I made part of my New Year's Resolution to blog once a week. Every day I remember I'm coming up on when I should write something, and wonder what to write about. Sometimes I come up with great ideas. I think about the development of the idea, how to present it, whether or not people will say something about it.
And then I sit down to actually write... and nothing comes out.
I don't know why the words vanish, but they do. They evaporate like so much steam out of a hot shower. I sit down, open the web browser, click "New Post" and... nothing. My brain becomes as blank as the post window.
I hate it, not because it's frustrating writer's block, but because there is so much I want to say. A couple times a week I wish I had a voice recorder, so I could just talk out loud, get all the thoughts out of my head and into some media form, so that they aren't lost forever. I hate the fact that my memory acts like a highly selective steel trap, letting half a dozen wonderful things through it, then snapping hard on some random tidbit. I can remember what my sister-in-law had to eat at Denny's when we landed at 10PM the day before Thanksgiving two years ago. But I can't remember the awesome thing I planned on blogging about earlier in the day.
So here I sit, writing about nothing, hoping that you understand. Maybe next week I'll actually remember something interesting.
February 27, 2011
February 20, 2011
What Tastes Blue?
Once, in college, my friends and I went to a little Chinese restaurant. It had one of those little quarter machines in front. You know the kind: they dispense candy, or bouncy balls, or temporary tattoos, or cheap little plastic toys. This one dispensed little tiny plastic ninjas, in all colors of the rainbow. One of my friends had a fascination for such things, and spent a handful of quarters to collect the whole rainbow, which she dubbed "The Skittle Ninjas".
She named them after flavors associated with their respective colors. Red was cherry, Orange... well, Orange. Green was Lime, Yellow was Lemon. Then she turned to us, lost in thought, and blurted "what tastes blue?"
At the time it was hilarious, and became an in-joke along with a half a dozen other misspoken phrases, like "the power cord was off wrong". Because "off wrong" so described "unplugged" somehow.
But now, almost ten years later, I wonder if she had something called synesthesia.
It's what happens when your brain looks at a word or a letter or a number and associates it with some other sensory input. Like, say, colors. Or sounds. Or even flavors or scents. Some even go so far as to associate attitudes and emotions with them. And I've got it.
Well, "got it" may not be the right way of saying it. It's not a disease or an affliction. It's just a thing. Like colorblindness, except I'm not lacking normal function, I just add things. My brain's wired a bit differently than the normal human being. It's just off wrong a little.
I realized this when I read up on it a little. The article was titled "Your Name Tastes Purple". And for some confounded reason, that title made absolute sense to me, even though the logical part of my brain insisted it was improper use of nouns and adjectives. Purple isn't a flavor. At least, it's not supposed to be. "Purple" is about what I associate with the "grape" popcicles you get in those variety packs. Whatever inspired someone to think that super-sweet syrupy flavor was anything like the taste of grapes, I shall never know. But even thought they call them "grape-flavored", I think everyone will agree they taste nothing like grapes. Not green, red, or any other kind.
But when I read on, I found myself nodding in agreement. The author was describing things incredibly similar to my own experiences. My senses cross over. I don't just hear sounds. I feel them sometimes. It's like when I read a book and visualize what they're describing. Electric guitar can inspire intense sensations of weightlessness. Drums make my feet thrum with the sensation of hitting the ground and make my palms itch as though I was running on all fours. Certain sounds feel the way I would imagine it would be to harden my fingers and drive them into concrete. It's not unpleasant. Just interesting. Some sounds feel like silk across my belly, some feel like dust in my nose and ears.
But more than sounds, it's numbers.
The number 1, for example. I see it as red. It's masculine, but mostly neutral. He likes to keep things tidy. He's a professional. The number 2? Well, 2 is blue, and male also, but more childlike. Sort of man-child, really, like a toned-down frat-boy. Number 3 is a selfish bitch, in a hard yellow. Another male figure, 4 is purple, quiet, usually a bearer of bad news and kind of scholarly. The outspoken one is 5, a hot-shot can-do-anything guy who loves the babes. He's brown. His lady, 6, is a bit on the prudish side, in a muted shade of lavender. She's curvy in all the right ways. Next up is green guy 7, a jokester who loves to laugh. Lady 8 in violet-blue tends to be kind of quiet, but is unafraid to put some of the littler number in their place. The REAL bitch in charge is 9, who bosses 6 and 3 around like little minions in her clique. She tends to show up in a mustard-tone. And 0? He doesn't talk. He's always black.
Letters do it to, although in gender and not color. A is male, B female, C male, D male, E female...
Colors make me think of scents and places. Feelings. Sensations. Certain shades of purple are cold, like a night sky, and smell like the air after it rains. Yellow feels like sunlight on my skin and smells like a warm room. Reds are dangerous and smell sharp. Orange is hiding something. White is prissy but she smells clean.
Read that last sentence again.
Is it any wonder I understood how a name can taste purple?
Browns taste like chocolate. Silver hurts my teeth, unless it's nicely polished. Otherwise it sounds like bad brakes. Fluffy textures feel nice when I touch them, but if they're a particular shade of green they make my front teeth feel like there's yarn in them, and I hate that sensation.
Another one of my friends told me that I see the world entirely different than anyone else he knew. I think he didn't know exactly how true that statement was. While I accept that I see the world in a highly different way already, I don't think he also meant in a fashion that included letters having gender or colors inspiring feels and flavors, much less numbers having attitudes.
It feels almost freeing to know that this is actually something normal in its own right, and harmless. Something documented, if not totally understood. Something that isn't as-a-result-of or a-symptom-of something else. It just is. All by itself. And it's okay.
Even if the word "synesthesia" tastes like wet static-y sawdust.
She named them after flavors associated with their respective colors. Red was cherry, Orange... well, Orange. Green was Lime, Yellow was Lemon. Then she turned to us, lost in thought, and blurted "what tastes blue?"
At the time it was hilarious, and became an in-joke along with a half a dozen other misspoken phrases, like "the power cord was off wrong". Because "off wrong" so described "unplugged" somehow.
But now, almost ten years later, I wonder if she had something called synesthesia.
It's what happens when your brain looks at a word or a letter or a number and associates it with some other sensory input. Like, say, colors. Or sounds. Or even flavors or scents. Some even go so far as to associate attitudes and emotions with them. And I've got it.
Well, "got it" may not be the right way of saying it. It's not a disease or an affliction. It's just a thing. Like colorblindness, except I'm not lacking normal function, I just add things. My brain's wired a bit differently than the normal human being. It's just off wrong a little.
I realized this when I read up on it a little. The article was titled "Your Name Tastes Purple". And for some confounded reason, that title made absolute sense to me, even though the logical part of my brain insisted it was improper use of nouns and adjectives. Purple isn't a flavor. At least, it's not supposed to be. "Purple" is about what I associate with the "grape" popcicles you get in those variety packs. Whatever inspired someone to think that super-sweet syrupy flavor was anything like the taste of grapes, I shall never know. But even thought they call them "grape-flavored", I think everyone will agree they taste nothing like grapes. Not green, red, or any other kind.
But when I read on, I found myself nodding in agreement. The author was describing things incredibly similar to my own experiences. My senses cross over. I don't just hear sounds. I feel them sometimes. It's like when I read a book and visualize what they're describing. Electric guitar can inspire intense sensations of weightlessness. Drums make my feet thrum with the sensation of hitting the ground and make my palms itch as though I was running on all fours. Certain sounds feel the way I would imagine it would be to harden my fingers and drive them into concrete. It's not unpleasant. Just interesting. Some sounds feel like silk across my belly, some feel like dust in my nose and ears.
But more than sounds, it's numbers.
The number 1, for example. I see it as red. It's masculine, but mostly neutral. He likes to keep things tidy. He's a professional. The number 2? Well, 2 is blue, and male also, but more childlike. Sort of man-child, really, like a toned-down frat-boy. Number 3 is a selfish bitch, in a hard yellow. Another male figure, 4 is purple, quiet, usually a bearer of bad news and kind of scholarly. The outspoken one is 5, a hot-shot can-do-anything guy who loves the babes. He's brown. His lady, 6, is a bit on the prudish side, in a muted shade of lavender. She's curvy in all the right ways. Next up is green guy 7, a jokester who loves to laugh. Lady 8 in violet-blue tends to be kind of quiet, but is unafraid to put some of the littler number in their place. The REAL bitch in charge is 9, who bosses 6 and 3 around like little minions in her clique. She tends to show up in a mustard-tone. And 0? He doesn't talk. He's always black.
Letters do it to, although in gender and not color. A is male, B female, C male, D male, E female...
Colors make me think of scents and places. Feelings. Sensations. Certain shades of purple are cold, like a night sky, and smell like the air after it rains. Yellow feels like sunlight on my skin and smells like a warm room. Reds are dangerous and smell sharp. Orange is hiding something. White is prissy but she smells clean.
Read that last sentence again.
Is it any wonder I understood how a name can taste purple?
Browns taste like chocolate. Silver hurts my teeth, unless it's nicely polished. Otherwise it sounds like bad brakes. Fluffy textures feel nice when I touch them, but if they're a particular shade of green they make my front teeth feel like there's yarn in them, and I hate that sensation.
Another one of my friends told me that I see the world entirely different than anyone else he knew. I think he didn't know exactly how true that statement was. While I accept that I see the world in a highly different way already, I don't think he also meant in a fashion that included letters having gender or colors inspiring feels and flavors, much less numbers having attitudes.
It feels almost freeing to know that this is actually something normal in its own right, and harmless. Something documented, if not totally understood. Something that isn't as-a-result-of or a-symptom-of something else. It just is. All by itself. And it's okay.
Even if the word "synesthesia" tastes like wet static-y sawdust.
February 03, 2011
A Few Quick Words
Winter does not last
Spring always pushes through the snow
Night does not last
Dawn always breaks over the horizon
Rain does not last
The sun will always shine again
Hard times will not last
For this, too, will pass away.
Spring always pushes through the snow
Night does not last
Dawn always breaks over the horizon
Rain does not last
The sun will always shine again
Hard times will not last
For this, too, will pass away.
January 17, 2011
Long Break, New Year
So, as you might have noticed, it's been a while since I've written anything. Mostly because 2010 grabbed me by the tail and swung me around a few times for fun.
I lost my awesome job not more than a month after I'd gotten it. One moment they were asking me if I'd be okay with coming on permanently. The next, I was apparently not to come back the next day. The good news is that it didn't take me too long before I found a new position working for an imaging company... contracted with the US Navy. While not the most glorious work - or even the most rewarding (what, I get to say "I labeled something!" at the end of the day?) - but the pay's all right, my coworkers are super-awesome, and the benefits (that I just started) are REALLY hard to beat. So while I may get grumpy from getting up at the crack of dawn, it's a good job. And really, I'm just happy to HAVE a job.
Nephew Number 2 arrived shortly after I got my new job, and it was both lovely and startling to see my eldest brother's family grow so quickly. Pictures of the girls remind me that they're growing up, and stories of Nephew Number 1 remind me that - crikey, he's a teenager already. This being the little boy I remembered who couldn't blow his own nose. Now he's getting tall and filling out and discovering girls. Where did the time go?
As I write this, aforementioned brother is approximately one month away from returning from the Middle East. Pictures and stories and the occasional holiday Skype conversation have showed changes in him too. He's thinner, quieter (if that was possible), more confident. And a lot more tan. I think he's where he's supposed to be. Job-wise, if not location-wise. I think it'd be better for him if he was home with his family, but that will come very soon. It's hard to believe he's only been away for a year. It seems like so much longer.
Other brother and his lady are growing and changing too. I wasn't the only one 2010 hit with a stick, and they've risen to the challenge with grit and determination in the face of adversity. They've taken direct hits and not just moved past them, but branched out around them into arts and paths previously unexplored. Z's crafting has developed in leaps and bounds, and she has found a career in writing. She's always rather possessed a gift for it, and it's inspiring to see her take it to the next level. A, on the other hand, took to music. His band released an entire CD's worth of damn fine music and I would be more than happy to point someone in his direction for a purchase. I've listened to it, it's good, it has my recommendation.
The folks? Well, the folks have been holding their own. Their community has suffered a series of blows that they've risen to correct with love and compassion. J and I went to visit them for Thanksgiving, and it was good to see them in their element for a while. There's something... wholesome about the land on which they live.
As for me? J and I have a new housemate living in the third bedroom. It's great to have someone here, especially as awesome as he is. He's neat, clean, quiet, respectful, funny, a good cook, and has similar interests to J and I. He fits in well. I have another four-legged friend as well, who shall only be known as Boris, and his strange toilet-paper-tube-loving nature add a bit of levity to our house. Shiko is curious, but completely unwilling to tangle with him, which relieves me a little; I'm tired of worrying that one pet might try to eat another.
But life goes on, otherwise. Much as it usually does. People are born, people die, the rains come, the rains go. Today it's sunny and warm. I think I shall make the most of this year, starting now.
I lost my awesome job not more than a month after I'd gotten it. One moment they were asking me if I'd be okay with coming on permanently. The next, I was apparently not to come back the next day. The good news is that it didn't take me too long before I found a new position working for an imaging company... contracted with the US Navy. While not the most glorious work - or even the most rewarding (what, I get to say "I labeled something!" at the end of the day?) - but the pay's all right, my coworkers are super-awesome, and the benefits (that I just started) are REALLY hard to beat. So while I may get grumpy from getting up at the crack of dawn, it's a good job. And really, I'm just happy to HAVE a job.
Nephew Number 2 arrived shortly after I got my new job, and it was both lovely and startling to see my eldest brother's family grow so quickly. Pictures of the girls remind me that they're growing up, and stories of Nephew Number 1 remind me that - crikey, he's a teenager already. This being the little boy I remembered who couldn't blow his own nose. Now he's getting tall and filling out and discovering girls. Where did the time go?
As I write this, aforementioned brother is approximately one month away from returning from the Middle East. Pictures and stories and the occasional holiday Skype conversation have showed changes in him too. He's thinner, quieter (if that was possible), more confident. And a lot more tan. I think he's where he's supposed to be. Job-wise, if not location-wise. I think it'd be better for him if he was home with his family, but that will come very soon. It's hard to believe he's only been away for a year. It seems like so much longer.
Other brother and his lady are growing and changing too. I wasn't the only one 2010 hit with a stick, and they've risen to the challenge with grit and determination in the face of adversity. They've taken direct hits and not just moved past them, but branched out around them into arts and paths previously unexplored. Z's crafting has developed in leaps and bounds, and she has found a career in writing. She's always rather possessed a gift for it, and it's inspiring to see her take it to the next level. A, on the other hand, took to music. His band released an entire CD's worth of damn fine music and I would be more than happy to point someone in his direction for a purchase. I've listened to it, it's good, it has my recommendation.
The folks? Well, the folks have been holding their own. Their community has suffered a series of blows that they've risen to correct with love and compassion. J and I went to visit them for Thanksgiving, and it was good to see them in their element for a while. There's something... wholesome about the land on which they live.
As for me? J and I have a new housemate living in the third bedroom. It's great to have someone here, especially as awesome as he is. He's neat, clean, quiet, respectful, funny, a good cook, and has similar interests to J and I. He fits in well. I have another four-legged friend as well, who shall only be known as Boris, and his strange toilet-paper-tube-loving nature add a bit of levity to our house. Shiko is curious, but completely unwilling to tangle with him, which relieves me a little; I'm tired of worrying that one pet might try to eat another.
But life goes on, otherwise. Much as it usually does. People are born, people die, the rains come, the rains go. Today it's sunny and warm. I think I shall make the most of this year, starting now.
August 17, 2010
Full Belly, Empty Throat
I'm hungry.
Which is funny, because if tried to eat something right now, I'd probably make myself ill from how full my belly is. I've eaten already, see. Two sandwiches - one PB&J, one PB&Honey. A KitKat bar. And a full bottle of water I guzzled down in an attempt to fill up my stomach. Oh, and let's not forget I had breakfast, too: a full bowl of Cheerios with skim milk and a glass of OJ to wash down my vitamins.
I find myself craving food. not just any food, FLAVORFUL food. I'm tired of bread and peanut butter and bananas and water and bland bland bland. I want soda. I want fries. I want a bacon-lettuce-tomatoe sandwich with avocado and mayonnaise, dripping with juices. I was chocolate and sugar and texture. Oh yes, texture. A mix of light crisp with squish behind it. The bread for the B.L.T. toasted, with the avocado ripe and squishy. Peanut-butter M&M's, with the crunch of the candied shell followed by the yielding creamy interior. A KitKat bar with the soft chocolate coating, hiding a delightfully light crispy cookie. Thick milk. Fizzy soda. These things I desire.
But I am not actually hungry. I have a full stomach. At least, it feels full. Ish. But I hunger still. It's higher in the stomach, deep down in the esophagus, a pit, a bubble of air that cries out for satisfaction from empty calories and fattening foods.
Hunger is one of the most basic needs of the living creature. The hypothalamus will not be denied. So how do I fight this war?
If I give in, I feel guilty, and know I have done my body a disservice.
If I hold out, I feel miserable and hungry and anxious and grumpy. My head hurts and stomach growls.
It is a war I do not yetknow how to win.
Which is funny, because if tried to eat something right now, I'd probably make myself ill from how full my belly is. I've eaten already, see. Two sandwiches - one PB&J, one PB&Honey. A KitKat bar. And a full bottle of water I guzzled down in an attempt to fill up my stomach. Oh, and let's not forget I had breakfast, too: a full bowl of Cheerios with skim milk and a glass of OJ to wash down my vitamins.
I find myself craving food. not just any food, FLAVORFUL food. I'm tired of bread and peanut butter and bananas and water and bland bland bland. I want soda. I want fries. I want a bacon-lettuce-tomatoe sandwich with avocado and mayonnaise, dripping with juices. I was chocolate and sugar and texture. Oh yes, texture. A mix of light crisp with squish behind it. The bread for the B.L.T. toasted, with the avocado ripe and squishy. Peanut-butter M&M's, with the crunch of the candied shell followed by the yielding creamy interior. A KitKat bar with the soft chocolate coating, hiding a delightfully light crispy cookie. Thick milk. Fizzy soda. These things I desire.
But I am not actually hungry. I have a full stomach. At least, it feels full. Ish. But I hunger still. It's higher in the stomach, deep down in the esophagus, a pit, a bubble of air that cries out for satisfaction from empty calories and fattening foods.
Hunger is one of the most basic needs of the living creature. The hypothalamus will not be denied. So how do I fight this war?
If I give in, I feel guilty, and know I have done my body a disservice.
If I hold out, I feel miserable and hungry and anxious and grumpy. My head hurts and stomach growls.
It is a war I do not yetknow how to win.
August 09, 2010
Loss For Words
I blog.
WHY do I blog?
I suppose it's partly because it's an outlet. Once upon a time, when I communicated pretty much strictly via email to long-distance friends (because I hate talking on the phone), I would write miniature novels to masses of recipients. Many of my friends appeared to appreciate these, and I got a few compliments on my writing style when it came to certain subjects, like being in the center of seven seperate wildfires whilst living in the mountains. I would write about the day, in all its simplicity, calling forth as much imagery as I could possibly muster and weaving it into a magnificent tapestry of something otherwise altogether negligible. I turned dreams into self-introspections explaining why I felt a need to reconnect with people, and described harrowing adventures of life in the mountains - complete with guns, bears, and wayward tourists.
But then - post college - something happened that put an end to those enormous emails. It took one simple sentence. And only one person to say it. Someone said they were too long, and "nobody reads them". Granted, I realize logically that this is a blanket statement. Also, the person who said it was kind of a nitwit who suggested that I find someone better than my then-boyfriend, who is my now-Fiance. I am deliriously happy with my choice of mate. So if she was wrong about that, what else could she be wrong about?
But at the time, it didn't matter. At the time, I was in such a delicate state emotionally (both because I was STILL angry about my previous breakup and because I was beginning to exhibit my first symptoms of depression) that it shattered my self confidence as a writer. I stopped writing emails altogether. The few that required responses got single-line replies. My depression - which, at the time, was still completely undiagnosed - worsened ever so slightly. My self-worth was tied to the belief that people cared what I had to say, that my opinion- no, my perspective mattered. That I had something worthwhile to contribute. And with the simple comment that my emails were "tl/dr", that belief was cut deeply. No longer were my long insights or observations, my carefully woven tapestries, my recounting of adventures... no longer were they worth anything.
What followed was a long period of silence. I did eventually go back to emailing folks, but only sporadically and only ever very few people. Eventually I stopped the entire habit of writing anything in emails, and only ever replying. Replies were as long as needed, or as long as felt appropriate, and so questions of "are you free this weekend" were only a few sentences, where requests for an opinion on this or that subject matter might involve more explanation. It was lonely-ish, because I felt disconnected somehow. But my "Need To Be Liked" program was strong enough to overcome my desire to express myself... and so disconnected I remained.
Eventually I discovered forums. It was like live chat but didn't require people to be on at the time. It was like writing emails, but nobody I really cared about would read them. It had upsides and downsides. And then, of course, there were trolls. How can anyone forget internet trolls? Lurking behind every corner, waiting to be completely full of idiocy in an otherwise perfectly fine forum. It wasn't satisfying. I wasn't connecting with my friends, but I still couldn't get past the irrational fear that nobody wanted to know anything about me (which is how I interpreted the "you write frigging novels" comment).
That's when I finally ventured onto MySpace. I could write a tiny little update. My status, as it were. Nobody had to look at it. It was optional. But there I was. You know, in case anybody cared. *insert emo here* In more seriousness, it helped me decide that it was okay to let people know how I was without it being an enormous stew of words. And then I saw that MySpace had a place to blog. I went for it.
And now, years later, here I am.
So... NOW why do I blog?
I don't actually know who reads my blog. Could be friends, could be family, could be a few random strangers. Some people blog for a living writing about completely random stuff, but their stuff is usually funny, and mine isn't always. I don't anticipate being famous from my blog (like, ever), but it's comforting to think that maybe, just maybe, a few people who DID like reading my overly-long emails will be happy reading them here, in sort of a non-intrusive, archived format.
Maybe.
You know, if anyone cares. ;P
WHY do I blog?
I suppose it's partly because it's an outlet. Once upon a time, when I communicated pretty much strictly via email to long-distance friends (because I hate talking on the phone), I would write miniature novels to masses of recipients. Many of my friends appeared to appreciate these, and I got a few compliments on my writing style when it came to certain subjects, like being in the center of seven seperate wildfires whilst living in the mountains. I would write about the day, in all its simplicity, calling forth as much imagery as I could possibly muster and weaving it into a magnificent tapestry of something otherwise altogether negligible. I turned dreams into self-introspections explaining why I felt a need to reconnect with people, and described harrowing adventures of life in the mountains - complete with guns, bears, and wayward tourists.
But then - post college - something happened that put an end to those enormous emails. It took one simple sentence. And only one person to say it. Someone said they were too long, and "nobody reads them". Granted, I realize logically that this is a blanket statement. Also, the person who said it was kind of a nitwit who suggested that I find someone better than my then-boyfriend, who is my now-Fiance. I am deliriously happy with my choice of mate. So if she was wrong about that, what else could she be wrong about?
But at the time, it didn't matter. At the time, I was in such a delicate state emotionally (both because I was STILL angry about my previous breakup and because I was beginning to exhibit my first symptoms of depression) that it shattered my self confidence as a writer. I stopped writing emails altogether. The few that required responses got single-line replies. My depression - which, at the time, was still completely undiagnosed - worsened ever so slightly. My self-worth was tied to the belief that people cared what I had to say, that my opinion- no, my perspective mattered. That I had something worthwhile to contribute. And with the simple comment that my emails were "tl/dr", that belief was cut deeply. No longer were my long insights or observations, my carefully woven tapestries, my recounting of adventures... no longer were they worth anything.
What followed was a long period of silence. I did eventually go back to emailing folks, but only sporadically and only ever very few people. Eventually I stopped the entire habit of writing anything in emails, and only ever replying. Replies were as long as needed, or as long as felt appropriate, and so questions of "are you free this weekend" were only a few sentences, where requests for an opinion on this or that subject matter might involve more explanation. It was lonely-ish, because I felt disconnected somehow. But my "Need To Be Liked" program was strong enough to overcome my desire to express myself... and so disconnected I remained.
Eventually I discovered forums. It was like live chat but didn't require people to be on at the time. It was like writing emails, but nobody I really cared about would read them. It had upsides and downsides. And then, of course, there were trolls. How can anyone forget internet trolls? Lurking behind every corner, waiting to be completely full of idiocy in an otherwise perfectly fine forum. It wasn't satisfying. I wasn't connecting with my friends, but I still couldn't get past the irrational fear that nobody wanted to know anything about me (which is how I interpreted the "you write frigging novels" comment).
That's when I finally ventured onto MySpace. I could write a tiny little update. My status, as it were. Nobody had to look at it. It was optional. But there I was. You know, in case anybody cared. *insert emo here* In more seriousness, it helped me decide that it was okay to let people know how I was without it being an enormous stew of words. And then I saw that MySpace had a place to blog. I went for it.
And now, years later, here I am.
So... NOW why do I blog?
I don't actually know who reads my blog. Could be friends, could be family, could be a few random strangers. Some people blog for a living writing about completely random stuff, but their stuff is usually funny, and mine isn't always. I don't anticipate being famous from my blog (like, ever), but it's comforting to think that maybe, just maybe, a few people who DID like reading my overly-long emails will be happy reading them here, in sort of a non-intrusive, archived format.
Maybe.
You know, if anyone cares. ;P
August 05, 2010
Wedding Worries
The Fiance and I were waiting until the other weddings were over to start our plans. It made the most sense. How stressful would it be to plan our own wedding while balancing our participation in another? Not to mention that it might detract from the spotlight of our dear friends who were much closer to their wedding date!
Im and Jess' wedding was last weekend and went off without a hitch. So much awesomeness. I knew they would make it precisely fit them, choosing things that suited not only their individual tastes but also tailoring the entire celebration to be very "them". Which was just so unbelievably awesome I can't even begin to describe. Everything, from location to dresses to the wine to the supremely cool photobooth, had a vibe of quirky sweetness that was distinctly like their relationship.
Now, with them off to their honeymoon and enjoying the first week of their new married lives, privately indulging in the wonders of a beautiful far-away island paradise, the planning, participation, and incredible efforts have come to an end.
Which means now it's our turn.
And dear heaven, where do we start?
We spoke a bit about this on the long (long!) drive home. What would the ceremony be like? Who would do what and where? Where should it be held? Where would we like to honeymoon? What should the dress look like? Some of it was easy. It helped having recently attended two weddings, to get an idea of what worked well and what didn't. The concept of the food+lodging+venue all being one place had much appeal, as did the hilarity and fun of the photobooth. We narrowed down a time, and an area (distance-wise) we'd like to look at. But everything is so vague... unformed.
Fiance is a hermetic. He likes his rituals filled with symbolism and meaning. I'm a shaman. It has to *feel* right. How do I plan that out? What does it look like? What should *I* look like?
I have to step back and remind myself of what I told the other brides: at the end of the day the two of us will be married, and that's all that matters. The rest is just gravy. And good gravy, I've hardly started the planning, and this is how I'm feeling?
If you see my sanity, tell it to come home, okay?
Im and Jess' wedding was last weekend and went off without a hitch. So much awesomeness. I knew they would make it precisely fit them, choosing things that suited not only their individual tastes but also tailoring the entire celebration to be very "them". Which was just so unbelievably awesome I can't even begin to describe. Everything, from location to dresses to the wine to the supremely cool photobooth, had a vibe of quirky sweetness that was distinctly like their relationship.
Now, with them off to their honeymoon and enjoying the first week of their new married lives, privately indulging in the wonders of a beautiful far-away island paradise, the planning, participation, and incredible efforts have come to an end.
Which means now it's our turn.
And dear heaven, where do we start?
We spoke a bit about this on the long (long!) drive home. What would the ceremony be like? Who would do what and where? Where should it be held? Where would we like to honeymoon? What should the dress look like? Some of it was easy. It helped having recently attended two weddings, to get an idea of what worked well and what didn't. The concept of the food+lodging+venue all being one place had much appeal, as did the hilarity and fun of the photobooth. We narrowed down a time, and an area (distance-wise) we'd like to look at. But everything is so vague... unformed.
Fiance is a hermetic. He likes his rituals filled with symbolism and meaning. I'm a shaman. It has to *feel* right. How do I plan that out? What does it look like? What should *I* look like?
I have to step back and remind myself of what I told the other brides: at the end of the day the two of us will be married, and that's all that matters. The rest is just gravy. And good gravy, I've hardly started the planning, and this is how I'm feeling?
If you see my sanity, tell it to come home, okay?
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