tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10463544084703198882024-03-14T08:49:13.242-07:00You'll find me where reality meets fiction...One writer's attempts to come to terms with real life.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.comBlogger271125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-88976399161201542782010-09-29T18:17:00.000-07:002010-09-29T19:05:01.649-07:00Stages of Aloneness/NostalgiaDear blog,<br /><br />You are looking mighty fine right now.<br /><br />I realize it's been a while since we've last spoken. Even then it was in cryptic little moody snippets that I am prone to at midnight after reflecting on some bullshit drama or just too much introspection.<br /><br />Is there such a thing as too much introspection, you might ask? Well, there is for me. The way it works is like this:<br /><br />1) Oh, happy happy silly nonsense, it's a beautiful day, let's run around outside.<br />2) Hyper! People! Hello!<br />3) Hmm. Okay. Alone time. Alone time is good. Contented sigh.<br />4) More alone time. Okay. Cool.<br />5) More alone time...?<br />6) I'm still alone?<br />7) Why am I alone? =(<br /><br />It snowballs from there.<br /><br />And thus it happened again today, as it is often wont to do. It's frustrating. Some of it is my doing; I choose to be in my room instead of potential elsewheres because it is comfortable and near to my computer and convenient. But then I just... flatline, and plummet, and there goes my good mood. Sigh. I guess it also doesn't help too much that I also miss people at home dearly.<br /><br />Right now, I am listening to Coldplay's "Viva la Vida" and it's very nostalgic but in a quiet and calming sort of way. It doesn't ache, because it harkens back to a time that I don't wish to return to. But all the same there's something there, a sort of smiling wistfulness that keeps whispering to me "Hello again. Remember...?"<br /><br />Yes, I remember. I remember driving my parent's cars because I had yet to get one of my own, driving down the freeway and turning up the music. I remember a hot summer afternoon when I painted my face and dressed up as Batgirl for a party, cape at once whirling and clinging to my shoulders as I danced around getting ready. I remember anger and hurt, curled up into a ball on my bed with headphones drowning out everything else. And I remember stumbling into a late night conversation that quite literally changed the course of my life as I knew it.<br /><br />So yes, I remember you. Some of it's a little painful, to be honest. But please don't leave. I don't like being alone.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-69996559046651740192010-08-17T23:28:00.001-07:002010-08-17T23:30:08.775-07:00RealizationI don't want to admit to the possibility of a lost cause, because I'm terrified of being wrong.<br /><br />---<br /><br />I wonder if you did write that post about me. And I wonder if you get as sad as I do when I think about what happened.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-75915444939859912512010-08-03T22:36:00.000-07:002010-08-03T22:42:27.894-07:00Reasons whyThere's so much I <s>want</s> need to say to you, but you don't want to listen.<br /><br />It's crushing me on the inside.<br /><br />---<br /><br />This one time a couple years ago, I "ran away" (i.e., drove off without permission and spent the night at a friend's) from my house.<br /><br />Tonight, I'd love to again. But for real this time.<br /><br />---<br /><br />This month is a timebomb.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-10282623084759308082010-07-30T00:22:00.000-07:002010-07-30T00:38:43.366-07:00SometimesSometimes, I am crazy.<br /><br />Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just drop everything and travel for a long time.<br /><br />Sometimes I think about what it would feel like to die.<br /><br />Sometimes I say the most stupid things.<br /><br />Sometimes I say nothing at all.<br /><br />Sometimes I stay up too late.<br /><br />Sometimes I am depressed.<br /><br />Sometimes I dread what will happen.<br /><br />Sometimes I imagine horrible things for no reason.<br /><br />Sometimes I work myself up into a frenzy over nothing.<br /><br />Sometimes I talk to myself.<br /><br />Sometimes I hear two people talking in my head.<br /><br />Sometimes I write it down.<br /><br />Sometimes I don't.<br /><br />Sometimes I deny.<br /><br />Sometimes I need a reality check.<br /><br />Right now, at 12:32 in the a.m., in the silence and the otherwise emptiness of this front room, I want to melt into the sweetness of staring up at the starry sky for no reason but to marvel, to fall asleep there, protected by a blanket of night air, and stop dreaming horrible dreams.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-54232779544528689512010-07-26T15:14:00.000-07:002010-07-26T15:57:59.661-07:00Fuck you, George Lucas: Lamenting the loss of a childhood bit of awesomeI dunno if you heard, but <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Tours">Star Tours</a> is closing today at Disneyland. The one in Florida doesn't close til the beginning of September, but that doesn't count because it's not the original.<br /><br />This makes me so depressed. You have no idea. I mean, if you've been to Disneyland and experienced for yourself the joy that is Star Tours, you'd know what I'm talking about. Waiting in line through the futuristic spacestation-esque surroundings, waiting for the doors to finally open and the super nice/mean/apathetic/jaded Disneyland employee telling you which to file through, taking your seat... The awesomeness of the ride itself... And that droid! That silly little endearing robot that pilots you on your way to Endor. GAH GEORGE LUCAS WHY ARE YOU <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120915/">RUINING</a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0121765/">MY</a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0121766/">LIFE</a>.<br /><br />I was seriously thinking about it on the drive home from my summer class this afternoon. I have so many good memories about that ride. Foremost in my head right now is from years and years and years ago... I must have been about four or five. My parents had taken my sister and I to Disneyland, and we were walking around the park at night, and it was dark and rainy and I was tired, but we went on Star Tours before heading back to our hotel for the evening. And there was no line. And we went in. And it was <span style="font-style: italic;">awesome</span>. Because it wasn't the first time I'd ever been on the ride, and it certainly wasn't the last... it's just a moment that I remember because it was so good.<br /><br />I was just driving home from class thinking about that, and I came to the realization that my eventual offspring won't have that experience. Sure, there's Star Tours 2.0 and all that bullshit with the podracing and the special effects and whatever, but that's not the same. There's just something about experiencing something amazing as a kid, and then eventually getting to share that same experience with your kid... And I apparently long for something like that. I've never, ever thought about it before today. But sitting in the car by myself I came to the realization that I won't be able to do that with something I genuinely love and enjoy and have great memories of, and it made me legitimately sad.<br /><br />So I wonder if anyone has ever gone up to George Lucas, knowing full well who he is, and ever said "fuck you" to his face. At like, a meet and greet, or a signing, or convention. Something. I used to get really star-struck, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geoff_Johns">I occasionally still am</a>, but meeting all these cool, famous people at Con this past weekend whom I really enjoy watching on television bringing characters to life, or writers or musicians whose work I love and admire, I realized that I'm slowly getting over it and am able to have something of a conversation with them.<br /><br />I want to be the person who is eventually so bold and so articulate, and so not nervous at all. And I want to be able to someday walk up to George Lucas, and I want to say "fuck you". And maybe it impacts him, maybe not. <a href="http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd205/Decrepitbeef/Lucas.jpg">Maybe his neck explodes</a>. I don't know. But that's my goal.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-77969318461721127452010-07-11T23:43:00.000-07:002010-07-12T00:03:58.638-07:00Milestones to failureThe past week has had more than its fair share of firsts. And they're not very good ones, either.<br /><br />- Tuesday was the first time I've ever been asked to leave a class for the day. I'm taking a biology class this summer for gen ed credit at my old community college and I forgot to wear closed-toe shoes for lab (long weekends are deadly to newly-establishing habits, and I wear flip-flops everywhere. I don't have to think about it, they're extensions of my feet). It was pretty embarrassing.<br /><br />- Wednesday I ended up getting a parking ticket for the first time ever. Thanks for putting up signs and then hiding them behind trees so I don't notice them for two weeks. I've never gotten any sort of driving ticket. It sucked. And now I owe the city 40 bucks.<br /><br />- Friday I was driving with my friend and accidentally ran over a squirrel running across the street and almost cried. Shut up, okay? It was traumatizing. I've never killed anything bigger than a bug before. I'm sorry, squirrel! =(<br /><br />I'm not sure why I felt the need to spell it all out like that, but last week was.... trying. A lot of little things added up and I'm just realizing it now, and though I wrote like a crazy person on Thursday night/extremely early Friday morning and actually managed to churn out a decent <a href="http://classicalgallifrey.blogspot.com/2010/07/serial-100-stones-of-blood-key-to-time.html">guest blog</a>, right now it just feels like I'm not accomplishing anything and I'm just a failtastic waste of space. I know that's silly and I'm not really, but sometimes it just feels like I am.<br /><br />Which isn't really encouraging the day before a big test (honestly, I don't give a crap about photosynthesis and cellular respiration, but I need this class), but I'm trying to see past that sentiment of failure. It's a little easier once I acknowledge it to move on afterward.<br /><br />So here's to last week and all the suck. And here's to this week and it being that much better and productive.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-68165631703162509222010-05-29T01:41:00.004-07:002010-05-29T02:08:21.599-07:00Wondering about normalcySo I should be guest blogging for <a href="http://classicalgallifrey.blogspot.com/">this other thing</a> right now cuz the entry goes live on Tuesday but I don't really feel like doing that right now. You're stuck with me for now--<br /><br />OH GOD GIANT SPIDER COMING RIGHT AT ME HELP. Oh blurg. Now it keeps moving around all fast and quick with all those legs and oh my god paranoid. -shudder-<br /><br />Anyway. On Thursday I drove my sister to her appointment with her therapist, because I could, and I wasn't doing much of anything else, and I like driving. I brought comics to read while waiting for their session to be over, because I'm awesome. And I was out there for less than ten minutes when the doctor poked her head out the door into the lobby and called my name. Confused and nervous and shocked, I followed her back into her office where my sister was sitting, waiting.<br /><br />I can't really go into detail about what we talked about in those forty minutes or so, namely because of a little thing called confidentiality and I can't go blabbing that sort of thing about my sister all over the internet, but it was... interesting. I've never spoken to a trained professional about myself and my problems and relationships with other people like that before. I guess I could have lied through my teeth about what I thought and all of that, but I didn't. I was honest, relating things from my childhood together with my sister that I'd never shared with anyone before. But it didn't feel like I was baring my soul or investing trust or anything like that. I was just relating facts and experiences and memories. Things that I know now, after 20 odd years of being alive, are not typical experiences one should have as a child. But then I get to thinking about myself, younger, and wondering if I thought it was normal then. After all, what other existence did I know?<br /><br />I can say these things to people and write it off with a shrug of my shoulders and a laugh and an acceptance of fact, but the more I think about it, the more it bothers me that I do. And I can't quite pinpoint why that is.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-85718664885476228712010-05-24T22:30:00.003-07:002010-05-24T22:39:06.202-07:00Making me happy- summer break<br />- time spent with my best friend<br />- slowly regaining my tan<br />- suddenly realizing that I really like L.A.<br />- real Mexican food<br />- driving aimlessly with friends<br />- watching Doctor Who with my little brother<br />- Glee in concert<br />- the sheer genius of the LOST finale<br />- being in loveCassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-49692340555881376252010-05-17T10:45:00.002-07:002010-05-17T11:36:48.977-07:00While runningDuring my run through my neighborhood this morning (finally home for the summer, thank god) a little realization hit me, but before I get to that it requires a little backstory.<br /><br />I was on the last little section of the mile I got into the habit of running each day during the last couple weeks of school. I'm proud of this habit, proud of my times for each day, and though I wasn't able to go out regularly for the past few days because of packing and traveling, I would quickly be restored to my less-than-ten-minute-mile glory, still basking in the contentment that comes with being back in San Diego.<br /><br />And then my delusions were quickly dashed when I simply couldn't hold out anymore and had to stop to rest before the mile was over. Which is something I never do.<br /><br />Already self-conscious about all the bare skin revealed by the old high school PE shorts I was wearing, my frustration at myself and my endurance just made me feel worse. Of course, I hadn't taken into account the chaos of my schedule the past four days, the fact that running outside was different than running around the track in the gym, oh no no no, this was all on me.<br /><br />So it was in this frame of mind, staring around at the houses in the cool morning air of this overcast day, that I realized something:<br /><br />I would have killed for this body in high school.<br /><br />Which is entirely true. As I walked back to my house this morning, I considered the tiny green mesh shorts and the high school girl who was forced to wear them each week. "PHS Titans" stamped on the left, the slits on the side of each leg exposing more fourteen-year-old skin than she felt comfortable with, the way the fabric would ride up when she walked or ran and her constant, awkward struggle to put it back in place. And if this girl, at least fifteen pounds heavier, completely self-conscious and self-hating, could deal with these stupid shorts four times a week and the mockery of her peers' eyes (both real and imagined), then I could get over myself and the fact I couldn't run a mile today.<br /><br />And though all the self-confidence I've acquired since then didn't come flooding back at once like I wanted it to, I did end up feeling a little better.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-7648065533588553992010-04-10T19:33:00.004-07:002010-04-10T19:44:44.882-07:00How to WriteStep 1: Sit at computer.<br />Step 2: Choose song. Set on repeat.<br />Step 3: Sip at drink liberally. (Repeat as needed.)<br />Step 4: Compulsively eat junk food.<br />Step 5: Poke around online. (This will take a while.)<br />Step 6: Open file.<br />Step 7: Stare at the blank space.<br />Step 8: Turn up music.<br />Step 9: Poke around online some more.<br />Step 10: Settle into chair properly.<br />Step 11: Rock back and forth to song.<br />Step 12: Write.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-76568247702043515242010-04-08T21:35:00.004-07:002010-04-08T22:33:07.265-07:00One-Fourth down, so much more to goIt's been eight days since I started on my script for the Frenzy, and I'm a little more than a quarter of the way through, having hit the 26 page mark a little after midnight on this fine evening.<br /><br />And I still have homework to do.<br /><br />So why am I blogging, you might ask? Because I wanted to share with you some things I have learned about me and my writing process over the course of these eight days:<br /><br />- <span style="font-weight: bold;">"Optimal" Writing time.</span> I've noticed that I get the most done on this script when it is crazy late at night. Always. It might be the quiet, the reduction of distractions, delirium and lowering of my Crap-Writing-Inhibitor (more on that later), anything. But this time works for me. Sure I regret it in the morning, but it's worth it. So I suggest, if it works for you, trying to discover if you do a lot of your writing at a certain time, and taking note of that. Since I want to eventually write for a living, I need to break out of this mold (because God knows I don't want to spend the majority of my career staying up til 3am every night working) so my thought is that once I know (or think I know) that I work best at this certain time, I can start breaking away from that habit and expanding that block of time to 24/7.<br /><br />- <span style="font-weight: bold;">Caffeine addiction.</span> Hand in hand with the staying up late, I have a nasty habit of wanting to drink something constantly when I'm writing for a longish period of time. I have no idea where this came from, but I first noticed it at home over winter break. My current drink of choice is Mtn Dew. Bad idea. Not only am I using up all my meal points, by the end of April I will probably be addicted to caffeine.<br /><br />- <span style="font-weight: bold;">Noise.</span> Apparently I can write to any music/song if I listen to it enough times on repeat that it just becomes background noise. The music also helps me focus, though I did write a chunk of script a couple days ago in silence (mostly because I was so tired and single-minded that I didn't realize I wasn't listening to anything).<br /><br />- <span style="font-weight: bold;">I need to read more scripts.</span> End of story.<br /><br />- <span style="font-weight: bold;">Outlining.</span> OH MY GOD I am <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> glad I outlined this thing before I started. Seriously. I don't know that I would have even hit 10 pages, let alone 27. And I used to be of the school of thought that just dove right in and went for it. Which, let me tell you kids, is why I <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> finished any long-term projects. Lesson learned. Always outline.<br /><br />- <span style="font-weight: bold;">This is Crap.</span> Okay. So I'm something of a perfectionist when I write. Or, I used to be. I have an extremely high standard for myself and others when it comes to writing. Which, again, is why I've never finished anything, particularly NaNoWriMo. Aside from the fact that I never outlined, got lazy and fell behind, I would always read over my work and constantly edit as I go. Hence, Crap-Writing-Inhibitor: the total and instant annihilation of all noticeably crap writing. Spoilers! This is not the way to do this. So this year with Script Frenzy, I decided to not give a damn about whether or not what I was putting to paper was any good. I <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> my idea, don't get me wrong. But this first draft is crap, and I know it, and I knew it would be. No delusions there. I can go over it again after this nonsense is done (and I probably will, because, again, I really love my idea). Reading and critiquing can come later. But this month I just need to <span style="font-style: italic;">write</span>. And it's working so far.<br /><br />And, lastly:<br /><br />- <span style="font-weight: bold;">The Internet is a Terrible Distraction.</span> But you knew this already.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-48370934036055747132010-03-29T22:07:00.003-07:002010-03-29T22:50:42.077-07:00An InterludeLemme just talk about this past month for a sec.<br /><br />You know how you can have the greatest day, but then all it takes to completely ruin it is a single moment?<br /><br />March was filled with these moments.<br /><br />Sure, there were good times. Excellent times, in fact. And much laughter, always laughter, what with the company I keep and the people that I talk to on a regular basis. Many good moments. Some great moments, even. But then every once in a while, a bad moment, or an awful moment, or a truly horrible moment will show up, and just negate all the good and set me back so much. And I'll fight it, and I'll scream at it, or I'll quietly give in to the numbness before I'm reminded that I'm strong. And I am. But that's for another time.<br /><br />And there's been so much crying. It's pretty terrible. I mean, I've gotten past the point where I consider crying a weakness to be avoided at all costs (because I did think like that, once upon a time). I understand that it's healthy and a part of the healing process, etc etc etc. But really? This month has just been a superfluity of moments that make me cry and it's gotten to the point where I'm wondering if it all isn't a bit ridiculous. Isn't it? It must be.<br /><br />But then I get to thinking about some of the things. Things like death, and loss, and violence, and fear, and horrible, horrible uncertainty. For the beginning of Spring, this month's been touched by too much death. But it's the uncertainty that gets to me most, I find. For example: I don't know if I'll be able to go to school here in Farmington next year. I'm proceeding as normal, but it's difficult sometimes. And there are so many other more pressing uncertainties.<br /><br />And lastly, there's the ever-creeping tendrils of depression that will catch me in an off-moment and just suck me right down. But at least I know how to do a better job at combating it now.<br /><br />Anyway. That's that. So, goodbye, March.<br /><br />Another thing: I should have started outlining ages ago!! -frantic face-Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-4153422626306652542010-03-11T17:41:00.002-08:002010-03-11T17:56:03.607-08:00Hello, blog!I've been very absent from this thing for a while now, I realize this. I tend to cycle my way through flurries of blog activity and much updating, and then long stretches of silence, which usually can be attributed to bouts of laziness, uninspiration, and being otherwise occupied with real life. And sometimes, I forget about this thing entirely.<br /><br />But at long last I've been bitten with the writing bug again, and that goes for more than just blogging. I'll be doing Script Frenzy next month, which is the companion to NaNoWriMo in November. I already have an idea for my script and I'm really excited to get started. I've never written an entire script before, much less one that's a full-length movie, so this will be both tons of fun and tons of agony.<br /><br />The other day I also delved into prose again with the writing of a tiny little fanfiction for my love, Doctor Who. It was nice. Fanfiction was such a huge part of my life for something like five years and, to be entirely honest with you, it got me through some pretty rough times. It was a great outlet, and I'm glad to have it back, though I'm all cobwebby and rusty.<br /><br />And here's a secret: I'm also toying with the idea of writing a play in the near future as well, something I've never done before. But shhh. Don't tell anyone. ^^<br /><br />So, for now, I've decided on a direction I want to take this blog: I'll be talking about my writing here, puzzling out details and ideas or just ranting about how stupid I feel because the words aren't flowing right, and maybe snippets of dialogue or poetry (because of course I'm still writing poetry) will find their way here too.<br /><br />If that interests you, thank you! If not, well, you know the way out...Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-11342427872824118822010-02-18T17:00:00.004-08:002010-02-18T17:03:31.934-08:00It'll be okay.I suspect that I'm at a point in my life where I keep saying those three words not because I truly believe them <span style="font-weight: bold;">just yet</span>, but because <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm trying to</span>.<br /><br />And everyone needs reassurance.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-14035153845654442102010-02-05T17:11:00.004-08:002010-02-05T17:21:27.317-08:00HappymakingToday, <a href="http://dark-hearted-rose.blogspot.com/2009/10/sunday.html">someone</a> said to me, "You are systematically destroying my insecure and zero self confidence existence!"<br /><br />It's one of the best things anyone has ever said to me ever.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-51327341815689075122010-01-17T16:24:00.004-08:002010-01-17T16:29:26.115-08:00My Suitcase and IMy suitcase and I are having a standoff. I'm not really sure who's winning.<br /><br />It feels like I'm wilting. At the same time, I can feel the anxiety creeping up my throat and out into the air I'm breathing.<br /><br />When asked last night if I was excited to go back to school, I lied.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-37278239404504665382010-01-07T20:59:00.001-08:002010-01-08T00:26:12.051-08:00Some thoughtsIt was my twentieth birthday yesterday, so I've officially outgrown the classification of 'teen' up there in my lovely header. I don't know what to change it to though, so it'll stay as-is for a while.<br /><br />I've been thinking a lot lately (okay, last night and today) about signing up for another blog, and making it private or just not giving people the link. Because while I enjoy writing on this, there are just some things that need to be said without inhibition or regard for others. And I don't have that here. But I haven't decided either way just yet.<br /><br />Things have been good for the most part. But despite all the great goodness, I can't help but think that Alex was right during our conversation on Sunday, even though I definitely feel somewhat guilty for thinking that. [/ambiguity]<br /><br />See that? That's the sort of thing I need a secret blog for. A physical journal is just too much work for little ol' me.<br /><br />That's about it for now. Perhaps I'll turn in. Oh, and I'm very taken with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEIypQMIqNQ">this song</a> right now (thanks Morgan).Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-80488504679501653142010-01-04T14:17:00.003-08:002010-01-04T14:26:37.733-08:00Monday AfternoonToday's the kind of day that's muffled, like a slight persistent ringing around the edges after too much loud anything.<br /><br />Today's the kind of day when my hair falls in waves I am content with, the pleasantly bitter aftertaste of coffee coloring my tongue as I watch my old, old dog inhale painfully, my eyes still heavy with four a.m.<br /><br />And I wonder how simultaneously old and young I feel, me, living and breathing on the cusp of twenty.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-35246986243824866692009-12-16T17:21:00.004-08:002009-12-16T17:33:22.651-08:00Half-packedThere's something beautiful about a half-packed suitcase. Something new and comfortable and frenetic. Something exciting.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk59l8ZbYUNlLh64Aij8xoaHJ5yYlPKTh9yCtwa9ik8jBPUW3qVqet7biewtLdm2_oTnzktOQO7YyULrSeyHV38croyKiDrn1TisiyLTe0oS_57v22VjK_1LxbPncuwUcCeAq7TjkLy0Sh/s1600-h/IMG_2822.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk59l8ZbYUNlLh64Aij8xoaHJ5yYlPKTh9yCtwa9ik8jBPUW3qVqet7biewtLdm2_oTnzktOQO7YyULrSeyHV38croyKiDrn1TisiyLTe0oS_57v22VjK_1LxbPncuwUcCeAq7TjkLy0Sh/s400/IMG_2822.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416011092988307474" border="0" /></a><br />In less than two days I'll be on the move, when each passing minute will bring me that much closer to you.<br /><br />I can't wait.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-49458245689073773062009-12-10T23:32:00.000-08:002009-12-10T23:33:57.103-08:00If lying were harder I'd do it less.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-68018841114314805892009-12-10T12:48:00.003-08:002009-12-10T13:18:05.240-08:00"Welcome back winter once again"I've decided that snow makes me happy.<br /><br />To the extent that I've been referred to as a small child quite a few times.<br /><br />I can't help it. There's nothing quite like the muffled slush and crunch of <s>stepping</s> prancing around in new-fallen snow, cheeks red from cold and hands numb, eyes bright and mouth open from laughing too much.<br /><br />I've decided that I love the way the stars feel closer in the evening, the way that I can almost reach out to touch them, and by extension, you; how clean and intimate the air can be, stinging and cold in my lungs and nose.<br /><br />I've decided that I like everything about winter. Finally.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-26220786290559516742009-12-05T23:14:00.000-08:002009-12-05T23:15:00.330-08:00I just want to be proven wrong.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-59707321176257724672009-11-30T09:55:00.007-08:002009-11-30T12:07:17.022-08:00My New Favorite ThingI decided on my little excursion all over the whole of New England this past weekend that the New England town is quite possibly my new favorite thing. I mean, it's one thing to go to school in one for a few months, but it's quite another to go across all sorts of state lines and have them all be just as picturesque and lovely, if not more so.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNG6bD_zCZ5mUr0rBkOR0fZLUZ6ZTIOI4oyNMUDmdOuzQ2XL6qiTKrGSjXrA3qGZIzXGT18cF752fLqeBOWxKTgHeyHB-kgGBiC15-nPn6KnfHjMIjxRKl3Ia92l84G8cmbbOi-myuS5j3/s1600/IMG_2802.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNG6bD_zCZ5mUr0rBkOR0fZLUZ6ZTIOI4oyNMUDmdOuzQ2XL6qiTKrGSjXrA3qGZIzXGT18cF752fLqeBOWxKTgHeyHB-kgGBiC15-nPn6KnfHjMIjxRKl3Ia92l84G8cmbbOi-myuS5j3/s400/IMG_2802.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409957861297035570" border="0" /></a><br />This is Brattleboro, VT. I took this picture as we were crossing one of the bridges across the river. On the other side was New Hampshire. It was crazy. Of course, by virtue of it being Vermont, there are hardly any WalMarts in the state, so we crossed on foot to New Hampshire to get my friend more yarn for her knitting projects.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3myjSyhrN73RsICYOgdo6j9RIFgrGgWQiufD96oITwrpi8Pks9t0kpQnlCWfwKRfkFUTFUEo7GossXsx1ZxQjbCwD0tVu-HgjcMiWn36t-M5713rXwZibkcjR_cevK8MfBwOy-p0dd7SY/s1600/4147414549_c53bf00a1d_b.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3myjSyhrN73RsICYOgdo6j9RIFgrGgWQiufD96oITwrpi8Pks9t0kpQnlCWfwKRfkFUTFUEo7GossXsx1ZxQjbCwD0tVu-HgjcMiWn36t-M5713rXwZibkcjR_cevK8MfBwOy-p0dd7SY/s400/4147414549_c53bf00a1d_b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409986065394953058" border="0" /></a>Teehee. I promise that's not my handwriting.<br /><br />Driving from Maine, across New Hampshire, into Vermont, across Massachusetts, into Rhode Island, back across Massachusetts to return to Vermont, into New Hampshire again, and finally back into Maine was quite the crazy few days. And though I couldn't go home for Thanksgiving, I'm really glad I decided not to stay at school, either. I met wonderful people and had a good time, which included but was not limited to: becoming a one-year-old's new best friend, sipping homemade wine, Seinfeld Scene-It, turkey, talking til late at night, becoming the Persephone of New England with the taste of a pomegranate, and British television.<br /><br />That said, I cannot <span style="font-style: italic;">wait</span> to go back to San Diego. <3<br /><br />Hope your holiday was as good as mine.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-91767741372049422362009-11-10T09:24:00.003-08:002009-11-10T09:48:26.014-08:00We were in the darkWe were in the dark, I sitting, she lying in the relative silence though <span style="font-style: italic;">Glee</span> quietly reminded my ear drums to not stop believing. She sneezed, signaling she was awake. The clock, though recently taken to playing tricks on me and resetting itself to random intervals, spelled out in primary colors that it was after twelve.<br /><br />I asked how her night was. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with muffled congestion and a sort of weariness. I could relate.<br /><br />'Boys are stupid.' I fell back on that time-honored response, trying to make her feel a little better.<br /><br />She agreed.<br /><br />She's up now, blind drawn, light from outside spilling over her side of the room. I suppose I could follow suit, feel the metal beads under my fingers as I rediscover the window hiding behind the white canvas flap, but for the moment I prefer the artificiality of my computer, lighting my face and arms and hands. The silhouette of the friendship bracelet I've been working on obscures the upper right corner of the screen, a braided and colorful reminder of summers already experienced.<br /><br />It's quiet now, she's gone, and I rock back and forth in my chair as I breathe and think and wait and simply be.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1046354408470319888.post-82143184104510956482009-11-09T11:04:00.002-08:002009-11-09T11:10:00.556-08:00(untitled)The light hiding behind the blind,<br />streaming through the window<br />is deliciously impersonal,<br />nebulous yet familiar--<br />a far off smoke-tinged<br />dream not realized<br />but relived so many hundreds of times.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15287161805043134312noreply@blogger.com1