Excelsior

I'd love to write something sweet and beautiful and heartwarming right now. I would. So desperately. But life doesn't give us that all the time. That's why I write fiction sometimes. I'd love to say I write for the beauty of the words and the impact I can have on lives. But sometimes I don't. I'm not that altruistic. Sometimes I write because I'm hurting. Because friends are hurting. If I were as spiritually advanced as some, I could just submerge myself in prayer and scripture. I'm not there, though. Sometimes the words I write form another world, a fragile sphere only lasting as long as I create it, as long as I can read it.

Sometimes writing keeps me sane, gives me hope, gives me an escape hatch into some different place for a few minutes. But those few minutes help. Maybe it's just like imagining warmth in a snowstorm. It isn't real, but the thought of a fire can make me feel warmer and give me another glimmer at the end of the tunnel.

I wrote this a couple days ago. Or re-wrote it, really. And as I read it again, it does help. I hope it might help you too, or if you don't need help right now, that it'll at least make you smile.

http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2788982/1/Crazy_Love

Charlie Brown's favorite exclamation

Good grief.

I'm in Colorado with the family for the next six days. It was a long drive up. Seventeen hours, I think. It's beautiful, though. I'll try to get some pictures posts, but no promises, as I do not have my own camera with me (this negligence caused by yours truly not packing until the night before). It's close to 10,000 feet altitude here, and I feel it, like a wimpy girl who lives at sea level most of the year. Quite honestly, I could sit in the living room of this little house re-reading the Mitford books for hours and be content with just resting. Part of me is sad there's internet, but another part of me rejoices I don't want to be on much. There's a little mountain with patches of snow out the big windows, and it's so foreign from Houston suburbia's culdesacs and suburbans it makes me happy.

I had the oddest sensation driving up yesterday, through a valley with gently rolling grass surrounded by pine-crested hills. I had a vision for a moment I was twenty, and I was rambling through the hills in a pair of old jeans rolled at the cuffs and old tennis shoes, next to a man I loved, with a black Lab dashing out and back and around us. The sky was cloudy, and one of us had a red Chevy Avalanche pickup, or had borrowed it, and we were just being together, and it was so simple and so lovely I'm hoping it wasn't idle imagination and will come to pass someday.

And then I think, Oh my, I'm going to Oxford in nine days. England. Out of the country without my family, which is a glorious thought with a sense of freedom like I'm a bird free from the nest. And then I realize again (the thought repeats) I am going with a group of people, none of whom I know from Adam. They're all from Baylor and should be excellent travel companions. The bold side of me, roaring with adventure and confidence plans to play along like I've been at Baylor my entire collegiate career. But the timid side of me, the one I've tried so hard and succeeded decently in muffling over the past year is frightened to death.

Oddly, with all this trouncing about in my mind, I'm not anxious. Perhaps that elusive process of growing-up truly has visited me in some small way.

EDIT: prayers for a quick resolution much appreciated - Baylor has apparently cancelled my housing request, something I did NOT want them to do, and now they're saying they're out of rooms on-campus...

Ugh.

There is a new realm of thought. I call it the queasy borderline. Where you aren't quite yet fantastically imagining things you shouldn't be, because later those imaginings will come bite you in the butt when they don't happen, but you want to imagine so badly. And little glimpses of potential, yet unlikely futures, sneak in, and are so tantalizing, but you must resist anyway?

Yes. I am in the queasy borderline today, and I do NOT like it. Rawr.

Pensées

Have you ever looked in the mirror and realized your face has changed? Not from a blemish or scar, but from the march of time, from simply growing older? I mean, I probably look in a mirror every day - I do in fact, to get my contacts in - but now and then, every few months, I see the shape of my face has subtly, irrevocably shifted.

_______________

Having a guy who is a friend in an older-brother way is fantastic.

______________

I've had an odd series of dreams the past few days, and their auras have lingered with me hours later. That doesn't usually happen.

______________

End ramblings of the day.

Thoughts on New Moon Trailer

I watched it a few minutes ago. Oh, the melodrama! I'll go watch it for the fight scenes and to laugh at the wrong parts (Yes. I am one of those anti-Twilight people). My thoughts:

1. Why did that selfish, sexy (not) beast Edward Cullen interfere when Jasper leapt at Bella? He would have killed her, and we wouldn't have to suffer through three more movies'-worth of female hysteria over Robert Pattison.

2. Smart, Bella, after your super-hot immortal boyfriend (who is, beyond my comprehension, still using the same hairdresser) ditches you in the forest, without even having the decency to walk/fly you home, you curl up in the middle of the trees and sob. Don't you remember him saying (a few times) "I'm not the most dangerous thing out there"?

3. Jacob with short hair and bare torso = hot. Good move on the producer's part. The long hair wasn't cutting it for me. No pun intended.

4. Technically, Jacob is not a werewolf. According to most classic lore, werewolves are half-human, half-wolf monsters. Jacob is a shape-shifter. I have a friend whose novel is centered around werewolves, and early on, she straightened out my conception of werewolves.

5. Melodrama is not my thing.

Am I going to be able to breathe today?

Well. As much as people have been flipping out about my age, I find it ironic I forgot today was my birthday until one of my suitemates said something about it. That may have to do with the mental exhaustion of reading an entire Presocratics book in a day, along with two acts of Julius Caesar, and two chapters of Bible commentaries. I'm not complaining, mind you. I just haven't been reading at a level of this intensity or sheer volume in a long time. I'll live. And thrive, hopefully.

I don't feel any older, really. I usually don't on birthdays, so no disappointment there. Until about three today, I have no classes, so I'll stretch, study, stretch more, organize, etc. At about two or three o'clock, I'll pack - my first cross-country race is this evening. Here's where the busy part starts: I'm following the school vans in my car. And then I'm racing. And within thirty minutes of finishing, I'll be driving down the road to my little sister's race. And I'll cheer for her, and then spend the night at my parents'.

Hopefully, I’ll remember to breathe – very well. I can’t decide whether I’m anxious or anticipatory about the race. Maybe both. The last couple years of cross-country, to put it in an ineloquent but precise way, sucked for me. I think this year might be different. I’m praying it is. That’s about all that’s gotten me the past couple years of running. Although having a rough time was good for me, in some ways. I think that’s when I discovered I had a passion for writing, and I threw myself into that (too much at times) instead of running. Maybe it’s coming full-circle, and I’m working on a balance now. I don’t know. Just my thoughts for the day.