Spike

It does not matter how long I grind the heels of my hands into my eyes--
When I open them I will still be looking for things I won't find.
Places I don't want to be but should.
Things I should not be but am.
Maybe it's just the fever talking, but that doesn't mean it's not true.

And yet it's not just one place that I do not want to be
But rather, any place that I would be alone
It is not just one thing that I would rather I was not
But rather, many things I wish I could claim
And I still seek recognition in each face that crosses my path

But what matters? If you could answer that question
It would itself become obsolete.
How strange it is, to be always running
And not knowing where your feet are taking you
Or if you even want to go.
Do I?
Another useless question.

Heroes must be driven and strong and good
So why take the name and responsibility
When the name embodies something I am not?
Fierce and fearful
Where would such a combination even venture
To  make a difference?

And yet
These questions may not be here tomorrow--
Because if my head shatters as it feels like it might,
Neither will I.
How dramatic.

lines in the sand

I feel like I'm getting slammed from so many directions. Being hit hard by illness doesn't help--head aching, throat hurting, and general grumpiness from malaise.

Not to mention we stayed up until 1 am last night (when was the last time I did that? 2009?) just like freshman year, but without the boundless energy I seem to remember. Where in the world did it go? Downtown was lovely--full moon and all--and we hit up some pandora on the overlook beside the Hunter museum and danced for an hour. I love swing! And then we livened it up a bit. Annalisa is the queen of salsa, and she tried to get some sway into this white girl. Poor dear, I don't think it worked.

Which brings me to the second point of slamnation. Keep in mind, my friends, that I love you all fiercely. But our opinions are going to differ here.

While we were planning out downtown adventure, a friend of mine casually asked, "So, is there a place to get drinks down there?" I was confused for all of half a second, thinking, Of course; we're going to be at Rembrandt's, coffee heaven. What kind of...oh. Then it hit me. Hard. She wasn't talking about tea.

Another friend shared covert looks with me, but others chimed in a bit hesitantly with their answers, mostly positive. Although the idea was pretty much dropped immediately, it still left me a bit shell-shocked, and increasingly angry.

My friends drink.

I don't know how I'm supposed to respond to this. My sibthings tell me that they pretty much expect it of nearly everyone they meet. But my people aren't "everyone." They're mine. And it breaks my heart. I thought we were different--if not in our personal choices, at least at a unit, when we are together. We've never used alcohol, and yet have had so many good and glorious times that my heart feels like it will burst from happiness. And so when this suggestion came, I felt as if the ground had suddenly disappeared under my feet.

I've grown up to be different from the majority, with standards that are shaped not just what I've been told but what I sharply and instinctively feel, in my soul, to be right and wrong. And I'm sitting here now trying to figure out why. I don't feel like we're better than other people because our standards fall in a different place. I do my very best not to judge other people when their actions are different than mine, even when I feel that sharp, dangerous feeling. And I was so thankful to have found my people. Because they are good and kind and I can depend on them for anything.

And they are still. But I despise alcohol. The idea of it becoming something we do sends a shock of hatred through me that I didn't even know I had. And yet, apparently, people that I love feel differently. My best friend indulges in an "occasional glass of wine," but she has never done it around me and I like to believe that it's because she loves me. Because she knows I don't like it. And dear, when you hear about this, please, call me. I miss you and need to talk to you so badly. Because I am new to this, as old as I am, and it hurts. And I know that the choice is yours to make, and hers as well. And I will always stand beside you, regardless.

But, to bring it into our group? On one of our nights?

I'm angry again. And still not sure what to think, to say. And here, I am protected in this, because my friends don't really blog, and so I can be angry and hurt and bewildered in safety, with mostly strangers to know.
And so I have so many things hitting me at once.

Yet, this may be a small thing. And it may not. And who am I to say? I have no desire to draw a line in the sand--and yet, for me, the line has always existed. I simply did not need it.

Under d'Sea

Scuba certified now, what! Holla! It was a really long weekend, though. I got a very tiny amount of sleep and this particular picture was early the morning of our last dive. If I had one where I was geared up and didn't look like I would fall down if a stiff breeze hit me, I'd put that one up. But I don't. This is it.

Oh, and I did I mention it was about 40 degrees out? I nearly died of hypothermia.

Blue Grotto, site of my first foray under 45 feet of water. Absolutely spiffing!

The only seniors on the trip. See our amazing certs? Well, mine is on the bus, but it was there in spirit.

He likes to move it move it. Courtesy of Kulaqua.

The freshman who made life a little more interesting. Actually, it reminded me very strongly of trips in academy.

I Smelt a Rat

    
     Isn't it adorable? I call it the Incoming Rodent. Not this specific one, but a smallish marsupial thing just like it. I came home from school a few weeks ago and Amanda had decided that her life was not complete, nay, would never be, until she could become the proud owner of one of these pseudo-flying critters. And so, with much ado and fuss our fate was sealed, and we pick up Tweak/Twitch over Thanksgiving break. I picked out the names--Alex's offering of "Zeus" was summarily rejected. I'm hoping she ends up acting like a Tweak.
     See those little toes? I think there are six of them. Which is infinitely creepy, but righteously awesome. They actually make little nail clippers just for sugar gliders. I never would have guessed.
     I think I'm almost as excited as Mandy.
     Let's see if I'm as excited when it's been running around and squeaking for five nights straight.
     But it's so cute.

What if?

Could you die for someone?

Let me rephrase. Do you love someone, anyone, enough to die for them?

Keep thinking. Don't answer yet. When I say die, I'm not talking about a vague abstract. No hero disappearing into the dark, or drifting away underwater, or dying a noble death held in some sobbing person's arms. I'm talking about bloody and painful. Where you feel every inch of your life draining away in a coppery stream, where the excruciating feeling of whatever is killing you is nothing compared to the knowledge that you are ending--that everything you've ever known is disappearing, forever? Could you brave suffocation? Fire? Ripped and torn and bleeding skin? Shattered bones?

Either hesitation...or a firm yes, as you think of that one person. All right. You could do it--as long as the person you loved was safe. In your chair, right now, you might feel the slightest hint of noble intentions (be wary--these often come back to bite you in your sit-down-upon). After all, it wouldn't be so bad if they knew what you did for them, right? If they knew you loved them, and they loved you back as much?

Well. What if it were different? What if they never knew at all? Would you feel like it was a waste, if your sacrifice was unnoticed, unappreciated? If you could somehow look back after death, and see him or her going about their life without a single thought of what you did--perhaps forgetting you altogether. Would it be worth it then?

Perhaps more hesitation. The "Yes" might be fainter. You may begin to frown. No, that isn't right. That's not how it's supposed to be--taking somebody's place should leave some kind of memory, or love, or even gratitude.

Here's the kicker. What if they hated you for it?

Would you save your friend, brother, sister's life if they lived it believing you to be a traitor? Betrayer? Coward? If they thought of you only to despise what  you had done? That kind of misunderstanding that festers with its being left unresolved...forever. What if, eventually, that hatred simply became indifference, and you passed out of memory? Forgotten except with contempt?

Look back at the person in your mind. Imagine them looking back at you with anger, snarling, face twisted into a mask of rage. Knowing this, would you still allow the life to be ripped out of your soul for them?

Would you die for somebody else now? Anybody?

I wish I knew what you were thinking. I want to know.

I know I'm thinking...I've been indifferent. I forget. And somewhere tucked away inside this thing I call a heart, there is a piece that couldn't bear it if I were to ever show a snarling face towards my rescuer.

It is time to wake up.

This doesn't count. So since I'm explaining a blog I didn't post and pictures I'm not showing, this is our garage/house thing--it's going to double as a house for a while. I'm so excited.

 And this is my family. I'm so proud of them. We went ziplining in Gatlinburg and mum went wild with the camera.

 These are my turkeys. I raised them from tiny little fiends to large fiends. The male has never liked to be touched--he puffs up and drags his feathers to show his disapproval. But the Ladybird loves being petted, and she makes this little purling noise deep in her chest. I thought the male was going to attack me here.

 These are mah 'wee duckies! They're neurotic but finally have gotten over their fear of water.

 And this is Coco. She's the sweetest, smartest, best dog in the universe. She's getting old and arthritic, but she still jumps up on the golf cart seat whenever it's time to go anywhere. She sits up very straight and looks over and laughs at whoever is driving, and she lays down in every puddle and jumps in every pond she sees. And she closes her teeth over your arm very gently when she wants you to stay and sit beside her. And she never drools or is nasty. I want her to live through another winter.

I'm kind of  homesick. And I wanted to share what I miss so much. And I figure pictures isn't cheating on my no-blogging policy, which I'm starting to think was stupid. Because I shouldn't be holding myself to other people's standards. And besides, I'm too opinionated to be quiet. See?

But this still doesn't count.