Conclusion by Consensus

So...I'm really sick so I spend most of my time in bed. I've read all the books within arms reach of me, and so I've turned to editing and/or rewriting old stories. Here is one I started about a year ago that I thought was a fun premise, but I'm kinda stuck as to where it should go next. And thus this is your task, should you choose to accept it: give me ideas on an ending. Or even whether to scrap it, or change it, or whatever. This is a writing democracy. Cast yo' vote.

The as-yet-untitled story we'll call "The Name Game"

Tiffani was born in the early 1980s, when such names were popular and parents gave little regard as to whether such a name would fall out of favor less than 20 years later. Tiffani does not like her name at all, and will make that point abundantly clear if the opportunity presents itself. Every day in class she hears the more classic names of those around her: the Jennifers, Megans, Katies, Amys, Julias, Samanthas--and gloomily plots the demise of Tiffani Ann McMantry and the phoneix of the new, as yet unnamed Ms. McMantry.
Tiffani has found that the best time to reinvent herself is during class, and thus her notebooks are filled with pages and pages of crossed-off lists and derivative spellings, and strangely void of actual notes.
The names immediately discarded include those other, trendy names of the late 20th century.
Gone is Brittany, Ashley, Amber, Erin, Cindy, Heather, Lindsey, Crystal, Brooke, Dawn, Nikki, Stephanie, Kristen and whatever derivations of spelling exist within their realms.
Gone are names that are too popular, like Jennifer, Jessica, Katherine, Sarah or Elizabeth.
Gone are names that are too famous, like Marylin, Jackie, Madonna, Reba, Lucille, Dolly, Wynonna, Aretha or even Anna Nicole.
Tiffani is against renaming herself after states, presidents or other geographic and/or political monuments, so gone is Madison, Montana, Dakota, Georgia, Virginia, Jackson, Dallas, Rushmore, Yellowstone or Indiana.Not that she knows anyone who has ever been named Yellowstone, but she feels it's better to set the precedent high.
Gone are names mentioned in famous songs, so Eileen, Caroline, Jolene, Mandy, Jesse, Jenny (or Jenny Rebecca), Amie, Jude, Michelle, Gloria, Lola, Cecilia, or Benny (and the Jets) are all out.
Gone are names that sound too old and/or motherly, like Linda, Carol, Agnes, Constance, Joan, Nancy, Martha, Beatrice, Priscilla, Janet, Phyllis, Pamela, Wanda, Gertrude, Gretchen, Dorothy, Francine or Bertha.
Tiffani is not keen on an ambiguous name, so she quickly nixed Jaime, Leslie, Sam, Chris, Charlie, Terri, Billy and yes, even Pat.
She started to run out of names, so she went online and printed out lists from baby websites. Her housemate found this list and hyperventilated, thinking Tiffani was pregnant. Tiffani gravely said yes. Her housemate almost passed out. She squealed out sentences like a muscle car. Ten minutes into the fun Tiffani recanted and said it is actually for a class project. Her housemate started breathing normal again and threw a pillow at her. She was red faced and speechless. Tiffani smiled.
"A rose is a rose by any other name," She read in her Brit lit class, so she crossed Rose off that list as well. And Juliet too, because who wants to feel destined to marry a Romeo? And come to think of it, all those "West Side Story" names were nixed too. She doesn't look like a Maria anyway.

And that's all I got.

Shorts

I've been in the mood to write lately, which usually means I've been rather low. Funny how creativity comes when I am weak. Last night I was in mindless tasks and between I jotted. I have nothing else to say. Here are my jots. There is no order. There is no point.

I want to live in a world of onomatopoeias. Crash! Bang! Clang! I want force, each word to have weight, strength, substance. I want it to fill my ears like gills, to muffle and mutter. I want to be lost in the anonymity of ambiance. Something hard, kinetic, gritty, visceral. A fist to the kidney OOPH! a door to the frame SLAM! a hand to face SLAP! every action given an exclaimation.

I scold time like a puppy.

-Medicinehead-
I took the red pills and now my head hovers, as if my neck has sloughed off. I bobble and nod, a yes-man yes yes yes it bounces. Every movement has its own aftershock; the space when the thought of turning finally collides with the physical act of it. Words grapple and stumble off my tongue in droplets without the corners and edges language should inspire. Sound travels as if through water, I walk as I swim.

Tidbits for a Monday

* For some reason I see myself as either a princess or a pariah--I am the top or I am the bottom; I am overly inflated or I am a discarded balloon. I can't seem to just balance it. Yesterday: princess. Today: pariah.
* So far next summer/fall I already have three weddings lined up in three different states. So far I'm in two of them. Looks like it will be another busy summer.
* Hung out with friends from frosh/soph year of college this past week. They are wonderful; I am so different than I was then. Growing apart question again.
* Went on my first business trip last week. If I live alone, remind me that there is absolutely no need for me to ever own a bed bigger than a double. I got lost in a king size.
* Bought Sarah Vowell's most recent (Assassination Vacation) and Dave Egger's most recent (How We Are Hungry) while floating around Kramerbooks in DuPont. I love nerdy writers.
* My little sister is starting to define herself by the stereotypes around her. I haven't gotten around to crying about this just yet, but I will.
* As I get older, I become a bigger nerd. Better dressed, but a bigger nerd.
* I still want to go help in the Gulf Coast. My hands have been too clean for too long.
* I don't know what changed in me to allow me to finally enjoy Led Zeppelin, but thank god it did.
* My brother and the NAP wife are talking about kids. But not in the normal way, cuz that would be, well, normal. Apparently insemination is more appealing then a $40 bottle of tequila.
* Lately I've been at arm's length from life. It's quiet here.
* "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead has been playing over and over and I'm not sure why.

Family Tradition

I know I've slacked. Blah to accountability and consistency!
Recently my dad told me that his cousin Helen (whom I call my Aunt) has breast cancer.
My great-grandmother had breast cancer.
She had three daughters.
All had breast cancer (including Helen's mom, who died of it when she was in her 30s)
All of their daughters have had breast cancer.
Tonight as I was stepping out of the shower I thought about my own body, and how it may one day turn against me, as it did to all those relatives before me. I daily squabble with my body over the dos and don'ts of the day to day, the wake-ups, the keep-goings. But to think that under that squabble lies something far more sinister is something I hadn't considered. It's strange to think that something that I identify as me may not be at all; that it has its own insurgency that may lurk, waiting to wage a struggle literally to the death. Ok now I'm getting melodramatic, but it is something to think about: this part of me I invest in so heavily--in how it is groomed and preened, what it is adorned with, what it is fed, how it is used--all of this matters little.
It's again being faced with this growing fear of doctors and what is happening within me; with my back, with my genes, with my hands, my head. At first I wanted answers, I wanted solutions, resolutions, conclusions. They didn't come and what did come was stressful, fearful, hopeless and resigned. The unknown grew as the end results mutated. And, in the end, here's what gets me: we grow so accustomed to the unknown that anything definite is downright terror. Maybe is a safe, safe world.