I think; therefore, I am dangerous.

Speaking of thinking, I've been doing a lot of that lately. The process of trying to get my internal clock tweaked back into some semblance of ... well, as close to normalcy as I ever get... it's a process that has involved a lot of lying awake in bed trying to quiet my thoughts. In the process that whirlwind I call a mind has been visiting some very interesting topics lately. I get the idea that if only I could think on that level all the time I would soon have no troubles in life. But the mundane distracts and irritates, focus is lost, and life is more interesting.

It makes me think of story plots. Whenever someone uninitiated to the ways of storytelling watches a movie or reads a book & says "but wouldn't it have been simpler for so&so to do such&such instead?" Sure, but there would have been no story worth telling had they done so. Is it sad that I console myself about real life that way sometimes? Yeah, life would have been easier if I had done that or hadn't done this, but think of the great stories I would've missed out on living! :)

Am I a writer or what? :P Plotting: it's my life.

But anyhoo, I was speaking of sleepless nights and thoughtfilled silence (yes, I know thoughtfilled isn't a word, but thoughtful doesn't mean that anymore so :P).

One of the things I find myself doing at night is having conversations with people. I don't know how many people do this--I've heard everything from "oh yeah, I do that too, all the time!" to "you do what?! That's crazy!" So take your pick. But my inner dialogues often take the form of an imagined conversation between myself and an acquaintance--who exactly changes depending on the topic of conversation, but still. I try to have them answer as close to their personality as I can... sometimes that makes for interesting encounters with the person later, I've accidentally been very angry with a friend before because of how the imagined conversation went, only to have to remind myself when I met them later that such a conversation never actually happened, so I really shouldn't be angry at them.

Sometimes I wish I had the guts to have these conversations in reality, instead of just in my head. It's easy to speak my mind there--kind of hard not to, actually--but in reality? Psh, who knows what the person will actually say in response? It's ... terrifying, sometimes.

Wow I ramble a lot... I would apologize, but if you're reading this I suppose you already knew this & decided to read the blog anyway, hm? :)

I really don't like that word, "blog", it's so... it doesn't taste right. :P But this is ground I've already covered--onward! To knew & unexplored territory!

Have you ever considered how very dangerous it is to not think? We are told often how dangerous thinking can be--this is why when a totalitarian government--be it a group of people or a dictator--(I really like dashes, I never really thought about that before...:)takes over the first things to be brought under government control is the press and the arts. These things encourage people to think through things for themselves, and are dangerous to the new regime unless they feed the people thoughts that the government approves.

I think this may also be why the Church & the arts have had such a tumultuous past. Religion too is a threat to totalitarian governments, but not necessarily because it encourages independent thinking--more because it encourages loyalties to a different place than the government. But I digress, back to arts & Church.

Artists I've met & admired say they pursue truth, they seek to discover & present truth in whatever form they find it, that they may show it to any and all who wish to see it. As an artist that follows Christ I don't feel threatened by this because I think in terms of "all truth is God's truth". Even artists that do not know Him can reveal truths about His nature by their work, because everything that is actual truth comes from Him. So I believe.

If this is the case why has the Church felt so threatened by the arts in certain times in history?

I suppose, if we--and by "we" I include both artists & church-folk--were honest with ourselves in examining this, it could be thought that those periods of history when the arts--especially theatre--and the church were most at odds were a result of one (or both) of two things.

1. Artists ceased to seek truth and instead sought to shock, to push the envelope for the sake of merely pushing the envelope. They ceased to desire to be the ambassadors of truth to the masses, and instead wished only to serve themselves and their ambitions. This would lead to followers of truth rejecting what they had to say, because they no longer spoke truth--or is they did, the truth was not the focus of the work, but merely a tool with which to shock & horrify.

2. The church no longer desired to hear truth. Such times in history are frequent, unfortunately, and artists were not the only ones to suffer the wrath of the church at these times. Anyone who spoke truth contrary to the "acceptable truths" of the church and her leaders were subject to persecution. I wish it were otherwise, but if the Church today is to learn anything from the past it must be faced unflinchingly.

But I must leave off my ramblings here, my battery dieth & must go to find it an outlet. Happy thinking!

If you put on flip-flops you're saying, "Hope I don't get chased today!"

I don't actually wear flip-flops myself... I don't want to take the pain necessary to develop that callus between the two toes needed to wear them comfortably.

It's the day after Thanksgiving, does that mean it's the Christmas season yet? I can sing Christmas songs without getting yelled at now, right? :)

For those of you who actually went out shopping on Black Friday, you're crazy & I'll pray for you... ;) I confess, I was not one of the masses mobbing the shops today. I remained at home, where we didn't put up our Christmas tree yet. I'm not entirely sure why, I think the day just got away from us. Story of my life.

Hey guess what y'all--this blog now has (officially) THREE FOLLOWERS! That's right, shout out to the new follower, you are noticed & much loved! :) <3

I played cards today for the first time in a long while. Mum & Dad & I went over to my sister's again for dinner tonight (leftovers from yesterday remade into new wonderfulness), and my niece coaxed some of us into playing "Liar" (known to some as Bull-S@$*), but the mothers didn't like us calling each other liars, so we yelled "poppycock!" instead... :)

Which, incidentally, sounds a lot like what we had for dinner. Have you ever had poppakosh? I have no idea if that's how it's spelled, but my sister's friend (the chef tonight) said that it's spelled as it sounds, & that's how it sounded to me... It's a Polish dish, made from shredded turkey/chicken, and a dumplingesque noodle, with a reddish sauce that has sour cream in it--unless you're me or my dad, in which case it's just a reddish sauce. I found it rather bland, but still very palatable.

Also, my Mum amuses me a lot sometimes. She has this computer game she likes playing anytime she gets a spare moment with the laptop (theirs, not mine); it's called Zuma, perhaps you've heard of it? In any case, she plays it enough that she's taken to trying to beat her own high scores. After one level she was so proud of the score she got that she took a picture of the screen with her cell phone & had to show it to me later that day. I admit, she showed it to me & at first I said "what am I looking for?" Then she told me what it was & all I could do was shake my head at her.

I wanted to make a random comment about what people say about my generation & technology... but I appear to have reached that hour when typing becomes more difficult & thoughts cease to appear in word form. So, I think I'll sign off here.

Sweet dreams all!

CAREFUL: I use big words...

In case you haven't figured this out already, I've been using certain of my flair collection on Facebook to provide titles for these posts... original? Nope. But they can be very entertaining, & I think it's such a shame that my flair collection would simply go to waste otherwise. ;)

Today is/was Thanksgiving! Just in case you didn't catch that earlier, I thought you might appreciate being made aware.

It's interesting really. A whole day out of the year set aside to ... be thankful. To be grateful? But, why?

In the "National Thanksgiving Proclamation", as cited to George Washington & found at http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/National_Thanksgiving_Proclamation (that's right, I just cited a wiki, but it's okay because this isn't a scholarly work ;) the purpose of Thanksgiving is "a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness."

Awesome, yeah? A whole day set aside to give thanks & praise God for all the blessings He has & continues to give us as individuals, families, and a nation.

At least, that's what it was then. But what is it now?

I suppose for a follower of Christ, for those who acknowledge a higher power that blesses, it is a day to be thankful. But suppose the celebrator does not acknowledge a higher power in need of thanking? What then is being thanked on this holiday?

I suppose it could simply be an acknowledging of those blessings, regardless of the source, or perhaps independent of the source is a better phrasing... A day to sort of cultivate a "count your blessings" mentality, beneficial to the happy & prosperous living of everyday life... Maybe? That seems to make sense.

But I thank God.

For the family I live with, and live away from, and the love I bear them both.
For the friends near and far, and the multiplicity of ways I communicate with them.
For theatre, in all its forms, and the truth it strives to express.
For writing, in its many varied faces, and the freedom it brings my soul.
For my church families, in every place, and the kindred love we bear each other.
For the Church, "she may be a whore, but she's still my mother!" and I love her.
For painting, and the beauty in each brushstroke.
For music I make & that which I hear and the heartsong it gives voice to.
For health and youth, and that it won't last forever.
For Pumpkin pie, green bean casserole, cranberry fluff, and turkey.
For candles melting wax, and crayons that decorate green bottles.
For sleeping in a bed, under warm covers, with a teddy bear.
For heaters! Yay warmth!!
For the first snow... and that it didn't stick yet.
For shiny.
For laughter.
For tears.
For dreams.
For books.
For boots and trench coats.
For defenestration.
For spellcheck and that little red line under my words.
For freedom.
For liberty.
For grace.
For mercy.
For hope.

Most of all, for love. That's really what I couldn't do without, and it's what it all comes down to.

Thank you, Father-God, Lord of my heart, Love of my Life, Creator of every Good, and my Friend, for showing me this wild Love.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain.

I just have to share something that made me laugh (silently) a lot today... 

Actual conversation I overheard between my niece & nephew (13 & 9 respectively, & yes, they're siblings):

Aiden: Oooow!! What'd you bite me for?!
Bailey: What are you talking about?
Aiden: YOU BIT ME!! Why'd you bite me?!
Bailey: 'Cause you sat on my face!
Aiden: You didn't have to bite me!


Sorry Aiden, I kinda have to side with Bailey on this one, sitting on a face is asking to get bit. :)


Also, I was going through some of the stuff I kept from playwrighting class, and stumbled upon a sort of "autobiography" we were asked to write. It was never graded, & it's a first draft, but it does save time on trying to fill in details later... :) Unfortunately it's a first draft, & I don't really care enough to edit something like this, so here it is in its roughest form. Have fun! :)

I was born on March 9, 1988 on a rather small military base in Stuttgart, West Germany. This birth began a life full of irony in multiple ways.  From the first snow to revenging my mother on an irritating doctor, my earliest infancy was filled with entertaining stories.

            “What, are you teething?” I asked my friend, Matt, as he sat nursing his jaw against a cold bottle of water.

            His girlfriend spoke for him, “Yes, poor guy!”

            I asked if it was his wisdom teeth and—true to the dynamic of my group of friends—this innocent phrase had the three of us in a completely different topic before I could blink.

            “You should write this bit about the wisdom teeth down!” Amanda said, returning to the topic that started the conversation.

            “Yeah, that would make a good bridge between past and present.”

            My time in Germany was very short. My family moved to Virginia when I was six months old, then spent another two years in Germany beginning when I was three. So I am afraid that I really cannot share anything from personal experience about German culture, all of my stories being from my interaction with the other military kids.

            “Are you okay?” Amanda laughed as I made a disgusted face.

            “Yeah,” I set my coffee cup down. “It was just the dregs.”

            The conversation drifted to coffee, then to chocolate, then off onto another seemingly random topic that was somehow connected to everything we had discussed. Finally, being typical college students, we found ourselves talking about classes.

            “There are two people in this class that aren’t in the other class, and two people in that class that aren’t in the first class,” Amanda explained.

            I laughed and said, “That sounds like all of my theatre classes!”

            Amanda told us about another of her English classes.  “I meant to write ‘Spring Break’, but he was talking about ducks and I ended up writing ‘Spring Duck’!”

            Matt turned to me. “You should write about the ducks,” he directed.

            “Write about the ducks that jump twenty feet out of the trees and bounce!”

            I laughed and bent over my notebook once more.

            When I was five years old, my father received orders for us to move stateside once more. So off my parents, sisters, and I went to Minnesota. We only stayed in Minnesota for a short time though, to say hello to my mother’s family. From there we progressed to New York State.

            I remember that I loved New York as a child, but my parents told me later that it was one of the less pleasant duty stations we lived at. Yet, for me, West Point, New York is where most of my early childhood memories formed.

            Matt and Amanda have gone now. Such is life for college students: socializing squeezed into the midst of classes, homework, and (for some) rehearsals—or vice versa, for some. I look around me at the other students in the coffee-shop and see that they, like me, all have a book, laptop, notebook, or all three held in front of them while they break their fast.

            I waved as my RA entered Sufficient Grounds, and she walked over to say hello. She’s a very easy person to talk to, especially because she makes a point to befriend the girls in her hall. Our conversation wandered from my finger and its recovery to Christmas Break. Then she said goodbye as she went to find her own table at which to study.

            We lived in two different houses in New York. Then my family bid farewell to the state entirely when we made the four-day move to New Mexico. I was eight when we began living in the desert, and ten when my father retired and we moved to Minnesota for another short layover. From there we went to Texas, a state I learned to call home. I made many friends there, and grew into a maturity that marks the passing of childhood for some, and the beginning of new knowledge for others. Yet, we could not stay, and in my freshman year of high school my family moved to Illinois.

            I never loved Illinois, and the feeling was mutual in most cases. So I was only too glad to come to Bethel College and begin life anew as a college student.

            Sitting by myself in this coffee-shop, I listen to the ambient sounds and reflect. My life has been short thus far, but full, and I have many stories I love to tell. This love for storytelling, combined with my love of writing and theatre has led me to enroll in a playwriting class this semester. Thinking of this class and others, I wonder what new stories the upcoming months will bring. This thought makes me smile as I don my coat and walk into the snow.

Anyways, yep. That's the post for today. Have a grand Thanksgiving all! :)

"And they lived happily ever after.".......................................114

Never put a sock in a toaster

Just in case you should be contemplating that, don't do it!

It strikes me that this whole act of "blogging" (I dislike that it is called that, it's such a ... well, the word itself is unimaginative & ugly. *sigh* Dumb English language...) is really rather amusing.

I was reading some of The Diary of Anne Frank today, and in one of her first entries she remarks on how unlikely it is that anyone will ever read--or be prone to want to read--what she has to write. Yet, years later, her diary has been published, translated into many other languages, adapted for screen & stage, and has a museum in her honor. People still speak of what she wrote (as I'm doing now), yet she never thought they would even be interested in what she has to say. A strange kind of occurrence, yeah?

How different is blogging from that? Instead of being quiet & unassuming, writing merely for the catharsis of it, every person that posts knows on some level that they post it online knowing--or hoping--that it will be read.

Is it possible to write for others and for one's own catharsis as well?

I sure hope so. :) If not I fear I've been wasting my time.

I've heard it said that to be a writer only one thing is necessary: to wake up in the morning and want nothing more than to write. I don't know how true this is, but it's what has kept me journaling for years, & part of what led to my blogging. It's what kept me scribbling away long after I thought "This is such rubbish, no one will ever want to read this!"

Being involved in theatre, I've heard more times than I can count "know your audience". I have to confess though, when I write I don't really do so for the audience. I do it for myself, for the unburdening of my soul to the page. Then if anyone wants to read it, well, some of it anyway, they can take whatever comes.

Even for writing plays, including that "commissioned" 10-minute that was the final for playwrighting class, I don't really think I wrote for an audience. I wrote knowing certain parameters must needs be met, and knowing certain people would read it, but that's not really the why of writing it.

Perhaps writing isn't even something done for enjoyment. Perhaps it is something done because it's what I was created to do. It is my reasonable act of worship, my living sacrifice, that part of myself that is an integral to being me as ... as my soul.

On a metaphysical level, would I still be myself if I did not write? Of course I would, I've gone days without writing before. But at some level there was still that yearning for putting words to the page. Perhaps that's it: would I still be myself if I did not want to write? I've never wanted to not want to write. I've never really considered the second order volition with regards to writing before. But I don't really remember there being a time when that desire, that itch, was not present.

Strange stuff, this blogging thingummy. It's almost like journaling, except I know with relative certainty that someone will be reading this soon. Yet, I'm almost as free with words here as I am when I know the thoughts I pen are for no other eyes than my own. Is this transparency? Or simply picking the right topic? I'll have to think about that one for a bit.

"For a dreamer, night's the only time of day."

Also: apparently "journaling" and "playwriting" are not real words, but "thingummy" is. Go figure.

"To Live, to Live will be a great Adventure" --Peter Pan

Cloudy, but warm--that's the kind of weather I can live with, & I love it! it's all gloomy, but comfortable, and mysterious.

After all, "Sad is happy, for deep people." :) Thank you Sally Sparrow.

It's Thanksgiving week! And I find myself with every evening this week left completely free of any scheduled activities. Actually, the only "scheduled" thing I have to do this week is dinner with the family on Thursday. I may go mad, we'll see. If I do, I'll keep you updated. ;)

But seriously, it's so crazy, not having anything scheduled to do. For the four years of my college career I had almost literally to plot out every hour because there was so much that needed to get done and so little time that was not already committed. Now there's no less that needs to get done, but no schedule that goes with it. Is this being an adult?

I was talking with a good friend about something like this, & how I feel like I'm failing at life because I can't manage to multi-task without a schedule--but I also fail and keeping a schedule. He gave me some advice that I've been chewing on ever since: "direct your show, and stage manage your life". I proceeded to tell him that the only way I'd managed to stage manage as well as I did had been because I'd scheduled even those rare hours in my day that weren't taken by classes, rehearsals, work, church, and other things. Then he told how wrong I was to think that was going to work anymore.

So my instincts were correct--scrap the schedule & work from a to-do list. I was also delighted to hear him call all those forms stage managers use "busy-work". I didn't even know half of them existed, & didn't have time to make them even if I'd known of them, & had felt very discouraged when they were shown to me. But it's okay now, because I didn't really need them anyway. :)

I guess we'll try something new this week. Well, not new, exactly, just a different method of doing the same thing. Wasn't it Einstein that said something to the effect of "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results." ?

Yep. Trying something new. Woot. :) & Going crazy, that should be fun too.

I keep stalling because I have that nagging feeling that says "you were going to write something else too", but I can't quite remember what it was... That seems to be happening a lot lately, I think I may suck at this whole blogger thing, but oh well. I haven't lost either follower yet... ;)

Well, on more thing, then if that idea hasn't returned by then I'll just go.

One of my haunts that has wifi is McDonald's. There's a corner table for two behind a pillar thing that provides a lovely illusion of privacy, and I try to take up as little space as possible when I'm there for interwebs instead of food or people. To follow the rules I get a Dr. Pepper & sit back there listening to music & using the interwebs until my battery dies (my one complaint is the lack of any electrical outlet in the accessible part of the building). Naturally, I don't want to bother others with my music, so I wear headphones/earbuds/whatever. But I usually wear them in such a fashion that I can still hear what's going on around me--the importance of situational awareness having been drummed into my head from a young age.

But apparently this presence of headphones offended one the older gentlemen, who grumbled to his friend something about "younger folks", "wifi or something", and "can't hear a thing through those earphones". I looked over at him, looked him in the eye, smiled & shook my head. He looked a bit startled, then I re-immersed myself in whatever I'd been reading.

Nope, whatever it was didn't show. Ah well, maybe next time I'll have the presence of mind to jot it down before it flits away.

"Hamlet: the original Emo." ................................116

"Death: the #1 killer in the USA... tell your friends" 117

So Lily the Felon's Daughter closed last night. It always seems like such a shame to me, so much work for 2 shows. Ah well.

Monty had a blue mustache. It was kind of hysterical. :) And no worries, nothing broke, and no one fell off the stage! I think it was our best show yet.

I just wish I could have fully appreciated the post-show "glow/high", whatever you want to call it. But I was... distracted... by some problems going on elsewhere that I was made aware of, but couldn't actually do anything about. For the sake of diplomacy, that's all I'm saying here, at least until I can speak to the people responsible & fix this.

Unfortunately that can't happen until tomorrow, and I keep getting wound up & angry over it. I had a bit of a meltdown this afternoon. Grrrbah. Mom & I talked about it, & we agreed that it would be best if I got over the angries today, so they won't interfere tomorrow. I tend to cry when I get angry, and that tends to make people stop seeing me as a rational adult & reduce me to the status of a 7-year-old. Darn my tear ducts! With knitting needles! ;)

But hey, Thanksgiving is this week! Woot! Church is having their feast tomorrow--and I do not use the term "feast" in jest, we really do serve it up in style--or at least in quantity! :D

Oh, & I found out that my being a writer may not be as much of a fluke as I formally thought it was... Apparently Dad was a bit of a writer once upon a time. :) I never would have guessed! Mom said her mum was too, but she only used her talent for scathing remarks to people... May that never be the sole use of my talents!

Today was my nephew's birthday party (one of them, it's tradition in my family for everyone to get at least three, usually with a different group each time), and we went to an arcadish place called "Jupiter's". It was fun... I mostly played Guitar Hero--I rock, by the way, Guitar Hero says so & it never lies. ;) It's so weird to think of the kid as being as old as he is, I remember--but I'm making myself feel older than I ought. Hehehe...

Well, my battery's dying, & I should skedaddle. Enjoy the cloudy days!

"Therapy is expensive. Popping bubblewrap is cheap. You choose."