Random thoughts on life. <3

 

Creativity and pessimism is a lame combo.

Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like you are bursting with creativity, but then your pessimism takes over and you feel like anything you try to do is going to fail miserably? That’s today for me. Well, it’s actually been like the last three days for me. I’ve been working on crocheting a blanket, and it’s actually been turning out pretty great.

Yesterday I got a little bored with repeating the same two stitches over and over again, so I decided to attempt a new, smaller project. I looked on Pintrest for a bit and found a pattern for a cowl that was beautiful. About a fourth of the way through the project it seemed to be going perfect. I felt pretty good about my work. Then as a near the half way mark I started seeing a few problems. The first was that a weird bubble had formed in one area of my beautiful cowl, and it made it fit weird. The second was that my yarn ball was looked pretty small, and I don’t really have the money to buy more. I decided to just continue for a while. I was hoping the bubble thing wasn’t as bad as I thought it was, and I thought I could maybe make it with the yarn I had left. I was wrong on both accounts. I ran out of yarn super fast, and the bubble got worse and worse as I added rows. Full of silly frustration I quickly tore almost the entire cowl out and rerolled the ball of yarn.

At this point my hands were a bit sore, and I had the beginning of a headache. So I just sat and listened to one of my Harry Potter audio books, and waited for Andrew to get off work. Silly me was grumpy the rest of the day. I feel terrible now about how much I took it out on Andrew. (He was so sweet though.)

Today I was thinking I would just work on my blanket more while I watched a movie or something, but I don’t feel like doing that. Earlier I picked a random book up off my self and began reading it. I felt like every word was urging me to doing something other than read. I read the word charcoal, and I wanted to draw. I read the word Pizza, and I wanted to cook. I put the book down after the 6th page, and was trying to decided between painting or drawing when I started to think about what I would paint or draw. Suddenly, my mind was overtaken by my terribly annoying pessimistic habits, and all I could think was, What’s the point of even trying? I just going to give up half way through anyway. Then I started getting scared I was doing that with my blanket. Will I give up on it half way through. To this I say no. I’m determined. Therefore, I have decided to work on my blanket. I’m going to crochet, and watch a movie.

I wish I wasn’t so pessimistic. With me optimism is usually forced. I hate that, but how can this be changed?

Days with Robbie

Today after working for two hours at the front office at the college I headed out east end to spend the afternoon with Robbie. When I go to the house PJ was sitting on the couch reading a book. (PJ is a friend of the family who picks Robbie up from day care sometimes.) She informed me that Robbie had a snack and just fallen asleep, and as she was talking a got distracted by the soothing music that is always played when Robbie is being put to bed. I personally don’t think that a tradition like this is a good idea for kids. What happens when the CD player breaks, or you go on a trip and can’t bring it with you. Hopefully he’s not up all night because he doesn’t have the music. Anyway, after a short conversation about Doctor Who, and PJ’s car she was off, and I was left to my homework.

On the days that I watch Robbie I arrive at roughly 1:15 (sometimes 1:20 if I stop for KBay or food.) Then I get about 3 hours do work on homework. However, I have to admit that so far I haven’t ended up using this time wise. The first day I couldn’t connect to the internet at their house, so I could see any of my homework assignments, and I ended up playing games on my phone. Another day I was so into the book that I was reading that I could pull my head out long enough to focus on anything else. But there have been one or two days where I actually got some work done. Today I played a game on my computer, because I still couldn’t connect to the internet, and I failed at motivating myself to work. I need to work on making sure I accomplish more during that time.

Moving on. Robbie wakes up sometime between 3 and 4. It’s usually closer to 4, and when he wakes up I’m supposed to give him a snack. This kid is odd when it comes to snacks. Not bad odd though. Most kids I know want junk when it comes to snacks. Not Robbie. He likes tomatoes, snap peas, grapes, and juice. I’ve never had him ask me for chips, ice cream or soda. Which surprises me, because I have a four year old nephew and he loves junk. Today Robbie had tomatoes, grapes, and some watered down juice. (His mom always does one third juice, two thirds water. I just do as I’m told.)
After Robbie eats his snack his mom likes it when we play outside for a bit. Today we flew an airplane that he build until the tail broke, and then I just followed Robbie around the yard making sure he didn’t fall down or poke the dogs too hard with any sticks. After we got done playing outside we went in to warmer up. He played with his nano bug for a bit. It’s this tiny robotic bug thing that vibrates and moves around on the floor. He likes to see it glow in the dark.

At about 5 Kim gets home. I fill her in on anything that I think she should know. Today I informed her that Robbie had been sneezing a lot. Then we figured out my computers problem with connecting to their internet, and I packed up my stuff and drove home. On my way out I heard Robbie say, “Bye Lyssa.”

I like this job.

Melissa

P.S. Sorry that I haven’t posted in like an eternity.

Construction, Craziness, and Children

This weekend flew by me. I spent time at my parents house in Soldotna. They asked me and Andrew to visit because my dad needed help removing the roof of the house they just bought. The conversation Andrew and I shared after he received this request from my dad was quite entertaining. Apparently in California only the extremely wealthy people built their own houses, and they don’t actually do the construction themselves. He was amazed when I told him that my dad built every house I’ve ever lived in. He said, “Ask me to track an animal, I’ve got it. Tell me to hike up a mountain, find a stream and catch fish, I’ll come back with my limit. Ask me to shoot a deer, I’ll get it with one shot. But with construction… I’m lost.” I visited them at the work site a few times, and he seemed to have caught on fast.
While the men were working in the cold on the house, the women (Me, my sister-in-law, and my mom) were at home with my brother’s four crazy kids. By noon I was ready to be done, and by the time guys got home I was way past ready to be done. As I hugged Andrew hello I whispered in his ear, “Let’s never have any kids.” He looked at me and said, “You don’t mean that.” I sighed and said, “I know, but I don’t want any for a very long time.” He smiled and said, “Ok.”
When we got home I sat in the silence of my room, and realized how much I had taken it for granted before.

Melissa

When I turned fourteen years old I began looking at my life as a list of milestones that I was beginning to check off. At fourteen you receive your permit, and you get to spend the next two years begging your parents to let you practice driving in the family car. The first milestone checked off. Then your fourteenth and fifteenth year drag on and on until you reach sixteen. Sixteen was one of my first tastes of freedom. I had to borrow my mom&#8217;s van anytime I wanted to go anywhere, but so what! I could drive. I could go anywhere I wanted (within reason). Second milestone. Sometime between sixteen and eighteen I bought my own car with money I had been saying for what seemed like forever, and I had a bit of help from my parents. By the time eighteen came along I really felt mature. I wasn&#8217;t really at all, but I felt like I was. The eighteenth year consists of a few milestones. During this year you start to be considered an &#8220;official&#8221; adult. In my opinion, the title of adult should be earned with maturity, and not age, but whatever. Since you are an adult you get to start voting. I think you can also smoke. I wouldn&#8217;t know. My family would kill me if I started that. And then there&#8217;s graduation. I think the latter is the most exciting of all of them.On the list in my head at eighteen there were only two ages left with milestones specifically attached to them. This last Wednesday I checked of one of them. I&#8217;m twenty-one now, and I am legally allowed to drink alcohol. I was excited about this for a while, but I think that was mostly because I&#8217;m a bit of a rebel. It just bothered me that there were whole buildings and sections in restaurants that I was too young to go in. Now that I am twenty-one I&#8217;m realizing that it&#8217;s really no big deal. I&#8217;ve now discovered that I don&#8217;t really like beer, and I have yet to find a kind of wine that I like. However, I really like Mike&#8217;s Hard Lemonade. I asked Andrew the other night if these things classify me as a &#8216;light-weight.&#8217; He said, &#8220;Technically, but I don&#8217;t care. Drink what you want. I&#8217;d be mad if you drank something you didn&#8217;t like just to look cool.&#8221; I thought that was sweet, and I agree with him. So the last age on my list is 25. That&#8217;s how old you have to be in order to rent a car. This one isn&#8217;t very important though, because I don&#8217;t plan on renting a car anytime soon. And even if I did need to Andrew is 26, so he could just do it instead. Conclusion: I&#8217;m realizing that life goes by fast even though it doesn&#8217;t feel like it sometimes. I should treat it like a check list I&#8217;m eager to finish. I should just work hard and enjoy life as it comes.MelissaP.S. I decided to embrace my inner child this year. Andrew and I went to Build A Bear :) His name is Ronald.

When I turned fourteen years old I began looking at my life as a list of milestones that I was beginning to check off. At fourteen you receive your permit, and you get to spend the next two years begging your parents to let you practice driving in the family car. The first milestone checked off. Then your fourteenth and fifteenth year drag on and on until you reach sixteen. Sixteen was one of my first tastes of freedom. I had to borrow my mom’s van anytime I wanted to go anywhere, but so what! I could drive. I could go anywhere I wanted (within reason). Second milestone. Sometime between sixteen and eighteen I bought my own car with money I had been saying for what seemed like forever, and I had a bit of help from my parents. By the time eighteen came along I really felt mature. I wasn’t really at all, but I felt like I was. The eighteenth year consists of a few milestones. During this year you start to be considered an “official” adult. In my opinion, the title of adult should be earned with maturity, and not age, but whatever. Since you are an adult you get to start voting. I think you can also smoke. I wouldn’t know. My family would kill me if I started that. And then there’s graduation. I think the latter is the most exciting of all of them.
On the list in my head at eighteen there were only two ages left with milestones specifically attached to them. This last Wednesday I checked of one of them. I’m twenty-one now, and I am legally allowed to drink alcohol. I was excited about this for a while, but I think that was mostly because I’m a bit of a rebel. It just bothered me that there were whole buildings and sections in restaurants that I was too young to go in. Now that I am twenty-one I’m realizing that it’s really no big deal. I’ve now discovered that I don’t really like beer, and I have yet to find a kind of wine that I like. However, I really like Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I asked Andrew the other night if these things classify me as a ‘light-weight.’ He said, “Technically, but I don’t care. Drink what you want. I’d be mad if you drank something you didn’t like just to look cool.” I thought that was sweet, and I agree with him.
So the last age on my list is 25. That’s how old you have to be in order to rent a car. This one isn’t very important though, because I don’t plan on renting a car anytime soon. And even if I did need to Andrew is 26, so he could just do it instead.

Conclusion: I’m realizing that life goes by fast even though it doesn’t feel like it sometimes. I should treat it like a check list I’m eager to finish. I should just work hard and enjoy life as it comes.

Melissa

P.S. I decided to embrace my inner child this year. Andrew and I went to Build A Bear :) His name is Ronald.

Shredded Paper

So I work in the office at the college now. I think I started about 2 weeks ago. I mainly answer phones and greet people, but I also do any other odd jobs that the people I work with find for me to do. The most common of those odd jobs is shredding paper, which is cool, because I have always wanted a paper shredder. It’s a funny thing to always want, but whatever. So I shred paper a lot. I don’t know exactly what it is about shredding paper that makes it fun. It might be that I’m getting to destroy something, but there is no mess to clean up after, because it all goes right into the bin nice and neat. Or it could just be that the tiny strips of paper look pretty when they are made of all different colors of paper. Or maybe it’s that I always feel like I’m a government agent shedding top secret files. Which is kind of true now that I think about it. I work for a community college that is run by the government, so that would make me a government employee (I guess I’m kind of stretching it calling my self a ‘government agent.’ Oh well.) And the papers I shred are usually confidential. Wow. That’s so cool. :) So call me weird but I enjoy this tedious task.
However, there is a downside to it. Emptying the bin. It’s the worst. No matter how careful you try to be, no matter how slow you shake it over the trash can, no matter how cautious you try to scoop the shreds you always end up spilling a plethora of teeny tiny bits of colorful paper all over the carpeted floor of the work room. Then you have to get down on your hands and knees and pick up as many miniscule pieces as you can. Over the last two weeks I went through this process quite a few times, and the first two times I attempted using our offices Dust Buster, and both times it wouldn’t even turn on. So today after finishing my usually shredded paper nightmare I decided to revisit trying Dust Buster, because there was still a pretty big mess even after I was on my hands and knees for about 20 minutes. This time it worked perfect. If only I would have tried that in the first place. Hopefully it’s still working on Monday when I will inevitably be presented with another huge pile of top secret documents to shred.

Melissa

P.S. Here’s a fun picture of today’s mess.

https://mail-attachment.googleusercontent.com/attachment/u/1/?ui=2&ik=caa52b1fed&view=att&th=13a7b6340fde95af&attid=0.1&disp=inline&safe=1&zw&saduie=AG9B_P_vNL5hqTlqLMaCNK7p2puT&sadet=1350952630336&sads=don77pc2XIaWr41gmPRnK95i_Wo&sadssc=1

Hellmouths: 5.1: The Legend of the Five, Part 1

thehellmouths:

The legend of the Five, as I understand it, takes place before the great schism. Whilst the Toruva were still one civilization, they had a council of five elders. They oversaw every aspect of the Toruvan society, from trade to protection of the village. They were also teachers of theology,…

I love getting good grades! :D (Taken with Instagram)

I love getting good grades! :D (Taken with Instagram)

Distractions and the Bulb

So here I sit on my couch while my roommate, Megan, buzzes around me. She has clothes, boxes, suitcases, paperwork, and tip money spread out everywhere. She’s leaving for California in ten days, and she’s trying to get packing done early so she can enjoy her last few days here. I have my big, purple headphones on so I can attempt to tune out the world around me while trying to accomplish something. Directly in front of me our tiny television is playing an episode of Gilmore Girls that I have seen countless times (Megan always likes to have something playing in the background). But I try not to look there because I will get distracted because I have almost every episode memorized.
Actually, I’ve found that I am very easily distracted. I get so distracted if I’m trying to write something and someone is reading over my shoulder. Well it’s not really distraction. It’s more like stress. It’s stressful having someone sitting right there seeing your words flow from your mind to your paper. I re-phrase almost every sentence I write like at least twice through out my whole writing process. Also, when someone is reading over my shoulder while I write they see all of my spell errors usually before I do, and then they point them out. This makes me worry more about my spelling and grammar than the content of my writing which is silly, because spelling and grammar don’t matter in the first draft. Editing comes later.
So I have the bulb that was handed out in class last week. I have a confession. It’s still in the Ziplock I got it in. I have another confession. I honestly have no idea what to do with it. I realized that I’m supposed to put it in some dirt, but it seems like there should be more to it than that. Can I plant it inside? Like in a pot or something? Or does it have to be outside? My sister-in-law said she thinks you’re supposed to plant bulbs before the first frost. Didn’t that already happen? Is there a specific kind of soil I should put it in? or will any soil be fine? I tried Goggling it, but that wasn’t very helpful. I’m thinking I’ll steal some of the print shop’s fertilizer (Shhh don’t tell anyone) and plant the bulb somewhere near the edge of the lawn out front.  Hopefully I don’t kill the little thing.
Melissa

Sign-In Lists

   I’m imagining a book. It is one of those old, handmade, leather books you find in your great grandparent’s basement. The worn spine shows that this book is loved, and has been re-read countless times. The pages are yellowed with age, and rough on the edges. Some of the corners are bent. The lettering on the cover and spine that used to be a shiny gold is now a brownish-yellow. It has that perfect old book smell that used bookstores are filled with, and when you open it and flip though it pages they make a crinkling sound that warns you to be careful. It’s beautiful.
    I’m imagining this priceless artifact in the hands of my sister-in-law, Pam. I can see her curled up on her brown couch, devouring every word with a steaming mug of Lady Grey tea sitting near by. She would read every chance she got. She would read while her children are in bed, before they get up in the morning, while they watch Dora The Explorer or Diego, and while they play outside with the neighbor kids. And when she finished soaking up all of it’s knowledge, she would pass it on to another worthy reader after telling them all that she had learned from it.
    I can imagine what this books previous owners might have been like. Maybe a professor at a university once had this book on a shelf in his office. I can see him reading it while sitting in his favorite leather chair, wearing a grey cardigan, and smoking a pipe. His reading glasses rest half way down his nose, and his leg is crossed over the other with his foot tapping in mid air to a silent beat. Or maybe it belonged to a grandmother who had once read it to her children, and then her grandchildren. Or it could have belonged to someone who we learn about in history class, like Abraham Lincoln, Charles Darwin, or Louisa May Alcott. If only books had sign in lists. Wouldn’t it be nice to know? I’ll admit that it wouldn’t be life changing information. In fact, it wouldn’t really help anything. I just think it would be fun to learn the history of a book.

Melissa

Jack Black

I just found Jack Black with bleached hair on Sesame Street explaining Octagons.