31 July 2010
30 July 2010
29 July 2010
Secret 7
Telling people things about me makes me feel self centered, fishing for attention, and generally being awful in conversations.
28 July 2010
27 July 2010
26 July 2010
25 July 2010
Secret 3
If I say something and no one listens, I'll keep talking as if I hadn't meant anyone to hear.
24 July 2010
23 July 2010
The Openness Project
This past spring and summer, I've been doing some thinking. A dangerous past time, I know.
... Ahem. Brownie points, by the way, if you get the reference.
Anyways, I've been doing some thinking about how I interact with people, and have come to the conclusion that I'm keeping pretty much everyone outside of my nice, sterile, plexiglass enclosure. It's actually rather lonely in here. Amidst all this thought, I decided that there are a lot of things that I don't tell people, but probably should.
Thus was this next series of posts born. I will be posting 40 things I should say but don't over the next 40 days.
Just some things before I get started. Please, do not comment encouragingly on posts about personal insecurities, it's not going to help. If you're going to comment, comment about your own insecurity, or something else. And finally, I'd greatly appreciate it if you did not read too much into these posts. This means you, Qwip.
And finally, when the word "you" is used, it refers to people in general, not a particular person.
So here's the first one:
Secret 1: I'm scared people will read these posts and pay attention.
... Ahem. Brownie points, by the way, if you get the reference.
Anyways, I've been doing some thinking about how I interact with people, and have come to the conclusion that I'm keeping pretty much everyone outside of my nice, sterile, plexiglass enclosure. It's actually rather lonely in here. Amidst all this thought, I decided that there are a lot of things that I don't tell people, but probably should.
Thus was this next series of posts born. I will be posting 40 things I should say but don't over the next 40 days.
Just some things before I get started. Please, do not comment encouragingly on posts about personal insecurities, it's not going to help. If you're going to comment, comment about your own insecurity, or something else. And finally, I'd greatly appreciate it if you did not read too much into these posts. This means you, Qwip.
And finally, when the word "you" is used, it refers to people in general, not a particular person.
So here's the first one:
Secret 1: I'm scared people will read these posts and pay attention.
14 July 2010
Erp
While it may appear that I have disappeared completely from off the face of this planet, let me assure you, I'm still alive.
That is all.
That is all.
24 June 2010
Candid Room
So I was tagged by Chris at My Ink Spot to take a picture of my room without cleaning it at all.
This first one is from the door of my room. You can see my iron horse by the window (Thursday gave it to me for my 15th birthday), and my small book shelf, bean bag chair, and three book baskets in the corner. My bed is that mess on the right hand side of the picture, and you can catch some new yarn I bought yesterday for Unexpected Song's gloves.
The other side of my room has my armoire and closet. On top of my armoire you'll notice a rather large collection of dolls. You can see the head of my Twinn doll peeking out behind the green bunny ears on the left. There's also a china bride doll, a Russian figure skater, Samantha from the American Girl series, a ballerina doll, and a few others. I'm not really attached to most of them, but a lot of them were gifts or were really important to me before I hit the double digits. Also, there's more random hair products lying on the floor next to my towel.
This is the other part of the other side of my room. You can see my suits and shirts in the closet, my math homework on the floor (next to the towel), and my vanity. Yes, that wood desk cluttered with hairspray, hair gel, jewelry, yarn, and books is the actual representation of my pride. Actually, no. A vanity is the official name for those desk/chest of drawers that glamorous women do their makeup at in the movies. There's a pile of sweaters on the chair that goes in front of it.
Oh, and I almost forgot. I've been hanging up my hat collection where it won't get squished and soiled. On the far right is a burgundy hat in '40s style. Then comes my brown fedora, complete with lavender sprigs. The bright pink one is my first hat. Dad gave it to me for Christmas many years ago, and it's been a joke that I'll wear it to the Kentucky Derby "when Dad takes me." The big black circle next to the Derby hat is my evil 1800s hat. It's got a big velvet band around the rim, tied in a bow on the side, and I can look really creepy in it. Missing are my Greek fisherman's hat, my purple cloche, the blue soft-brimmed hat, and the straw sun hat, and others which should not be named.
So there you have it. If you're reading this, I tag you to do the same.
B
This first one is from the door of my room. You can see my iron horse by the window (Thursday gave it to me for my 15th birthday), and my small book shelf, bean bag chair, and three book baskets in the corner. My bed is that mess on the right hand side of the picture, and you can catch some new yarn I bought yesterday for Unexpected Song's gloves.
The other side of my room has my armoire and closet. On top of my armoire you'll notice a rather large collection of dolls. You can see the head of my Twinn doll peeking out behind the green bunny ears on the left. There's also a china bride doll, a Russian figure skater, Samantha from the American Girl series, a ballerina doll, and a few others. I'm not really attached to most of them, but a lot of them were gifts or were really important to me before I hit the double digits. Also, there's more random hair products lying on the floor next to my towel.
This is the other part of the other side of my room. You can see my suits and shirts in the closet, my math homework on the floor (next to the towel), and my vanity. Yes, that wood desk cluttered with hairspray, hair gel, jewelry, yarn, and books is the actual representation of my pride. Actually, no. A vanity is the official name for those desk/chest of drawers that glamorous women do their makeup at in the movies. There's a pile of sweaters on the chair that goes in front of it.
Oh, and I almost forgot. I've been hanging up my hat collection where it won't get squished and soiled. On the far right is a burgundy hat in '40s style. Then comes my brown fedora, complete with lavender sprigs. The bright pink one is my first hat. Dad gave it to me for Christmas many years ago, and it's been a joke that I'll wear it to the Kentucky Derby "when Dad takes me." The big black circle next to the Derby hat is my evil 1800s hat. It's got a big velvet band around the rim, tied in a bow on the side, and I can look really creepy in it. Missing are my Greek fisherman's hat, my purple cloche, the blue soft-brimmed hat, and the straw sun hat, and others which should not be named.
So there you have it. If you're reading this, I tag you to do the same.
B
22 June 2010
Rhyme and Reason
This one's been fermenting in my head for quite some time now, so hopefully it's fully mature.
I'm sure you've read my musings on classical music before. If not, then here's where to find the best one.
Upon further thought, it seems to me that there are two distinct types of artists. And for lack of better descriptions, there are artists who follow Rhyme, and those who follow Reason.
A Reason artist is one who takes a concept, piece of art, or music, studies it intensively, and then tries to imitate the piece as closely as possible. They focus is on creating a perfect replica, and the problem with this is that in the course of studying the subject, the Reasoner isolates, sterilizes, and then eventually kills the life inherent in the art.
On the other side is the Rhymer. An artist who follows Rhyme looks at the subject, and tries to capture the life essence of the art. A Rhymer doesn't care so much if some of the outward appearances differ from the original, and here comes the problem with Rhyme: in the pursuit of the driving forces and emotions of a piece, they can drastically change it into something it isn't.
I think it's rather interesting. In organized music, I've discovered a majority of Reasoners, while in drama, I've seen a majority of Rhymers. Thus, the first time I tried to describe the dichotomy to a friend (Lady Specs, to be precise) I had people labeled as "musician hearts" and "actor hearts." However, I've noticed it's entirely possible for a Reasoner to be in drama and a Rhymer to be in music. My second violin teacher is definitely a Rhymer, and there are a few actors in Much Ado who appear to follow Reason.
Something needing to be made clear here is that both sides have good aspects - Reason looks to the outside, and Rhyme looks to the inside of the piece. The danger is that an artist will sway too far to one side or the other.
Oh, and also... This is only talking about true artists. There are some people in the arts who are not artists at all, but they camouflage well with extreme Reasoners.
So I'm not sure where I was going with all this. It's just been something knocking around in my head for a while.
B
I'm sure you've read my musings on classical music before. If not, then here's where to find the best one.
Upon further thought, it seems to me that there are two distinct types of artists. And for lack of better descriptions, there are artists who follow Rhyme, and those who follow Reason.
A Reason artist is one who takes a concept, piece of art, or music, studies it intensively, and then tries to imitate the piece as closely as possible. They focus is on creating a perfect replica, and the problem with this is that in the course of studying the subject, the Reasoner isolates, sterilizes, and then eventually kills the life inherent in the art.
On the other side is the Rhymer. An artist who follows Rhyme looks at the subject, and tries to capture the life essence of the art. A Rhymer doesn't care so much if some of the outward appearances differ from the original, and here comes the problem with Rhyme: in the pursuit of the driving forces and emotions of a piece, they can drastically change it into something it isn't.
I think it's rather interesting. In organized music, I've discovered a majority of Reasoners, while in drama, I've seen a majority of Rhymers. Thus, the first time I tried to describe the dichotomy to a friend (Lady Specs, to be precise) I had people labeled as "musician hearts" and "actor hearts." However, I've noticed it's entirely possible for a Reasoner to be in drama and a Rhymer to be in music. My second violin teacher is definitely a Rhymer, and there are a few actors in Much Ado who appear to follow Reason.
Something needing to be made clear here is that both sides have good aspects - Reason looks to the outside, and Rhyme looks to the inside of the piece. The danger is that an artist will sway too far to one side or the other.
Oh, and also... This is only talking about true artists. There are some people in the arts who are not artists at all, but they camouflage well with extreme Reasoners.
So I'm not sure where I was going with all this. It's just been something knocking around in my head for a while.
B
21 June 2010
There is a River
Sorry about all these lapses in posting recently. I've been in a drama production the past three weeks, and what with rehearsals combined with lots of math homework, I've been lacking the proper words to express any of my more interesting thoughts.
It's ironic - even though I'm seeing Specs, Escapist, and Calvin pretty much every weekday, I still feel really lonely, so I've been listening to this week's song a lot. It's called There Is A River by Jars of Clay. I love this song because it's a reminder that I don't have to try and do everything for myself. :P Yeah, it's gotten that bad. But anyways, it comes off of one of my favorite Jars of Clay albums - Good Monsters. You should go check it out if you're in the mood for some light Christian rock.
There is a River
There is a river that washes you clean
There is a tree that marks the places you've been
Blood that was spilled, although not your own,
For all of your tears, are the wages for things you have done
And all of those nights
Spent alone in the darkness of your mind
Give it up, Let go
These are things you were never meant to shoulder
There is a river that washes you clean
There is a tree that marks the places you've been
Blood that was spilled, although not your own
For all of those tears, love will atone
So, give up the right
To control the waves that empty out your life
Above wild skies
Are the rays that break the shadows we design
Give it up, let go
These are things you were never meant to shoulder
Give it up, let go
There is a river that washes you clean
There is a tree that marks the places you've been
Blood that was spilled, although not your own
For all of those things, love will atone
I know the world can turn in different ways
Most of the time, we're simply hanging on
And under the signs of how we all behave
We might find the place that we belong
There is a river that washes you clean
There is a tree that marks the places you've been
Blood that was spilled, although not your own
For all of these things, love will atone
For all of those nights, that you cried all alone
All of your tears, love will atone
Cheers!
B
p.s. I should have a post out tomorrow or the day after - another arts-related philosophical musing. Yay!
It's ironic - even though I'm seeing Specs, Escapist, and Calvin pretty much every weekday, I still feel really lonely, so I've been listening to this week's song a lot. It's called There Is A River by Jars of Clay. I love this song because it's a reminder that I don't have to try and do everything for myself. :P Yeah, it's gotten that bad. But anyways, it comes off of one of my favorite Jars of Clay albums - Good Monsters. You should go check it out if you're in the mood for some light Christian rock.
There is a River
There is a river that washes you clean
There is a tree that marks the places you've been
Blood that was spilled, although not your own,
For all of your tears, are the wages for things you have done
And all of those nights
Spent alone in the darkness of your mind
Give it up, Let go
These are things you were never meant to shoulder
There is a river that washes you clean
There is a tree that marks the places you've been
Blood that was spilled, although not your own
For all of those tears, love will atone
So, give up the right
To control the waves that empty out your life
Above wild skies
Are the rays that break the shadows we design
Give it up, let go
These are things you were never meant to shoulder
Give it up, let go
There is a river that washes you clean
There is a tree that marks the places you've been
Blood that was spilled, although not your own
For all of those things, love will atone
I know the world can turn in different ways
Most of the time, we're simply hanging on
And under the signs of how we all behave
We might find the place that we belong
There is a river that washes you clean
There is a tree that marks the places you've been
Blood that was spilled, although not your own
For all of these things, love will atone
For all of those nights, that you cried all alone
All of your tears, love will atone
Cheers!
B
p.s. I should have a post out tomorrow or the day after - another arts-related philosophical musing. Yay!
08 June 2010
What is Eternal?
Let me introduce you to a completely amazing rock opera called Beethoven's Last Night, by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. It's pretty much what it sounds like: Beethoven has finished writing his 10th Symphony, and is starting to die.
What is Eternal? by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra comes right when Beethoven is contemplating if his life's work is worth the damnation of his soul.
Ladies and Gents, I give you What is Eternal?
And here in the night
As I feel the Inferno
I stare in the dark
Thinking what is eternal
The man or the moment?
The act, or the reason?
These thoughts fill my head
As I contemplate treason.
Of dreams I have had
And dreams I have pondered
When late in the night
My mind it would wander
To things I have done
And then quickly regretted
While denying vices
My life had selected...
And I think what I've done
Or have yet to begin
And the man I've become
And the man that I've been
Now caught in a waltz
With the Eternal Dancer
I'm courted by Death
But Death isn't the answer
I say.
All I was
Meant to be
Could I
Suddenly
Just decide
Not a thought
Would survive?
Could it be
My life's worth
Ended there
With my birth?
If I could see someone
Who's been there before me
And traded his soul
For a moment of Glory
His penance or mercy
By spirits debated
While judged on a scale
That's been heavily weighted.
And what have I done?
Could there be such a sin
In this man I've become?
In this man that I've been?
Now calling to God
From this pit's very bottom
I pray He forgives
Every sin I've forgotten
This day!
And who would have thought
That my fate it would conjure
This twist in the road
On which I have wandered?
Each vision and dream now
Completely dismembered
To give one's whole life
And find nothing's
Remembered.
And what good is a life
That leaves nothing behind
Not a thought or a dream
That might echo in Time.
The years and the hours
The seconds and minutes
And everything that
My life has placed in it
Betrayed.
Betrayed.
Betrayed!
The things I have done
The places I've been
The cost of my dreams
The weight of my sins
And everything that
I've gathered in life
Could it be lost?
Could it be lost in this
Could it be lost in this
Night?
I heartily recommend the entire album. It's pure genius.
B
What is Eternal? by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra comes right when Beethoven is contemplating if his life's work is worth the damnation of his soul.
Ladies and Gents, I give you What is Eternal?
And here in the night
As I feel the Inferno
I stare in the dark
Thinking what is eternal
The man or the moment?
The act, or the reason?
These thoughts fill my head
As I contemplate treason.
Of dreams I have had
And dreams I have pondered
When late in the night
My mind it would wander
To things I have done
And then quickly regretted
While denying vices
My life had selected...
And I think what I've done
Or have yet to begin
And the man I've become
And the man that I've been
Now caught in a waltz
With the Eternal Dancer
I'm courted by Death
But Death isn't the answer
I say.
All I was
Meant to be
Could I
Suddenly
Just decide
Not a thought
Would survive?
Could it be
My life's worth
Ended there
With my birth?
If I could see someone
Who's been there before me
And traded his soul
For a moment of Glory
His penance or mercy
By spirits debated
While judged on a scale
That's been heavily weighted.
And what have I done?
Could there be such a sin
In this man I've become?
In this man that I've been?
Now calling to God
From this pit's very bottom
I pray He forgives
Every sin I've forgotten
This day!
And who would have thought
That my fate it would conjure
This twist in the road
On which I have wandered?
Each vision and dream now
Completely dismembered
To give one's whole life
And find nothing's
Remembered.
And what good is a life
That leaves nothing behind
Not a thought or a dream
That might echo in Time.
The years and the hours
The seconds and minutes
And everything that
My life has placed in it
Betrayed.
Betrayed.
Betrayed!
The things I have done
The places I've been
The cost of my dreams
The weight of my sins
And everything that
I've gathered in life
Could it be lost?
Could it be lost in this
Could it be lost in this
Night?
I heartily recommend the entire album. It's pure genius.
B
06 June 2010
Grab Bag 3
Okay. Now this is, frankly, unacceptable. Apart from being down in the dumps and incredibly busy, I've got no excuse this time.
Before I write about what I actually want to write about, I'll update you a bit.
First of all, my Dad gets a new job on Monday. He had his last day on Friday, and we celebrated by having Vietnamese food at his old office. Interesting stuff, that food. I'm not sure if I like it or not, but it certainly tasted interesting.
Rehearsals for Much Ado About Nothing started last week, and the second rehearsal, I ended up walking to, for about a mile. There had been a major accident on an arterial near the rehearsal site, and traffic had been rerouted through the only street you could get to rehearsals on. It was crazy - every 15 minutes, we'd move a couple more car lengths and then sit for a while. So that was interesting.
Rehearsals have been kind of funny. Some of the cast are going to be singing madrigals throughout the play, yours truly included. So we were rehearsing these things last week. I don't know if you know this, but I was in a choir for five years, etc. etc. etc. If you gave the madrigals we were working on to my choir, we could have sight-read them just fine. But in the first rehearsal, it took an hour and a half to put together one song. Part of the problem could be that all the other fine singers are Broadway style singers. In other words, they don't sing well with others. :D
Yeah, that's about all that's going on in Problematic's world.
B
Before I write about what I actually want to write about, I'll update you a bit.
First of all, my Dad gets a new job on Monday. He had his last day on Friday, and we celebrated by having Vietnamese food at his old office. Interesting stuff, that food. I'm not sure if I like it or not, but it certainly tasted interesting.
Rehearsals for Much Ado About Nothing started last week, and the second rehearsal, I ended up walking to, for about a mile. There had been a major accident on an arterial near the rehearsal site, and traffic had been rerouted through the only street you could get to rehearsals on. It was crazy - every 15 minutes, we'd move a couple more car lengths and then sit for a while. So that was interesting.
Rehearsals have been kind of funny. Some of the cast are going to be singing madrigals throughout the play, yours truly included. So we were rehearsing these things last week. I don't know if you know this, but I was in a choir for five years, etc. etc. etc. If you gave the madrigals we were working on to my choir, we could have sight-read them just fine. But in the first rehearsal, it took an hour and a half to put together one song. Part of the problem could be that all the other fine singers are Broadway style singers. In other words, they don't sing well with others. :D
Yeah, that's about all that's going on in Problematic's world.
B
31 May 2010
The Mansions of the Lord
In honor of Memorial Day, here's one of my favorite hymns: The Mansions of the Lord. It was written in honor of the soldiers who died in Vietnam, but it applies to all wars. Inspired by John 14:2.
Ach, it's an incredible song. I start tearing up just listening to it. :)
The Mansions of the Lord
To fallen soldiers let us sing,
Where no rockets fly nor bullets wing,
Our broken brothers let us bring
To the Mansions of the Lord
No more weeping,
No more fight,
No friends bleeding through the night,
Just Divine embrace,
Eternal light,
In the Mansions of the Lord
Where no mothers cry
And no children weep,
We shall stand and guard
Though the angels sleep,
Oh, through the ages let us keep
The Mansions of the Lord
Ach, it's an incredible song. I start tearing up just listening to it. :)
The Mansions of the Lord
To fallen soldiers let us sing,
Where no rockets fly nor bullets wing,
Our broken brothers let us bring
To the Mansions of the Lord
No more weeping,
No more fight,
No friends bleeding through the night,
Just Divine embrace,
Eternal light,
In the Mansions of the Lord
Where no mothers cry
And no children weep,
We shall stand and guard
Though the angels sleep,
Oh, through the ages let us keep
The Mansions of the Lord
25 May 2010
The choices, the choices
I've got so many different Music Monday songs I'd like to do, it took until Tuesday to decide!
Right. You're not buying that.
Ahem. Anyways. This week, I've decided to share one of my favoritest (is that a word?) pieces of classical music: Pictures at an Exhibition by Modest Mussorgsky. Isn't "Modest" an amazing first name?
He's got such a range of emotions in this piece - from quiet to show-stopping. Good stuff. Enjoy!
B
Right. You're not buying that.
Ahem. Anyways. This week, I've decided to share one of my favoritest (is that a word?) pieces of classical music: Pictures at an Exhibition by Modest Mussorgsky. Isn't "Modest" an amazing first name?
He's got such a range of emotions in this piece - from quiet to show-stopping. Good stuff. Enjoy!
B
23 May 2010
Jiggity-Jig
Aaah. It feels good to be this close to home... Even though home is still 600 miles away.
Just saying.
B
Just saying.
B
20 May 2010
Funeral
Well, the funeral was today.
Wait a second, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Last night, there was a visitation for friends and family (and whatever morbid members of the public who read the obituary). The first hour was only for relatives and my Uncle's closest friends, and it was open casket. It was pretty disturbing to see him in the casket. The funeral home had dyed his hair red and put makeup on him to hide his dead complexion. His little girl had put Lammy, her favorite stuffed animal, in the casket with a drawing of her and her Dad. Barry didn't look anything like he used to - more like a sculpture from a second-rate wax museum than the body of my Uncle.
The funeral was today. My other uncle is in the Minnesota Police Pipe Band (yes, he plays the bagpipes. He's awesome like that) and he got the pipe band to come and play for the funeral. It was held in a scale model of the Hagia Sophia, and while the 'scale model' part sounds cheesy, it was actually quite beautiful, visually and acoustically.
My aunt Nancy asked me to read in the service, which I did - Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, the "there is a time for everything" passage.
After the service, Barry's casket was escorted out of the chapel to the pipe band, and everyone drove to his burial plot. It's beautiful, sitting in the shade of some big shade trees on a sunny hill beneath a mausoleum. Everyone else was so sad and hurting so much that I started crying, which was embarrassing because right around then, people started meeting and greeting each other. Bah. Don't get me wrong - I love my Uncle dearly, and I do miss him, but it's not very pleasant to meet some awesome cousins with tears and mucus running down your face. >:(
The cemetery staff shooed everyone away, and we drove to a loft to have lunch and talk. I was whisked into a whirlwind of meeting obscure relatives whose names I've forgotten.
Now, throughout the whole thing, I kept thinking that the funeral and the pomp going into it was far too serious for my Uncle. After all, he was the type who would try to outrace the mosquitoes on his boat rather than wait for them to fly off (true story, we did that once. He wasn't touched, but I got a couple hundred bites. Yes, I counted). No, Uncle Barry would be wanting a wake, in the true Irish style, Guinness and all. He got one, actually. After the official lunch, Aunt Nancy and her close family and Barry's friends headed off to a pub.
There are far too many songs to express how I'm feeling, so I'll leave that to tomorrow's post. So, instead, I'll go crash on the couch and watch a documentary about people dying in World War 1.
Also, I'm in no mood to talk with people, so emails, chats, anything will be deleted if they arrive tonight.
B
Wait a second, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Last night, there was a visitation for friends and family (and whatever morbid members of the public who read the obituary). The first hour was only for relatives and my Uncle's closest friends, and it was open casket. It was pretty disturbing to see him in the casket. The funeral home had dyed his hair red and put makeup on him to hide his dead complexion. His little girl had put Lammy, her favorite stuffed animal, in the casket with a drawing of her and her Dad. Barry didn't look anything like he used to - more like a sculpture from a second-rate wax museum than the body of my Uncle.
The funeral was today. My other uncle is in the Minnesota Police Pipe Band (yes, he plays the bagpipes. He's awesome like that) and he got the pipe band to come and play for the funeral. It was held in a scale model of the Hagia Sophia, and while the 'scale model' part sounds cheesy, it was actually quite beautiful, visually and acoustically.
My aunt Nancy asked me to read in the service, which I did - Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, the "there is a time for everything" passage.
After the service, Barry's casket was escorted out of the chapel to the pipe band, and everyone drove to his burial plot. It's beautiful, sitting in the shade of some big shade trees on a sunny hill beneath a mausoleum. Everyone else was so sad and hurting so much that I started crying, which was embarrassing because right around then, people started meeting and greeting each other. Bah. Don't get me wrong - I love my Uncle dearly, and I do miss him, but it's not very pleasant to meet some awesome cousins with tears and mucus running down your face. >:(
The cemetery staff shooed everyone away, and we drove to a loft to have lunch and talk. I was whisked into a whirlwind of meeting obscure relatives whose names I've forgotten.
Now, throughout the whole thing, I kept thinking that the funeral and the pomp going into it was far too serious for my Uncle. After all, he was the type who would try to outrace the mosquitoes on his boat rather than wait for them to fly off (true story, we did that once. He wasn't touched, but I got a couple hundred bites. Yes, I counted). No, Uncle Barry would be wanting a wake, in the true Irish style, Guinness and all. He got one, actually. After the official lunch, Aunt Nancy and her close family and Barry's friends headed off to a pub.
There are far too many songs to express how I'm feeling, so I'll leave that to tomorrow's post. So, instead, I'll go crash on the couch and watch a documentary about people dying in World War 1.
Also, I'm in no mood to talk with people, so emails, chats, anything will be deleted if they arrive tonight.
B
18 May 2010
Stress
I've heard it said about extended family that if you don't know where you've been, you don't know where you're going. I'd prefer it be said that if you don't know where you've been, there's no way you can get away from there.
I've never really liked visiting my relatives here in Minnesota. It's unpleasant coming into the middle of a family disfunction that's been in existence for the past 50 years. There are members of my extended family that are all right by themselves, but once you get them in a group, boy, do things heat up quickly. Usually, this isn't too bad, because we come around Christmas or in the summer, and the family only gathers for a couple hours one day of the visit.
However, because this visit is occasioned by a funeral, I'll be in close contact with my relatives for this entire week. Not only that, but with Uncle Barry's death, tensions are even higher than they are usually, and a lot of family are coming in from out of town.
If I knew people out here besides my relatives, it might be better, but the fact is, these adults with all their dramas and woes are the only people I know, and they dominate life even when they're not around. When I'm in the house, they're there, and when our family is elsewhere, that's all we talk about. It's really stressful.
This is the explanation for the last quote of Dad's in my last post. The influence of my relatives is great enough that it affects my mood. I've been listening constantly to Coldplay - that's how bad it's gotten. :P
In 50% unrelated news, my Uncle's wife asked me to read a Bible passage at his funeral this Thursday. It doesn't seem like very long ago that I participated in their wedding. So, yeah, I'm in a rather dark mood right now. The sooner I can get out of Minnesota, the better.
The only good thing I can get out of this is that because I've seen this so many times, I'll be slightly more able to avoid repeating family history in the future.
Well, I've got other business to attend to...
B
I've never really liked visiting my relatives here in Minnesota. It's unpleasant coming into the middle of a family disfunction that's been in existence for the past 50 years. There are members of my extended family that are all right by themselves, but once you get them in a group, boy, do things heat up quickly. Usually, this isn't too bad, because we come around Christmas or in the summer, and the family only gathers for a couple hours one day of the visit.
However, because this visit is occasioned by a funeral, I'll be in close contact with my relatives for this entire week. Not only that, but with Uncle Barry's death, tensions are even higher than they are usually, and a lot of family are coming in from out of town.
If I knew people out here besides my relatives, it might be better, but the fact is, these adults with all their dramas and woes are the only people I know, and they dominate life even when they're not around. When I'm in the house, they're there, and when our family is elsewhere, that's all we talk about. It's really stressful.
This is the explanation for the last quote of Dad's in my last post. The influence of my relatives is great enough that it affects my mood. I've been listening constantly to Coldplay - that's how bad it's gotten. :P
In 50% unrelated news, my Uncle's wife asked me to read a Bible passage at his funeral this Thursday. It doesn't seem like very long ago that I participated in their wedding. So, yeah, I'm in a rather dark mood right now. The sooner I can get out of Minnesota, the better.
The only good thing I can get out of this is that because I've seen this so many times, I'll be slightly more able to avoid repeating family history in the future.
Well, I've got other business to attend to...
B
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