Meet the Rockers

Sometimes quirkiness is only identified through other's eyes. Last night I was in a cleaning frenzy and was organizing my bookshelf when my roommate came in. She noticed I was labelling rocks with masking tape. This is apparently not a normal thing, but I like to collect small rocks and/or shells as mementos of memorable trips and memorable friendships. I wanted to label them so as to not forget where and when I got it.
Suzy had the task of telling me, much to my shock, that most people don't collect rocks in the first place, much less label them as if they were part of an insect collection.
That's when I realized it's genetic. My whole family collects rocks like squirrels do acorns. When my grandparents moved out of their house in Great Falls, my father carted six hundred (600!) pounds of rocks out with them. These rocks were taken and deposited with the several hundreds of pounds my father has, so by the time I inherit the mountain I may be able to build a house with just the little stones we've picked up along the way. At least build a rather nice wall, or pan for gold in my own garage.
I have a rock my little sister gave me when she was 6 that she labeled malachite and had painted it as such. Tell me, what normal six-year old likes to identify minerals so much that she'd take an ordinary sandstone and paint it to look like malachite? 'xactly. I like my rocks, and I like that I have memories tied to so many of them. They are better than pictures in a way.
Anyway, that's all I got.

Delineate

Things are getting personal; so personal that I can't seem to distinguish myself from my experiences. Today I was talking to my mentor and she asked if I'd been able to write about any of it and I said no. Distance is needed in order to see with perspective; without that space the description is just a jumble of words. Blurbs without thought or direction. It's a magic eye drawing in a way ("It's a Schooner!" "THE EASTER BUNNY'S NOT REAL!" name the movie!*). And I struggle with being personal and being standoff-ish (Story of my life). As this is my journal, my tiny slice of Internet real estate, I should be able to say what I want; however I must delineate my inner conversations with those proper for outside consumption. Write for the masses but relate to me. I forget people might actually read this. Weird.
In conclusion, the personal is overshadowing the insightful, the standoff is defeating the stand up, verbosity is winning the war against brevity. I'm sorry if I seem in a rut; I am.
"If life serves you lemons...say "$#@! those lemons!" and throw the lemons back in life's face! That way, life will be too afraid to mess with you anymore." I love you, Erin Hatcher.

*Movie was "Mallrats" by the way.

Crosswords

I have nothing much to say as I am internalizing.
I love how we now have words and names for the things we do, the habits we have, but that has done nothing but draw them out and make them stronger. There are too many -isms and -izings to contend with that I forget what it was I was after in the first place. Probably fame, glory, inexhaustable riches, immmortality. You know, the normal stuff.
We bought a book of crosswords at work, and I must say, I'm getting rather speedy at them. I love them for their simplicity and yet their complexity. It's nice to have something tangible to distract me.
I've been thinking about it and I think you are right, Things look different on the far side of a five hour cry.

All The Time

As I was pulling out of my apartment complex this morning I watched these two female postal workers trudge through snow drifts that were well past their knees. With heavy bags of mail lifted up to their shoulders, they climbed through these massive and seemingly endless mounds of old, grey snow. And they just kept smiling and talking busily, as if it were something normal and unimpressive. I marveled at them and their dedication, if not to their job then to the habits of it. All the time we trudge through, stepping over the stones and stories ahead and behind. All the time we spend doing what we think of as mundane but others may find fascinating, or at the very least, noteworthy. All the time we doll out like change to those who matter, have never mattered, should matter, or used to matter; a quarter here, a nickel there. Time and money, tying and dividing. Investments. All the time.

Kid Fears

I think I'm still recovering from middle school, and I left 8th grade ten years ago. I read an article recently that called us the "Thin-skinned Generation", that we can't take criticism, or failure, or rejection so we go through life pretending that nothing really matters so our hopes won't get up only to be shot down. I know I suffer from this to a degree, and I still blame Blue Ridge Middle School for most of it. Yeah you Bulldogs, I blame you.
I know there are people who hate me, some who used to be friends who now hate me, and I've become ok with that. I know there are people who won't forgive me, and while I've offered my forgiveness there's nothing more I can do. The people who can say the worst things about me are often the very same people who can say the best things too, and that I guess is the price one pays for close friendships. That price has always been worth it, in my opinion.
But those fears that exist all these years later that still plague me--that thin-skinnedness and/or awkwardness--does that ever go away? Like this paralyzing fear of loneliness; is that more a product of where I am in life, or in who I am? Rhetorical? I think so. It's not a fear of living alone or being alone, it's a fear of staying alone. We all have this intense desire to know and be known, is it ever fulfilled?
Used up my rhetorical question quota for the day and it's only 1pm.
I hate it when I do that.