An Evening in Pictures

*A birthday present for Erika's Mom

*Hand-sealed birthday card

*Collaged, recycled jewelry box wrapping with a bow made out of dried maple leaves.

*Dinner: Yellow onions, garlic, and fresh oregano and basil from my garden cooking in olive oil.

*Slightly roasted, just the way I like it.

*Fresh tomatoes, diced.

*Black olives, sloppily minced

*Served over multi-grain radiatori and garnished with fresh basil.

*To finish: the last slice of my pie made with fresh, locally grown rhubarb and plump strawberries.

Now, I'm going to curl up with some trashy TV and my knitting.

fini

Will Grayson Spoiler Alert!

There is always something to be said for trying new things. The ability to try new things, the openness to new experiences, is something I value in others and strive for in myself. However, there are some times when I crave the familiar. It doesn't matter how many times I find a new exciting recipe and get all a-twitter about a new vichyssoise (with zucchinie?!?!?) or exciting new bread-making techniques, I will still have days when I just want Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.

It was only yesterday that I found myself having the same experience with books. I was having a not-so-marvelous night, and I decided to hole up in my room to read. As I scanned my truly monstrous to-read pile/shelves of books, I quite literally put my hands on my hips and said out loud, "I need comfort food." It took me a second to look, and then I pulled Sabriel by Garth Nix off my shelf (a childhood favorite). I decided to skip all the exposition and go right for the best part. Chapter 11 is really when it gets crazy: crashing paperwings, cats that aren't cats, princes that aren't princes that are really made out of wood, etc. I sat myself down and read until there was no more to read. The lovers had kissed, the wounds had been tended, and the evil Kerigor was vanquished. Wonderful!

It was today, with more time to read, that I had the option of reading the follow up novel -Lirael- or picking up something new instead. As satisfying as Garth Nix's novels are, and always will be, they're predictable. Those books will never be quite as magical as they were the first time I read them. Don't get me wrong, there is a time and place for predictable endings. Sometimes I watch Pride and Prejudice because I go into it knowing the Darcy and Bingley and the Misses Bennett will figure it all out in the end. Our own lives can never be like that, so we can gain comfort in a certain amount of the known fates of fictional friends. I get that.

There comes a point, though, when relying on the security of other people's happy endings is just a crutch. There comes a time when we need to take a risk, meet new people, try a new genre and go into a book NOT knowing.

The book I read today, Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan, did have a happy ending. In fact, it had one of the happiest endings I've ever read, but this was not a comfortable book to read. Not. Comfortable. At all. Not because it was largely about men, several of them gay, but because (more than in many books I read) I saw a lot of myself reflected in the characters. It was because of that discomfort -and believe me, I know how cheesy this sounds even as I write it - that this book affected me so much. The 'not-knowing' was pivotal to my reading of this book, as was my apparent (yet disturbing) empathy with Midwestern gay teenagers.

I think in literature, as much as in life, that a reliance on what is known and expected is a kind of emotional laziness, maybe even addiction. Like those women who read romance novels by the pound and can't even remember which ones they've already read. No one wants to turn into that. It can seem to give comfort, but is ultimately a weakness if used too often.

Anyway, all philosophizing aside, both of the above-mentioned books are fabulous, and if you haven't read them, please do, and the moral of this rant is: next time you're craving mac'n cheese, try the vichyssoise instead.

My name is not Will Grayson, but I appreciate you, Tiny Cooper.

buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I just completed three writing assignments in the last four hours. That was stupid. Now, all the caffeine I drank to keep myself awake is preventing me from taking advantage of the 2.75 hours till my alarm goes off for like...sleeping and stuff. bummer. Don't procrastinate kids....

Danger: Super gross food ahead!

So, I've been doing most of my writing away from the computer lately. It's been a productive turn of events, but I feel guilty about leaving you out of the loop. I've been writing a lot about the garbage patch in the Pacific ocean. Super depressing. You're probably glad I'm not talking about it.

Anyway, here are a few things I thought I would never say, that I just said to myself:

"Well....jicama in this dish was CLEARLY a mistake."

and

"This needs like...so much more cumin. What? out of cumin!?! ......Do I still have some of those Taco Bell sauce packets lying around?......SCORE!"

Needless to say, tonights efforts were an object lesson in why you should not perform culinary experiments with limited materials in the middle of the night while trying to read a textbook.

On an unrelated note. Amazon......is really really really stupid.

That's all.

Wally out

I Wanna Shank You Like I Shoooould!

Hey there! Sorry for two boring posts, but I did most of my writing on paper today.

I also want to take a minute to step back from all the crazy introspection and doom/gloom stuff I've been writing to say how amazingly great my life is.

Nicole asked me today if I ever thought about the friendships I've had in the past that ended. I replied that I actually think about that a lot. I also think about the amazing number of friends I've retained through years of young stupidity, hysterics, and transition. I am insanely lucky and insanely loved by more people than one woman deserves.

So even on days, like today, when I am this tired and this frustrated, I still manage to spend a few hours laughing with my friends.

The world is instantly a better place when you have people who know you well enough to know that, "I love you so many stomachs," is the sweetest thing I've ever heard.

I'm going to go pass out now.

Mea Failpa!

I know, I know, I just got back on the wagon, and I had every intention of posting yesterday, and I DID write 500 words (or more). I simply didn't get around to posting anything. Mostly because....well, when I finished my homework the clock said 5:30 am and my alarm was set for 7am....so I decided that sleeping before my in class essay was more important than my blog. Silly, I know, what was I thinking?

So, here's my early morning shout out: Hi!

Now, I'm going to finish my oatmeal and green tea. Then off to school......yay?

Have a good day! Peace out!

Back In The Saddle Again!

Sorry, folks, I fell off the wagon. I got tired and busy and I didn't make writing a priority. Which is exactly what I am NOT supposed to do. So, I'm taking a page out of the vlogbrother's book and asking you, my devoted reader(s), to prescribe a punishment for not writing. Leave your suggestions in the comments below.

Let me start off my saying that I have a pimple inside my nose. It really hurts. Especially since I'm still kicking the tail end of this cold. Nasty business.

So, what have I been up to?

Well, I made this: for the daughter of my bosses. Cthulhu dice bag for the win!

I also wrote a lot of letters, worked a lot, and caught up on some much needed rest. Eleven days without a day off was just too much, my mind was melting. I've also managed to not do any homework. Gosh I'm a slacker. I'm going to be tired this week too, I can feel it. I just still need to get back in the habit of having homework that I HAVE TO get done before I actually live my life. It's so strange to have to force myself to prioritize something that I have no interest in. It seems so backward.

I can't believe January is almost over. This year is 1/12 over. Not a huge chunk of the pie, but still. Being conscious of how fast time sneaks away is something that has come to me with age, not that I'm that old mind you. I used to not think of it, though. I know that sounds cliché, but it's true. In all of my smaller classes I've been asked in one way or another what my long-term goals and plans are.

I still have no idea.

I can feel my life moving onward, my age increasing, my decisions making themselves by my inaction, but still I have no clue. I'm coming to the time in my life where that isn't cute anymore. I've always had a plan. Before I needed a plan, I had one. When I was eight years old I printed off the student handbook for Edinburgh University. I was going to go there when I was out of high school, study literature, and then move to the Scottish countryside, become a hermit, write books, and raise goats. That was my serious life plan for more years than I care to admit.

Even later in life when I had a better grasp of reality and the things that would actually make me happy, I still had a plan. A different plan: get a scholarship to Washington University in St. Louis, study architecture, get a scholarship to Yale, study graduate level architecture, get a brilliant job, design sustainable buildings for the third world, save humanity.

Still a little crazy, a fact I realized in the midst of step number 2 of that plan. I was massively unhappy and had a meltdown. I all but checked out entirely during my third semester of college. I spent the vast majority of that semester wandering around Forrest Park and the St Louis art museum, decorating my class drafting studio with paper snowflakes, and getting in fights with my professors. Word to the wise, if you are taking an art-based class with no concrete grading criteria, it would behoove you not to call the professor a bitch to her face and scream, “Oh yeah, what are you going to do to me if I don't feel like sticking around after class to set up your stupid gallery show? Huh? WHAT CAN YOU DO?”

She can give you a C is what, even if you work your ass off, that's what she can do. I guess I should count myself lucky. In my own defense for that stupidity, I hadn't slept in about three days and I was having massive withdrawals from a prescription I was taking back then. I was a little....off my game.

Anyway, aside from that bizarre flashback, the point I was attempting to make is that since that time I haven't really had a concrete plan. My plan is that I don't need a plan. I don't know what I want to do so why force it? Well, if I don't start making decisions soon, all my decisions will be made for me. I'll get stuck, I'll waste opportunities. Any kindergartener, when you ask them, can answer the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I still can't answer that, and it's really starting to bum me out. :-P

For now, I'll plug along. I had my staff Christmas party tonight, and if I'm going to waste away in a retail job, I couldn't ask for a better trench to toil in. Them's are a good lot, that's for sure.

ps- creepiest beverage ever = rooibos tea in a skull mug

goodnight!

"There's No Time On The River"

In one of my classes today, the professor asked us to play one of those getting-to-know you games that you wish teachers got out of their systems in junior high. While someone in the class was describing their hobbies, and I was busy doodling Spanish galleons in my notebook, something he said caught my attention. He said that his favorite thing in the world to do is drive, and he has made a road trip from Idaho down to Florida and then back through Michigan just for fun. Actually, he's done this twice.

It was then that I had two simultaneous and divergent reactions. On one hand I was like, “Dude! That's a lot of gas! That's bad for the environment AND for your finances.” On the other hand I was like, “Dude! That's wicked! I would love to do that, and I am having a hard time controlling my jealousy right now.”

See, I have this problem, a dilemma if you will.

I love driving. I love the control, the feeling of independence that is a part of our cultural identity. I love watching trees and rivers and landscapes change before me. I love setting that little slice of Americana to my own personal soundtrack and singing out to the hills. I love rolling down the windows, feeling the pressure of the wind on my face and its pull on my hair as I inhale the land's scent.

Bliss, Idaho smells like sage and sand, river water and crickets. Olympia, Washington smells like moss and marijuana, salt water and steel. St. Louis, Missouri smells like grass and sweat, mud and thunderstorms.

In high school, and even later on, when I got frustrated or completely broken down or couldn't sleep, I would jump in my car and drive. I would drive east until I found a sunrise, drive into the mountains until I could see all the stars, drive through the twisted foothill roads until my mind was straight.

When Nicole and I were working for the transportation department (best summer job ever, by the way) we spent most of our time driving on roads that only saw a few people a year. It was intoxicating. There was one day, one moment really, somewhere outside Rigby, Idaho that may have changed my life. We were mapping a road on the border of some kind of nature reserve or wetland conservation area.

It was just us, we were surrounded by tall grass and cattails stretching for miles. To our right was a break in the marsh and a long stretch of smooth, dark water reaching out to a wooded area of slender trees and underbrush.

The day was that kind of clear beauty that comes right after rain in the desert. The sky was an unbelievable blue, so pure and bright it seemed fake. The clouds were few and fluffy, cottony white. The wind was warm and barely strong enough to sway the grasses and ripple the surface of the lake, but enough to carry birdsong in through our windows. Our beat-up old jeep sailed down the road to the tune of “Aqueous Transmission.” Then way off to our right we saw a blue heron emerge from the shadowed water, sweep upward toward the impossibly blue sky, and then glide over the glittering lake. We were wrapped in sensation, to the point of bursting, almost to the point of crying, for no reason other than we might never experience anything this spontaneously wonderful in all our life. The moment was so perfect that we were afraid to move, to stop, to talk, as if it would break the spell, end it all. It felt sacred.

That sight, that day, encapsulated the joy I felt being at home in the west. It was one of the reasons I decided to come back here, to abandon my scholarship and the promise of a secure career, to revisit all the reasons I have become who I am. The summer I spent driving around southern Idaho completely altered the course of my life, I think for the better. So driving is a very symbolic act for me in some ways.

However, all emotion aside. I have to hate freeways. They brought about urban sprawl, the endangerment of small towns, and massive use of fossil fuels. I'm an environmentalist, a lazy one I'll grant you, but I still really care about it. I went to Sierra Club Summer Camp for crying out loud. Can I really justify driving for the sake of driving? Isn't it kind of perverse and opulent and arrogant to suppose that's a valid lifestyle choice?

Probably not. Thus my dilemma. I suppose it is a tribute to the complexity of humans that I can both love and hate the same thing. Why doesn't that make me feel better?

I did have fun reminiscing though. Perhaps tonight I will dream of blue herons in summer and black-eyed Susans. One can only hope.

***

"Lying face up on the floor of my vessel

I marvel at the stars
And feel my heart overflow"

-from "Aqueous Transmission" by Incubus

We're Gonna Party Like It's Revelations 19:99!

“humanity is doomed, by the way”-Mark

Maybe it's because I just finished reading an anthropology text concerning the similarities of female genital mutilation in the third world and breast implants in the first, but I'm in the mood to believe that statement (taken from my brother's blog via Facebook today).

Also, I overheard this conversation today at the bookstore:

Coworker Ross: Are you ready, ma'am?
Awesome, Snarky Customer: Are you ready?
Coworker Ross: For the apocalypse? Yeah, for about ten years now.

Also, I just reread my blog entry on Catholicism and saw a trailer for Legion while folding laundry at my mom's house. So, the rapture is on my brain, but not in a like....depressing, fire-and-brimstone kind of way, but in an academic, curious kind of way.

I'm wondering why, as cultures, (not just my culture, but multiple cultures around the world) we torture ourselves. I mean, why do we have rituals that cause unnecessary harm? Why do we terrorize ourselves with images of impending doom and destruction on a “biblical” scale? I know there are reasons having to do with how the cultures evolved, the symbolism, etc., but don't you find it interesting that in just about every culture, there is something inherently damaging that we as humans do to ourselves.

Why, when we, ourselves, understand pain, would we culturally impose it on ourselves and others?

I mean that seriously, not in a froufrou, bleeding-heart way. Outside of what is required for survival-- because that's instinct and hormones, I get that—outside of that, what fundamentally causes that desire to inflict and experience pain and terror?

I'm not excluding myself from this, there's no judgment here. I have a tattoo, and not even I can give a really clear reason why I paid someone to drag a needle across my skin and fill the bleeding wounds with ink. That's kind of messed up, but I did it and I would gladly do it again. In fact, I probably will. I also get a kick out of jumping out from behind doors and scaring the pants off of people. Why is that? Why is that funny or enjoyable? For that matter, why do people go to horror movies? I love horror movies, but when I think about it in a cold, rational way, that too is pretty messed up.

I could go on, but I wont. I think you get my gist. Each specific example, I'm sure, has an anthropological or historical or psychological or sociological reason behind it, but it had to start somewhere. That's what I want to know. What kicked off this crazy game?

So I leave you with that, a whole lot of nothing. A whole lot of questions at least, which I guess in and of themselves are something. A representation of a pursuit of truth as my Nonfiction Writing professor would say. (What's her name Dr. McGonnagul? McGowl? No. McSomething-or-other, I should probably know that) Anyway, I'm certainly not going to answer these questions by staring into space in the middle of the night, so I'm for sleepy time.

Farewell, dear hearts!

*more words that I had to add to the word processor dictionary today: Snarky and Facebook
**word I was surprised I didn't have to add: froufrou

A Few Fathoms Short of a Full Lake

Pram Ram Long Song, originally uploaded by The Waters of March.

First day of classes, and I am reminded how tedious school is. At work, if something needs doing, I do it. At school, if something needs doing, someone has to explain and re-explain and answer questions and lay out criteria while simultaneously holding the hand of and shoving a pacifier in the mouth of ninety infantilized students....it was awesome...

...or something like that.

I am pretty excited by a few of the courses though. Cultural Anthropology sounds like an awesome class with an awesome professor who hates busy work. That makes two of us, so bonus. The other is my creative nonfiction writing class. The professor is the kind of hard ass teacher that ends up really forcing you to do your best, and I really thrive in that environment. It also sounds like we're going to get a lot of freedom and do a lot of writing. I may, over the course of the semester, use my blog posts as informal writing assignments for this class. We'll see how that goes.

I will have to work on one rather long and involved topic over the course of the semester. The topic is ideally one that I am inherently confused or conflicted by, very interested in, and/or may have a persuasive component.

ANY THOUGHTFUL SUGGESTION, ANY AT ALL, WOULD BE GRATEFULLY ACCEPTED!

I have thought of one idea so far. I decided to become a vegetarian at the age of ten. I have changed a lot since I was ten. The world has changed, society has changed, and science has learned a lot more about diet and nutrition in those twelve years. So, knowing what I know now, and what I can learn, would I make the same decision over again? Taking into account all the moral, ecological, philosophical, practical, and dietary considerations, is it still a wise choice? Do some of those criteria count more than others? Should they?

It's something that I think I should re-examine as an intelligent adult even if to yet again come to the conclusion that I don't want to eat meat. Any long held belief should be able to stand up to repeated analysis or it's no longer valid. To quote Baz Luhrman, “Just because it is, doesn't mean it should be.”

Or, you know, maybe I'm not crazy. That's also an option.
Anyway, I think there are a lot of things I could examine and delve into, so I wouldn't get bored. There's the added bonus that I would be writing a 10-20 page paper on two of my favorite things: me and my food!

Speaking of which, had some delicious Thai food with Nicole today (shown above) before we went out to Pengilly's Saloon with the boys for some Tuesday night Booze Clues! We knew several of the answers this time, but Josh is the only one who won a free drink. I ate pretzels and laughed a lot. It was a good night, and now it's time for some good sleep.

Sleep well, my angels!

PREVIEW:

I'm learning how to do receiving at the bookstore tomorrow. YEEE HAW!

By the way, a fathom is six feet deep. I know you were curious.

The Day No Pictures Would Die

Sorry, no picture today. I'm lazy. Hopefully, now that I cleaned the cesspool that was my bedroom and found my camera charger, I will have new exciting photos to share! Any requests in that regard? I'm open to suggestions.

I'm going to attempt to get some good pictures of my mom. I just realized that I don't have very many of them. As morbid as this sounds, I don't want to look back when I'm older and say to myself that I wish I had taken the time to take more pictures of her. Mortality has been on my mind this week, and can I just say, for the record: suicide and suicide attempts are sad and selfish and stupid and they make me angry.

ANYWAY, moving on...

I was at work late tonight, those manga kids are CRAZY! Also messy, so I had to empty a lot of trash cans. I came home and made delicious Mexicali Quinoa! That's what I'm calling it anyway.

Here's what I did: I mixed about one tablespoon of butter with one tablespoon of olive oil and sauteed half an onion and some minced garlic While I was doing that, I rinsed a cup of quinoa.

fun fact: I adapted this dish from a Curried Quinoa recipe found at www.quinoa-recipes.com where I found out that

“Quinoa is coated with a natural substance called saponin that protects the grain by repelling insects and birds. Rinsing the quinoa is important to avoid a raw or bitter taste. You can tell if there is saponin by the production of a soapy looking "suds" when the seeds are swished in water.”

Good to know!

Anyway, instead of adding a bunch of spices, I just used salt, pepper, and some cumin. I then added the quinoa, stirred constantly for a while then added about a half cup of leftover black beans (frijoles negros!!!) and cooked for a little longer. Then I added about two glugs of salsa. Yes, glug is a measurement in my book, but if you must know: two glugs equals approximately a third of a cup. Stirred that up and then added the water. I reduced the water to a cup and a half because of the moisture in my salsa. I have pretty chunky salsa (with corn in it!) so if you're using some more liquidy stuff, I would reduce the water even more. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat, simmer for 15-20 minutes. Took about 18 minutes for me I think.

And, voila! Delicious. This made enough for dinner with enough leftover for take to school lunch Tuesday and Thursday.

Bonus feature (correct me if I'm wrong, Theresa) because this recipe has both a whole grain (quinoa) and a legume (frijoles negros!!!), this dish is a complete protein!

Ba badum BAAAAAAAAH!!!!

(Those are my triumphant trumpet noises! Imagine a little animated stooge in velvet livery showing up and trumpeting my glory and success, mostly because that's what I'm imagining. Don't judge me.)

Anyway, that about does it for me. I'm going to go finish packing my school bag, lay out my clothes, and prepare my coffee pot so I can just press 'On' in the morning. My early morning motor skills preclude me from filling coffee filters gracefully. It's not pretty.

Wish me luck! *muah*

Curse Your Delicious, Nutrient-Rich Nature!!!

FUNgi, originally uploaded by The Waters of March.

I just had a fabulous time grocery shopping. In the middle of the night on Sunday is always the best time to go to Winco, no one is there except for teenagers racing grocery carts and the restocking guys. The (oh my gosh, gorgeous!) cashier and I had an awesome conversation about the varied uses for jicama, and I bought some quinoa! The quinoa, in fact, ended up being a third of the cost of the entire shopping trip.

Why? Why, Quinoa? Why must you be so delicious and nutritious and expensive?

It is worth noting that neither jicama or quinoa was in my word processor's standard dictionary. FAIL.

Anyway, while I was roaming the aisles, wantonly gazing at almond milk (I didn't splurge, but it was a near thing), I had the best idea for a character quirk. Sort of like a tick even, obsessive compulsive. Imagine someone obsessed with numbers, but not mathematically, that's old hat. I mean historically: dates, times, coordinates. Like, they only buy bulk foods with number codes that are years of significance.

-Rainbow Rotini, 1604, last observed super nova in the milky way galaxy.

-Cranberry Almond Granola, 1912, Republic of China and the Girl Scouts of America are founded, also the Titanic sinks.

Or like the dollar amount of gas.
-$18.64, 1864, Lincoln is reelected and appoints Ulysses S. Grant commander in chief of the Union Army

You get the picture.

(Also, rotini was not in the program's dictionary either. They should let you choose between 'Standard Dictionary' and 'Eccentric Dictionary')

Anyway, the number thing, I think it could be a fun, quirky tick for a character to have. I guess strange character traits have been on my mind since breakfast. Brenton and I were talking about Fat Kid Rules the World by K. L. Going. It's an awesome young adult literature title, and the character has this habit of interjecting “headlines” that sort of comically describe the situation. They're sort of brutally honest and self deprecating (for instance: FAT KID HIT BY TRAIN!), and it gives the whole book an occasional punch of fresh air. I really like that (the fresh air, not fat kids dying), so I've been musing on different internal habits a character could have that aren't as played out as some are (counting steps, repeating stuff, finding complex calculus equations in everyday items...)

I guess I could have a former spelling bee champion who constantly spells words in her head. Or a Latin geek who runs through word etymologies and contexts. I guess that could either be fun and quirky, and potentially education, or it could be really obnoxious. Depends on how I handle it, I guess.

The point is, I LOVE neurotic characters. They're so complicated and interesting and harshly vulnerable. So I'm working on writing one. Remember Arcadia York from a few posts ago? My perfect name that needed a character? Now, we have established that she is going to have a bizarre, and currently undetermined, internal quirk.

Any ideas? Suggestions or opinion on the existing options?
You should probably comment and tell me what you think.

Till then, adieu and good night!

(What? Adieu is in there, but jicama isn't? What incompetent baboon compiled this dictionary? ...oh wait....Microsoft)

Gimme That Old Time Religion!

I'm having a hard time writing characters with different religious beliefs than myself. I mean, I can do it, it just always accidentally ends up being an extreme. And then it doesn't work because I end up hating my character, and I don't want to write the story of someone I hate.

I can't grasp that....normalcy, that sort of middle ground between total evangelical nightmare and creepy depressed Nihilist. Maybe because I never had it. When I was LDS, I considered myself really LDS. You know, I dotted my i's and crossed all my t's and said all my prayers and jumped through every hoop. And then when I decided that I wasn't LDS, I became an atheist. And I was really and atheist.

Now I've simply stopped caring all that much, and I'm pretty decent at being what I call a Moral Agnostic ish. So I've never really experienced that "average" religious experience for myself. I think that's why I'm having a hard time understanding the motivations, getting into the head. I simply can not be moved to do anything out of religious zeal, no matter how minor, so having my characters do it always sounds insincere.

But I really love catholicism as part of plots, it's so dark and twisty and full of fun facts and artifacts. I like the idea of a character moved by religion but not, like, the Joan of Arc, Muhammad, Moses on the mountain kind of moved. Something more subtle and introspective, but I'm having a hard time grasping it. Thus my dilemma.

On an only somewhat related note:

Sometimes I want to be Catholic. Not really for any religious reason. It has something to do with rituals and beautiful places. I was looking through old pictures of the St. Louis Basilica and I found that I really wanted to be there. Even by looking at the pictures, I felt calmer and more at ease. Even though the scholar in me knows all the historical corruption of the church (No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!) I still fall in love with the grandeur every time. The giant space filled with quiet and filtered light almost makes me want to pray. Nonsensical half formed thoughts about peace and awe.

I guess that's what they were built for, so.....way to go, guys!

But it's not just that I'm a sucker for symbolic stone architecture, the compassionate gaze of the Madonna, and stained glass windows (which, I totally am), it is the comfort of repetition. Of script. The idea of having a prayer, a chant, a mantra to repeat sort of like a verbal/mental barrier against evil or negativity is something I can get behind. Even if it only has as much power as the performer thinks it does, I still envy them that.

Now that I'm thinking about it, is that really any different than a superstition? good luck charms and such? Something physical and substantial that we can do and feel and see in order to feel better, even if just for a minute. Perhaps it's nothing more than the desired illusion of control.

So knowing that, is it weak to seek it anyway? Knowing fully that it is merely pretense? I dunno, something to think about.

Anyway, so yeah, I kinda want to be Catholic.

How did we end up here?

ps-One more reason to be catholic: a Nun's life sounds totally awesome. No hair and makeup, no room and board, no clothes shopping, no messy romance, just a life of chillin' with the sisters and community service. I could dig that.

bella notte, my dears!

There's no greeting card for that...

What's really on my mind tonight I wont talk about. Partially out of respect for the privacy of a friend and partially because I haven't decided how to react to it yet.

It's kind of driving me crazy though.

The funny thing about second hand grief and anger is that it's harder to process than the first person kind. No, it's not harder, it's harder to process. Different. At least for me, I get an overwhelming feeling, a need to do something. But because I'm not really the one affected, my emotions are chaotic and impotent. I feel sad and angry that someone I care about is sad and angry. But my emotions aren't the important emotions, which is the kind of distinction that makes life as an adult suck. It's a lot easier to process things as a self-obsessed teenager when everything has to be about what you're feeling because you're feeling everything SO HARD.

Oh, to be young again. *sigh*

I spent all day at work avoiding thinking about this, so now all I can do is think about it. I came home from work and started frantically working. Second coat on the step stool gleaming, all the dirty dishes clean, refrigerator emptied of rotten food, emails meticulously answered. It's my best avoidance technique. I'm super good at being dysfunctional. Unfortunately, I'm sick and headachey and tired, so I couldn't keep up that pace. So, I sat down to write my blog post and all I could think to write about is the thing I've been avoiding all day. First rule of dysfunctional avoidance techniques? They never last as long as you want them to. Eventually you have to nut up and deal with it. Another reason why being an adult sucks.

Today, aside from all this angsty drama crap, my boss asked me to assess all three of our employment candidates today because I had a chance to meet and speak with all of them. One of the candidates was my good friend Brenton. Brenton is really smart and really chill. He is almost done with a college degree and still has to beg for rides to get back and forth from a crappy job waiting tables at a crappy diner. Brenton would love a better job, he would thrive at a better job. He is qualified for a job in my bookstore, he would be good at it and love it. When my friends are happy, I am happy. Seems like all win, so I got him an interview and helped him prep for it.

Unfortunately, the other two candidates were pretty stellar too. So when my boss asked me, "What are your impressions?" I stopped to think and gather my thought, and I had one of those bizarre angel on one shoulder, demon on the other moments.

Angel: You need to make this decision as a professional based on what would be good for the bookstore.

Demon: But wouldn't working with Brenton be fun? Wouldn't it be great if he were happier. He may not be the best candidate, but he'd still be pretty good.

Angel: Good isn't the best, this is a small, independent business. You can't let your personal relationships cloud your judgment.

Demon: Aren't you being a lousy friend by not recommending him? What kind of person gets their friend to apply and then tells the boss to hire someone else anyway?

I hate you both, there's a reason I'm an atheist. Very few things are black or white, good or evil. Moral ambiguity, the third reason adulthood sucks.

So, let's try to bring this post away from the doom and gloom.

hmmm...I guess I can say:

Life sucks a lot sometimes, but not all the time.

Sometimes it's really really awesome.

and adults can have ice cream whenever they want without asking permission first.

Zing!

"It's going to be a good night, Tater"

WOWZA! That's alotta sexy! Mostly my sister, I love her a whole heaping lot.

Know what else is sexy? Raccoon hats. Also, awesome people. Specifically awesome people who share their awesomeness with others thereby raising the level of world awesome.

Some examples you say? Let's leave out all the generally awesome individuals who volunteer and sacrifice themselves in thankless jobs and like....donate organs n' stuff...

Let's talk about the ones that have positively made my life better in the last 15 hours or so.

1. Moxie java barista, she serves really shitty coffee out of a confining plywood fire hazard every weekday morning. That sucks. That really sucks. She probably can't even enjoy the fact that she gets free coffee cause it's so freaking gross. But still, she made my morning. I, who pretty much never buy coffee there unless I'm really tired, really desperate, and running really late. She saw, or rather heard in my demonic muppety mucus throat voice, that I was sick this morning and gave me a free muffin. That's awesome.

2. Whitney/Bob/Zoh!e, she is adorable and has peacock colored hair, what is more awesome than that? She played ska on her phone during an employment interview that we ran today. She also had on plaid socks. She, without questioning my motives, followed me on a mindless quest to antique stores and tried on all the funny stuff I told her to. She also unknowingly made fun of beatnik, 'scene' kids and their lousy book taste right in front of a dude reading Camus....priceless. She also skateboards in lingerie and makes fun of me when I eat beans out a skull (What? NO ONE MESSES WITH YOU IF YOU'RE EATING OUT OF A SKULL!). but mostly, what I find awesome about Whitney-bob-zohe is her never-ceasing thirst for knowledge. She is never afraid to ask why or require an explanation of things she doesn't understand or to seek out more random knowledge just for the hell of it. I really love that. She also hung out with my while I sanded and attacked an old step ladder with knives and razor blades. She even stayed around to watch me paint it "Caribbean Holiday".

Why, you may well ask, was I painting an old step ladder "Caribbean Holiday"? Because the "Gypsy Teal" was $3 more expensive. duh.

3. Drive thru guy at Westside Drive-In, (aside: Wow, second drive thru person of the day, something is wrong with my eating habits or right with customer service. Possibly both.) this dude was not only polite and really gorgeous in that not-so-obvious-that-I've-become-a-cocky-nerfurder kind of way. Also, he went out of his way to create a specialty drink for us (raspberry scotch and soda with ginger ale! Delicious!) and he gave us 4 pieces of garlic toast instead of the requisite 3 so we could split the order evenly. Got to love a hot man who digs symmetry and creative beverages.

4. John and Hank Green aka the vlogbrothers aka the founders of Nerdfighteria because they are possibly the coolest strangers I don't know, but feel like I know and want to be friends with. Also, I'm addicted to their vlogs. I just watched three straight hours of vlogbrother material, and if I didn't have to work tomorrow I can't say I would stop here. (check it out n00bs!: http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers AND http://nerdfighters.ning.com/) You, sirs, are awesome. You are selflessly devoted to sharing your awesome and that, too....is awesome. DFTBA!!! (don't get that, n00b? Go to their website!)

aaaaaaand, I'm pretty sure that covers today.

French the llama, that was awesome! (John Green, that was for you)

My Kingdom for Some Solid Food!

My fingers are mostly healed. Healed enough at any rate.

I now have a head cold to go with my blasted fingers. I am a pretty pitiful sight, I sound like a muppet, and I've been puttering around the house guzzling green tea and vegetable broth. I've been wearing my brown fuzzy slippers and my (oversized, obnoxiously yellow, mustard velvet) bathrobe with a notebook and pen in one of its pockets, my cell phone and chapstick in the other. Everything I need, right at my scabbed-over fingertips.

I've lost all track of word count or which days I've written what. Let's pretend for sake of argument that I've still managed 500 a day, "a day" being defined as any 24 hour period where I remained awake and cognizant for the majority of the time in question. Sound fair?

The time away from the keyboard has been nice though. I think I'm a different kind of writer when I write by hand. I am by nature, a visual person. When I write by hand, I do not necessarily write in order. My mind works in clusters, webs, and clouds. With a pen, I can write an idea like a clump of clay and then gradually decide what the clay is going to actually look like when I'm done. It's actually much more conducive to my poetry. I draw sentences rather than write them. I'm more inclined to write prose when I'm at a computer. Isn't that fascinating? I suppose that's the linear half of my brain kicking in.

Sometimes I spend so much time writing on the computer that I miss the physical act of writing. I didn't used to enjoy it. Probably because I take copious notes. So when I was in school I had too much of a good thing, lecture notes, in-class essays, and the like. That kind of overkill can lead to hatred. I'm really glad it didn't.

It's because writing is so intoxicating to me, I think. Not because it's meditative or because my handwriting is nice to look at once it's filled a page (it's not, it looks dreadful, I can barely read it most of the time) or because what I've written is particularly good (it's not, trust me).

It's intoxicating because a primitive part of myself is still amazed that scratching at a blank surface can mean so much. That by acting with purpose, I can give voice and meaning to what would otherwise be spilled ink and an innocent, smooth, blank page. Flawless, down right glowing with potential. Stunning. Antagonizing. Silent. Until I can claim it, mark it, mold it. Fill it with lines and swoops, cross things out, dig my pen into the thin flesh of the page when I really mean it, like a tattoo or a hieroglyph, and let my letters skitter across the surface when I don't.

Then I turn the page. And I do it again. It's like magic.

Again and again by the force of my brain and the sweep of my fingers I transform lifeless wood pulp into a story, into ideas. My ideas may not be life altering, regime crumbling, mind blowing masterpieces. But someone, somewhere, at some time was doing the exact same thing that I'm doing, and they changed the world. And I think that's beautiful.

That's all for me today.
g'night, my darlings!

Bloody, Bleeding Fingertips!

Sorry I didn't update yesterday. So, I now have a gash on the tip of my right index finger from an exacto knife and a gash on my right middle finger from a demon soup can.

It really hurts to type. So I'll be kicking it old school for a couple days and just write like a normal person, with like a pen and stuff.

Also, finished a book today: 'Some Girls Are' by Courtney Summers. It's like Mean Girls but well written with like...rape and death. Kind of a downer actually, but still a good read.

Ciao!

Turtley Awesome, Saxophone-Air-Guitar Gang Bang!

I HURT EVERYWHERE! I go the crap beat out of me at a concert tonight (One Pin Short, Suburban Legends, and Reel Big Fish), but I had a great time and I got to hug Brian Klemm.

My computer is so slow, this must be how people with dial up feel. I will attempt to upload my original post tomorrow after sleep, a shower, some aspirin, and icy hot.

Peace out, my nanalicious compadres!

Every Moment is a "Thriller" Moment!

So, let's all take a moment to appreciate the beauteous serendipity that caused Meatball Goat Zombies.

Awesome. Let's move on then.

Today in Wally's writing world we had some major events. I bought a book chock full of inspiration and writing block un-blockers. It's called The Pocket Muse. So nice that they make mythical beings in a travel size, eh?

Also, I was inspired with a giant pile of snow plowed into a corner of a parking lot and began a story about a Czechoslovakian prostitute who hates the Dutch, oh wait, no....that was just a conversation I had with Whitney. But anyway.....

I also got to hear a reading by Brian Hart, a new Idaho author. We were the first stop on his national tour. It made me realize that I need to stretch my reading bubble back towards the seriously literary. In my quest to become more of an expert on kids and teens books, I've really limited the amount of adult literature I take in. I'm a human, I cling to the familiar. If teen books are what I'm used to, that's the level I write.

Case and point: my favorite book of the year so far? The Purple Kangaroo. Which is a picture book. An amazing picture book, yes, but still. Time to rejoin adulthood for a while. So I picked up the Advance reader copy of Brady Udall's new book: The Lonely Polygamist. Hopefully that and my literature classes starting up in a couple weeks will refresh my brain.

That's it for today I'm afraid. I gouged my finger upholstering a music box yesterday and typing keeps re-opening the scab. No fun.

So, goodnight friends!

Word Count Today: 551
Word Count Total: 3411

Dolphins make me cry

I just watched this documentary. I cried. I think this may be the first time a documentary has made me cry.

Anyway, after watching that at the end of a day of emailing professors and fighting with my cell phone company, I'm pretty much spent. I hope the many hundreds of words of bullshit I wrote in emails today counts for my 500.

Ps- You should all watch that movie.

Two cats shy of spinsterhood

Salem, originally uploaded by The Waters of March.

As I got ready for work this morning, I was juggling multiple things in my head. For instance: I wonder what the difference in calories would be if I put Grapenuts in my yogurt instead of granola? Or: Should I wear my brown shoes or my black shoes? I suppose that depends on whether I want to wear the brown blazer of the black sweater, which means deciding clean lines and stuffy or easy-going and frumpy. Brown shoes. If I go down town to get a new library card because mine has worn out, what else can I get done while I'm down there?

oh. my. god.

My life is so boring.
Driving to work I decided that I'm about two cats and a tea cozy short of total, all-consuming spinsterhood. The rest of the day only sealed the deal for me.

*at this point, go ahead and skip to the next asterisk unless you're really bored

After work, I went to the library to get a new card and seriously got in a discussion about taxation boundaries with a librarian. After that, I bought crafting supplies. After that, I had a 20 minute discussion with an old woman about my button preferences (seriously...button preferences) and made a social visit to three old ladies that work at my favorite yarn shop.
After that I went to by specialty food for my two obnoxious rabbits. Not quite cats, thank god, I'm allergic or I would be a total cliché. I then had dinner with my dad and his wife over which we talked about how tired and busy we all were, and wouldn't it be lovely if we could all get together again for a game night.
I went home where I was supposed to be picked up by my awesome friend Nicole (of sushi burrito fame) so that we could go out to Pengilly's Saloon for $2 Tuesdays and Booze Clues.

Want to know what we did instead? Sat around discussing if we actually wanted to go or if we should just stay home and knit or go out for tea and knit. We then decided to go by ice cream and rent a movie.

So instead of meeting up with a bunch of people at a bar, I sat at home with one of my bff's cuddled under a blanket watching Paranormal Activity (the last minute and a half totally ruined it for me by the way).

This is what my life has become. Working, knitting, reading, writing, and watching movies. That's pretty much all I do. As depressing as that sounds, it's a pretty sweet life most of the time. Blogging about it makes it more obvious, I guess, how little variety there really is in my days. Maybe I'll work on that.

*IN WRITING NEWS

I bought a little pocket notebook today at work for writing down thoughts on the fly. During my craft supply run I picked up this little pocket sized pen that telescopes out to normal writing size. So I can write down my ideas whenever, wherever.
As soon as I have one worth writing that is :P

Also, I'm considering making my blog the blog of a fictional character. Or maybe a different character each day. Just as an exercise to really get into their voice, or their life. We'll see how that goes.

I've recently fallen in love with the name Arcadia York. I need to write a character worthy of that name. That's what I'm working on now. Maybe a hard core spinster....hmm...Arcadia is a GREAT name for a spinster. ...

Word Count Today: 557
Word Count Total: 2860

3 Mugs of Tea

Tea for Two, originally uploaded by The Waters of March.

I am sick. Today I moved from my bed to the bathroom to my bed and then to the couch at my mother's house. Now I am doing my laundry. To be quite accurate, my mother's washing machine is doing laundry. I am writing thank you notes.

I hate thank you notes.

It is a physical manifestation of societal pressure. Any true friend or family member whom I actually care about doesn't need a thank you note. They need a hug or a phone call or even an email. Thank you notes are usually not personal, they are usually not sincere, they aren't me. They are too formal to be meaningful. I feel guilty for wasting the paper and the postage.

But I am 22, almost 23, and I have apparently reached the age at which a verbal thank you isn't enough. It's polite to go through the motions, to write out my insincere babbling. Some of these people probably forgot they got something for me as soon as they checked my name off of their obligatory shopping lists.

I really like this song. I'm listening to Devotchka to drown out the TV coverage of the fiesta bowl as I sip on my third cup of this surprisingly good sweet orange tea. I say surprising because most pre-packaged tea tasted kind of....meh....after you're used to loose leaf tea, but this stuff hits the spot. I guess it's like how sometimes you crave some bad diner coffee even though you have some perfectly good fresh roasted Guatemalan goodness at home or how sometimes you'd rather watch Clueless than read a perfectly good book.

But I digress....

What I meant to say, is that as I was writing a thank you note to my grandmother, I had a brilliant idea. My 500 installments have been kind of haphazard and terrible since I don't really know what to write about. I'm still not comfortable with prose, but 500 words is really long for a poem. So I've been sort of in need of a kick start. Anyway, my grandma got us this game called “Liebrary” for Christmas. Basically, there are a bunch of cards that represent books. They have the title, author, first line and short plot of hundreds of books. Everyone playing writes what they think is a convincing first line for the book and the person who drew the card writes the real one. They read all of the first sentences and you have to guess which one is real.

It just dawned on me that this is an AWESOME writing exercise. Two awesome writing exercises actually. Either do what the game intends, and write a first line based on the plot and then simply keep writing or you could use one of these first lines as a spring board to start off a story totally unrelated to the original book.

Tonight I used the first line from 'Like Water for Chocolate' by Laura Esquivel:

“Take care to chop the onion fine.”

Excellent advice.

Goodnight, friends.

Word Count Today: 503

Word Count Total: 2303

"it's a truckload of bricks in the soft morning light"

Frosty Fence, originally uploaded by The Waters of March.

Look! I created a flickr account today! I take my flickr screen name and the title of today's post from the lyrics of possibly my favorite jazz song (I guess technically it's bossa nova, but whatever ) "The Waters of March" or "Aquas de Marco" in the original Portugese by Antonio Carlos Jobim.

( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9itLsDLXz9E )

So I had today off, I did some word-smithin' and some reading, but mostly I edited a bunch of photos, cleaned up my computer desktop, and did dishes while watching the Might Ducks. It was a day full of nostalgia. It got me thinking about all the crazy stuff that's happened this last year.

My best friend got married and moved away, my other best friend moved back to Boise and I started seeing her all the wonderful time, my other best friend turned out to be not so good a friend and isn't a best friend anymore.

My other best friend, my dog, died on February 21st at 4:30 pm. We put him down after days of heart-wrenching pain and paralysis. I cannot begin to describe the crippling emotional toll that took on me, is still taking on me. In many ways, Zuka was my oldest friend and closest confidante.

I got in my first real car accident May 28th.
I met a goal. (tmi alert!)One year of not kissing anyone. I initially made this goal because on March 17th of 2008 I kissed a stranger on the balcony of the Ha'penny Bridge Pub whilst I was a bit inebriated and caught up in the St Patrick's Day festivities. In the cold light of the 'morning after' I was a little freaked out by my behavior. I have not kissed an unreasonable amount of people in my life, but none of them have really been people that I was in love with. I decided that this had to change. That was not the person I wanted to be. So I decided then and there to distance myself from all non-platonic physical intimacy for at least a year or until I met someone that I actually cared about. It has now been 1¾ years plus some change. I still haven't kissed anyone, and I haven't wanted to.

I planned and (mostly) flawlessly executed an epic bridal shower, an EPIKK bachelorette party, and a 21st birthday party.
I and the Tight-Knit Posse became graffiti artists. EPIKKNITS is the name, yarn bombing is our game. And we play rough :P
I acquired another nephew, Matthew, nine in total now.
I went to my first professional conference/business trip. Very exciting!
I learned the pleasures of “antiquing” as a hobby.
I moved twice, including one move into my dad's house temporarily. This was the first time we have lived in the same house since I was 8. It was....hmmm....it was nice of him to let me stay there, but I wont be doing that again. We have very different lifestyles.
I played, and beat, an entire video game. This for me is like saying a blind person made a coherent painting, possible but still bizarre.
I was a maid of honor and made a toast at a wedding.
One of my best friends bought me a new computer because my friends are awesome.
And I WROTE A NOVEL IN ONE MONTH!

Few....I felt like I needed to get all of that out of my system in order to look forward. I feel sorry for you if you read all of that, but that's all I have to leave you with today.

Goodnight, friends.

Word Count Today: 544
Word Count Total: 1860

Flies in my Champagne

Excerpt from today's writing exploits:

"The neglected flutes
fractionally full of peach colored champagne
wink at the sky
as the yellow sun makes it's tawdry way through the dusty window pane
and dances on the smooth meniscus lip
where bubbles pulsing, played the night before.

Tiny black flies,
refugees from the frosty end of autumn,
paddle and dip in the sunny syrup
Dionysian lords of the kitchenette
playing like drunkard children
diving from the glassy cliffs
to splash in the sun warmed surf
a cheap, boozy caress for their wings:
wax paper kites, wine wet and torpid
moldy dark flecks
buoyant amongst the gold
drowned in their own sweet brevity "
I wonder why it is that even when I write about something that I at first found amusing that it ends up sounding sad?

The story behind this thought dump is that as I was getting ready for work, I realized that a few partially full champagne glasses from New Year's Eve were sitting on my counter looking all glittery from the stream of sunshine hitting them. It would have been a very picaresque, romantic image had it not been for eight or so flies buzzing in and around the glasses of cheap Andre's Peach champagne.
I found the idea of drunk flies so amusing that I couldn't bring myself to clean up the counter. So I dashed off to work, running a little late, with a piece of cold pizza in my hand for breakfast (Look ma, I'm so good at being a college student!) and that was that.

Unfortunately, when I returned from work and paying my rent and whatnot, all of the flies were floating corpses in the peachy, flat liquid. Kinda gross and morbid.
Time to do the dishes, right?

I didn't get that far into my quest to clean the kitchen after my charming fly funeral moment with the garbage disposal however. I spent most of the rest of the evening breaking in the sushi kit that my friend Nicole got for Christmas. Nicole, my friend/coworker Whitney, and I made some “fancy rice” and some concoctions we eventually termed “Sushi Burritos.” They were delicious, and proof positive that if you try hard enough, you can make just about anything into TexMex.

In the background we were serenaded by the 80's classic film, The Witches of Eastwick. Can I just say, Jack Nicholson shirtless equals gross. It was pretty entertainingly bad.
This somehow led to a viral video marathon (Star Wars Rap = funny, Caramelldansen = kinda ridiculous)

This somehow led to a discussion of the zodiac, and we all tracked down our rising signs, our moon signs, and our ruling planets. In case you were wondering: I'm a Pisces with Libra rising. My moon is also in Libra and my ruling planets are Jupiter and Neptune. Do with that relatively useless information what you will, but the experience was pretty fun. I had to call my mom to find out when I was born in order to calculate all of this, but she couldn't remember except that it was in between six and seven o'clock at night. Probably closer to seven. She went to the garage to look in her filing cabinet for my birth certificate (because she is a wonderful, indulgent mother), but couldn't find it. She did, however, find my IQ scores from third grade.
All in all, this day had been pretty informative! So with my belly full of rice and my brain full of trivia, I bid you all a good night.

Word Count Today: 586
Word Count Total: 1316

The 500!!! Like 300 but with more clothes and less death....

....well probably. On the off chance that by the end of the year I am both a nudist and a terrorist, I apologize in advance for misleading you.

Welcome to my first real blog! I do not count the livejournal that I created in High School because, let's face it, nothing anyone writes at the age of 16 on a social networking site is worth remembering. The reason for this blog's creation is not because I have anything interesting to say. Quite the opposite actually. Allow me to start out with this....

DISCLAIMER: you heard it here first, I am not doing this as an attempt to amuse or inform the masses or to keep an accurate accounting of my life's goings on. If you end up amused, informed, or enlightened.....well, that's pretty cool for you, but I wouldn't hold my breath.

Mostly, after my virginal experience with NaNoWriMo (n00bs go here to find out more: http://www.nanowrimo.org/ ) in November of 2009, the AMAZING municipal liaisons challenged the members of the Boise Novel Orchard (noobs, you know the drill: http://boisenovelorchard.org/ ) to an ongoing writing goal. That goal is to write 500 words a day, everyday for a year. 365 days of hardcore writing-ness. The literary gauntlet is thrown!

So, since I'm a masochist, I have accepted the challenge. But like any remotely sane person, I took a break from writing after NaNo. I work retail, there's no way in HELL that I was going to attempt starting this in December. I decided that starting on the first of January would make my starting day preeeeeeeeetty easy to remember and fulfill my inner need for procrastination. It also saves me from the arduous tradition of coming up with a New Year's Resolution of my own. This blog will document my efforts. Sometimes I will post what I write, sometimes I will just write about my writing experience. Who knows what I'll actually end up doing, but in theory, I will write 500 words and/or a blog post everyday for the next year.

I am attempting to do this during the same semester that I am returning to college. This is my first real full time semester since my (less than satisfying) initial collegiate experience. The Study of Architecture and I had to split up due to irreconcilable differences. The school got all the money in the divorce, but I kept the memory of St. Louis in the spring, so who's the sucker, huh?....actually, probably still me.

So anyway, we'll see how it goes. Please don't judge me if I fail.

Before I close my first entry, I suppose I should tell you, my dear interwebs, who I am and what my blog's name means. If I'm sending this blindly into the void, I suppose I should give the void a frame of reference.

My given name is Laura,* but my mother sometimes calls me Lolly or Lolly Baba or some derivative thereof. One day my dearest sister, Theresa, overheard my mother calling me. She mistakenly thought that my mom was calling me Wally**. Even after we corrected her, Theresa found that she liked calling me Wally or Wally B or Wallabe etc etc and the name stuck.

About a year and a half ago, I got a job working at my favorite local bookstore. Unfortunately for me, one of the bosses is also named Laura. So I had to pick a nickname to go by. The only other name I answer to is Wally. So I, in an utter lack of foresight, told them that I would be more than fine going by Wally. Sometimes it's more trouble than it's worth trying to explain, but I've grown to really enjoy having a unique and gender-confused moniker. Most of the people I see and deal with on a regular basis know me as Wally and not as Laura.

So that's that, I may not be living the dream, but I'm living the nom de plume.

Happy New Year and good night!

Word Count Today: 730
Word Count Total: 730

*Laura: from the Greek meaning crown of laurel leaves which was the award given to ancient Olympians (ironic since I'm a fat girl with no fine motor skills or aim to speak of) and laudable poets (grossly optimistic, but heartening in its symbolism for a young poet like myself).

**Wally: diminutive of either Walter (German for powerful warrior) or Wallace (Scottish word for a Welshman), also a word for an idiot in colloquial English (UK)...so basically I'm an idiotic fighter from Whales. Awesome.