are. Just about every teacher I've ever had, but more specifically (in general order of appearance), Denise Shipley, Susan West, James Farmer, Amy Crowson, Heather Spiller, Ginger Haag, Raylene Scott, and Jonni Davis. If I'd never been in their classes, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed high school half as much as I did. Also, maybe Mister Hamm's class.

There's always something to be glad you have, but what I'm the most thankful for is that I have so many people to be thankful for.

Oh. And pumpkin pie. That's the second most important.

*Pumpkin Pie Day

Role Reversal and Revenge of the Bitch, or I Slept on the Couch for That?

Last night, a casual Friday evening. I expected to spend the night fooling around on the computer, avoiding NaNoWriMo (because it's no different than any of the other things in my life I avoid). Maybe do some more animating ( I've finished two walk cycles; neither of them are very good). Then it came to my attention that I could go to my sister's. I gladly went.

I wasn't expecting to spend the night. I had been told by Jim that he would be meeting up with my mom and they would go out and do something and then come pick me up before driving back into Manor (I hate Manor). Then on Saturday morning we would drive to Arlington for Joey's baby's birthday and drive back in the evening. So I go and enjoy myself. I play Halo 3 and we all have some laughs. The usual.

A couple of hours roll by and and I haven't gotten a call yet. I wasn't expecting to be at Samia's for very long. But I'm not worried. If they went out, it's not likely that they'd finish up that fast. So okay.

By this point, Samia has become so restless that she's annoying the crap out of everyone until we go do something. After another hour or so, we finally decide to go to the Shell station to grab supplies and on the way back home, we stop at a coffee shop and get drinks. Now fully stocked, and having nothing else in mind, we start playing rummy. We play for a while, and 10 PM rolls by. I've been at Samia's since six. At this point I am worried.

Mom is not a night owl. She goes to sleep at 8, occasionally 9. She only stays up late when company is over, and even then she starts drifting off. By this time, I've called her several times and she has no answered at all. I call Jim and he informs me that they never met up. He sent her a text, but she never responded. Now I'm really worried. I call Pam to see if mom is with her. Pam does no answer. Okay.

I call Mom one more time and leave a message, "Um, so I've called you, like, four times and you haven't called back at all. And I'm wondering what's going on, so I'd really appreciate it if you call me back so I can stop worrying. Bye."

After another hour, Jim calls me back and says, "Oh, I haven't heard back from your mom, but she mentioned that she was going out with some people from work. She's usually pretty good about checking in by midnight, so don't worry." Well thanks. You couldn't have mentioned she had plans, like, the first time I called? Okay, whatever.

It was an odd reversal of roles. Here I was with a small group of friends, drinking coffee over a game of rummy, and there was Mom, calling in at four past midnight to tell me she was too drunk to drive and that she needed to sober up for a while. "Can you just spend the night at your sister's?"

This would be the place to insert some kind of eye roll.

So everyone went to bed, and I slept on the couch in my jeans, which were too tight to sleep comfortably (they were fine when I just left them unzipped).

In the morning, sleep was fitful. I kept dreaming that it was time to wake up. I weaved in and out of sleep, checking my phone and talking to Mom and listening to Samia mention something about it being six o'clock, or maybe eight and flopping my head back onto the pillow for another five minutes until my alarm finally went off at nine oh nine. I called Mom to ask her to find an item for me, something I was supposed to give back to Geof before I left.

And then she told me that we weren't going. "What?"

As it happens, Mallory canceled the party. Mallory is Joey's baby-mama. Mallory is also a psycho bitch. She canceled five hours before the party was supposed to happen. We hypothesize that this is because she didn't want to be outnumbered by Joey's friends and family. I don't get to see my nephew because she has control issues. Sucks for her. Actually it sucks for the baby. I did a painting for him and now I have no idea when I can give it to them.

So instead, I had three cheese macaroni and Samia's and then went home and played joker with Mom, Jim, and his two older kids. Meh.

The Last Hurdle

I've sent in the application, the transcript, the test scores. I've sent the FAFSA, the financial aid application, the residency form. I have a clear schedule and a murky goal (animation, if you're wondering). There's only one step left, really.

Making an appointment with the student adviser is the last step in the process. The penultimate, if you want to count the student orientation, although I don't. And it's the step that makes it real. It's the step where everything goes from being a thought on many, many papers to being an active part of my life.

I think this is the part that I've been dreading. I'm not sure why, but somewhere in the back of my head, I know that this is the reason I was so reluctant to go to college in the first place. Going to school before was just something I had to do. I wasn't really required to pay any attention beyond a personal quote. Learn enough to get by, put your energy toward getting by in other ways. Put your energy toward growing, toward living, or at least trying to have a life. It didn't occur to me that the experience of being in school was more important than most of what I put my energy into. And I don't mean learning. That was part of it, of course. I probably should've tried harder, gotten better grades, devoted more time to studying and actually learning to write papers instead of forever half-assing them. But I don't really think it matters in the end. A grade on a paper has only ever been an indicator of my place in some strange competition. It feels good to rank high, but in the end, would that be all I meant to anyone?

I just mean being there, at that time, with those people in my life. The sad part of high school for me was that I never kept a friend more than a few months. At the longest, I had them for a school year, but usually never past a semester. There were two exceptions to this: Paul and David. I'm not sure how Paul scooted under the gate, but he managed, and now I'm stuck with him. Or he's stuck to me, anyway. I'll get to David in a minute.

I don't know that it was anything these short-lived friends did. Sometimes, yes. But not always. So many times, I just remember thinking, "I just don't feel like this is the person." I could laugh and joke with them. But there was nothing there that made me feel like I couldn't live without them. So I lived without them, to a certain extent.

The few times I did find a group of friends that I could really stick with, I was wrong. High school drama reared it's ugly head. Adolescent bull shit came in right after. The first time, it wasn't my fault. I wanted everything to be okay between all of them. But things happened with them that I wasn't any part of, and people can't always forgive. So we let each other go.

The next time, it was me who made the mistake. The whole "wrong crowd" business. David, who will forever be my fucked up, bipolar, druggie buddy. David and his whole crowd. I would walk to his house and we'd sit in his room together, waiting for nightfall. We would prowl the streets with a group of friends, always fucked up on Triple Cs. We'd roam the mall in this same state, enjoying the rickety high and the flashing lights. We tried to get into other drugs, but something always went wrong. Like the time we payed $140 (forty of which I contributed) to get E, only to find out that we'd actually only bought menstrual pills. We'd been had and we were laughed at. But nobody did anything about it. The dealer lost cred and we lost dignity. What could we do? So we just went out and got messed up on something else.

It took me a long time to realize that I couldn't be a part of his crowd. We would have these moments. They would talk about the old days, when they were constantly high on cocaine. How much they wanted it again. And I said no. I said I wouldn't let them. They were my friends, and I wasn't gonna watch them waste away on THAT. And they said shut up. Who are you to tell us how to live? You've never even done it, you don't know what it's like. Damn straight I don't, but I know that shit's bad for you. I know I don't want you guys to do it. Fuck off, they told me. And so I did. I was giving up on the things we did because I knew they were messing me up. But I couldn't do anything for them. And I couldn't watch them.

David and I kept in contact for a while, until he moved to Las Vegas. I don't hear much from him anymore.

It wasn't until the middle of senior year that I found Geof, my new brother. By summer, Paul had joined the group. Paul, who's been around since puberty struck, even when I wasn't paying him any attention.

High school was a series of bad memories, when I think about it. But even with all of that, I can't possibly imagine hating it. Because it wasn't just about the big things. It wasn't about the losses among friends, or the gains among teachers. The grades or the parties. It was in stupid little moments. Ones that just got me through the day. A good joke in first period. A hug in the hallway before class. Taco rolls. Even the dumb ass conversations over AIM after school was over.

Then there was the red-head in creative writing.

I think what finally got me to accept the idea of going to college was those moments. You don't get moments like that sitting around a house. You don't get them watching TV or reading comics on the internet. You get them when you put yourself in a place with other people. And I can no longer stand not being around other people.

So it'll be a good thing I have to go talk to an adviser. Uncomfortable for me, yes. But then I can go out to the real world where other people are.

OH MY GOD I'LL PUNCH YOU NOW

All of my conversations with Geof are about his girlfriend. This is not a bad thing, talking about girlfriends and such. I would be perfectly happy for him. Except for one eensy-weensy, little, tiny thing.

All he does is complain. And not in such a way as to give the impression of "Oh, I love my girlfriend. I don't care that she cuts her toenails in the living room," complaining. It's more like, "Oh, she withholds fun time relations for no reason, then jumps my bones (in a virginity-intact kind of way), and then later acts like I've repeatedly raped her." Or maybe, "She refused to stop asking me about a past relationship until I told her all the details my sexual history and then locked herself in her room and refused to speak to me, and then comes out and pretends I'm not there and then goes batshit fucking insane. Moreso, anyway."

If the way that I've phrased things sounds amusing, then I have not explained things the same way he has. You see, he complains to me about these things. Often and at great length. But does he ever do shit about it? Noooooooooo. He just takes it. And takes it. And takes it. And those were just two fairly recent examples.

Every time he brings this stuff up, I just want to scream, "BREAK THE FUCK UP WITH HER!" She drives him insane with guilt over things that he has no reason to feel guilty over. She goes crazy and blames it on PMS. Every time she goes on a trip, she comes back not wanting him to touch her at all. She makes up stupid rules that "all decent guys" would supposedly follow, which no one in their right mind would give a flying fuck about, by the way. There's a whole host of other fucked up things that she makes him worry about, and it's like...

Ugh. Get a grip. Man up and tell her that she's being a douche. If I could go up to the black hole of doom and tell her how stupid all the shit she gives him is, how silly her insecurities are, how much she just needs to chill the fuck out, and possibly punch her in the face for giving him so much grief, I would. I really would. But I can't, and I'm not his mother anyway.

Well, I probably wouldn't do that last bit. I mean, I'm pretty sure Jesse would quite properly kick my ass if I tried. Still, when she starts frustrating her boyfriend so much that it sends me into screaming rages...

On another note, Sugar Rush is an awesome show, and the first season was disturbingly easy to relate to in some ways. I'm pissed that it was canceled after only two seasons.

I Metaknow.

You must know that feeling, when you have a certain word in mind? You can see what it means, the vague shape of the syllables drifting from your lips. You try to bring it out, but it sits at the tip of the tongue, grasping firmly to the sides of your mouth, not ready to leave. You know you know the answer. If you heard it, your only thought would be, "I already knew that!" It's one of those frustrating "Oh" moments.

I feel like that a lot lately. Like I know I know where my life is supposed to go, but I can't find it, no matter far to the edges of my brain I probe. It makes me want to scream, "I see it, I see it, but how do I do it!?"

It makes me ask what to do. And I know this is irritating to the people around me, because they tell me. They tell me what to do and I already know that's not right. Moreover, I know I can't search for it that way.

Lately I've been praying. I haven't been praying on my knees, hands clasped and eyes closed, asking forgiveness and strength. I already asked for those. I've been praying for help to pry this knowledge loose from the edge of the brain and the tip of the tongue, and for the motivation to move toward it. If it worked once...

Of course, I could just be pulling all this out from my frustration over FAFSA and getting all the proper things in order for my college application. I hate bureaucracy.

NaNoWriMo

I found out about NaNoWriMo when I was about fourteen or fifteen. I always thought it was a cool idea, but this is the first year that I actually remembered in time to sign up for it. I brought Paul in on it too, and now we're both exchanging the stuff we've got. Since I've already posted the first chapter (prologue?) on a new blog, I figured it wouldn't hurt to link from here. From now on, I'll be posting each chapter there as I finish them.

Here's to hoping I can hit 50,000.

Happy Wednesday.

I won't talk about how every year since I was 12 or 13, Halloween has been either boring, lonely, or excruciatingly painful. Senior year, I decided I wouldn't even bother with it anymore. I backslid by getting excited and wasting money that was not mine on a costume, but, as per usual, Halloween put me in my place. In the reality of my world, no such day exists, and it's certainly not a reason for me to do anything fun. People dress up in horror costumes because the date just happens to be October 31st. That is both weird and morbid.

Instead, I will be telling you about my 31st, which was slightly better than the average Wednesday. I started by waking up at 1:00 in the afternoon (which is not unusual, since I usually stay up until four in the morning). I proceeded to start my laundry and watch Amelie. You can't really do both of those at once, so I put off the laundry, but I managed to get my jeans and my sheets done before my mom got home. She had me call my sister to find out if money was the only reason she didn't want me to come hang out with her and her friends tonight, because if that was it, Mom would give me cash, so I called, and that wasn't it, and then I hung up.

Mom and I were gonna go see a movie, so I got showered and dressed and then, for some weird reason, she comes into my room in a costume that I'm guessing was supposed to be a vampire. She changed into normal people clothes, and we went to Trudy's, where I had enchiladas that are now trying to undigest themselves. I sort of zoned out while we were there. She and Jim were talking about things, and it's very distracting to sit in a restaurant and be surrounded by all these morbid, cartoon skulls and ghosts and other decorations. Some guy was dressed as a bloodied clown with a little buddy clown attached to his stomach (this I did not understand). His head was very shiny. Some other guy was in drag (we hypothesized that it was not his first time in a skirt). Every once in a while, I chimed back into whatever the conversation was, but mostly it was them talking about stuff that I didn't really feel compelled to talk about.

After dinner, Mom and I went and got tickets to Rendition. The movie didn't start until 9:40, so we went to The Container Store (where filing cabinets are cute) and then Whole Foods to pick up a special blend of coffee (mostly because they are too good for regular coffee). We then went back to the theater to enjoy the movie, which was awesome. There were parts that threw me, Reese Witherspoon made my cry harder than I did when I saw the preview, and Meryl Streep was (as usual) awesome.

After that, we went home, and I proceeded to catch up on Grey's Anatomy, Pushing Daisies, and Heroes.

So, yeah. That was the 31st. Just another Wednesday.