She's reading my mind.

Instead of posting something today (which I realize is way over due), I read my close friend's blog this morning, and she took the words right out of my head in so many ways. It's funny how, thousands of miles apart...we're experiencing exactly the same thing. In our head. And we can't get out. Do we ever get out? More importantly, do we want to get out? It's weird to stop feeling, to almost feel as if you can't feel anymore, that it might even be physically impossible to ever feel again. Is this what it means to be an adult? If it does, I don't want to be one anymore. I agree wth my friend, I want the feelings back.

Read her here: http://velumptuous.blogspot.com/

Further proof I am obviously not working.

Go here: http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

It's a blog where they post secrets that have been mailed on 4 x 6 postcards. Some are crazy, some are scary, some shocking, and some hilarious. What's your secret?

I'm easy.

I think it's pretty well known among my friends that I am very easily amused. I can laugh at anything. My friend T and I will be surrounded by people, one of us makes a joke, and most likely, we are the only two laughing (they don't know what funny is, T, we are fucking hilarious!). I brought this up recently to a friend, and was put to a test. Let me know what happens to you (you need sound, so turn it up!):

http://www.amazingj.com/INSANITY.swf

I didn't even make it to the part where it says: "Stare at the picture without laughing" before I started cracking up.

Personally, I would much rather be easily amused at life. I mean, how horrible would it be to never be able to laugh? T and I will never have that problem. Well, as long as we keep telling each other the jokes. It's not so funny when no one laughs and we're not there to back one another up.

I've got your back, T. Don't you worry!

Matter

Every day, I walk up the street to spend some money frivolously in a shop or food place of the sorts. Usually, the thoughts are very scattered and directed towards the people that pass by. Today, instead of noticing anyone who passed, I was lost in a realization. I stopped in a nearby restaurant to chat with a friend. Yet, by "chat" I mean, me stand there trying to talk about things, but only hearing words come out of his mouth, and none out of mine.

As I left and neared my office, I finally realized what has been bothering me the last few weeks. In case you haven't noticed, I've been rather down about things and my tone hasn't exactly been the uplifting voice I know I have somewhere. It's been bothering me, I don't like to be unhappy or introverted; but I have not been able to control it as of late. So I've been obsessing on what the reason could possibly be. I've been blaming it on physical reasons, medication, feeling stuck..but it turns out it's none of those. Lately, I've been surrounded by very self-absorbed individuals. People I try to talk to, even my "boyfriend," aren't listening, they are simply talking. And, you know, it's not even listening that I need, it's mattering to someone that I'm desiring. It seems as if I am simply someone who will listen. Although a trait I am proud of, I feel like sometimes I need more of a role than just a listener. My friend brought up the question, "But do you matter to you?" I thought for a moment...yes, I do matter to me, all the more reason why I feel like I should matter to someone else. I'm tired of not mattering. It appears I am playing roles in a number of lives. But the role I am not sure of. A back-up plan if all is lost? A side love? Someone there in case another doesn't work? I don't want to play these roles anymore. They are tiring and mind-numbing. They make me feel smaller than I am. I deserve to matter. And to someone other than my parents and friends. Although important and thankful for, it's seemingly not enough to complete the void I feel is present. I can only fill it with self-awareness only so much.

Just bang on it.

A year ago water was poured by accident (surprisingly, not by me this time) directly into the back of my eMac. Although it still runs almost-perfectly, every day the screen changes in color from normal to deep purple, then slowly fades back to normal. Sometimes, it stays purple for quite a long period of time. Yesterday, after almost an hour of purpled documents, I decided I would do the most logical thing and start banging on my computer. Although I successfully whacked all available areas of the machine, it remained purple for quite some time longer.

Wouldn't it be great if banging on things were the answer to every dilemma?

Computer turns purple. BANG. fixed.
Car won't start. BANG. runs.
Guy sucks in bed. BANG. he's the best you've ever had.
You gain weight. BANG. you're skinny.
President is blind. BANG. He finally wakes up, can see clearly and the war ends.

The world would be such a better place if this were the case. Can someone of a higher power work on getting this going? I think we would all have a lot less aggression as well, because we'd be getting it all out with all the banging going on.

BANG. I think I just solved all of the world's crises.

A note to you.

I'm getting sick of thinking about you. Every morning, even two years later, you're still one of the first things I think about. Last night, as I was lying in bed, I realized I was exhausted thinking about you this much, never coming to a conclusion, always thinking a variation of the same, wondering when the hell it will be when you get some balls and get out of the life that's making you miserable. Or I wonder when it is you may realize the few things you deem important in the situation aren't worth making you miss out on the one thing in this life that can truly make us happy, take over our soul and make life worth living. In the end, those concrete items you're creating from your misery, will be just that, things. They can occupy your time, release stress, prove your capabilities -- but I know your capabilities in love, and know exactly how I can release that stress of yours, and make you glow. You're filling my thoughts, and unless you intend on filling my body with the shutters your fingers create, it's time you get the hell out. I am in love with you; I've been in love with you since I saw you at the counter in the Post Office, and now I'm afraid I may never get out of it...I may never allow myself to fall in love with someone else. We're both missing out on a world we know is there; you're missing out because of actions you won't take, and I'm missing out on actions I can't take. My stomach won't leave me alone when it's you in my mind, when it's you telling me you're getting closer and closer...to what you desire most; when you tell me you'll be alone this weekend; when you give me the small window of hope that I look for every second of the day. I can't settle my stomach with thoughts of you being out of my life either. Honestly, I don't know what makes it worse. It's like a bandaid, I know the faster I rip, the easier it will be to deal with the pain -- but I'm scared of what's underneath the bandage, it's been convered for so long. I want you to rip it off for me, but be there to ease the pain, not turn your back as you rub the salt deeper. I don't know what to do anymore, which way is right. I know it's out of my hands, it has been the entire time, and that's what I hate the most. But who is it that can control love? I guess you've been doing a pretty good job of that so far. You need to give up the control. There are so many people out there that deserve my thoughts more than you, why is it I give them all to you, when I get nothing in return? I struggle with whether or not you deserve me to breakdown and meet you...if you deserve my heart again, only to smash it...again. I'm too forgiving, I both despise that capability in me, and welcome it. If I knew it was deserving, it would make it so much easier. You deserved it two years ago, but now I'm not so sure you deserve it again. You lack strength, even if it's to protect someone else. There comes a point where you break, where you can't hold it up anymore. I want you in my life, or out of my head. i can't be stretched any longer, torn, about to break like an old rubber band. I'm waiting for the sting of the backlash.

The little people.

Ok, some student just came in here and asked directly to my face, "Um, is there anyone around?" I replied, "I'm around." She thought briefly, stumbled upon some more words, and came back with, "Well, a Dean or someone?" What did you want to say, someone important? Someone other than you, who sits behind a desk without a pHd or candidacy for the med school?

She apparently needed a REAL person. Since I merely work for the Ivy League University, but do not attend said university, I don't count for a real person.

People should just know not to talk to me on this day.

In case you ever feel the need to feed mice.

A list of what the mice like to eat while dining at Le Cabinet Undecided:

1. the box the saran wrap is in
2. Crunchies by Cadbury, from my best friend in Canada
3. brownies
4. sundried tomato pasta powder mix
5. Hershey's chocolate with Almonds
6. Hershey's chocolate without Almonds
7. lasagna noodles
8. Golden raisins in a box (as opposed to "Plumper, Moister (normal) Raisins" in a bag)
9. Grits
10. tissue paper
11. my ceiling
12. sunflower seeds (which, the birds are now starving as a result)
13. Decon (but apparently, not enough)
14. scraps in my trash can
15. english muffins (whole wheat!)

Things they have yet to find, but I am sure are munching on right now:

1. Nori sheets (apparently, they aren't mice from Japan)
2. Bread mix (and they're on a low-carb diet)
3. Low-carb pasta (ok, even the mice won't eat this...it tastes like cardboard, people!)
4. that dessert mix that's been sitting there, waiting patiently to be made and devoured in one sitting.
5. oatmeal (they must already get enough fiber from all that ceiling they ate earlier)
6. jelly beans (they were Jelly Belly, too!)

Conclusion: Mice are closet junk-food addicts and try to cover it up with healthy, fiber-filled foods, just like the rest of us.

I'm blaming it all on peer-pressure.

There are times that I am fully conscious that I lack a talent that is recognizable by others. Not just conscious, feel really horrible and down about it. I try to tell myself that it's alright because I have plenty of little somewhat-talents, like, I'm ok at a bunch of stuff. But I am not great at anything. I have so many talented friends, wonderful artistic creative friends, and I admire their greatnesses unconditionally. Yet I can't help but feel like a lesser person because of it. I hate that I feel this way, it seems so silly, but sometimes you can't help these things.

When I was younger, my parents enrolled me into dance lessons like every parent probably does. I loved it, I was a ballerina and could dance until my feet fell off. I felt like this was really me, I love the attention of dancing in front of people, their eyes focused on me. In Junior High, friends started playing basketball and field hockey. I wanted to be with my friends, none of them were dancing. I tried doing both for as long as possible, but basketball won out in the end because it was the cool thing to do (peer-pressure is EVIL). I managed to play varsity freshman year of high school, but still didn't feel like I stood out. (It could be that I was 5'7" and the Center. Yes, the Center.) In college, I started rock climbing sophomore year, and loved it. Everyday I was out there, it was challenging yet rewarding enough to keep going. Except a month or two into it, I was still attempting the same holds while people were climbing over and around me. I got to a standstill and didn't seem to be doing any further. I still did it, and still do from time to time, but I realized I don't have enough focus and free time and money to become really great. Excuses, perhaps. But when you feel the love and desire disappearing, was it really there to begin with? I wonder. Since college, I've taken upon many endeavors, hoping one I will eventually become great at. Cooking I feel I'm pretty good at, and I love to do it. But cooking becomes sad and wasteful when you cook only for yourself. I've done some web design, but compared to people trained in the area, my work is embarrasingly amateur. When people ask to see my work, I make up excuses not to show them. A few months ago I discovered an interest in making jewelry. Yet when I see jewelry in stores or galleries, I feel silly for even thinking mine have a chance. I've thought about writing a novel, but realized I'd have to have an idea for one first, and that seems to be difficult to come upon when it seems everything has been written about.

Ok, perhaps this seems a bit like I'm just feeling sorry for myself. And maybe I am. I'm not above that, as long as it doesn't last more than a few hours or days. It's more like self-deprecating thoughts. I feel like I've taken active steps to find a talent, to find something I can both love and be great at. It would be different if I sat around moping about being useless while I sat in front of the T.V., just expecting a talent to find me. (Although, there seem to be many people who have this happen to them. Perhaps this should be my next approach?) I'm not even sure it's about talents, it's more about lack of passion for something that I can call my own, passion for something that makes me who I am, something that makes people say, "Oh, she's incredible at (something incredible)!"

Feeling like you're a good person with a kind heart can only take you so far. I'm happy with who I am, but just feel like I'm lacking. I realize I should just accept that perhaps I have yet to find it. But what do I do when the thought that what if I never find it, creeps in? It's an unhappy thought. And sometimes I can't shake it. I hate feeling like I'm worth less than another, because that's not possible. We're all humans. Despite greatness and accomplishments and passions, it all boils down to be human. Naked and expressionless, we're all distorted mirrors of one another. But it's what makes us shine that we pay attention to.

Surely something will make me shine one of these days. In the meantime, I guess I'll keep searching until I find it. And if I don't, I'll just keep bitching to you folks. That is why we have these things after all, right?

Decisions are not my friends.

My mind is distracted, and I'm having a really difficult time concentrating. I'm at work surrounded by things that need to be done, and nothing is getting me to do them.

It's hard when someone with that kind of power over you comes back into your life so abruptly after being gone for so long. It throws you for a loop. Makes you feel hot and distracted. Dizzy. Feelings come back so easily, so quickly. I guess they never left, I just became more creative in finding ways to escape them, to cover them up. And it turns out, after all this time, I'm still left wanting. The want never went away, this I guess I was aware of. I was hoping the intensity would have at least lessened, but I've been proven wrong.

I don't think that there is just one person out there for us. Because if that were the case, it would be a sad, sad world. However, if I were to think along those lines, he would've been it. In two weeks, he left an imprint that will last until I'm no longer here. Even after, I'm sure I will feel it. I can try and explain the situation to friends, but there are no words to help them understand what's going on in my head, and more importantly, what we shared. I usually talk to work through difficulties, I've never been one to become recluse (much to my friend's dismay, I am sure). But this time, I don't feel like I can talk about it. I think it's up to me to decide what to do. To decide which feelings to follow, which part of my body to trust.

If I don't make the right decision, I feel pretty confident I will be happy with what I chose, and not regret a thing. Because sometimes, it's worth the pain.

Ghosts of Love's Past

This weekend I came face to face with a ghost that had haunted me for over a year. I only knew him for a few weeks, but when he disappeared, he left a hole the size of one caused by a lifetime love.

It was so unexpected, as I'm sure things like this always are. I had thought about that day for year, what I would say, how I would act, what I would look like. None of it played out. We walked into the bar and I met my friends who were already seated, I looked up and he had already spotted me. We looked in disbelief that we were actually seeing one another after so long. I gave a slight smile, one he returned and the staring continued. My heart was already in my stomach, and I was hoping none of this was obvious to K, whom I came with. It wasn't as I expected. Once before, when I thought I had seen him, I actually got sick, the anxiety was so intense. It wasn't him, but I left before he had the chance to show up, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it. I was surprised how well I was handling it as it was actually happening, I'm sure it had everything to do with the copious amounts of whiskey I had just consumed. I thought all the feelings I had experienced in the last year would come rushing back when I saw him, that I wouldn't be able to function, that I would be back where I started before the time became greater and the feelings became less. But it wasn't nearly that bad. The feelings were there, but masked by Jack Daniels. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. It couldn't really be him.

He went to the bathroom and took my chance and headed there too. When he walked out, I was waiting for him in the hallway. The awkwardness made me want to scream in agony. Weird hellos and "good to see you's," followed by apologies long over due. I wanted to keep talking to him, to tell him every thought I had had over the year, I needed so badly to get them out so I could finally let this go. In that year, he disappeared so quickly and abruptly, I was left wide open for continuous internal questioning and obsessing, causing me pain like I had never before experienced. It was simply situational, I knew what I was getting myself into when I met him, I knew what he was going through and how out of control I was in the relationship. I knew any second it would be over because he simply needed one less thing to be on his mind. He said he had hoped to talk to me again before I left for the night. I told him it wouldn't be possible since I had come with someone I was dating. We parted ways and went back to our corners, the bell had apparently rung and our time was up. Every few minutes we would catch one another's glance, smile, and return to our surroundings. It felt like it wasn't really happening. It wasn't possible I was awake and really facing my ghost of 2004. The ghost that would haunt me on a daily basis, staying long enough to remind me of what I felt when he just looked at me, the intensity of emotions that filled me with a single touch of his hand...and the fear I would never find it again.

For a year now, I've been thankful that I hadn't held any anger for what happened. Perhaps I'm too nice and think the best of everyone, but I feel it would be unjustified. After all, he gave me something no one had ever given me. In the few weeks we were around one another, I was given a glimpse into what we are all searching for. I would wake up in the morning thankful to be alive, I couldn't wait to even just get a word from him. I went to bed similing even if I hadn't seen him. He could make me laugh like no one ever had, made me conscious of every breath. When he would touch me even for a second, my body would be sent into a frenzy, not even sure I could physically handle more. And that was just my arm. Since then, other's touch have yet to compare. And I'm left wondering if one ever will.

Yesterday was long. I thought over and over again about what had happened and what might happen. I still feel like there are answers to my questions. But I don't even know if I want them.

Either way, I think this ghost is planning on haunting me for life and there's nothing that will exorcise it. And I'm ok with that.

And sometimes, I'm real.

Then, out of the blue, I hear from a dear friend of mine that I haven't heard from in over a year. He helped me through so much when I needed it most, and he comes back into it, just when I need a smile.

Thank you, John. You've given me a reason to smile today. I've missed you so!

I'm sometimes a fake.

I’ve mentioned before that as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become better at convincing myself out of feeling a certain way. If I’m down about something in particular, I can tell myself that it’s silly and be able to fool myself into being happier. There have been months at a time that this hasn’t worked for me, that I’m not able to get out of the mental hole that I have dug for myself. It’s awkward because I can’t go as far as to say I’m depressed, because there are people out there who have taken their lives, or even though about it, from the depression that had overtaken them – but what I experience is just as encumbering, just not to that extreme. I can’t claim this, nor do I want to. It’s simply unhappiness; an unhappiness that I can’t shake.

I’ve felt, as of late, much better overall. Except sometimes the feelings of uneasiness creep their way back in, and I can’t help but find myself back there. The part that I think about constantly is how I feel my sadness is not justifiable. I’ve been so fortunate in life overall, I have amazing friends, a roof over my head, food on my table (ok, not all the time…but I’m not starving), and I’m healthy. I feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to be unhappy, that it’s too selfish of an emotion to be experiencing. So on top of the issues that cause this, I feel an extreme sense of guilt for even having them at all.

One afternoon, about a year ago, I sat writing in a coffee shop during my lunch break. A woman next to me asked me if I was sad. By the end of the question, I was already in tears. I said yes; I had not been aware that it was so apparent. She continued to talk to me, telling me if I appear on the outside that I’m happy and confident, eventually I will become so on the inside. I can’t remember now what else she said, but I was crying to her like I had known her my whole life. She blessed me and wished happiness for me, claiming she had almost left, but something kept her there and now she knew what.

I wish I could say that changed my life, that after that moment I kept my head up high and happiness came to me like she had promised. I’m still not truly happy and I wonder what will get me there. I have thoughts of what would, but I can’t create that for me and that’s part of the problem. So I am searching for happiness without that one thing that I know will give it to me. I just didn’t realize it would be this difficult to find what that is that drives me, that keeps me smiling, and isn’t just a fake one trying to convince.

Brewfest, Picfest

Since I can't seem to post pictures with my Mac (either that or I'm being too lazy to figure it out), here's a link with some pics from the Brewfest T and I went to in Portland (Maine) in November.

http://www.mainebrew.com/

*Click on the 2004 Festival Photos. We're in numbers 10, 41 and 47. As they progress...you can tell we made sure to get our money's worth. And T has assured me that I do not, in fact, walk around hunched over in real life (#10).

My non-weekend and other ramblings.

It's kind of ironic that I was really into working this weekend when I came in (in order to get overtime) and now that I'm here on Monday, when I'm supposed to be working, I could care less about working. First thing this morning I sat down and completed something I really needed to finish. But since then....I've been reading blogs and chatting, waiting for my weekend to start. Is it Saturday yet?

I do not recommend working both days on a weekend. I'm exhausted. As much as I like being in here when it's quiet and I can concentrate, nothing disguises the fact that it's still a Saturday and I am not out having fun...I am at work. And in order to tell myself I still had somewhat of a weekend, I went out both nights in order to convince myself the days were not wasted. But as a result, I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning.

Friday night T and I went out to a bar that at one point in time, we had claimed would become "our bar." We hadn't been back there since then, and that was over a year ago. It was still just as fun, in fact, more so than the last time. We met up with a friend of hers that we didn't even know would be there, and we ended up dancing to funk that was being played from vinyl. What a great night. We had to force ourselves to leave, the great music wouldn't stop but we had to. Not only were we tired from the unexpected dancing, we were nearly suffocated from the smoke in the place. March 1st will not get here soon enough.

Sunday, while at work, I got a call from K telling me to come outside. He had been gone all weekend, and I hadn't seen him since Tuesday the week before. I look around the corner and he was walking down the street with roses in his hand. Before this I had been one of those people who believed roses are totally overdone and cliche...but now I'm thinking it's because I had never been given them before. They are so beautiful. And yay for him for not choosing boring roses, but he bought the variagated ones that have deep pink interlaced in the red. Now, I'm not saying I'd choose them on a regular basis. But out of the blue, I'll take roses any day.

Oh, I finally got a call from the insurance company of the guy who hit me and they're going to pay for everything...including a deep-tissue massage for my back that is still in pain. The best part is they're sending me a check for the damage. Not the auto-shop, but ME. I can live with my console sticking out, right? Hey, my stereo is that much closer to me. I'm sure with a little force I can stick it back in. I'll just wait until I'm nice and angry about something, like my windshield wipers, and I'll be able to push it in with my pinky finger.

Ok, now is it Saturday?

This week needs to end. NOW.

This morning, after waking up late, yet again, I had to run out and start my car in order to get the fresh layer of snow and ice that we got for the twelve-hundredth day in a row off of my windshield so little energy would be expensed scraping. When it came time to leave 15 minutes later, I still had some scraping to do, but luckily it came off like butter. I started to drive away when I tested my wipers. Nothing. Not even an attempt. I got out to make sure all the ice was off of the base, got back in and tried again. Nothing. I get out again (mind you, with windchill, it's -3 degrees out) to attempt to get even more ice out from under the blades, and I actually starting pounding with all of my might with my ice scraper, chipping away as if I were trying to escape from being trapped under it and that one little chip will give me my next breath necessarily for survival. Get back in...Nothing. I then do the next logical thing and start screaming and swearing at the top of my lungs to the air in my car, I pound on the steering wheel for that added effect. I figured out I had left my wipers on when I shut my car off, and while the car was warming up, the little motor was trying it's damndest to pry through the ice that had the wipers pinned. And if you are like my friend in Australia who had no clue what this would lead to because he's never had to deal with this shit...it leads to a broken wiper motor.

Normally, I would not have gotten so upset over such a little thing. But what with the snow as of late, the accident, my bumper falling off, the snow, my console all sticking out, the snow, the fact that I had an hour commute ahead of me, and the FUCKING SNOW THAT WON'T QUIT, I decided it was time to lose it. So right there in front of my little house in my little town before 8 a.m., I had a mini-breakdown. Only it continued in the form of crying the entire drive (that without traffic takes 20 minutes) to work. I was embarrassed I was going to be late again for the 3rd time in a row this week, and there was nothing I could do about it.

(Well, ok, I could've left earlier. I could have not broken down in a rage in the middle of the road. I could have actually gotten out of my bed at a normal time. But I like to think of those things as out of my control.)

Just now I decided to see if I could find out how much it would cost to replace it, and I found out it would be 75 dollars for a new one. Ouch.

A post of nothing but what my last week has consisted of. And that's not much.

I keep telling myself to post an entry. It seems my last week was a bit of a whirlwind...of white snow. Part of the reason why I haven't written is a rather silly one. See, I'm dying for a computer of my own at home. When I think about sitting here at my desk, at work, writing in my blog, the appeal is not there as much as it is when I think about sitting on my couch with wine in my hand, laptop on my lap and fire roaring. That is appealing. Alas, I sit here at my desk at work writing. The laptop didn't appear...luckily, however, the wine and fire did. Small steps.

Last week I got into a car accident. I was rearended by someone who was hit from behind. Fortunately, I am ok despite some awful back and neck pain, and my car has minimal damage. The man who hit us was left with a totalled car. This was really my first accident I've been in while driving and not having been the one who rearended. Even better, this time there wasn't even anyone in front of me because I was just minding my own business, DRIVING ON THE HIGHWAY. It just goes to prove how idiotic this state's roads are, as well as their drivers. This is a part of the highway that I travel everyday where two highways merge and you have to go all the way from the right lane (if you stay straight, you exit in about 10 feet) to the left lane, to then merge with traffic coming from yet a third highway merging from the left. I know I can't explain it well, but I do not understand the minds of the engineers who came up with this. Anyway, that was how my week last week started. I could barely move for days, even now, a week later, I'm still in pain and my bumper is about to fall off.

This past weekend we were hit with "The Worst Snowstorm Since the Blizzard of '78." And we were reminded of this about every 10 seconds if you had the tv on at any point during the 36-hour storm. I was in my house from Saturday around 4 until Tuesday morning at 7:45. That's a very long time to be couped up. Luckily, there were two football games on Sunday to amuse me, including the AFC Championship where the Patriots got their chance to head to the Super Bowl again. Also, in my stir-crazied-ness, I allowed myself to think way too much about my new "relationship" with K. In my thinking, I not only kind of freaked out and had convinced myself that there was no way he still wanted to be with me, I realized I obsess WAY TOO MUCH. STOP OBSESSING ALREADY! you hear me? STOP! I don't know what my deal is, really. I wish I could explain it, but I'd probably sound all obssessive and stuff.

Or boring. I realize this post was a complete rant of nothingness. If I had been sipping on wine right now, sitting by my fire, comfy on my couch...it would've been worthy of a Pulitzer prize.

So very classy am I.

For the last, oh, 20 minutes, I've been slowly munching on a bag of Soy Crisps at my desk. I'm getting down to the end of the bag where I have to stick my whole hand down to the bottom and actually look in to make sure I got every last bit of salty-goodness from the silver crinkly bag. While looking down into the bag, I happen to look at my black shirt and I noticed that in my devouring of said bag, I had managed to cover myself entirely with crumbs. Also in the 15 minutes it took me to eat the Soy Crisps, I spoke with 2 med students, 4 respected Deans and my supervisor.

I am SO HOT.

Ray: my uncomfortable, yet fantastic, musical lover.

Last night I went to Northampton to see Ray LaMontange play at the Iron Horse. The New England shows have been sold out for weeks now, I was so disappointed I couldn't get tickets to see him. I mostly wanted to see him in Maine, considering that was where he began and was discovered. There were no tickets for either of this three shows. As a final hope, I went to the website of the radio station that I first heard Trouble, thinking there might be a giveaway or contest that I would have a 1 in 1,000 chance of winning. There was no contest, but there was an online ticket swap and there happen to be a girl giving away two tickets to Northampton. Being the day before the weekend, I thought I'd be lucky to get these. But it worked out, I was going to go see Ray LaMontagne, my new kind of lover.

And he did not disappoint. Ray was better than he sounded on his album; his words sucked me in, his raspy voice left me breathless. I enjoyed this show more than I could express to you, Ray LaMontagne is a rare talent. He played Hannah and I thought this was a reason to be alive, it was that beautiful. Part of his appeal is he just woke up one morning and decided he wanted to learn how to play the guitar and sing, and he not only did it, but become incredible at it. What makes him rare is that he was inspired by a song, not inspired by fame and screaming fans. On stage he was nervous and sweet, attempting humor that I found surprising. The nervous stroking of his hair above his left eye did not distract, but only added more human appeal to the musical lover that I've conjuured him to be. I spoke to him after, to thank him for such a great show. With his hair-stroking and quiet thank you, I tried to come up with something profound to say, to let him know how much he has effected me. I'm not sure what I said, but I remember him so clearly saying, "Your boyfriend looks uncomfortable." And if that wasn't enough, I had to say, "Pardon?" He repeated it and went to shake my hand goodbye and said "Nice to meet you." I said the same and walked back to K, who had been standing directly behind me while I spoke to him.

It took me a minute to realize what had just happened. I'm hoping it was the whole situation he wasn't used to yet, not that he thought I was hitting on him or something. It was strange indeed. I'm pretty sure he wasn't prepared for this. He just wanted to play music.

Seriously, if you have not heard him play yet, please do. It was an incredible night. I think it may have made my year..and it's only January.

The not-so-happy post.

I apologize ahead of time for my morbid tone today, on a Friday no doubt. However, I want/need to get my thoughts out of my head.

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I have always been drawn to the sea, growing up in a coastal Maine town allowed me that luxury. I consider myself to have seawater for blood. If I had wanted to escape the angst that was high school, I would drive to the point and sit on the rocks for hours watching the waves as they crashed, pondering my ever-so-dramatic social life. I found solace on those rocks, with each wave I felt more strength to deal with the pubescent assholes I was surrounded by. The ocean not only provided inspiration, it scared the crap out of me. Something with that much power should never be trusted; it's tempermental, bitchy, and full of shit. Maybe that's why I was so drawn to it, we were so similar. When I went to school in the mountains of North Carolina, I always felt like a part of me was missing. Although the mountains are just as powerful, I would watch for hours and they won't move. (Go figure.) I missed the ocean more than I cared to admit to myself. The mountains were a welcomed temporary replacement, but they would never take up permanent residency, and neither would I.

I read this morning in the NYTimes of the village Calang, Indonesia, that before December 26 comprised of 7,000 residents. The town was not just destroyed by the tsunami, it vanished and was replaced by concrete slabs. So far, they've only found 323 bodies with no signs of the over-5,000 missing. The sea came and took them, kidnapped them blindly from their home and destroyed what was left of it, killing them with it's monstrous hands in the form of a wave.

I feel helpless. We are so far removed from this disaster that we can only view the images, and mourn with a few moments out of our day. It doesn't leave our thoughts; we can donate our money, but it still doesn't seem like enough. I want to be there to help clean-up, rebuild; supply some kind of hope for the survivors, if there can even be some. I've been overcome with guilt for having my life left physically untouched from this disaster. Although the ocean constantly takes lives single-handedly, it hasn't done so to this capacity with billions to witness. Now it's scaring me on an entirely different level. The distrust I had for it before has been proven truthful and I'm having a difficult time finding the optimism I usually have.