Life Updated
I've been approved (finally!) for a credit card. Yes! My flight with WestJet has been booked. I fly out the early morning of February 17th and I return in the early evening of March 3rd. I've been given a painting commission for a solid $375, not including the cost to have it framed. Awesome. I leave in less than three weeks. I leave in 18 days. I'm leaving. I got a gym membership. Yesterday, I ran for thirty minutes, swam five laps, and sat in a steam room for the first time ever. Conclusion: I am out of shape. I'm going to swim laps tonight. Maybe I'll do a full six this time. I've been painting and writing songs more than ever. Leaving retail has been an incredible blessing. I never want to go back to work. I just want to keep creating. It seems to sustain me just fine. Quote of the Moment: "Sometimes, anger helps you survive." "So does faith." - X-Men II
Survey Says
Unfortunately for me, despite the very few Carly's* in the world, I happen to share the same first and last name with a particular Carly Bishop, author of Harlequin romance novels, books loved (and hated) by single women in their 30's everywhere.
I discovered Carly Bishop after "googling" myself (don't laugh! Everyone does it!) and I questioned, should I become famous for whatever reason, whether or not I should go by a different name.
Should I or should not I? I'd just like to know what The People have to say.
*see Dan's comment
Unfortunately for me, despite the very few Carly's* in the world, I happen to share the same first and last name with a particular Carly Bishop, author of Harlequin romance novels, books loved (and hated) by single women in their 30's everywhere.
I discovered Carly Bishop after "googling" myself (don't laugh! Everyone does it!) and I questioned, should I become famous for whatever reason, whether or not I should go by a different name.
Should I or should not I? I'd just like to know what The People have to say.
*see Dan's comment
Have you ever stopped in the middle of doing something (anything) and questioned your own identity? Have I been this way my whole life, or did I become this way over time?
When I was five, I became enthralled by my cousin Cory. At the time, the age difference was significant (although, it might not be today), but truth be told, I had a mad crush on him. That's right. I won't lie. I was "in love" with one of my first cousins. At that point, life had not revealed any reason why two first cousins ought not be romantically involved.
After spending an afternoon with him and his brother and sister, my mom arrived to take me home. As we started to drive away, I confessed to her, "Sometimes, I wish Cory would kiss me." To my shock and dismay, she turned the car around and went to spill my heart out to Cory. I reached out with my (at the time) very short arms and covered her mouth with both my hands. I begged and pleaded and started to cry for her not to say anything. She pulled my hands away and shouted to my cousins, "Carly just wanted to thank you for a fun day today!" They all waved and shouted some happy things back. I sank down into my seat and regained my five-year-old composure. My life could have ended right then, but my mother is merciful.
Now, I am not entirely sure how pre-school works in the different parts of the world, but where I came from, there were different "levels" to pre-school. Kind of like grades, but not as important. All the kids in pre-school were simply that: kids in pre-school, or "pre-schoolers." But there were young pre-schoolers and there were older pre-schoolers and the young pre-schoolers learned differently than the older pre-schoolers. However, despite not intermingling the ages, I fell head-over-velcro-straps for an older preschooler. His name was Nat. Eventually, I found myself at Nat's home for a "play date" and let me just say, What an awesome guy. He introduced me to his goldfish, showed me his micro-machine collection, and even shared a plate of his mother's strawberry jam sandwiches. By the end of the day, it wasn't just me liking him anymore. It was mutual. And I'm sure both our mothers believed it incredibly cute, which it was.
By the time I started third grade, pursuing a boy was a requirement. It was like brushing my teeth every morning, eating lunch everyday, and a good game of "Three Fly's Up" at recess. Chasing the boy was a daily activity. I often went to the library to invest my time and energy into his interests and hobbies. Once, I spent several weeks reading "How to Play Baseball" books, writing out specific terminology and studying the series of photos describing, in great detail, how to throw a "knuckle ball." Conveniently enough, Sandlot came out in theatres and I managed to see it four times. For educational purposes as well as entertainment. To prove my fundamental knowledge of baseball, I went to a game with my family, sat behind homeplate, and screamed (over and over), "Throw a knuckle ball! A Knuckle Ball!!!" My Aunt Holly turned to my mother and asked, "What on earth is she yelling?" but I don't remember if my mother answered her or not.
The hardest I ever fell for a boy was in the ninth grade, for a particular youth group hottie. (Leah, you're grinning right now, I know it.) The whole relationship could be summed up by these undying words, "Why are you obsessed with him, Carly?" Add an echo to the word "obsessed" and you might understand the effect this boy had on me. To this very day, if I should stand in the same building as Richard Eugene Nichols, I would wonder about every possibility. Every last one. I would forget all hurt feelings, cruel words, and back-stabbing's and wonder about "what could still be..." This I know, because it happened. When, after not seeing him for two years, I discovered he was a student at my same school. Torture.
I think about the past and laugh. A lot. Because of my own ridiculousness. So much of me is a Silly Girl and I feel that won't ever change. If my heart were broken bad enough, I could tragically succumb to bitterness and resentment, but I never expect that.
My whole approach with boys/guys/men has been bollicks.
The Kingsgate Library is located two minutes from my apartment and I find myself pacing their shelves many days throughout the week. I had come and gone a few times before I finally saw what was located in the parking lot across the street. So, upon my visit to the library today, I checked out a few books. Including How to Get Published, Writer's Market 2003, On How to Write Well, Freelance as a Living, and lastly, Hockey: Rules and Terminology.
There is an ice arena across the street. Legend has it that if I hadn't ridden horses growing up, I would have asked my parents for a pair of ice skates. Now, living so close to an actual rink, I may have the opportunity to play a new kind of game. A bit later than I suspected, but it's never too late... for hockey.
This whole tangent sprouted from remembering the time spent in my elementary school library, reading the "how-to's" of baseball. To impress a particular third grade hunk. For every fiction novel I read, I'll read two or three self-improvement books. On a variety of subjects. But you'll be glad to know that my new interest in hockey was launched by a combination of things. First, I'm as inactive as Jets' blog and without some kind of activity, everything else starts to lag. Second, I'm not in school, but I love to learn. Third, I love to skate, but I've never known how to skate with skill. Fourth, I've always enjoyed playing with a team and haven't done so since my softball-days, back in the early 90's. And for these reasons, I'm giving it my best shot.
There is a torn out piece of paper pinned to a corkboard on my wall. I put it there sometime during my junior year of high school. And I quote, "...life has no limits... If I can dream it, imagine it, I'll do it..." I think it was an advert for lip-gloss.
When I was five, I became enthralled by my cousin Cory. At the time, the age difference was significant (although, it might not be today), but truth be told, I had a mad crush on him. That's right. I won't lie. I was "in love" with one of my first cousins. At that point, life had not revealed any reason why two first cousins ought not be romantically involved.
After spending an afternoon with him and his brother and sister, my mom arrived to take me home. As we started to drive away, I confessed to her, "Sometimes, I wish Cory would kiss me." To my shock and dismay, she turned the car around and went to spill my heart out to Cory. I reached out with my (at the time) very short arms and covered her mouth with both my hands. I begged and pleaded and started to cry for her not to say anything. She pulled my hands away and shouted to my cousins, "Carly just wanted to thank you for a fun day today!" They all waved and shouted some happy things back. I sank down into my seat and regained my five-year-old composure. My life could have ended right then, but my mother is merciful.
Now, I am not entirely sure how pre-school works in the different parts of the world, but where I came from, there were different "levels" to pre-school. Kind of like grades, but not as important. All the kids in pre-school were simply that: kids in pre-school, or "pre-schoolers." But there were young pre-schoolers and there were older pre-schoolers and the young pre-schoolers learned differently than the older pre-schoolers. However, despite not intermingling the ages, I fell head-over-velcro-straps for an older preschooler. His name was Nat. Eventually, I found myself at Nat's home for a "play date" and let me just say, What an awesome guy. He introduced me to his goldfish, showed me his micro-machine collection, and even shared a plate of his mother's strawberry jam sandwiches. By the end of the day, it wasn't just me liking him anymore. It was mutual. And I'm sure both our mothers believed it incredibly cute, which it was.
By the time I started third grade, pursuing a boy was a requirement. It was like brushing my teeth every morning, eating lunch everyday, and a good game of "Three Fly's Up" at recess. Chasing the boy was a daily activity. I often went to the library to invest my time and energy into his interests and hobbies. Once, I spent several weeks reading "How to Play Baseball" books, writing out specific terminology and studying the series of photos describing, in great detail, how to throw a "knuckle ball." Conveniently enough, Sandlot came out in theatres and I managed to see it four times. For educational purposes as well as entertainment. To prove my fundamental knowledge of baseball, I went to a game with my family, sat behind homeplate, and screamed (over and over), "Throw a knuckle ball! A Knuckle Ball!!!" My Aunt Holly turned to my mother and asked, "What on earth is she yelling?" but I don't remember if my mother answered her or not.
The hardest I ever fell for a boy was in the ninth grade, for a particular youth group hottie. (Leah, you're grinning right now, I know it.) The whole relationship could be summed up by these undying words, "Why are you obsessed with him, Carly?" Add an echo to the word "obsessed" and you might understand the effect this boy had on me. To this very day, if I should stand in the same building as Richard Eugene Nichols, I would wonder about every possibility. Every last one. I would forget all hurt feelings, cruel words, and back-stabbing's and wonder about "what could still be..." This I know, because it happened. When, after not seeing him for two years, I discovered he was a student at my same school. Torture.
I think about the past and laugh. A lot. Because of my own ridiculousness. So much of me is a Silly Girl and I feel that won't ever change. If my heart were broken bad enough, I could tragically succumb to bitterness and resentment, but I never expect that.
My whole approach with boys/guys/men has been bollicks.
The Kingsgate Library is located two minutes from my apartment and I find myself pacing their shelves many days throughout the week. I had come and gone a few times before I finally saw what was located in the parking lot across the street. So, upon my visit to the library today, I checked out a few books. Including How to Get Published, Writer's Market 2003, On How to Write Well, Freelance as a Living, and lastly, Hockey: Rules and Terminology.
There is an ice arena across the street. Legend has it that if I hadn't ridden horses growing up, I would have asked my parents for a pair of ice skates. Now, living so close to an actual rink, I may have the opportunity to play a new kind of game. A bit later than I suspected, but it's never too late... for hockey.
This whole tangent sprouted from remembering the time spent in my elementary school library, reading the "how-to's" of baseball. To impress a particular third grade hunk. For every fiction novel I read, I'll read two or three self-improvement books. On a variety of subjects. But you'll be glad to know that my new interest in hockey was launched by a combination of things. First, I'm as inactive as Jets' blog and without some kind of activity, everything else starts to lag. Second, I'm not in school, but I love to learn. Third, I love to skate, but I've never known how to skate with skill. Fourth, I've always enjoyed playing with a team and haven't done so since my softball-days, back in the early 90's. And for these reasons, I'm giving it my best shot.
There is a torn out piece of paper pinned to a corkboard on my wall. I put it there sometime during my junior year of high school. And I quote, "...life has no limits... If I can dream it, imagine it, I'll do it..." I think it was an advert for lip-gloss.
Quick Advert Schmooze
Just wanted to remind my lovely, beautiful, dedicated, loyal, and everloving readers about the "eBay progress" section in the slide menu. I keep it updated, so if you feel like purchasing some new artwork or passing the links along to friends who might be interested, be sure to check regularly. Moochass Grassyass.
Just wanted to remind my lovely, beautiful, dedicated, loyal, and everloving readers about the "eBay progress" section in the slide menu. I keep it updated, so if you feel like purchasing some new artwork or passing the links along to friends who might be interested, be sure to check regularly. Moochass Grassyass.
Surprise! I received a gift in the mail today. From a very special Canadian, dear to my heart.
At first glance, I thought it was a giant postcard. Which would have been just perfect, but then, it was made even more perfect when turned over.
The message reads:
January 8, 2004,
Carly,
Remember when slap-on bracelets were like the coolest thing ever? Well, I have the feeling they're coming back. :) Or... maybe not. But nothing says "BIRTHDAY" like party favours!
"Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday dear Carly,
Happy Birthday to you!
Twenty years old, twenty years old,
Our little birthday girl's twenty years old
Growin' like a tall tree, eatin' lots of dirt
Our little birthday girl's twenty year's old!"
Hope you have a great day!
Michelle
I. Love. You. Not only did your message rule, but going with the Star Wars theme? That's just the strawberry on top of this big fattening cake! You've made my night.
At first glance, I thought it was a giant postcard. Which would have been just perfect, but then, it was made even more perfect when turned over.
The message reads:
January 8, 2004,
Carly,
Remember when slap-on bracelets were like the coolest thing ever? Well, I have the feeling they're coming back. :) Or... maybe not. But nothing says "BIRTHDAY" like party favours!
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday dear Carly,
Happy Birthday to you!
Twenty years old, twenty years old,
Our little birthday girl's twenty years old
Growin' like a tall tree, eatin' lots of dirt
Our little birthday girl's twenty year's old!"
Hope you have a great day!
Michelle
I. Love. You. Not only did your message rule, but going with the Star Wars theme? That's just the strawberry on top of this big fattening cake! You've made my night.
Catch
Leaves
Two ways to save yourself
The words you use the things you do
How you move those wandering shoes
Around the things you'd like to do
But we wait until we know
Wait but there it goes
We can catch it,
But time is beating out
Turn, turn your head around
Turn your ways and try
Make it work, coz time is beating out
So you think you have it all
The time to hesitate and fall
All the things you might have found
Are bound to crash you in the ground
But we wait until we know
Wait but there it goes
We can catch it
But time is beating out
Turn, turn your head around
Turn your ways and try
Make it work coz time is beating out
Leaves
Two ways to save yourself
The words you use the things you do
How you move those wandering shoes
Around the things you'd like to do
But we wait until we know
Wait but there it goes
We can catch it,
But time is beating out
Turn, turn your head around
Turn your ways and try
Make it work, coz time is beating out
So you think you have it all
The time to hesitate and fall
All the things you might have found
Are bound to crash you in the ground
But we wait until we know
Wait but there it goes
We can catch it
But time is beating out
Turn, turn your head around
Turn your ways and try
Make it work coz time is beating out
This has been a trying week. And it's only Wednesday. In a mere four days, I have learned that I need a new job, my horse has been leased out to someone I don't know, and someone I look up to more than most has disappointed me in an ultimate way. Interestingly enough, I've been wanting a new job for many months and I see this as a great opportunity. Also, with permission from my former trainer, I can ride Tuffy whenever I want. And the suffering relationship is already on the mend, beginning with several bear hugs and some laughs.
I'm sure you're all wondering about this "hurt relationship," as I would be if I were reading some other blog. I'd love to talk about it, not to gossip, but as a way to heal. But there are too many feelings at risk, I'd be doing more damage than allowing things to resolve. So I'm sorry for keeping this bit of information extremely vague, but then again, I'm not.
Yesterday, I gave WestJet a call. I talked to a very nice lady by the name of Kathy. She told me that I have enough money to purchase two seperate round-trip airplane tickets. I finally asked her, "Exactly how much do I have on hold?" And she replied, "$716.46 Canadian."
Incredible.
Some good things, some bad things. And the last half of the week still awaits. We'll see what happens next.
I'm sure you're all wondering about this "hurt relationship," as I would be if I were reading some other blog. I'd love to talk about it, not to gossip, but as a way to heal. But there are too many feelings at risk, I'd be doing more damage than allowing things to resolve. So I'm sorry for keeping this bit of information extremely vague, but then again, I'm not.
Yesterday, I gave WestJet a call. I talked to a very nice lady by the name of Kathy. She told me that I have enough money to purchase two seperate round-trip airplane tickets. I finally asked her, "Exactly how much do I have on hold?" And she replied, "$716.46 Canadian."
Incredible.
Some good things, some bad things. And the last half of the week still awaits. We'll see what happens next.
There is nothing more devastating than the death of a Superhero.
My Superhero...
I've never been at a loss for words until now.
My Superhero...
I've never been at a loss for words until now.
Sometimes, I need a swift kick in the pants. And today, it was a welcome blow. What started as yet another "pep talk" from my boss, turned into a conversation full of encouraging words, motivational stories, and some quirky humor.
"What you call 'God', I call 'the Universe'. If I simply referred to 'God', I'd feel as though I was limiting the possibilities," Sue said to me. "You have to find out what the Universe is calling you to, Carly. Because it's obviously not in this area of retail."
"Well, my faith is in God. Trusting Him is no problem. Having this job was great and has been great for the last seven months. I just feel it's time for me to move on to something more appealing to my interests."
We talked for 45 minutes about where I could work, where I'd like to work, where I'd love to work, and on and on.
Sue emphasized, "You need to work where cute boys go! Because this store is for old ladies, Carly! I can't blame you for struggling to connect with the customers!"
By the end of our talk, we came to the conclusion that it was time for me to find another place to work. I haven't been "let go" or fired or any of that sort. In fact, I'll stay employed there for as long as I feel I need it. However, I have decided (and Sue agrees) that I should work in a place that gives me more joy; a place which can benefit from my butt-load of knowledge. Such as a music store or radio station, a local newspaper or magazine, or as an independent.
It's an incredible relief. I now have the freedom to pursue something more along my interests. Perhaps music. Perhaps writing. Hundreds of "perhaps's" now lie on my doorstep.
Last week, I came to the realization that unless I'm taking risks, I'm not fully happy with my life. In order to survive, I simply must take chances. Ones with unknown results.
When it comes to life, I'll take what's behind door labeled "?" please.
"What you call 'God', I call 'the Universe'. If I simply referred to 'God', I'd feel as though I was limiting the possibilities," Sue said to me. "You have to find out what the Universe is calling you to, Carly. Because it's obviously not in this area of retail."
"Well, my faith is in God. Trusting Him is no problem. Having this job was great and has been great for the last seven months. I just feel it's time for me to move on to something more appealing to my interests."
We talked for 45 minutes about where I could work, where I'd like to work, where I'd love to work, and on and on.
Sue emphasized, "You need to work where cute boys go! Because this store is for old ladies, Carly! I can't blame you for struggling to connect with the customers!"
By the end of our talk, we came to the conclusion that it was time for me to find another place to work. I haven't been "let go" or fired or any of that sort. In fact, I'll stay employed there for as long as I feel I need it. However, I have decided (and Sue agrees) that I should work in a place that gives me more joy; a place which can benefit from my butt-load of knowledge. Such as a music store or radio station, a local newspaper or magazine, or as an independent.
It's an incredible relief. I now have the freedom to pursue something more along my interests. Perhaps music. Perhaps writing. Hundreds of "perhaps's" now lie on my doorstep.
Last week, I came to the realization that unless I'm taking risks, I'm not fully happy with my life. In order to survive, I simply must take chances. Ones with unknown results.
When it comes to life, I'll take what's behind door labeled "?" please.
Dear Abby Benj
carly says:
Bah. I've got to figure out a way to get discovered. What would you do, Benj, my own personal Oracle? If you could take decent pictures, paint fair paintings, write with novelty, and play guitar... Oh! And sing as well! What would you do with yourself?? Hmm?? Just what would YOU do??
benj says:
I have no idea.
benj says:
I would play, paint, write, sing, and take pictures more often.
carly says:
Ah... Quite right. Brilliant.
carly says:
Bah. I've got to figure out a way to get discovered. What would you do, Benj, my own personal Oracle? If you could take decent pictures, paint fair paintings, write with novelty, and play guitar... Oh! And sing as well! What would you do with yourself?? Hmm?? Just what would YOU do??
benj says:
I have no idea.
benj says:
I would play, paint, write, sing, and take pictures more often.
carly says:
Ah... Quite right. Brilliant.
When it comes to blogging, this is the first time I have ever pointed out that it is, in fact, my birthday.
Today.
I am 20 years old and 20 years young. Lots of things have happened in this past year of living. I moved out of my parents' house and into my own apartment. I found the best roommate in the world. I landed a fair job and started working on my own side projects. Yes. I am awesome. Even at a mere 19 years of age.
Now, as I've entered my 20-something's, I can only wonder if life only gets better. I imagine this must be so. I think I am the most cynical optimist in the country. Oximorons and contradictions rule, my friends.
And so now you ask, "Carly! What have you done today to celebrate this festive occasion??"
Well, I will tell you...
I spent five hours on the telephone with Verizon jerks, trying to get my DSL connection back up and running. To no avail. Presently, I am at the library, checking my email, looking at all the birthday e-cards sent to me by various buddies. I love you all. Thank you.
I don't know when I will blog next. Quite frankly, it doesn't matter. I like keeping you all on your toes.
One thing I always like to think about every 16th day of January is the fact that I was delivered by a drunk man. Oh, the irony...
I'm 20!
Today.
I am 20 years old and 20 years young. Lots of things have happened in this past year of living. I moved out of my parents' house and into my own apartment. I found the best roommate in the world. I landed a fair job and started working on my own side projects. Yes. I am awesome. Even at a mere 19 years of age.
Now, as I've entered my 20-something's, I can only wonder if life only gets better. I imagine this must be so. I think I am the most cynical optimist in the country. Oximorons and contradictions rule, my friends.
And so now you ask, "Carly! What have you done today to celebrate this festive occasion??"
Well, I will tell you...
I spent five hours on the telephone with Verizon jerks, trying to get my DSL connection back up and running. To no avail. Presently, I am at the library, checking my email, looking at all the birthday e-cards sent to me by various buddies. I love you all. Thank you.
I don't know when I will blog next. Quite frankly, it doesn't matter. I like keeping you all on your toes.
One thing I always like to think about every 16th day of January is the fact that I was delivered by a drunk man. Oh, the irony...
I'm 20!
I know you read, Galen, but this is one of the best compliments ever given to me.
Carly, of all the [friends] I have, I think you have influenced me the most. Your paintings are awesome, your photographs are great, and your blog is some of the best reading I've had in a while (I've been reading it all the way through, btw). Your romantic outlook on life and artistic slant has helped me to open my eyes to the beauty in everything around me. I always loved sunsets and starry nights, but you helped me see it in the humans and everything else. Thank you so very much, sis. Love you so much.
This prompts me to tell you (because I've been meaning to) that you have the most gentle spirit I've ever come across in a person. Your strive to obey Christ is admirable and convicting, but in a way that I only feel better about my life and those around me. You've only always been uplifting and encouraging to me. For this, I am thankful to have you as my friend.
Carly, of all the [friends] I have, I think you have influenced me the most. Your paintings are awesome, your photographs are great, and your blog is some of the best reading I've had in a while (I've been reading it all the way through, btw). Your romantic outlook on life and artistic slant has helped me to open my eyes to the beauty in everything around me. I always loved sunsets and starry nights, but you helped me see it in the humans and everything else. Thank you so very much, sis. Love you so much.
This prompts me to tell you (because I've been meaning to) that you have the most gentle spirit I've ever come across in a person. Your strive to obey Christ is admirable and convicting, but in a way that I only feel better about my life and those around me. You've only always been uplifting and encouraging to me. For this, I am thankful to have you as my friend.
Life Updated
Four inches of snow fell last night. Today was my day off. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday are days I have off. Eastside Dog rescheduled their workers. I now work a mere three days each week. Sucks. I chose to drive to my parents' despite the snow. My car slid backwards down a hill. Later, I lost control and coasted into a curb, preventing a collision with oncoming traffic. After 45 minutes, I made it to my parents' place. Alive. Kyle, his friend Evan, and I sled-boarded. I got it all on videotape. I drove back home. Despite the snow. I made it up a really steep hill without losing control. I saw that car in front of me. I pumped the breaks. They didn't work. My car turned sideways. I drove slid on pure ice. Crashed. I stepped out of my car and fell. The ice. Standing up, I said, "Are you alright, sir?" He didn't speak English. His car was dent/scratch/scrape-less. My back passenger door now turns inward. "Ees OK," the man said and drove away. Cars behind me started to honk. I drove 50 more feet and reached my apartment complex's parking lot. Truth be told, I'm having a fat day. Glad to be alive still. Drive through snow? Never again.
Words escape me. Because how do you justify self pity? I am currently comforted by a kiss. A Hershey's Kiss. I'd much rather be burning calories than consuming them, but such is life.
I'm anticipating something and it's unsettling. I sit here, absorbed in a book that doesn't help things at all. The book my mom always gets me for Christmas; the one I open for the traditional Christmas Eve gift. Every year, mom chooses a book for me to read and I usually start it the night before Christmas. I wasn't able to this year for lack of time, but all day today, I haven't been able to put it down. It's a novel I don't expect many literature-lovers to respect much, but I am enjoying it, nonetheless.
The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. The same author of good ol' A Walk to Remember, which happens to be another Christmas Eve present from four years ago. Thank you, mom. I read that one in less than five hours. The woman knows how to choose 'em.
Amidst it's movie-like dialogue and typical confrontations, there are tid-bits that have snagged my attention. Due to something that I once knew. And despite the different circumstances, I know of the "passion" and "qualities" which Nick details about a particular character. It's like you read a story and come across a character who reminds you so much of someone you know, you truly consider, "Maybe the author knows him too..."
It was the kind of life she'd always expected to live, the kind of life she wanted to live. And though she wouldn't describe theirs as a passionate relationship, she had convinced herself long ago that this wasn't necessary to be fulfilled in a relationship, even with a person she intended to marry. Passion would fade in time, and compatibility would take its place. She and Lon had this, and she had assumed this was all she needed. But now, as she watched Noah rowing, she questioned this basic assumption.
Because...
[Noah] was complicated, almost contradictory in so many ways, yet simple, a strangely erotic combination. On the surface he was a country boy, home from war, and he probably saw himself in those terms. Yet there was so much more to him. Perhaps it was the poetry that made him different, or perhaps it was the values his father had instilled in him, growing up. Either way, he seemed to savor life more fully than others appeared to, and that was what had first attracted her to him.
Mm-hmm... I know "Noah." I know him from my dreams. And I suppose I'm waiting for him. And like the kiss that's melting at the roof my mouth, so my heart becomes as soft and sweet and completely susceptible to being swallowed whole. If it hasn't already...
I just hope for a happy birthday.
I'm anticipating something and it's unsettling. I sit here, absorbed in a book that doesn't help things at all. The book my mom always gets me for Christmas; the one I open for the traditional Christmas Eve gift. Every year, mom chooses a book for me to read and I usually start it the night before Christmas. I wasn't able to this year for lack of time, but all day today, I haven't been able to put it down. It's a novel I don't expect many literature-lovers to respect much, but I am enjoying it, nonetheless.
The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. The same author of good ol' A Walk to Remember, which happens to be another Christmas Eve present from four years ago. Thank you, mom. I read that one in less than five hours. The woman knows how to choose 'em.
Amidst it's movie-like dialogue and typical confrontations, there are tid-bits that have snagged my attention. Due to something that I once knew. And despite the different circumstances, I know of the "passion" and "qualities" which Nick details about a particular character. It's like you read a story and come across a character who reminds you so much of someone you know, you truly consider, "Maybe the author knows him too..."
It was the kind of life she'd always expected to live, the kind of life she wanted to live. And though she wouldn't describe theirs as a passionate relationship, she had convinced herself long ago that this wasn't necessary to be fulfilled in a relationship, even with a person she intended to marry. Passion would fade in time, and compatibility would take its place. She and Lon had this, and she had assumed this was all she needed. But now, as she watched Noah rowing, she questioned this basic assumption.
Because...
[Noah] was complicated, almost contradictory in so many ways, yet simple, a strangely erotic combination. On the surface he was a country boy, home from war, and he probably saw himself in those terms. Yet there was so much more to him. Perhaps it was the poetry that made him different, or perhaps it was the values his father had instilled in him, growing up. Either way, he seemed to savor life more fully than others appeared to, and that was what had first attracted her to him.
Mm-hmm... I know "Noah." I know him from my dreams. And I suppose I'm waiting for him. And like the kiss that's melting at the roof my mouth, so my heart becomes as soft and sweet and completely susceptible to being swallowed whole. If it hasn't already...
I just hope for a happy birthday.
I have seen far too much for one evening. Downtown Seattle is very fascinating on New Year's Eve. Drunkard frat boys and seedy blondes prancing about the streets with cigarettes and beer bottles. Ryan and I were there with our cameras and possessing a camera is just as influential on people as any sort of drug. People lose their minds when they see a camera. Suddenly, they have a reason to behave like an idiot.
A girl actually asked Ryan if he would take a picture of her flashing him. As we passed a guy taking a leak on a brick wall, he (boozed) turned to us and asked, "Do you want to take a picture of my pecker?"
Fascinating what people say and do when they're plastered. And even moreso to be sober and capturing everyone else in their drunken stupor.
I wonder if they'll remember us in the morning.
PS. Happy New Year! I hope everyone loses a lot of weight this year, receives better test scores, and has a truly "meaningful" relationship for once.
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