Thus far in the semester, my classes seem superb. There is still some heart ache over dropping Latin, but the other classes more than make up for it. I have to attend 3 music concerts, an Opera, a production studio, Much Ado About Nothing at the Babcock Theatre, attend 3 poetry/fiction/plays/lectures/exhibits. So here is how I see it, the required attendances could be used for the last one, but why would I want to cheat myself of the excuse to go see an assortment of rich cultural performances?
Latin would have tacked on two more, which I would still like to attend, they are the Classical Greek Theater Festival of Utah’s Production of Euripedes’ Medea, this is performed outside on the grass right by Pioneer Memorial Theater, and it is free; the second is Mark Miner’s performance of selections from Virgil’s Aeneid at Westminster College.
Huzzah for professor’s that thrive on the beauty of the arts.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Worst Fears
My worst fears have been realized, I miss music, wholeheartedly in my life. I miss playing in an orchestra and band, but most of all I miss the Bassoon. Admittedly, I was not dedicated, and was swayed after High School to stop playing.
I no longer had access to a bassoon, but my heart would never stop yearning. After I had been married for a year, my husband got me a digital piano, the perfect size for our pint size apartment. It is a connection to the ethereal, but in this busy world it seems there is still no time.
Ryan on the other hand makes time for his musical love and as he does so the rest of his life comes into balance. His guitars are displayed in our apartment for easy access for his constant playing urges. He inspires me, by far my musical superior, and he lives his life like he plays.
It is impressive, and freeing, not tied down to just one way of thinking, constantly evolving. His musical style has changed since I have met him, and its just one of the many things that leaves me in awe.
Last night I had my 3 hour long Opera Appreciation class. It was fantastic. The music touched me in ways that I had long forgotten. The beauty of opera energizes me, it is a pleasant change to the grinding metal of construction. For the class we are going to attend Capitol Theatre’s Madame Butterfly, and I am happily anticipating the date.
At least if I can’t play the bassoon, I can appreciate the performances of others who do.
I no longer had access to a bassoon, but my heart would never stop yearning. After I had been married for a year, my husband got me a digital piano, the perfect size for our pint size apartment. It is a connection to the ethereal, but in this busy world it seems there is still no time.
Ryan on the other hand makes time for his musical love and as he does so the rest of his life comes into balance. His guitars are displayed in our apartment for easy access for his constant playing urges. He inspires me, by far my musical superior, and he lives his life like he plays.
It is impressive, and freeing, not tied down to just one way of thinking, constantly evolving. His musical style has changed since I have met him, and its just one of the many things that leaves me in awe.
Last night I had my 3 hour long Opera Appreciation class. It was fantastic. The music touched me in ways that I had long forgotten. The beauty of opera energizes me, it is a pleasant change to the grinding metal of construction. For the class we are going to attend Capitol Theatre’s Madame Butterfly, and I am happily anticipating the date.
At least if I can’t play the bassoon, I can appreciate the performances of others who do.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Over Done
Some things to know about me.
I like things for their uniqueness, and that uniqueness is stripped away from whatever when it is over played, used, seen etc. Variety is the spice of life, why should I force feed myself the same commercials, the same songs, the same haircut, the same style, the same things as everyone else. It logically makes no sense to me, and seems like mindless little lemmings have taken over.
Lemmings, ah the good ol’ days when you were taught as a child how to control lemmings, let them sacrifice each other and other manipulative things. It seems we were in fact in training to manipulate everything around us.
I feel like that when I hear the same answers to questions from 10 different people, its disconcerting, like we really have less decision in life than we give ourselves credit for. Making decisions, and finding things on our own accord is the adventure. Its awesome, and it is dreadfully awful to see something once loved turned on its head and become overplayed drivel.
Jason Mraz’ I’m Yours is one such victim. We played this song at our wedding, on our slideshow, wedding video, because I bought the EP 2 years ago, when it was newly released and still unknown, and I loved it.
2 years later its everywhere, everyone plays it, you can hear it in cars next to you when you are stopped at a light. Poor Jason, he is too talented to want just one song of his to be everywhere, he’d much rather prefer it to be 4-5 songs moderately played and he is too rebellious to want it to be one of his less witty songs.
A way for Angie to avoid the manipulation of marketing is through Pandora Radio. Made by the music genome project to show how you can jumpstart your own personal radio station with just one song, or band. You can skip songs and tell the station you don’t like it, the future of radio indeed and there are no commercials, and its free.
Last FM is obnoxious, and I hated it, Pandora is far superior. Check it out, Pandora.com and never have to fall victim to overplayed songs!
I like things for their uniqueness, and that uniqueness is stripped away from whatever when it is over played, used, seen etc. Variety is the spice of life, why should I force feed myself the same commercials, the same songs, the same haircut, the same style, the same things as everyone else. It logically makes no sense to me, and seems like mindless little lemmings have taken over.
Lemmings, ah the good ol’ days when you were taught as a child how to control lemmings, let them sacrifice each other and other manipulative things. It seems we were in fact in training to manipulate everything around us.
I feel like that when I hear the same answers to questions from 10 different people, its disconcerting, like we really have less decision in life than we give ourselves credit for. Making decisions, and finding things on our own accord is the adventure. Its awesome, and it is dreadfully awful to see something once loved turned on its head and become overplayed drivel.
Jason Mraz’ I’m Yours is one such victim. We played this song at our wedding, on our slideshow, wedding video, because I bought the EP 2 years ago, when it was newly released and still unknown, and I loved it.
2 years later its everywhere, everyone plays it, you can hear it in cars next to you when you are stopped at a light. Poor Jason, he is too talented to want just one song of his to be everywhere, he’d much rather prefer it to be 4-5 songs moderately played and he is too rebellious to want it to be one of his less witty songs.
A way for Angie to avoid the manipulation of marketing is through Pandora Radio. Made by the music genome project to show how you can jumpstart your own personal radio station with just one song, or band. You can skip songs and tell the station you don’t like it, the future of radio indeed and there are no commercials, and its free.
Last FM is obnoxious, and I hated it, Pandora is far superior. Check it out, Pandora.com and never have to fall victim to overplayed songs!
Monday, August 25, 2008
My Kitty
My Kitty
My Kitty died on Friday. I know I haven’t lived at home for quite some time but I was pretty devastated by it. She was beautiful. She’d eat ice cream with me, she was adorable. One of the most social cats I have known.
These past 3-4 years she’s been on a heavy decline, not running around pouncing on bugs, string and ping pong balls, not really doing much of anything other than sleeping. I teased her something awful, we all did, but we loved her immensely.
I got the call around 5:30 on Saturday, and none of them expected me to dash over. And so dash I did to look at my Kitty for one last time and sit around with my family as we went over what we remembered. It was good, she doesn’t suffer from arthritis now and she won’t get anymore cysts in her eyes.
Poor Kitty, we all loved her, she was old, admittably, full grown when we got her when I was 10, I’m coming up on 22 so we had her for 12 years. She was a member of the family, always fun to see when I’d go visit my parents and she was very social, she loved people, and she was so nice to little kids.
Goodbye Tipper, my friend, my pet, my solace.
My Kitty died on Friday. I know I haven’t lived at home for quite some time but I was pretty devastated by it. She was beautiful. She’d eat ice cream with me, she was adorable. One of the most social cats I have known.
These past 3-4 years she’s been on a heavy decline, not running around pouncing on bugs, string and ping pong balls, not really doing much of anything other than sleeping. I teased her something awful, we all did, but we loved her immensely.
I got the call around 5:30 on Saturday, and none of them expected me to dash over. And so dash I did to look at my Kitty for one last time and sit around with my family as we went over what we remembered. It was good, she doesn’t suffer from arthritis now and she won’t get anymore cysts in her eyes.
Poor Kitty, we all loved her, she was old, admittably, full grown when we got her when I was 10, I’m coming up on 22 so we had her for 12 years. She was a member of the family, always fun to see when I’d go visit my parents and she was very social, she loved people, and she was so nice to little kids.
Goodbye Tipper, my friend, my pet, my solace.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The Inability to Say No and the Return to Gumption
I’ve noticed something I find interesting, my morning rants are less of a rambled mess and have a pattern of an overlaying meaning embedded inside. I’m not sure if that means that these are more successful or less. I am tired. I have 4 days until a blissful rest, but I feel that looking ahead to much is not a good pattern for me. This is a circle I continuously get caught in as I get involved with something, feel overwhelmed, and look for its end. Really not the healthiest way to live, but I feel like I’m not a lone in this, in fact I see it daily on the faces of people I interact with. It seems life is passing me by but time goes to fast, my days weeks and months have all speedily sped past me. Few things really make me realize how quick everything is going, because usually I am right along piling things on my plate.
I feel like the kid in line at the cafeteria who says more please, and instead of getting a little more, the tray is so full I can barely manage to carry it. Sometimes I wonder if people really know how much is going on for me when they ask me to do something else, because I have this awful tendency of not being able to say no. I think it must be hereditary, or a trait I learned too well.
Anyway, now, as I have embarked on my own and have my own family unit, now I cannot say no. I think it drives Ryan nuts, and somehow he puts up with all of the nonsense that me saying yes to doing everything accomplishes. Last summer after all my classes, I was beat, worse than beat, I was a limp scraggly noodle, like the one that gets over cooked and is sad and pretty gross on the bottom of the pan. Well Ryan is a genius and knows me and my own sad little ambitions all too well, he made me take fall semester off. I benefited hugely from the escape and was so bored with all the new found time I had that I was and still am super thrilled to be back and at it again.
School excites me, and for those it doesn’t I don’t think they have given the whole learning process a fair shot. Although, I hate when papers are left for me to read because someone thinks I will benefit from the information. I like choosing what I read, and almost take people reading things to me as a threat of war. I guess it is just all in how they approach the topic and convince me that they are sharing whatever they are sharing because they are educated on it, or because they are genuinely just sharing. When people share things because they think I need to hear it I typically plug my ears and feel infuriated that they think they know what I need better than I do? It is pretty silly, but I remember countless experiences where my mom would pick out articles and make me read them, and I was severely scarred from the experience.
Just yesterday she left something on our kitchen table quite near to Ryan’s Mac, and I read it happily when I saw it, thinking perhaps Ryan had printed it out. After I read it, I realized it was too cutesy for Ryan’s taste and that I knew my mom was dropping by to pick something up, and so the gears began to turn and an intense feeling of trickery and mischief leaped through me. She had left it for me to read. The feeling grew until I was sure of it and then felt beguiled, but I would not know for sure until Ryan told me, and so I waited and while I waited I played a slew of ridiculous messages explaining to me the fastest way to get out of my neighborhood to somewhere else. I just started laughing, how ridiculous could this be? And who would suppose I needed any instruction? Ah yes the ludicrousness was overwhelming, but instead of getting mad, I just laughed and kept laughing, Ryan opened the door to my giggling and was quite confused, and I wasn’t done, there were still 3-4 more messages, starting out “Angie I was wrong, you do this”. I got a pretty big kick out of it, as I felt my free will being stripped of me and my resiliency to take another route fortified.
We hiked Ensign Peak a very small jaunt, and not at all a big hike, but I have discovered something. I have sad little feet that are not strong and are too used to small activity as opposed to hiking; small activity being walking on sidewalk, as opposed to a trail on a mountain. Poor little feet, they are still not very happy with me, but they will get stronger. Other good news, my legs have muscle! Its pretty exciting for me and I am still at a quandary as to how to get upper body strength. Ryan says since I can’t do any pushups, that I should do a pushup a day for a week and then two, and so on. He’s been suggesting this for months but I always find some excuse or other, but I think after writing this, it proves it has been on my mind and therefore I should try.
So, if I can get lower body strength, I am sure that somehow, and with lots of work, I can get upper. I am kind of scared to tax my body too heavily, but that is part of the reason to get into shape. I found out that appearances are far from accurate and that I have a higher risk for certain diseases because of the lack of exercise in my life.
We got the Wii fit, but I need to have the resolve to use it daily, which at this point, from a lack of time, I seem to not have. Well here goes gumption and hoping something comes from it.
I feel like the kid in line at the cafeteria who says more please, and instead of getting a little more, the tray is so full I can barely manage to carry it. Sometimes I wonder if people really know how much is going on for me when they ask me to do something else, because I have this awful tendency of not being able to say no. I think it must be hereditary, or a trait I learned too well.
Anyway, now, as I have embarked on my own and have my own family unit, now I cannot say no. I think it drives Ryan nuts, and somehow he puts up with all of the nonsense that me saying yes to doing everything accomplishes. Last summer after all my classes, I was beat, worse than beat, I was a limp scraggly noodle, like the one that gets over cooked and is sad and pretty gross on the bottom of the pan. Well Ryan is a genius and knows me and my own sad little ambitions all too well, he made me take fall semester off. I benefited hugely from the escape and was so bored with all the new found time I had that I was and still am super thrilled to be back and at it again.
School excites me, and for those it doesn’t I don’t think they have given the whole learning process a fair shot. Although, I hate when papers are left for me to read because someone thinks I will benefit from the information. I like choosing what I read, and almost take people reading things to me as a threat of war. I guess it is just all in how they approach the topic and convince me that they are sharing whatever they are sharing because they are educated on it, or because they are genuinely just sharing. When people share things because they think I need to hear it I typically plug my ears and feel infuriated that they think they know what I need better than I do? It is pretty silly, but I remember countless experiences where my mom would pick out articles and make me read them, and I was severely scarred from the experience.
Just yesterday she left something on our kitchen table quite near to Ryan’s Mac, and I read it happily when I saw it, thinking perhaps Ryan had printed it out. After I read it, I realized it was too cutesy for Ryan’s taste and that I knew my mom was dropping by to pick something up, and so the gears began to turn and an intense feeling of trickery and mischief leaped through me. She had left it for me to read. The feeling grew until I was sure of it and then felt beguiled, but I would not know for sure until Ryan told me, and so I waited and while I waited I played a slew of ridiculous messages explaining to me the fastest way to get out of my neighborhood to somewhere else. I just started laughing, how ridiculous could this be? And who would suppose I needed any instruction? Ah yes the ludicrousness was overwhelming, but instead of getting mad, I just laughed and kept laughing, Ryan opened the door to my giggling and was quite confused, and I wasn’t done, there were still 3-4 more messages, starting out “Angie I was wrong, you do this”. I got a pretty big kick out of it, as I felt my free will being stripped of me and my resiliency to take another route fortified.
We hiked Ensign Peak a very small jaunt, and not at all a big hike, but I have discovered something. I have sad little feet that are not strong and are too used to small activity as opposed to hiking; small activity being walking on sidewalk, as opposed to a trail on a mountain. Poor little feet, they are still not very happy with me, but they will get stronger. Other good news, my legs have muscle! Its pretty exciting for me and I am still at a quandary as to how to get upper body strength. Ryan says since I can’t do any pushups, that I should do a pushup a day for a week and then two, and so on. He’s been suggesting this for months but I always find some excuse or other, but I think after writing this, it proves it has been on my mind and therefore I should try.
So, if I can get lower body strength, I am sure that somehow, and with lots of work, I can get upper. I am kind of scared to tax my body too heavily, but that is part of the reason to get into shape. I found out that appearances are far from accurate and that I have a higher risk for certain diseases because of the lack of exercise in my life.
We got the Wii fit, but I need to have the resolve to use it daily, which at this point, from a lack of time, I seem to not have. Well here goes gumption and hoping something comes from it.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Just A Hope Skip and A Way to Wisconsin
I’m setting off again, a week before the journey to Wisconsin. I am so excited to go back there. No one will judge me so much as they do here. No one will be too pleased that darling angie has a bikini, but I have my excuse, and my one piece. Ryan will see normal relations that I do not know very much about, but I will return to a place where time will not run near so fast and a day can include thousands of adventures and happenings and delicious fresh picked out of the garden food!
With such a beautiful adventure in front of me its no wonder I am salivating to start writing, to let my ever obstinate and ever antagonistic voice be heard. To delight as the car breaks down in Nebraska once more and the stories that a plane ride would never include are a must in the 24 hour non stop drive roadtrip. I am cowering as to what to write, I just know that I must, that this grey haze I have had for weeks, not departing when I satisfy what I think I must be craving, will be satisfied and the sun and serotonin from being in the country will rejuvenate my weary bones.
You laugh, weary bones, why I am only 21, I should not be decrepid until I am 60. Well my body has played many mean tricks as to disguising my real age. Most of the tricks I had my fair share in, but the balance and lack thereof I blame on the body I am inhabiting. No matter how I put it, I am out of shape, the failed hike on Saturday more than pointed that out. I may have delightful hiking boots but my calves, thighs, back and arms have suggested that I am ages older than 21. They tell me that I hope in vain to be in shape again, or for the first time ever, but there resistance merely invigorates me. I must tame my own frailty and mold it into being in shape as opposed to “a shape”. I am not obese, I will never be, but I am not the fittest or healthiest I should aspire to be.
I dream of going to a world where the TV stays off and the internet is not used all day. I dream of being not in a office, but, in a library with books; outside soaking up the rays and with it the glorious serotonin that is severely absent from my daily routine. I dream of looking down the road and not seeing a car for miles, for having the closest public venue be a bar/gas station/ miniature golf place ¼ of a mile a way. I dream of looking up at the stars and not needing to drive away from the city to see what I see here after driving 15 miles up the canyon. I fantasize about talking to much and knowing people too well.
It would be so different from my current 40 hour a week expectations as I realize I do not have a full conversation with anyone. There are the occasional more in depth conversations, but nothing profound, nothing that excites the writer inside of me. The writer in me is asleep waiting for a road trip just days away. She’s probably praying for adventure and something more exciting than watching movies the whole way there, while I am too scared to think of packing, not really knowing what ought to come with me and what needn’t.
I’m excited to get to know my family again, to be stuck with Joshy and Jon and really know them more than the birthday dinner and occasional phone call/ work drop in allows. And to meet new people and know them. I dream of a place where time slows down and it would seem the important things are the only relevant issues. A place where I do not always feel forced to say yes and comply. A place where I am more than a worker.
Its apparent you need a vacation when you cannot think straight about anything else.
I obviously am in serious need for one. Why has it taken me so long to get to this place? Well a better question is when could I go on a full blown affordable trip? Certain things have just held me back and stuck sitting in an office day after day seeing my youth pass me by, but at the same time I have been putting myself and my husband through college, and that is worth all the hard work and then some. It seemed that all the summers before the trips happened before August, but Joshy’s overachieving ness has made the trip take place shortly before classes commence.
He is getting/has gotten his associates in finance, or something close to that like accounting. Well since he was in classes this summer, the trip is starting this Friday. I am very excited, and hope for a world that is not tainted by the fine line of nostalgia and reality. I hope to see this world through a middle ground perspective, still maintaining the magic and mystery and joy I ever place in my heart when I reminisce.
I have not been back for years. Whenever my family went back I was stuck working or in school. It seems there has been a long call on my return and with it the serenity that a lush green country can inspire.
Last Semester I read a Grimm’s Fairytale that was rather similar to the adventure lying in my wait. It was about a return to yesterday. A girl had a fairy friend and kept the friend as long as she was a child and did not tell anyone about him. She grows up and cannot be friends with him any longer. When she is older and has a daughter of her own, her daughter becomes friends with this same fairy. The girl tells her husband about the fairy and that night all of the fairies leave the forest.
Its kindof sad and thoughtprovoking, especially where children’s literature is concerned. It expresses and explains the fragility of childhood and the relationship between the adult and the child. The mother remembers, but makes the child grow up too. The same seesaw is used in Peter Pan. It is the mother who tells her children about Peter Pan, and thus they are able to pretend about him. The mother gives them the tools but the world they create is very much their own, and the mother is alien to it.
A lot of classic children’s literature has an interesting separation between the adults and the children. Most Grimm’s Fairytales kill off or separate the child from the parents in order to make it a children’s story. I feel like order and routine have silently wound their way into my life and choking off the creative stream from my throat. I feel starved for creativity to be more unique and different, never desiring the sameness I inflict on others.
Well no one said I was perfect, in fact, I’m not sure if I would want to be, and wouldn’t perfection be in the eye of the beholder? Ah subjection how thou dost slay me and pacify me in the normal society cage. Why hast thou chosen me as thy victim? Why couldst not I exist without the barricades placed upon the world by Plato and Protestantism? Why do I increasingly feel paranoid and wonder if people spy upon me and proclaim me crazed? Why must I feel responsible for the idiocy of my fellow men? Why cannot I exist without? Why do people put me and my values in a box? People were not meant to be caged, they were meant to live, to be free, to know others and enjoy company, to not be alien, to be nice and not mean and not evil and not sue happy. It is a terribly frustrating world, and it feels as though others are so desensitized by it that to care is a crime. Well then make me a criminal.
I had better prefer to be thought as doing something, as opposed to watching everything go down the drain; its not fair for children to be brought up in a world where everything has a negative connotation. There is good, its just hiding afraid from the ACLU as they proclaim everything gray and make someone who is offended by something that inspires goodness a normal every day threat, as they tear down the hope and unity we all desire and leaving in its wake Politically Correctness, never knowing what is ok and what isn’t, rules changing everyday, and fear the cousin to Politically Correctness.
Well I’m done walking on eggshells, I exist therefore I am, I think therefore I feel different, I speculate and theorize and that makes me unnormal. I want to live a life where I do not feel in danger of not angering anyone, by perhaps angering everyone?
I’m tired of seeing hate and fear in differences, I’d rather see love and understanding, isn’t that what cultural appreciation is all about? Isn’t it about learning from each other and both benefiting, as opposed to one person taking it all? That child obviously never learned or needed to share, and perhaps it was never disciplined, or disciplined too much. This is ridiculous, I hope I am not alone in seeing the insane ludicrousness.
I want out, perhaps Canada will do, just a hope skip and a way to Wisconsin.
With such a beautiful adventure in front of me its no wonder I am salivating to start writing, to let my ever obstinate and ever antagonistic voice be heard. To delight as the car breaks down in Nebraska once more and the stories that a plane ride would never include are a must in the 24 hour non stop drive roadtrip. I am cowering as to what to write, I just know that I must, that this grey haze I have had for weeks, not departing when I satisfy what I think I must be craving, will be satisfied and the sun and serotonin from being in the country will rejuvenate my weary bones.
You laugh, weary bones, why I am only 21, I should not be decrepid until I am 60. Well my body has played many mean tricks as to disguising my real age. Most of the tricks I had my fair share in, but the balance and lack thereof I blame on the body I am inhabiting. No matter how I put it, I am out of shape, the failed hike on Saturday more than pointed that out. I may have delightful hiking boots but my calves, thighs, back and arms have suggested that I am ages older than 21. They tell me that I hope in vain to be in shape again, or for the first time ever, but there resistance merely invigorates me. I must tame my own frailty and mold it into being in shape as opposed to “a shape”. I am not obese, I will never be, but I am not the fittest or healthiest I should aspire to be.
I dream of going to a world where the TV stays off and the internet is not used all day. I dream of being not in a office, but, in a library with books; outside soaking up the rays and with it the glorious serotonin that is severely absent from my daily routine. I dream of looking down the road and not seeing a car for miles, for having the closest public venue be a bar/gas station/ miniature golf place ¼ of a mile a way. I dream of looking up at the stars and not needing to drive away from the city to see what I see here after driving 15 miles up the canyon. I fantasize about talking to much and knowing people too well.
It would be so different from my current 40 hour a week expectations as I realize I do not have a full conversation with anyone. There are the occasional more in depth conversations, but nothing profound, nothing that excites the writer inside of me. The writer in me is asleep waiting for a road trip just days away. She’s probably praying for adventure and something more exciting than watching movies the whole way there, while I am too scared to think of packing, not really knowing what ought to come with me and what needn’t.
I’m excited to get to know my family again, to be stuck with Joshy and Jon and really know them more than the birthday dinner and occasional phone call/ work drop in allows. And to meet new people and know them. I dream of a place where time slows down and it would seem the important things are the only relevant issues. A place where I do not always feel forced to say yes and comply. A place where I am more than a worker.
Its apparent you need a vacation when you cannot think straight about anything else.
I obviously am in serious need for one. Why has it taken me so long to get to this place? Well a better question is when could I go on a full blown affordable trip? Certain things have just held me back and stuck sitting in an office day after day seeing my youth pass me by, but at the same time I have been putting myself and my husband through college, and that is worth all the hard work and then some. It seemed that all the summers before the trips happened before August, but Joshy’s overachieving ness has made the trip take place shortly before classes commence.
He is getting/has gotten his associates in finance, or something close to that like accounting. Well since he was in classes this summer, the trip is starting this Friday. I am very excited, and hope for a world that is not tainted by the fine line of nostalgia and reality. I hope to see this world through a middle ground perspective, still maintaining the magic and mystery and joy I ever place in my heart when I reminisce.
I have not been back for years. Whenever my family went back I was stuck working or in school. It seems there has been a long call on my return and with it the serenity that a lush green country can inspire.
Last Semester I read a Grimm’s Fairytale that was rather similar to the adventure lying in my wait. It was about a return to yesterday. A girl had a fairy friend and kept the friend as long as she was a child and did not tell anyone about him. She grows up and cannot be friends with him any longer. When she is older and has a daughter of her own, her daughter becomes friends with this same fairy. The girl tells her husband about the fairy and that night all of the fairies leave the forest.
Its kindof sad and thoughtprovoking, especially where children’s literature is concerned. It expresses and explains the fragility of childhood and the relationship between the adult and the child. The mother remembers, but makes the child grow up too. The same seesaw is used in Peter Pan. It is the mother who tells her children about Peter Pan, and thus they are able to pretend about him. The mother gives them the tools but the world they create is very much their own, and the mother is alien to it.
A lot of classic children’s literature has an interesting separation between the adults and the children. Most Grimm’s Fairytales kill off or separate the child from the parents in order to make it a children’s story. I feel like order and routine have silently wound their way into my life and choking off the creative stream from my throat. I feel starved for creativity to be more unique and different, never desiring the sameness I inflict on others.
Well no one said I was perfect, in fact, I’m not sure if I would want to be, and wouldn’t perfection be in the eye of the beholder? Ah subjection how thou dost slay me and pacify me in the normal society cage. Why hast thou chosen me as thy victim? Why couldst not I exist without the barricades placed upon the world by Plato and Protestantism? Why do I increasingly feel paranoid and wonder if people spy upon me and proclaim me crazed? Why must I feel responsible for the idiocy of my fellow men? Why cannot I exist without? Why do people put me and my values in a box? People were not meant to be caged, they were meant to live, to be free, to know others and enjoy company, to not be alien, to be nice and not mean and not evil and not sue happy. It is a terribly frustrating world, and it feels as though others are so desensitized by it that to care is a crime. Well then make me a criminal.
I had better prefer to be thought as doing something, as opposed to watching everything go down the drain; its not fair for children to be brought up in a world where everything has a negative connotation. There is good, its just hiding afraid from the ACLU as they proclaim everything gray and make someone who is offended by something that inspires goodness a normal every day threat, as they tear down the hope and unity we all desire and leaving in its wake Politically Correctness, never knowing what is ok and what isn’t, rules changing everyday, and fear the cousin to Politically Correctness.
Well I’m done walking on eggshells, I exist therefore I am, I think therefore I feel different, I speculate and theorize and that makes me unnormal. I want to live a life where I do not feel in danger of not angering anyone, by perhaps angering everyone?
I’m tired of seeing hate and fear in differences, I’d rather see love and understanding, isn’t that what cultural appreciation is all about? Isn’t it about learning from each other and both benefiting, as opposed to one person taking it all? That child obviously never learned or needed to share, and perhaps it was never disciplined, or disciplined too much. This is ridiculous, I hope I am not alone in seeing the insane ludicrousness.
I want out, perhaps Canada will do, just a hope skip and a way to Wisconsin.
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