Shivery Blahs

Song of the Day: Turn Me On by Norah Jones

I was reading, but I started to get a headache. So I was practicing, and then my wrist started to ache (but I practiced for over an hour, so my attention span is doing better!). So now, pending the next ache, I am blogging out of sheer boredom.

My next vlog is (at the suggestion of a commenter) a "Favorites" video. Basically how I constructed it was I found a survey via the intergoogles that asked about random favorite things and picked my favorites. I'm hoping Mike will be in it with me, because I think both of us sharing our answers and talking about them will be more interesting than me just listing off things I like. Anywho, I'm giving myself a chance to go into more detail with my own answers here. Enjoy your preview. Or something.

Book: The Phantom Tollbooth. It's one of those books that offers something new each time I read it because between readings I've gained knowledge and experiences, so I get something different out of it every time. It's absolutely brilliant and it wears layers so that you can read and enjoy it at any age.

Disney film: It's a 3-way tie between Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, and Robin Hood. I feel like Robin Hood doesn't always get as much time in the limelight as other Disney films, which is sort of a shame because it's really wonderful. Plus how great are foxes? Answer: Very.

Word: See my previous post.

Color: Changes a lot. Usually it's red or green depending on my mood, but purple is entering the picture more often these days.

Sport: Obviously I don't play any, but I like watching soccer and am warming up to MMA.

Name: I really like Sam for a girl. Not entirely sure what my favorite guy name is...

Childhood book: I loved so many, but one that sticks in my mind is The Rainbow Goblins. The artwork is absolutely incredible. It's about these 7 goblins and each one is a different color, and they lasso rainbows and drink the colors. It's better than it sounds. I also loved Grandfather Twilight. Very few words, but again, beautiful illustrations.

Candy: Mike & Ikes or Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Depends on whether I want more fruity sweet or a heavier chocolatey sweet. Omnomnomnom.

Flower: Sunflowers for looks, lilacs for smell.

Planet: Jupiter. It's the only one in our solar system that creates its own energy rather than feeding off the energy of the sun.

...I am still bored. Also people keep opening the door and it is COLD. Normally on Thursdays I'd go home between my morning class and my afternoon class, but it's not worth struggling across the ice any more than I already have to. Grawr. I'm tempted to go throw a post on my tumblr like "Ask me stuff, I'z boreddddd" but I hate being that person. Plus people are probably out doing things with their days. Plus most of my tumblr followers are passive. Le sigh.

You should know that I love it when you sing / But I'd love it even more if you'd stop hitting things / Regardless, I'd be heartless without you. -The Debt, Julia Nunes

"Always"

Song of the Day: Under Pressure by Queen

Have I ever blogged about the word "always"? I don't think I have. If I have, go ahead and just disregard this post, another one will be along eventually.

I think my favorite thing about the word "always" is its ironic stretchiness. It's such a relative word. If you say "I've always loved cantaloupe," you mean you've loved it for the duration of your memory; so for people in my age range, that's probably around 16-17 years. When people say, "That's the way things have always been," they could be referring to as long as a country has been legally recognized, as long as a law has been in effect, as long as they've been married, as long as human records have been kept, as long as their family has been in America. By its very nature, it is quite a stretchy word.

It also shows up in two of my favorite book series, in two very different fashions. In Harry Potter, we have the oh-so-well-known exchange between Dumbledore and Snape: "After all this time?" "Always." Snape's ordeal with Lily (despite a considerable amount of it being his fault) was such that I can understand his inability to get over her; it's hard to have closure with someone who died. That one word had such a huge effect on the fandom; people are getting as many "Always" tattoos as they are Deathly Hallows tattoos (okay maybe not but there are still lots!). It's kind of because of that that I'm not sure I'll get an Always one. I'd like to, but a) everyone has one and b) I haven't found a design I really like. I also think it's like "lol, tattooz r 4evr hurr hurr" in addition to being cool. It would probably be hidden, and I know it would be unique because I have my own reasons for liking the word, but...I dunno. ANYWAY.

When Snape says "Always" he's talking both about the past and the future. He has resigned himself to the state of loving Lily. He sees it both in terms of he has always loved her and he always will. His situation has become static and constant; it's unchanging for him, without beginning and without end. "Static" has a more negative connotation that I intended...I guess I mean it in more of a nirvana-like setting (though considerably sadder in this instance), where it's just a state of being without definition and without temporal boundaries.

It also appears in The Hunger Games. When Katniss is falling into a drug-induced sleep, she grabs Peeta's hand and says, "Stay with me," and he responds, "Always." In addition to being stretchy, it's also a heavy word. The one word is all he needs to say for us to understand the absoluteness of his devotion (a word, by the way, that I don't particularly care for). Here it's heavy, it's simple, it's absolute, it's solid. Yes, I will always be here, whether you are asleep or awake, whether you admit to loving me or don't, whether you live or die. All of it bundled up into one word that says everything all at once.

It's such a cool word. It's stretchy, constant, fluid, solid, heavy, simple, complex, relative, subjective, poignant, terrifying and comforting. It's a word to be embraced and approached with caution. It falls like water and lands like lead. It is the loudest word you'll ever whisper. People use it to express absolutes that can't be absolute. Whenever I hear "I will always love you" (whether it's said to me or someone else), I always shrink back and think, "Don't let your mouth write checks your heart can't cash. Always is a very, very long time."

So yes. I would like it on my body. But I'm not fully sure where. And I don't want just another "Always" in tattoo-esque curly, swoopy writing that screams "I got a tattoo because I thought it would make Edward/Jacob love me." I want to love how it looks. Maybe I should just get it in typewriter script. Because books--not just books, but the ideas found in books--can last forever. And my love of the word comes from books. Wow, that's actually not a bad idea. Hm. But I should love how it looks. Because it will always be on me. And always is a long time.

Such a very long time.

Well I'll look at you and say it's the happiest that I've ever been / And I'll say I no longer feel I have to be James Dean / And she'll say Yeah well I feel all pretty happy too / And I'm always pretty happy when I'm just kicking back with you. -5 Years Time, Noah and the Whale

As Long As We're Swapping Stories...

Song of the Day: Black Sheep by Metric

So this post is mostly for Michael's benefit, since his own tale of medical turmoil led to a mention of my issues, which I have apparently not chronicled here. So here goes THAT fun story.

Once upon a time, I was about 11. I started having trouble exercising (couldn't complete the Pacer Test in gym, got a horrible wheezing cough if I laughed too hard, etc.), and my mom decided we should get it checked out. I went in for an allergy test (because they check for asthma at the same time). They said I had asthma, wrote a prescription for albuterol and sent me on my way.

As the years progressed, it became less and less important that I be able to run for long periods of time. I had a lot of trouble in P.E. in seventh grade, where we had to do the "Fun Run," a mile cross-country circuit of the school. It was timed, and my time was never good. I had to switch frequently between jogging and walking. I usually sprinted the last bit once I could see the finish, and I suffered for it. My throat felt like it was being shredded with every breath I took, my breathing was incredibly heavy, and if it got too bad I occasionally got a coppery (read: bloody) taste in my mouth. After a little bit this would subside and I'd cough sporadically for half an hour or so. Basically this process repeated any time I made myself run.

When I got to high school I was no longer required to take P.E. (because of IB), so it wasn't really a concern. I found that I started wishing I could run; I felt like I'd enjoy going out in the morning or evening and just running by myself. But I couldn't. I walked constantly, for a few hours at a time just to keep myself doing SOMETHING physical; even a steep-ish hill would still make my breathing heavier than any moderate-weight person's should be (I could stand to lose a little, but my BMI is fine and I was exercising regularly with no improvement in my breathing).

The summer when I was 18, my mom made me go to the doctor for a check-up on my back (she sustained pretty permanent back problems from a car accident we were in when I was 12, and is convinced to this day that I did too. I didn't). The doctor was doing all the normal check-up things they do and when she listened to my heart, she said she heard a murmur. I had a heart murmur when I was a baby, but those are common and it went away. But apparently it was back. So she recommended that even though it was faint, I go see a cardiologist.

So I saw the cardiologist. They tested me left and right. Ultrasounds, echo cardiograms, MRIs. Eventually they decided it was "patent ductus arteriosus" and "patent foramen ovale." In non-medical-jargon, that means little holes. Those little holes allow a more-than-normal amount of blood to go to my lungs. I don't mean my lungs are full of blood, I mean the capillaries or whatever are working too hard. At the time, the cardiologist told me to exercise as much as I could but to not aggravate the symptoms (aka not to push myself to the point of seeing little lights before my eyes); he said he couldn't foresee any complications arising unless I got pregnant and went into labor, which might put strain on my heart and make the holes bigger. Obviously that particular issue isn't in my immediate future. But I left slightly ticked that their message was "Yes, there is a problem. Yes, it inconveniences you. No, we're not doing anything about it."

My personal favorite test was the Trans-Esophogial Echo; they knocked me out for about fifteen minutes, shoved a camera down my throat and took a look around (I can only assume it had some sort of X-ray or similar imaging properties, since you can't see the heart through the esophagus). They made me gargle this stuff that made my throat go numb (because I was supposed to be awake to swallow the camera), at which point I begged them to put me to sleep because it felt awful, like I was simultaneously suffocating and gagging. They must have done something because my mom was in the room and said I looked like I was starting to panic and then suddenly just sort of relaxed and looked like my IQ equalled my age.

Upon waking up from that, I threw up (I always do with general anesthesia; I've been told since then that they can give me different stuff that shouldn't make me sick. That pissed me off because I TOLD them I puked the last time I went under). Anyway, I went home, puked on the driveway, and then (feeling much better) I flopped down on my bed and slept off the rest of the drugs. The MRI was actually after this, but they all found the same thing so the order doesn't really matter.

They've told me different things, but I THINK this is the truth: the heart problem and my asthma are two separate problems, but they work together and whatever damage is done by the too-much-blood-in-my-lungs-when-I-exercise thing is irreversible. It's not life-threatening, but it's quality-of-life threatening. I can't run. Hills intimidate me (I climb them anyway because fuck that). The last time my dad and I went hiking the trail was steep and he--my 60+-year-old, slightly overweight father with back problems--was having an easier time than I was. Silly. And they won't even cut me open and give me a proper battle wound for my trouble--if they ever do fix it, they'll go up through a vein in my leg and I'll be left with a tiny scar, if I have one at all.

So yes. My heart problem that practically isn't even a problem. There it is.

I want to buy summer dresses/clothes. Don't ask me why I suddenly give two shits about dresses. They just sound REALLY comfy. Also, warmth. Winter days like today are so beautiful, but it's really been a half-assed winter and if it doesn't plan on snowing, I vote for spring.

I'm going swing dancing (at the school's Swing Club) tonight for the first time in a LONG time, and I'm kind of really intimidated. I haven't danced in a long time and I don't know anybody (Emily will be there, but she's bringing Jake so they'll be doing their thing the whole time). Mike promised to try it next week but is sick tonight and doesn't feel up to going. So I'm making myself go even if I'm uncomfortable. And that is all I have to say.

tl;dr: I wear dresses now--dresses are cool.

Got up before dawn / Went down to the racetrack / Riding with the windows down / Shortly after your first heart attack. -Pale Green Things, The Mountain Goats

The Head and The Heart

Song of the Day: Sunshine by Julia Nunes

This post is in response to Michael's post. I don't have it outlined or anything, but it'll be about vulnerability and all that jazz.

I personally have a REALLY hard time letting myself be vulnerable. I can count the number of times I've cried since age 15 on one hand, and I think only one of those was in front of someone (despite my efforts to keep myself together). Before I got together with Mike, my biggest hurdle was letting myself be vulnerable enough to be in a relationship; I still have trouble expressing how I feel, not just because I'm generally inarticulate but because it's hard to just sort of spill my guts out loud. I usually use this blog for the gut-spilling, if I spill them at all.

I spent a good chunk of my life making myself "strong." To me, being strong meant not crying, not falling in love, not being vulnerable. Especially the falling in love bit, because I associated falling in love with getting hurt. I have these weird double standards with emotions; like I don't consider being in love or crying to be signs of weakness in others (quite the opposite, actually), but when I cry, for example, I feel awful and weak and foolish.

What's funny is I generally consider myself a Gryffindor. But when push comes to shove, it's REALLY hard for me to be brave and let myself be vulnerable. I had to have a lot of conversations with close friends (and Mike) that went like this:

Friend: Do you like him?

Me: Yes.

Friend: Does he like you?

Me: Yes.

Friend: Would this be a good idea?

Me: It would be a wonderful idea.

Friend: So are you going to go for it?

Me: I DON'T KNOOOOOWWWWWWW.

Because letting that happen went against everything I'd worked for over the years. Basically I had to do a cost-benefit analysis and decide whether it was worth losing my idea of strength to gain a whole new one. And it was.

I still don't cry. Mostly it's just that I don't cry very easily, but conversely I think I've trained that into myself. Music is the most likely thing to get me. If I feel like crying in a movie, it's probably because of the movie. The worst is "End of an Era" by Oliver Boyd and the Remembralls. It pretty much goes past making me cry and just sort of makes me choke and gag, so I just can't listen to it. It's sort of ridiculous. The score from Lord of the Rings threatens to choke me up sometimes too. But if tears appear, they never fall.

Welp. I'm going to have lunch. Michael, I hope you enjoy(ed) Looking For Alaska. In your John Green adventures, don't forget Let It Snow! And let yourself be vulnerable once in a while; it's almost always worth it.

And my head told my heart, "Let love grow," / But my heart told my head, "This time no." -Winter Winds, Mumford & Sons

THE HOBBIT TRAILER THOUGH

I CAN NOT PROPERLY EXPRESS MY EXCITEMENT FOR THIS FILM.

http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/wb/thehobbit/

The trailer just smacked me in the heart with all of the insane, wiggly emotions that go along with "The Lord of the Rings," which I have not watched in so long that I had all but forgotten them. Like the bit where I get so happy and excited that I sort of choke. I can't even. This is going to be such a good 21st birthday gift.

I'm going to watch Fellowship of the Ring tomorrow night. That's a thing I need to do. God. Peter Jackson is just...he knows. He knows.

I just remembered that I have a tattoo that is a damn obscure reference to The Hobbit. I don't think I've ever felt cooler.

MUST EXPRESS EXCITEMENT ON EVERY SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM.

*runs off barefoot and singing a hobbit ballad*

Forgot to Post This Last Night

Song of the Day: Mr. Tinman by Lamppost Revival

"Another year, gone."

Welp. I'm 20 now. So that's weird. I definitely don't FEEL old enough to not have "teen" be part of my age. On the plus side, Mike and I are within the same decade now, so it sounds less weird xD

As birthdays go, today was kind of blah. Saw an old family friend who (naturally) crooned over remembering when I was born and not believing I was 20 already. Then I got to go to the hospital--this is the fun part. It was actually the hospital I was born in (inwhichIwasborn). I haven't set foot in it since my birth, but somehow I managed to go back exactly 2 decades later. I was just there for an ultrasound to find out what that weird pain in my side is; the technician didn't scream or anything, so I'm assuming it's nothing horrific. Then again, they usually don't tell you anything at the time, they send it to the doctor and they go over the results with you. So we'll see.

Facebook is funny. People I haven't talked to since high school, some even since middle school, wished me a happy birthday today. Sometimes I think that seems phony because obviously they only know it's my birthday because Facebook told them, but on the flipside they took that information and bothered to drop me a line. So I decided to appreciate it.

Michael made his Tumblr into a sort of birthday card for me. So that was sweet. Thanks dude!

I think today was mostly lame because nobody's home yet. Brett and Abbie are coming home tomorrow night. I am very excited to have them around. Also going to see Mike tomorrow, which will be good.

I really wish I were done with doctors for a while. But I know I'll have to deal with them at least two more times before break is over. Wheeeee.

I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining about my birthday. I'm really not. I got lots of birthday wishes from peeps I love and Skyped with some awesome people. And my mom bought me a milkshake. So that was good. Um. Yes. The end.

But through failure I'll proceed / And she'll see how far I've come. -Speak, Nickel Creek

Thomas Andrew Kirkham

Song of the Day: String Quartet No.12 in F Major, Op.96 "American" by Antonin Dvorak

So Mike and I took a walk last Saturday (the 12th) at Whatcom Falls Park. Connected to this park is a ridiculously huge and very old cemetery. The cemetery dates back pretty much to when the city started to exist. We apparently share an affinity for walking around looking at people's gravestones; not out of disrespect. We admire longevity, honor veterans and stand a while in silence by the graves of children. In fact, I feel great respect for the dead and find it fascinating trying to reconstruct their lives from the tiny bits of information I'm given. In this particular cemetery, if you go to the older parts, you tend to come across quite a few that say "PIONEER" in big letters and others that signify that the deceased was in the Civil War. The Civil War.

In our wanderings, we came across the headstone of one Mr. T.A. Kirkham. Mr. Kirkham was a Union sharpshooter from Wisconsin. The dates on the stone read 1836-1933. Let's take a second on that one.

Think for a minute about the quality of medical care when our Mr. Kirkham was around. Not so great. In 1830, about one third of Americans could expect to live to age 60. Penicillin wasn't used (at least among the masses) until after Kirkham died. In addition, he fought in 27 battles including Gettysburg and only suffered a wound to the ear. Somehow, this man lived to be 97 years old. How even.

Upon seeing Kirkham's headstone, we both did a double take. Enlisted to fight in the Civil War at age 25 and lived to be 97?? Damn. Since then I've sort of become obsessed with him; I looked up the cemetery records to find out his full first name, and spent a while going through what Google offered me about Kirkham and his family. His great-granddaughter is 76, or was when one particular web page about him was posted.

You know how sometimes you'll come across a question asking who you'd like to have lunch with, regardless of whether they're alive or not? Thomas Andrew Kirkham is at the top of my list. He isn't famous or anything, but he has attached himself like a barnacle to my brain and I can't shake it. I wish I could talk to him. I obviously know nothing about his personality, and you don't shoot your own countrymen without coming away changed, but you also come away with stories. Incredible stories of war and coming to the West in 1910, when Washington was still a little toddler of a state.

There are so many stories in cemeteries. Some funny, some wonderful, some terrible, all fascinating. Mike and I talked a little about it and how people may tend to consider an affinity for graveyards a bit morbid and creepy, but we decided it really isn't. Especially in the older sections. We're visiting people who haven't been visited in who knows how long, appreciating stories that, outside of families, haven't been shared in years. Always quietly, always with respect, and always able to smile at people like T.A. Kirkham and comment that they were clearly doing something right.

That's all for now. I may write another post about the cemetery, but it's a bit somber for this one and would make it ridiculously long. And now to wrench myself from the internet and go actually do things, like a group meeting for a project and an orchestra concert for which we are frankly not quite ready.

P.S. My sister got engaged, so that's really fucking awesome. I get a big brother =D

I would walk a thousand miles / just to talk to you for a while /.../ I would build a bridge to the other side / Just so I could spend a little time with you. -Bridge to the Other Side, Oliver Boyd & the Remembralls