I'm feeling like crap. So I'm watching "The Doctor's Wife."
Why can't I just fly off with The Doctor, explore time and space, and forget about my real life for a while?
I have to go to work in about fifteen minutes. I am not happy about this. Well, that is a bit harsh because the kids are taking me out for ice cream. But I am really just in the mood to sit around and wallow in self-pity, my favorite activity.
Sigh. Ice cream and Doctor Who aren't even making me feel better. This must be serious.
Remember when I was counting down to Oxford. Let's do that again:
Days Until Oxford: 5
FIVE. WHAT HAPPENED HERE? I DEMAND AN ANSWER. FIVE DAYS. WHAT THE FUCK?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Why the fuck won't this goddamn post save whenever I go to a different tab? Seriously pissed as fuck that I've had to type this up 3 times in the past hour because blogger is bullshit. As if I needed more reason to switch to wordpress.
I hate this goddamn iPad so much. I just want to use my laptop but apparently the world will end if I do so I have to use this piece of shit until I leave for school.
Anyway, I don't feel like typing up the whole story behind this post. Basically, my local radio station is having a countdown of the top 500 songs of all time. The members each make a list of their top ten songs and then the final countdown is derived from the composite. So here is my list.
Pippy's Top Ten Goddamn Songs of All Fucking Time
1. Skinny Love - Bon Iver
2. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right - Bob Dylan
3. Summertime - Ella Fitzgerald
4. I Will Follow You Into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie
5. All Along the Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix
6. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel
7. N.Y. State of Mind - Nas
8. Pink Moon - Nick Drake
9. While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles (George Harrison)
10. Fool - Cat Power
Maybe you think it's an odd list. No doubt you are crying out in rage over some omission. But it's my list so I don't give a damn. I know the list says all time but I kept mine strictly to modern music (i.e. excluding classical or else this would be a list made almost entirely of Chopin, Beethoven, Rachmaninov, and Liszt.)
Also, an explanation of sorts: I compiled this list of the ten songs I found to be the 'greatest' in my definition of the term. These aren't the top ten most meaningful songs in my life although some of my selections made it onto my list because of their special place in my personal history. I chose the songs that I find musically and lyrically superior. These are the songs I will be listening to decades from now. Obviously the list reflects the time and my age, I did not put Dylan, Fitzgerald, Hendrix, Harrison, or Drake in the top spot. Justin Vernon won that place because his song has traveled with me through my time and his is the song I see as lasting the longest in my heart.
It's a strange task to make a list like this one. Songs can be astoundingly masterful in technique or lyricism and not make intona list like this one. When it comes down to it, songs become 'great' (to me personally), not because of the popularity or even the skill. It's something else. It's the feeling the capture and the meaning they obtain by playing through the lives of individuals.
And just one last note. I've tried to explain why my list is a balance between new and old, with the new taking the top spot in a sense. My life and my listening habits have formed this list. Skinny Love is my greatest song of all time because it expresses that timeless greatness to me. And I know it is a product of circumstance.
But I did say that I excluded classical compositions and I had a very particular reason. Since I grew up playing classical piano, the music of that time period has taken on a whole different level of meaning for me. Chopin's Nocturnes are the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard. Classical piano is, in my opinion, the greatest form of musical expression. Obviously I am biased. That is why I excluded my own musical passion from my list. I simply cannot compare my Beethoven and Mozart to any other genres of music. They will always, always win. As they should.
Anyway, I don't feel like typing up the whole story behind this post. Basically, my local radio station is having a countdown of the top 500 songs of all time. The members each make a list of their top ten songs and then the final countdown is derived from the composite. So here is my list.
Pippy's Top Ten Goddamn Songs of All Fucking Time
1. Skinny Love - Bon Iver
2. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right - Bob Dylan
3. Summertime - Ella Fitzgerald
4. I Will Follow You Into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie
5. All Along the Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix
6. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel
7. N.Y. State of Mind - Nas
8. Pink Moon - Nick Drake
9. While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles (George Harrison)
10. Fool - Cat Power
Maybe you think it's an odd list. No doubt you are crying out in rage over some omission. But it's my list so I don't give a damn. I know the list says all time but I kept mine strictly to modern music (i.e. excluding classical or else this would be a list made almost entirely of Chopin, Beethoven, Rachmaninov, and Liszt.)
Also, an explanation of sorts: I compiled this list of the ten songs I found to be the 'greatest' in my definition of the term. These aren't the top ten most meaningful songs in my life although some of my selections made it onto my list because of their special place in my personal history. I chose the songs that I find musically and lyrically superior. These are the songs I will be listening to decades from now. Obviously the list reflects the time and my age, I did not put Dylan, Fitzgerald, Hendrix, Harrison, or Drake in the top spot. Justin Vernon won that place because his song has traveled with me through my time and his is the song I see as lasting the longest in my heart.
It's a strange task to make a list like this one. Songs can be astoundingly masterful in technique or lyricism and not make intona list like this one. When it comes down to it, songs become 'great' (to me personally), not because of the popularity or even the skill. It's something else. It's the feeling the capture and the meaning they obtain by playing through the lives of individuals.
And just one last note. I've tried to explain why my list is a balance between new and old, with the new taking the top spot in a sense. My life and my listening habits have formed this list. Skinny Love is my greatest song of all time because it expresses that timeless greatness to me. And I know it is a product of circumstance.
But I did say that I excluded classical compositions and I had a very particular reason. Since I grew up playing classical piano, the music of that time period has taken on a whole different level of meaning for me. Chopin's Nocturnes are the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard. Classical piano is, in my opinion, the greatest form of musical expression. Obviously I am biased. That is why I excluded my own musical passion from my list. I simply cannot compare my Beethoven and Mozart to any other genres of music. They will always, always win. As they should.
Friday, September 9, 2011
You know you're emotionally unstable when you start crying from a Google Chrome commercial...just another reason to love my Chrome-y*.
Before I get into this blog post: Tom Brokaw gave my brother's commencement address. This is topical because I am watching him on the Colbert Report right now. He is talking about 9/11 so I guess I'll just keep right on crying all night. But this is not going to be a 9/11 blog post. I don't know if I really could write a proper 9/11 blog post. I believe in the power of words but I also believe that there is a lot of life that cannot be put into words. All of this discourse on the anniversary of 9/11 has me considering the balance between words and the substance they attempt to capture. As a writer, of course, I want to believe that these words that I write can convey a fully realized feeling and make it known completely to my reader. But there are some things, like 9/11, that cause me to question the power of words. I think this is how it should be. Writers should be aware of the enormity of our task. Writing should not be a passive, idle activity. When we write we should always be conscious of the question - as we remember and as we write, are these words enough? If I sit down and try to write about this weekend's anniversary, it will not be done lightly**.
[And now we can move on to the regularly scheduled programming]
Last night I took it upon myself to clean up my computer. I need to start some serious cleaning and organizing in my life so I thought I would start with the easiest part - my hard drive. Well, I thought it would be the easiest task because I could just sit on the couch like I do every other day...but I forgot about everything I have hiding in forgotten corners of my computer.
I am one of those people who keeps her computer password protected. This isn't just a diary with a lock on it. It's like a box of all my innermost secrets. I open up a word document, write down a few thoughts, and Save As in a back corner folder where it can live forever in peace...until last night. Maybe other writers are better than that but I have random little slips of writing hidden all throughout my computer. Most of them are crap, but these little short pieces come from the darkest, loneliest hours of the night when I am my most honest. Re-discovering all my thoughts from those miscellaneous nights was bittersweet. I'm too nostalgic to delete all of these little bits of writing (thank god for external hard drives), so I thought I would come here, where I post all my crappy random musings for any and all to see.
So here are 5 little pieces of writing that I found last night.
1.
There is something I have always wanted to know: What is it that keeps us moving forward?
Everyone is moving forward through life in one synchronized motion. It may seem like some people are moving faster than others but they aren’t. Everyone moves through life at the same speed, passing through every moment at exactly the same time. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t slow down or stop for even just a moment. The seconds, minutes, hours, etc. keep passing, carrying us onward downstream the river of life. As long as you are alive you are caught in the current. Everyone moves forward. Time passes. And the pace of passing time is persistent. There is no pause button. There is only an eject function. Either you persist with passing time or you perish.
2.
I try to think of what I believe, what I know to be true. And I can’t think of anything. I feel like nothing about life or the universe is fixed. I don’t feel like I know anything. Even what I thought I understood feels so strange to me now. Everywhere I look there is more chaos and confusions and I’m drowning in it. I can’t make sense of it all. I can’t make sense of anything.
I want to know something. I feel like I’m living in that moment when you can’t quite remember the right word. That feeling like you know you know the word but you can’t think of it. That’s how I feel every moment that I’m living. Like I know something but I can’t think of it. Like there’s something important on the very edge of my consciousness but I just can’t think of it. And I just want to know it. I just want to remember the word. I just want that certainty. That feeling of “Of course. I knew it all along.” But it’s lost to me.
3.
I know every detail of this night by heart - someone's parents are away, park down the street because neighbors are suspicious, don't look at any family photos but proceed straight down to the basement. There are the empty pizza boxes on the kitchen counter. Through the glass door to the porch I can see the dots of light at the end of cigarettes in the darkness. There's the sweet old family dog who is excited but confused by having so many new people around at night. I can hear music coming from the open door to the basement and sure enough I can now hear the unmistakable sounds of a good game of 'ruit, lots of sporadic yelling and cursing.
Play some drinking games. Drink some beer. Smoke too many cigarettes. Smoke a few bowls. Take some shots from the handle of vodka/rum/whiskey that was purchased for the extravagant price of $12.99. Trade stories and talk until night becomes morning.
In the basement, Johnny is talking philosophy. Ryan is playing the guitar. There's a book of poetry sitting on the table open to a William Carlos Williams poem.
"These
are the desolate, dark weeks
when nature in its barrenness
equals the stupidity of man."
This poem about the tragedy of war should seem out of place but I reread it several times before setting it down.
"Is this the counterfoil to sweetest
music? The source of poetry that
seeing the clock stopped, says,
The clock has stopped
that ticked yesterday so well?
and hears the sound of lakewater
splashing - that is now stone."
What does it mean here in this basement room? Well, it means that on an ordinary night of extraordinariness I found a moment of pure, unexpected beauty.
5.
-----------
*I just love Google Chrome, ok? And I like making cute nicknames for the things I love.
**Of course that turned into a nice little tangent. Why can't my tangents ever be light and fluffy? Why am I always wandering off into deep thoughts?
[And now we can move on to the regularly scheduled programming]
Last night I took it upon myself to clean up my computer. I need to start some serious cleaning and organizing in my life so I thought I would start with the easiest part - my hard drive. Well, I thought it would be the easiest task because I could just sit on the couch like I do every other day...but I forgot about everything I have hiding in forgotten corners of my computer.
I am one of those people who keeps her computer password protected. This isn't just a diary with a lock on it. It's like a box of all my innermost secrets. I open up a word document, write down a few thoughts, and Save As in a back corner folder where it can live forever in peace...until last night. Maybe other writers are better than that but I have random little slips of writing hidden all throughout my computer. Most of them are crap, but these little short pieces come from the darkest, loneliest hours of the night when I am my most honest. Re-discovering all my thoughts from those miscellaneous nights was bittersweet. I'm too nostalgic to delete all of these little bits of writing (thank god for external hard drives), so I thought I would come here, where I post all my crappy random musings for any and all to see.
So here are 5 little pieces of writing that I found last night.
1.
There is something I have always wanted to know: What is it that keeps us moving forward?
Everyone is moving forward through life in one synchronized motion. It may seem like some people are moving faster than others but they aren’t. Everyone moves through life at the same speed, passing through every moment at exactly the same time. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t slow down or stop for even just a moment. The seconds, minutes, hours, etc. keep passing, carrying us onward downstream the river of life. As long as you are alive you are caught in the current. Everyone moves forward. Time passes. And the pace of passing time is persistent. There is no pause button. There is only an eject function. Either you persist with passing time or you perish.
2.
I try to think of what I believe, what I know to be true. And I can’t think of anything. I feel like nothing about life or the universe is fixed. I don’t feel like I know anything. Even what I thought I understood feels so strange to me now. Everywhere I look there is more chaos and confusions and I’m drowning in it. I can’t make sense of it all. I can’t make sense of anything.
I want to know something. I feel like I’m living in that moment when you can’t quite remember the right word. That feeling like you know you know the word but you can’t think of it. That’s how I feel every moment that I’m living. Like I know something but I can’t think of it. Like there’s something important on the very edge of my consciousness but I just can’t think of it. And I just want to know it. I just want to remember the word. I just want that certainty. That feeling of “Of course. I knew it all along.” But it’s lost to me.
3.
I know every detail of this night by heart - someone's parents are away, park down the street because neighbors are suspicious, don't look at any family photos but proceed straight down to the basement. There are the empty pizza boxes on the kitchen counter. Through the glass door to the porch I can see the dots of light at the end of cigarettes in the darkness. There's the sweet old family dog who is excited but confused by having so many new people around at night. I can hear music coming from the open door to the basement and sure enough I can now hear the unmistakable sounds of a good game of 'ruit, lots of sporadic yelling and cursing.
Play some drinking games. Drink some beer. Smoke too many cigarettes. Smoke a few bowls. Take some shots from the handle of vodka/rum/whiskey that was purchased for the extravagant price of $12.99. Trade stories and talk until night becomes morning.
In the basement, Johnny is talking philosophy. Ryan is playing the guitar. There's a book of poetry sitting on the table open to a William Carlos Williams poem.
"These
are the desolate, dark weeks
when nature in its barrenness
equals the stupidity of man."
This poem about the tragedy of war should seem out of place but I reread it several times before setting it down.
"Is this the counterfoil to sweetest
music? The source of poetry that
seeing the clock stopped, says,
The clock has stopped
that ticked yesterday so well?
and hears the sound of lakewater
splashing - that is now stone."
What does it mean here in this basement room? Well, it means that on an ordinary night of extraordinariness I found a moment of pure, unexpected beauty.
4.
The January sun glistened off the surface of the frozen lake. Loch Raven, the majestic man-made reservoir that provided the city of Baltimore with tap water, was quiet but not silent. An unexpected course of warm weather had settled upon the city. The sun had struggled out from behind the forlorn cloud cover if only for one afternoon. Baltimore, often undecided on its weather especially during the winter months, had made up its mind. It would be warm and sunny and pleasant. At least for the day. Who could know what tomorrow would bring—a cold front, blistering winds, surly clouds, frigid rain? The winter brought its fair share of surprises.
The uncharacteristically warm afternoon had drawn a smattering of locals out of their homes and back to Loch Raven. The reservoir provided some of the most picturesque parklands in the county and, during the summer months, it bustled with the energy of the nature lovers who looked to the park to fulfill their addiction. This warm January afternoon found among the park’s visitors an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand, a father and son flying a remote-controlled air plane, a young woman and a small brown pup, two young women deep in the heartfelt conversation of best friends, and a group of five boys who had been kept inside too long.
The stories of these visitors would never intersect except for one trip to the park. The elderly couple had raised their children, survived the turmoil and heartache that troubled children forced upon a family. The father and son were testing out a new Christmas gift and testing out new boundaries resulting from the recent divorce. The five boys had come to the park out of boredom. The young woman, alone after yet another break up, had just bought her puppy and named him Gatsby after her favorite novel. The two young women came to the park uneven, one broken and one trying to put her friend back together again.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped under the ice,” Sascha said. She was staring straight ahead at the frozen lake. Erin wordlessly reached over and took her best friend's hand, squeezing everything she felt into Sascha. The two young women looked out across the melting ice.
“Drowning in dark, freezing water and trapped under the ice.”
The January sun glistened off the surface of the frozen lake. Loch Raven, the majestic man-made reservoir that provided the city of Baltimore with tap water, was quiet but not silent. An unexpected course of warm weather had settled upon the city. The sun had struggled out from behind the forlorn cloud cover if only for one afternoon. Baltimore, often undecided on its weather especially during the winter months, had made up its mind. It would be warm and sunny and pleasant. At least for the day. Who could know what tomorrow would bring—a cold front, blistering winds, surly clouds, frigid rain? The winter brought its fair share of surprises.
The uncharacteristically warm afternoon had drawn a smattering of locals out of their homes and back to Loch Raven. The reservoir provided some of the most picturesque parklands in the county and, during the summer months, it bustled with the energy of the nature lovers who looked to the park to fulfill their addiction. This warm January afternoon found among the park’s visitors an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand, a father and son flying a remote-controlled air plane, a young woman and a small brown pup, two young women deep in the heartfelt conversation of best friends, and a group of five boys who had been kept inside too long.
The stories of these visitors would never intersect except for one trip to the park. The elderly couple had raised their children, survived the turmoil and heartache that troubled children forced upon a family. The father and son were testing out a new Christmas gift and testing out new boundaries resulting from the recent divorce. The five boys had come to the park out of boredom. The young woman, alone after yet another break up, had just bought her puppy and named him Gatsby after her favorite novel. The two young women came to the park uneven, one broken and one trying to put her friend back together again.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped under the ice,” Sascha said. She was staring straight ahead at the frozen lake. Erin wordlessly reached over and took her best friend's hand, squeezing everything she felt into Sascha. The two young women looked out across the melting ice.
“Drowning in dark, freezing water and trapped under the ice.”
5.
The grass is cool and wet underneath my bare feet. I tilt my
head back and can see another world spread out above me, the world of the
stars. A light breeze pulls gently at my hair. I hear first the sound of
crickets but then, faintly in the distant, the sound of cars. My back is to the
house. There is nothing but fields spread out before me. It is nighttime. The
world is cloaked in navy and gray with shadows of the deepest black. I
can smell the sweet grass, the past rain, the organic scent of fresh compost
drifting to me on the breeze.
This is what I know. I know it well. But now I feel lost in this scene that I know so
well.
I know every detail of this moment. Midsummer. Midnight. But
tonight it feels different. I think of how I reached this moment and the vague
reality begins to whisper in my ear. I do not want to listen.
-----------
*I just love Google Chrome, ok? And I like making cute nicknames for the things I love.
**Of course that turned into a nice little tangent. Why can't my tangents ever be light and fluffy? Why am I always wandering off into deep thoughts?
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Since I've never been on a "proper" date, Brandon said that if I come back from England without going on a "real date," then he would take me out just to show me that chivalry isn't dead.
Things that I am in love with today:
- The smell of September.
- Tea with lemon.
- Torchwood and Captain Jack Harkness
- Pizza (my life's one true love, forever and ever Amen**).
- My cowboy pillow.
- Chris and Brandon, who make 8 hour shifts at Italian Gardens fun (bitching about mall people and talking about sex).
- My new boots (in brown: http://www.stevemadden.com/Item.aspx?id=52462&np=127_282)
- Music by Timber Timbre (specifically the song "Black Water").
- Last night's episode of Doctor Who.
- Haagen Dazs Butter Pecan ice cream.
- Michel de Certeau.
- My new red suitcase.
- Secrets.
*I don't think chivalry is dead...I just don't really see the point. Maybe I'm slutty. Not a single one of the guys that I have slept with has ever taken me out on a date. I don't care, though. What's so great about going on a date? Why not skip the formalities, cut to the chase? If a guy and a girl are into each other we all know where it's going to end up...why postpone the best part?
**Just got home from work. I still smell like pizza. I know I should shower and wash away the grease...but I just don't want to say goodbye.
- The smell of September.
- Tea with lemon.
- Torchwood and Captain Jack Harkness
- Pizza (my life's one true love, forever and ever Amen**).
- My cowboy pillow.
- Chris and Brandon, who make 8 hour shifts at Italian Gardens fun (bitching about mall people and talking about sex).
- My new boots (in brown: http://www.stevemadden.com/Item.aspx?id=52462&np=127_282)
- Music by Timber Timbre (specifically the song "Black Water").
- Last night's episode of Doctor Who.
- Haagen Dazs Butter Pecan ice cream.
- Michel de Certeau.
- My new red suitcase.
- Secrets.
*I don't think chivalry is dead...I just don't really see the point. Maybe I'm slutty. Not a single one of the guys that I have slept with has ever taken me out on a date. I don't care, though. What's so great about going on a date? Why not skip the formalities, cut to the chase? If a guy and a girl are into each other we all know where it's going to end up...why postpone the best part?
**Just got home from work. I still smell like pizza. I know I should shower and wash away the grease...but I just don't want to say goodbye.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
I am watching BBC's The Hour and it is superb, how all TV drama should be.
Just now I was upstairs in my room talking to my sister as we do most nights. It's nice. I love my sister and we get on wonderfully well. I could devote a whole blog post to her...and maybe I should because it was her birthday last Tuesday (the day of the earthquake actually). In fact, I think that's exactly what's about to happen. Why the hell not?
Brothers and sisters know you better than anyone in the world - they've known you from birth and they share the same set of parents, which is the most formative element in personal development and a relationship that can never be understood from the outside. All of this is to say that I can talk to Carlee about anything. She has been the best person in the family throughout my whole "ordeal" this past year. She asks questions calmly and shows concern without treating me like I am mentally unstable. She really is amazing. All of my life I've looked up to Carlee (5 years my elder) more than anyone else in the world.
Some of my earliest memories are of sharing a room with her. We would talk every night until falling asleep. I remember that I couldn't go to sleep if she was angry with me and we always used that time alone in the dark to make up if we ever had fights. During the day we would fight and bicker about everything (she is SO BOSSY), but when it was just the two of us in the dark after bedtime we were sisters and stupid squabbles would be forgotten. Sometimes I would be the one to whisper "I'm sorry" first, sometimes she would speak first. But we always fell asleep with a sweet "Good night." Even after she moved into her own room and we had different bedtimes, she would still come into my room before going to sleep, wake me up, sit on my bed, just to chat and say good night - two sisters in the dark.
Of course, the squabbles were so annoying. She would lock me out of the room during the day to talk on the phone and wouldn't let me back in unless I had one of tickets she had made up. Yes, I would need a ticket to enter my own room. But then at night, if I woke up from I nightmare I just had to cross the room and crawl into Carlee's bed and she would keep the monsters away.
I don't know what I would do without Carlee. My mother was never one for life talks. She never even gave me the sex talk (seriously*). So my sister just took over on some of the Mom duties when it came to sensitive, personal issues. God, I don't know what girls without older sisters do after they have sex for the first time. A big sister is the perfect person for such a situation (better than any friend, no matter how close).
And now I've written a whole post just about my sister. I was planning to write about how I've been feeling manic all night. But this was better.
*And because my parents are very Catholic they kept me out of the school's sex-ed class. I literally learned about sex from a novel, TV and friends filled in the blanks. Thank God, my parents let me start getting books out from the adult section much too early. I had read my way through the kid's section by fourth grade and this was before my library even had a YA section. I moved straight onto adult books and I just happened to be going through an intense historical fiction phase at the time. Philippa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl taught me all I needed to know. Good thing my conservative parents weren't big readers. They were used to my nose being in a book and didn't really take all too much interest in what book it was. They would ask what I was reading and I would just say, "A book." They accepted the answer and moved onto their other more troubling children.
Brothers and sisters know you better than anyone in the world - they've known you from birth and they share the same set of parents, which is the most formative element in personal development and a relationship that can never be understood from the outside. All of this is to say that I can talk to Carlee about anything. She has been the best person in the family throughout my whole "ordeal" this past year. She asks questions calmly and shows concern without treating me like I am mentally unstable. She really is amazing. All of my life I've looked up to Carlee (5 years my elder) more than anyone else in the world.
Some of my earliest memories are of sharing a room with her. We would talk every night until falling asleep. I remember that I couldn't go to sleep if she was angry with me and we always used that time alone in the dark to make up if we ever had fights. During the day we would fight and bicker about everything (she is SO BOSSY), but when it was just the two of us in the dark after bedtime we were sisters and stupid squabbles would be forgotten. Sometimes I would be the one to whisper "I'm sorry" first, sometimes she would speak first. But we always fell asleep with a sweet "Good night." Even after she moved into her own room and we had different bedtimes, she would still come into my room before going to sleep, wake me up, sit on my bed, just to chat and say good night - two sisters in the dark.
Of course, the squabbles were so annoying. She would lock me out of the room during the day to talk on the phone and wouldn't let me back in unless I had one of tickets she had made up. Yes, I would need a ticket to enter my own room. But then at night, if I woke up from I nightmare I just had to cross the room and crawl into Carlee's bed and she would keep the monsters away.
I don't know what I would do without Carlee. My mother was never one for life talks. She never even gave me the sex talk (seriously*). So my sister just took over on some of the Mom duties when it came to sensitive, personal issues. God, I don't know what girls without older sisters do after they have sex for the first time. A big sister is the perfect person for such a situation (better than any friend, no matter how close).
And now I've written a whole post just about my sister. I was planning to write about how I've been feeling manic all night. But this was better.
*And because my parents are very Catholic they kept me out of the school's sex-ed class. I literally learned about sex from a novel, TV and friends filled in the blanks. Thank God, my parents let me start getting books out from the adult section much too early. I had read my way through the kid's section by fourth grade and this was before my library even had a YA section. I moved straight onto adult books and I just happened to be going through an intense historical fiction phase at the time. Philippa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl taught me all I needed to know. Good thing my conservative parents weren't big readers. They were used to my nose being in a book and didn't really take all too much interest in what book it was. They would ask what I was reading and I would just say, "A book." They accepted the answer and moved onto their other more troubling children.
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