Appreciation

I have things to say....

     I'm almost entirely positive.

But.

My brain quit on me about a week ago. After three essays. Before the next four.

            A profound and preparatory apology to my professors.

My teeth no longer hurt. Thank you for those of you who proffered sympathy. It was appreciated.

                  Those of you who were skeptical of this ailment (dad) need to expand your imagination. My  
                  strangeness knows no bounds.

It is spring here. There are blossoming trees. They're pretty.

And they smell like fried fish. With undertones of hot dog.

     I do not appreciate this.

I got a book yesterday. And spent this morning in conversation with it.

             I stood up four essays for my date with the
         book. They're probably still puttering around  feeling sorry for themselves.

The book was Chocolat. It was worth alienating the essays. It will probably not be worth failing my classes for.

But since when was prudence a virtue?

I ran for the bus today. And caught it.
   I consider this to be a mini miracle.

        I like mini miracles. I appreciate them.

I was wrong.

       I didn't really have things to say.

My Teeth May Be Afraid of Heights

There's weird thing right now. In my mouth. My teeth hurt. But only when I jump. Or walk down stairs.

I can eat carrots, and apples, brush my teeth hard, push at my gums. My teeth are fine. But walk down stairs? Spare us! It's like my teeth have suddenly developed a fear of heights. Or gravity has been gravely offended by them.

What does gravity have against my teeth?

Actually, while we're on the subject, what does gravity have against me in general?

My random tooth aches are one among many random pains I have been experiencing recently. Like, on Tuesday, my feet decided they were done with me for no apparent reason.

Fine. They might have had a reason. I wore heels that day. What? I felt short when I woke up. (does that every happen to you? my dad laughed at me when i told him that, but he's a guy, so he might not count.) So I wore heels. Not I-have-a-date-with-my-little-black-dress-heels (i don't own those kind of heels. or that kind of dress). They were more like I'm-wearing-jeans-oh-look-at-that-I'm-three-inches-taller-heels.

But of course that was the day that I forgot my class was in the library, so I walked across campus twice in ten minutes. And then my writing teacher decided we were doing a "writing marathon"--this thing where you go to random places and just write. Places that, of necessity, are all over campus. So I spent another hour walking.

Oh my feet. They ached. I don't appreciate when repercussions for my vanity are physical.

On a happier side note, sitting in an elevator and writing with three other people is awesome. The weird looks. The awkward and unsure movements of people who want to press the buttons that are directly above your head. The cramped legs. The bumps and bruises. The part where you crack up because you're pretty sure you know that guy.

Everyone should do this. Possibly once a week.

I Went Running and The Front Fell Off

We're being random and throwing transitions out the window in this post. Just so you know.

I went running again today. This is the part where you're proud of me. You should be clapping right now. I went running. Aren't you impressed?

Was this the first time that I've gone since the last time that I told you about it?

Um. Yes.

Did I last longer than five minutes?

A little. Maybe.

Am I going again tomorrow?

You know what, I really don't want to talk about this anymore. Moving on.

I have something for you. It's a youtube video.

What? I'm cheap.

We watched this in our writing class. Our teacher turned to us afterward and asked with a totally straight face, "Was there anything wrong with his argument?"

That made you smile, right? Good. We can be friends.

But only if this makes you feel soft inside: After her father's death Emily Dickinson wrote to her friend and mentor (a Mr. Higginson), "I am glad there is immortality, but would have tested it myself, before entrusting him."

I wonder if she spoke like that. Is it possible for language like that to come to a person as naturally as speech?

People Will Talk

More quotes for you, my friends. I was saving up for the end of the semester... and then I realized this was already going to be a giant post. So I'm giving it to you now! Happy Sunday.

“I held his hand… He held my hand too! It was a mutual thing.”

“I’m going to be a doctor and really rich. I’ll buy Starbucks, and Google, and possibly a small European nation.” 

“I’m sorry if you think I offended you.”

“The reason academic debates are so fierce because the stakes are never so low. Pettiness never so high.”

“I thought it would settle down, but there was too much intertribal warfare among the linguists.”

“Tolstoy’s books can be used as doorstops and weapons.”

“God didn’t retire.”

“Hate to see you go—love to watch you walk away.”

“She didn’t want to have a date with me. Stupid girl. I hate her anyway.”

“God loves all waffles. Great, small, and holey.”

“I wasn’t making a joke. You’ll know when I do because it will be followed by total silence."

“My boredom distracted me.”

“It’s as if there’s a crack in the ice, he falls through, and is decapitated. Something like this.”

“OK. I need your pants.”

“You know if you’ve lived in the Middle East. Or Phoenix.”

“We’re brought up to believe that there are no stupid questions. You’ve spent enough time at a university to know that’s nonsense.”

“War and Peace is not a metaphor of pineapple. That is pithel.”

“That has to be true. I’m certain it’s not, but it has to be, because it’s so great and psychedelic.”

“No, it’s a pizza that rolls around and crushes skeletons. You get to decorate it. It’s illuminating.”

“I know my wife and I are on the right track when she doesn’t take me seriously. I throw my temper tantrum and she pats me on the head and says, ‘Want a cookie?’ ‘No. Maybe.’”

“A year ago, I looked like a drug dealer. Well a year ago I was a drug dealer.” (Said during fast and testimony meeting.)

"My atoms ache."

“Balloons are evil. You don’t know it until they’re all over your floor. They’re like peanut butter that way.”

“Men insist on the independence that requires total attention from others.”

“I am very, very suspicious of these people who say they don’t watch television. These are people, I think, who are not to be trusted.”

“You can’t redeem zombies.”

“An hour later I heard our baby crying and I wouldn’t get him. I was like, ‘I know this trick.’ There’s a zombie waiting down there.”

“Give into jealousy. Throw a temper tantrum. Throw a shoe.”

“Hey there… insert suave, manly, piano-relate pick-up line here.”

“When Martha Stewart speaks the world listens.”

“It’s nice to see your… profound forehead.”

“I am running for President and my platform is self-interest and an indifference to the common good.”

“Sometimes I’m funny.”

The Thing About Time Machines

So, thought:

If you went back in time what could you really tell them?

Me: "One day, in the future, we'll have machines that fly in the sky."
Person in the Past:"What's a machine?"
Me: "Um... It moves. By itself. And it's metal."
Past Person: "How will metal fly through the air?"
Me: "It has an engine."
Past Person:"What's an engine?"
Me: "It's this thing... that makes things move... with gas..."
Past Person:"What's gas?"
Me: "Old dinosaurs. In the ground. Except now it's liquid."
Past Person: "What are dinosaurs?"

or

Me: "You can talk all the way across the world to people through phones and the internet."
Past Person: "What are phones?"
Me: "They're these things you talk into, and people who aren't there hear you."
Past Person: "How?"
Me: "They send out, like, waves or something?"
Past Person: "Waves?"
Me: "Um. Yeah."
Past Person: "What's the internet?"
Me: "....I have no idea."


When we finally invent a time machine ("What's a time machine?") may I be the first to not volunteer to be the first one to go back. I think the best I could do for them would be a hot air balloon.

Me: "The heat. Pushes the balloon up. Because heat rises."
Past Person: "Why does heat rise?"
Me: (getting into my time machine) "Listen, the earth goes around the sun, put cream and sugar in a bag of ice and shake it up, and standardized tests are going to destroy the world, OK?"

My Dad Laughs at Me

I'm really enjoying my beginning writing class.

It may sound snobbish (it probably is snobbish) but I don't feel like I've learn anything new about writing yet. I mostly just appreciate the opportunity it gives me to write, often for writing's sake. It isn't something that happens as much in other classes. In my other classes we don't pull out our writing journals and write furiously for a few seconds and hope that it's coherent.

I've missed that. The feverish brain-to-pen writing and the hope that there is a complete sentence or two in there.

On Valentines day we were supposed to write about how we knew someone loved us. Love in an unromantic way, my professor clarified. This is what I came up with:

When I'm having a truly terrible day, one of those I-hate-the-world-why-did-I-bother-getting-out-of-bed days, I call my mom, and then I call my dad. My mom comforts me, sympathizes, understands, and tells me she loves me. My dad laughs at me. That's how I know he loves me. Because he reminds me not to take myself to seriously, that the world isn't all bad, and getting out of bed was probably a good idea, even if it doesn't seem like it just then. He tells me that hard things are good for me, that I can figure it out on my own. All these things, which rankle my woebegone soul at the time, later remind me that my dad thinks I can do hard things. He thinks I'm smart enough to figure it out on my own. And he loves me.

(i know you love me too, mom. next time i'll write about you ok?)

Crushes on Characters and Social Scripts

If people are defined by their relationship to the world then I may have some very serious problems.

Me and the world don't exactly hit it off. We have communication issues. And possibly a personality clash. That's OK. I see it as a sign that both me and the world have personalities. Which is good. I guess.

I just felt like telling you because I've been feeling minorly anti-social lately. Not majorly! Just minorly. I think I'll marathon three seasons of In Plain Sight, wrapped in my ugliest hoodie and most comfortable blanket, feeding my crushes on fictional characters, and making muffins on a Friday night minorly. See. Nothing to worry about.

You think I have problems now, huh? Yeah, so does my peer mentor.

I should probably stop typing now. What is really scary is that I probably won't.

Maybe this is why I have crushes on fictional characters. They don't judge me. They never think I'm weird for having crushes on them. That must be why I love them. Well, that and they totally rock. No real guy has anything on Rory Williams, because they'll never be endearingly dorky in the same way, or wait for their girl for two thousand years. No real guy has anything on Marshall Mann, who knows random facts about the invention of danishes and would take a bullet for his best friend.

How can a real guy hope to measure up? The only advantage he has is that he's, you know... real.

My friends are going through boy drama right now. She likes the guy and he doesn't like her back (probably?), the guy likes her and she doesn't like him back, or she can't decide which guy she likes. Or some combination of all of the above. I'm sitting on the sidelines enjoying the show. But, I admit, every once in a while I wonder if I'm supposed to be participating. It's like someone handed out the social script before I got here and now I'm twiddling my thumbs, wondering if I'm missing my lines.

I was talking to one of my cousins about this, relating my friends' dramas and talking about how I'm enjoying it. We were in the car and she turned around to look at me. "Marissa," she said, "you are not supposed to be watching. You're supposed to be doing." One of the guys I'd been talking about passed and I pointed him out to here. "He's cute," she said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "He's a really nice guy."

"No. He's cute." Then she tried to set me up on a blind date.

Dear person who hands out social scripts. I don't appear to be on your email list. Please rectify the matter before I do something truly terrible, or omit to do something terribly important.

P.S.