from a tiny spark

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

I almost didn’t post, because I fear that I may jinx my hopes for this place… but I just needed to write it, because I can hardly contain my excitement.

Today I had a conversation on the phone with my father regarding the previous post, about the house that Simon and I had wanted to see so very badly, but had been bought by someone else before we got the chance.  The house that I had so quickly cconjured up in my head as being the house of our dreams.  I had immediately imagining myself in its kitchen, baking cookies, or getting up in the morning and sharing a shower with Simon… My father had offered his disappointment, because he knew how excited I was about it.  His advice to me was this, “You will get frustrated, and tired… And you will get discouraged.  I’m only trying to be honest with you when I say this, because you are not the only one going through this.  It’s the path of looking for a house, and everyone goes through it.  But you’ll find the house.  Just remember, that you should never buy the house that you think to yourself: Yeah, this is alright.  I guess we could live here.  You buy the house that makes you as excited as you were about this last house.”

He is completely right.  And I knew that we wouldn’t be finding a house in a few weeks, and move out by the summer.  As much as I imagine doing so, I know it’s not really realistic.

But tonight, I think I found our house.  Actually, Simon found it.  The excitement that I felt for the house I spoke of in my last post pales in comparison to what I feel about this house.  When I saw the pictures, I actually got goosebumps.  I told Simon if we get this house, I will cry from happiness.  This house is perfect. I cannot wait to see it in person.  I practically shoved Simon to the computer so he could email our agent and give him the listing.  Our next day off isn’t until Tuesday, but I told him I would be willing to look at it sometime after work any day.  Hopefully it will be in the next few days.

I refuse to let this house fall through my fingers without a fight.  I want this house.  I really want this house.  So much so that it actually hurts.  I never thought I could covet something so much!

God I’m such an old lady house wife.  What the hell happened to me!?

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

I only slept for about seven hours last night.  Scratch that, I was in bed for seven hours last night.  I spent most of the night tossing and turning and dreaming about house hunting and the bunny.  And some other things, I think, but they’ve escaped me now.  I’m supposed to be heading out with a friend around 11:30 to lunch and the mall, and I have a feeling I’m going to be regretting the fact I got out of bed at 7.

It’s funny how a few little things happening in your life when you’re used to such mundane bordom can make you feel like you’re running in circles.  Last Tuesday the bunny went to the vet to get neutered.  All went well, actually, although he was all doped up when we brought him back home, with a cone tied around his neck.  I felt so awful when he could barely hop and kept stumbling in and out of his litter box.  But, then I started worrying even more when he wouldn’t drink at all. Then he stopped peeing.  By Thursday I was a wreck, and called the vet.  They asked me to bring him in ASAP.  After getting inspected by the doctor, she informed me that he was actually quite healthy, and not dehydrated at all.  She took the cone off and told me that maybe he was just having problems getting his water bottle with it on.  He was eating just fine, and acting normal, it was just the water that was the problem.  I took him back home and watched him for the rest of the day.  The afternoon was filled with me moving the water bottle to every spot, thinking maybe he just didn’t like the location.  Then I switched bottles, thinking maybe he had an aversion to the one we had for some reason.  I would take it off and kind of put it near his mouth and coax him and pet him to drink, but he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

So I called the vet again yesterday, because he still wasn’t peeing at all.  They told me to keep an eye on him until Monday, and if he still wasn’t, then I would have to bring him in again.  Thinking that if I had to do that, I wasn’t going to be able to afford to get my hair done (the appointment is on Tuesday and I have been waiting since Thanksgiving to freaking get my roots taken care of.  Can you imagine the size of my roots?  Yeah, hello white trash) and it depressed me even more.  I felt like I was going to kill a poor, innocent little bunny rabbit and I shouldn’t be allowed to house furry creatures any longer, for I am an absolutely horrible parent.

Well, Simon and I came home from work last night to find that he had peed.  Like, a lot.  I was so happy.  But I was still worried about him not drinking.  While sitting on the computer sometime last night, typing away, I heard a familiar noise.  Something I’ve heard many, many times since we’ve had the bunny and have learned to pretty much just ignore it.  But, then it dawned on me what it was… and I turned around to see Hopkins drinking his water bottle!  I was so excited and happy I jumped up and ran towards him, petting him and approving and cooing and ahhing at him.  Poor thing got all startled and wouldn’t go near the bottle for a little while.  I was afraid I had scared him enough that he was going to stay away, but last night in bed I could hear him drinking and it made me so happy.  He’ll be ok.

Also, Simon and I are seeing a house on Tuesday.  As in, our real estate agent (we have a real estate agent!) is going to get us in to see this house that we’ve been drooling over online for the past week.  We’ve been looking at houses on and off for the past six months, but suddenly we’re diving headfirst into getting pre-approved for a mortgage and finding a house.  I still can’t believe that this will very soon be a reality for us.  I’ve been dreaming of living in my own house for over a year now… and every time I drive buy a house for sale, my heart aches.  But the fact that it’s actually happening is both a little frightening and insanely exciting.  Hence the reason why my dreams last night were filled with house hunting.  This house we’re possibly seeing on Tuesday is awesome.  Well, it sounds awesome.  The picture online doesn’t have any interior shots, which makes me very wary of the fact that the inside either looks like something from “Welcome Back Kotter” or that a family has been butchered and buried in the basement.  Either way, I have to see this house.  I have to at least rule it out completely, because if it’s even remotely do-able, I’m jumping on it.  I think.  I hope.  I really want this house.  And it’s literally the first house we’re seeing!  But I really, really want this house.

And so, my mind has been like a gerbil in a wheel… running around and playing with ideas and daydreaming of cooking and baking in my new kitchen (which Simon says he’ll only believe it when he sees it), and decorating and buying furniture and inviting people over… No wonder why my mind won’t let me sleep.

And now that I’ve rambled on for a good 20 minutes, I’m going to get off my ass and start getting ready to take Simon to work.  He just very seepily (and grumpily) went upstairs.  When I said “Good morning, honey” I was answered with a “mmph.”  I think he needs his coffee.

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

You know, I wish I could be one of those people who posts things on their blogs numerous times a week.  Then I wouldn’t feel like I’m wasting my money with this place.

The world keeps spinning and I keep moving, and yet it feels like I’m not really getting anywhere.  Every year I think I’ve said to myself “by this time next year, I want to be living in my own place.”  And every year, I say it again.  I was caught making the same goal a few weeks ago to Simon after realizing that I’m actually a twenty-six year old married woman living in my mother’s basement.  Whenever I come to this realization, all I can think about is the 50-something neighbor we had living next door to us.  He had never had a girlfriend, and he lived in this two-bedroom apartment next to us with his mother.  Until she died.  And now he lives with his brother.

I will not become this.  Granted I’ve passed the never-had-a-girlfriend part (er… boyfriend), but I think it may make it even a little more pathetic that I’m married and still living at home.  But hey, at least there were two years of my life that I lived on my own, before being forced back into my old bedroom due to a psychotic ex.  And I was living with my grandmother when I was 19… So I guess I wasn’t always at home.

I just realized that I had typed in the subject before I even realized what I was going to write about and now it makes no sense at all.  I just happened to be listening to that song when I opened Wordpress.  Look at me, being so original and creative like.

I really should get dressed.  It’s kinda chilly down here.  I promise I’ll write something worthy of being read sometime in the near future…

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

I haven’t given up on you.  It’s just that this past week has been a little hectic and draining and I just don’t have any words worth saying, really.  I annoy myself with how whiny and bitchy I sound, and with how negative I can feel sometimes.  I used to be so optimistic - what the hell happened to me?  I want to write about work, and about how much it really does bother me… But to be honest, I know you don’t want to hear it, and I don’t feel like writing it.  It won’t change anything, right?

I am thankful for my husband.  He makes me smile on a daily basis, which is more than I can say for most anything else.  I’m grateful for my furry little friends that live with us, because they make my heart melt with how damn cute they can be.  I’m forever in debt to music, because without it I know I would be an empty shell of a person.

Reminders.  I just need to keep reminding myself that the world is not always out to get me, and there are many reasons for me to be happy.  Because, after all, I really am happy.  When I don’t let the stupid shit get to me.

Tomorrow I will write something more eloquent and inspiring.  Tonight I am going to sleep.

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

It’s after 1am and I really should be sleeping.

I can’t, though.  Just like last night, I’ve been up on the hour, every hour since we went to sleep at 9:30.  I texted the manager again to tell her I wouldn’t make it into work again tomorrow, because I couldn’t get into the clinic today.  I haven’t checked my phone since I went to bed, but I haven’t heard back from her yet.  I really don’t want to have to call her in the morning, because it will only make me feel more guilty.  Whenever I don’t go into work, I spend the day feeling awful and thinking to myself, “I should have gone in.  It really isn’t that bad.  I probably could have made it.  They probably hate me.” But to be honest I just don’t have it in me.  I said to Simon tonight, “there are few things I despise more than not being able to breathe.”  It’s like this… ache… in my chest.  Every time I try to breathe in, my chest hurts and my clavicle hurts and I just can’t get a good breath in.  It’s getting more frustrating than anything now.

There was only one packet of the medication left for my nebulizer to take a treatment, so I waited until I woke up the first time to take it.  I didn’t finish the whole thing, so now I’m up again finishing it up.  I’m almost out of my inhaler, and I only refilled it about two weeks ago.  The last one I had lasted me at least three months.  I’m beginning to worry that I’m going to be doing damage to my lungs if I keep this up all night.  Not to mention how sick I feel with all this medication pumped into my system.  I can’t seem to stop shaking.

I know that this is all partially due to Hopkins and the fact that I haven’t built an immunity up against him yet.  But I’ve never had this kind of reaction towards an animal.  It’s usually accompanied with itchy, watery eyes and rash spots and an itchy nose - none of which I have.  So I’m willing to bet it’s more due to this damn cold I’ve been fighting for the past week.  I think tomorrow is my last day of my antibiotic… I wonder if I’ll actually feel better.

So, the plan is to go to the doctor’s as soon as I drop Simon off at work tomorrow and (hopefully) get some steroids, the Advair inhaler that I should really be on, some allergy medications that I used to take, and hopefully a refill prescription of my rescue inhaler and some more nebulizer treatments.  Let’s just hope the doctor who is on duty won’t give me a hard time.  Sometimes they tend to.  I’ve been dealing with this since I was two, so give me a break… I know the routine.

I just can’t keep from feeling worried about the manager and work.  Granted, on Monday when she was away and I had to be at work - even though I sounded (and felt) absolutely horrid, she called and heard me, felt awful and said to me, “If you’re still feeling crappy, just don’t come in Friday and Saturday, because I’ll be back.”  She didn’t seem to have a problem when I texted her and told her I wouldn’t be in today.  I just have this paranoid fear that somehow she didn’t get my text today and that she’ll be expecting me at work tomorrow and then it will create an even more awkward situation.  But it’s not like I’m going to go in either way, so I suppose it doesn’t really even matter.

So, this was my first post in keeping my New Year’s Resolution of sorts.  Was this completely rambling and random enough?  Sometimes I just have this need to type.  Which is why I’m beginning to love my Tumblr so much.

I really think I need to go back to bed now.

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

“I’ll string the stars across your sky…” Taken on December 14th, 2008

It’s been quite a while since I truly believed that a jolly man in a red suit came barreling down our chimney on Christmas Eve with a sack full of presents for my brother and me.  I still remember the moment I really found out - straight from my mother - when it wasn’t so.  I remember where I was standing and how I couldn’t breathe when the “truth” left her lips.  I cried so hard that day.  And that year, under the Christmas tree early on Christmas morning was a stuffed bear dressed in a Santa suit with a tag around his neck that read: Always Believe. It was a bittersweet present, but I promised myself I would keep my little brother safe from the spoilers in the world as long as I could.

Unfortunately, not too many years later, there sat another Santa-clad teddy under the tree come Christmas morning with the same message around his neck, and I knew… there wasn’t any more magic in our house anymore.

My little sister has been on the verge of discovering the “truth” the past few years.  I keep holding my breath for the moment when it finally comes out and the magic leaves the house once again.  Tonight I came home and there were piles of wrapped Christmas presents tucked under the tree in the living room.  Mom said to me, “Look at all the wrapping Kayla and I did today!”  I looked at her quizzically, because it looked to me that most of our presents were already under the tree, which meant - what would Santa bring on Christmas morning?  Kayla smiled excitedly and explained how mom and her would have to let us know who the presents were “really from” when we open them, because “a lot of them say from: santa on them, but they’re not really.”  After she went off to play in the other room, I whispered to my mother, “…What’s going on?  Is Santa coming or is he not?”

Apparently Kayla asked my mother about Santa and how real he really was last night… and my mother dodged the question quite creatively.  She handed Kayla an issue of The New York Sun newspaper, which states the headline: Yes, Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus. Above it in small print it explains “This is the famous letter from Virginia O’Hanlon to the editor of The New York Sun, first printed in 1897.”  I personally had never actually read the original letter - or it’s reply - before… and I have to say it brought tears to my eyes and warmed my heart.  For any of who you have not read it, I will share.  Because honestly, I will always be a little kid at heart at Christmastime, and I believe I am a better person for it.  I think we all need to remember this article.

And for those curious as to Kayla’s response… She didn’t really have one.  As my mother put it, she wants to believe.  She asks the questions to see how we’ll respond, but she truly wants to believe… like me.  And so, my mother refuses to be the one to come out and say “No, Santa Claus does not exist,” because really - who is she to say?

Without further ado, the famous article.

Dear Editor,
I am 8 years old.  Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.  Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.”  Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
- Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong.  They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age.  They do not believe except they see.  They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds.  All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little.  In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.  Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus!  It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias.  There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.  We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight.  The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus!  You might as well not believe in fairies.  You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove?  Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus.  The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.

Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn?  Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there.  Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart.  Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond.  Is it all real?  Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus!  Thank God! he lives and lives forever.  A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Oh, and according to my mother, there will be another teddy under the tree this year, reminding Kayla to “always believe.”

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

After reading Leah’s blog, I had to share.  This was awesome and I really loved it.  Some of you will get it, some of you won’t.  But I love those moments where I read/hear something and feel understood and not alone for even just a moment.

Here’s to the kids.

Here’s to the kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke and Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.

Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish wwas wasted on the one person who will never be there for them.

Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.

Here’s to the kids who were never to good at life, but still were wicked cool.

Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out Boy and Hawthorne Heights long before they were on MTV, and blame MTV for ruining their life.

Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.

Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.

Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More ‘Touch Me’” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.

Here’s to the kids who ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.

Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being A Wallflower and didn’t feel so alone after doing so.

Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photo booths with their best friend/s.

Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.

Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.

Here’s to the kids who will never have 100% confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.

Here’s to the kids.

This one’s not for the kids who always get what they want, but for the ones who never had it at all.

It’s not for the ones who never got caught, but for the ones who always try and fall.

This ones for the kids who didn’t make it; we were the kids who never made it.

The Overcast Girls and the Underdog Boys, not for the kids who had all their joys.

This one’s for the kids who never faked it. We’re the kids who didn’t make it.

They say, “Breaking hearts is what we do best, and we’ll make your heart be ripped out of your chest.”

The only heart that I broke was mine, when I got my hopes up too high.

We are the kids who didn’t make it.
We are the kids who never made it.

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

Of course you’d be expecting it, as everyone has been posting their thoughts on the movie.  I actually just got back from seeing it with my little sister, and I have to be honest - I’ve reverted back to my JTT-loving-any-movie-he’s-in days.  Granted I’m not really in love with the actor… more just the movie in general.  No, it’s not the world’s classiest movie.  No, it’s not a classic in the making.  I guess you could liken it to the whole Harry Potter phenomenon… but, whatever.

I loved it.  I won’t go into details for those who haven’t seen it and want to.  And for those who haven’t seen it and aren’t going to, there really isn’t a point in devulging into details, because you just won’t get it.  The movie - in my eyes - was awesome for those who enjoyed the book for what it was.  Which was just a really great read.  And the movie encompassed that, I think.  I think they did a superb job casting the characters, because - although it took a little while getting used to - once you did, everyone just seemed to fit the part perfectly.  And can I just say that every time Bella was her clutzy self, I grinned because it made me feel better that they were proving clutziness to be an acceptable way to live?  I finally feel understood, mwahaha.

I really hope they decide to make the sequels.  I don’t know if it’s actually been decided yet or not, but the last time I read, I guess it was hanging on whether or not this one made enough.  Obviously.  Let’s hope it does, because I am so craving to see the rest of this story unfold on the big screen.  Like, a lot.  More than I really should be as a 26-year old married woman.

I’m depressed that it’s over.  I find myself feeling the way I used to when I would start to obsess.  I got completely lost in the film, and I really just want to watch it over and over, because I feel close to the characters and their lives.  I guess that means that Meyers did a job well done.  As did the movie-makers.

“It’s been talked about, it has a screenwriter, and now it’s official: Stephenie Meyer’s “New Moon” will be coming to a theater near you. Summit Entertainment made the official announcement on Saturday (November 22), during a brief respite from counting the massive box-office receipts that Meyer’s first film, “Twilight,” is taking in this weekend.”

That… just made my day.  Oh that totally so so very much made my day.

And now I shall try to get back to my normal self.  Although I can’t promise anything for at least 24 hours.

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

Photography has finally consumed me. Am I complaining? Not in the slightest. Simon told me I am officially addicted to DeviantArt now, and that I keep grabbing my camera and taking pictures “of the most random things.” Am I complaining? No way. It makes me smile. I finally found that spark. I look around and see things in a whole new light. I snap shots without shyness… because even if they don’t come out perfect, I can play around with them in Photoshop and make them into something worth looking at. And even if I can’t? Who the hell cares?

My problem now is that I’m running out of things to photograph around here. So, I’m asking you - my wonderful visitors - to tell me if you’d like me to take pictures of anything in particular. Whatever you may be interested in seeing. Even if it’s something mundane and ordinary… because I may be able to come up with some interesting way to shoot them. Kind of like a challenge of sorts. So, what is it? Let me know.

And now it’s after 5pm on Sunday and it’s my “Depressing Time.” The time where I realize my weekend has passed me by once again, and tomorrow I have to work. *cringe* Some days are ok, but others? I’d rather gouge my eyes out than sit at work for seven hours. Yes, only seven. And it still sucks. I’d rather just spend Simon’s birthday tomorrow home alone with him… *wiggles eyebrows*

Yeah, dreams are free, right?