FINALS WEEK!

Goodbye 2009!

Well, 2009 is drawing to a close. And I gotta say, this year, I'm glad to see it go. It's hard to classify this year. On the one hand, I want to say the year was a success. After all, I met the girl i want to spend the rest of my life with--something I never thought that I would do, but especially not so young. And yet, I have, and it's fantastic.

With that said, in the same year that I met my beloved, I almost lost her. Twice. I met her at the beginning of the year--one year ago today, as a matter of fact--and I almost lost her in April. A tornado hit and destroyed a good portion of my hometown. Several months later, I was in a horrific car crash that my girl and I are still recovering from.

So where does 2009 lie? Is it a draw? Or should it be packed up and shipped out with a "good riddance" to follow it out the door. These are questions I don't have the answer to.

So I talked about the bad things--a tornado, a car wreck, various drama's a college involving regime changes, major drama in the summer from my fiance's crazy family--now I need to talk about good things.

I met my beloved. We began flirting, and the first several months of dating-but-not was awesome. We talked on the phone for hours. It was amazing. We started dating, which was even more amazing. We had tons of fun over the summer, despite drama, and our relationship grew. We went to college, where things were nearly perfect. I was fortunate enough to come into a bit of money so that I could some things I've always wanted and a new car. I got engaged. I began planning the rest of my life with my girl. My fiance has made a dramatic recovery from the wreck. The doctor's said she's 3 months ahead of schedule. She's doing amazing, proving, once again, how awesome she is.

I think if there were a theme to 2009, the theme would be change. So much has changed this year. My brother is in his senior year, I got engaged, we both got new cars, friends moved across the country, others drifted away, some drift back and forth. I got a bit of money to start planning a life with. I walk with a cane. My town has been rebuilding itself. Hundreds lost their homes, and yet, I've heard some say that the tornado saved a drowning town--now many of the companies that had no work have work to do again.

Whether they're good or bad changes, they were changes nonetheless.

So, goodbye 2009. I really won't miss you that much. You gave me some tough love, and I'm not sure I've forgiven you for everything you've done. But you brought me some really good things, too. I extend a firm, curt handshake to you. Welcome 2010. I hope you bring twice the fortune, with none of the tragedy.

A Little News on Goings-On and Musings on Plans for the Future

So, over the past few weeks, I've been procrastinating. I have (or rather, had) three essays to write (two now). One for Mythology, one for British Literature, and one for Women in Chinese History (due the day before yesterday). I did get the Chinese one in, but I have yet to start on the other two. This procrastination can be blamed on two things (besides laziness, which should be obvious).

Number the first: I have had an absurd amount of drama at my dorm. My girlfriend and I ran an amazing campaign for such short notice -- we were only told two days before the election that the election was coming up. Usually, we have two or three weeks, this time, we had only just signed up to run when it was already time for the election.

After some amazing campaign posters done by yours truly, and some good promises, which we intended to keep, we sat back and waited. I got the position I wanted -- Vice President. However, my girlfriend did not win President. Then, we discovered a series of fishy circumstances where ballot boxes may have been stuffed and the Resident Director may have rigged the results to put one of his friends in office instead. Regardless, we decided to stick it out. Until we saw the rest of the results of the election...or rather..the consequences.

The entire government was outrageously one-sided, with virtually every position filled by one of my Resident Director's friends. No matter what any of my fellow government members decided to do, it was vetoed instantly if my RD didn't like it. Beyond that, he began lying to us, making threats if we didn't do what he wanted, and doing things that were way beyond what power his position as RD is capable of.

I have taken steps to report him to the people in charge of all of the dorms, and I would like to start an anonymous letter writing campaign of complaints, but as of yesterday, I have also resigned my position. I refused to be berated by someone who was my equal in power and an underclassman and had no idea how the dorm community worked.

Number the Second: I might have stumbled upon one of the greatest things in the history of my entire life. A video blog on YouTube known as Brotherhood 2.0. They're known as the Vlogbrothers now, and they're fans are...Nerd Fighters. How cool is that?

I decided, one day, to start watching from the beginning up to now. I'm only about a quarter of the way through, I've already experienced so much with them -- new jobs, new books being published, having to move, the drama of your house almost being sold out from under you, and through it all, they greet these challenges with a great sense of humor.

Beyond that, though, they do more. They realized, after a few posts, how popular they were becoming, and not only set up a "scholarship to decrease world suck" which went to help one of their friends' family who died of cancer, but they also began donating money to help people in poverty stricken nations start up small businesses. They share many of the same causes I do, but they also differ from eachother enough to have actual, and interesting, discussions.

The thing that has me hooked the most? One of them is a literary aclaimed YA author. John Green, author of Paper Towns, An Abundance of Catherines, and Looking for Alaska.

The other, his brother, Hank Green, is a computer programmer, and a writer for magazines like Mental Floss.

It's so amazing, because to see they interact with the world, their jobs, their wives, life...it makes me think about how I'm going to be when I'm they're age.

I will turn 21 in April, and then I really will be a man. I will have earned every right that you can earn in this country with the exception of lower car insurance, which won't kick in until I turn 25. Anyway, I digress. I'm in my Junior year of college. I've taken the Praxis I already. I aced it. I'm that much closer to becoming a teacher. I'll be graduating in a couple of years, and it scared the bejeezers out of me.

I haven't told my mother this yet, because we're a very, very close family, but I'm thinking about moving out this summer as well. I've been looking at apartments. I've been calculating my budget, based on what I'll earn over the summer, my refund check when I return that fall for school, and other things. I've also been looking at where I want to settle down and spend my life. I would like to move to Chicago and experience the Big City Life for a couple of years. I'd like to get an apartment and a teaching job and just teach for a couple of years, and then move to a 'burb somewhere and get started on the rest of my life. I want to go to England sometime before I settle down so I can say I've been to Europe at least once, and I'd like to get married somewhere in there too.

It's very interesting, but I feel like I'm staring at my own mortality. Planning out these steps for what will begin the real beginning of my life -- and not the safe "Real Life" that college creates, but the real Real Life that comes when you've achieved your goal of having a career and now you're stuck with it for the rest of your life.

I think part of the reason this has been on my mind is because those guys, specifically John Green, are how I want to be when I "grow up." He's a full time writer, he's married, he has a few odd hobbies that keeps him busy, and he's also very worldly, intelligent, well-read, etc. His life is pretty much the goals I've been setting for myself since I was in high school. And seeing someone living the dream -- my dream -- has sort of re-focused me on my dream.

Yesterday, I was looking up cities I might want to think about moving to either after I leave Chicago or if Chicago doesn't work out. I found it. It's amazing. It's everything I want in my future town -- MUCH bigger than my home town, and actually even bigger than my college town. It's cold, it'll get lots of snow, it's not too big, either. It'll be a good break from the city life. It's also really close to some cities that will keep me entertained on the weekends. It's basically my dream place.

And between shopping for apartments for the near future and looking at houses for the somewhat more distant future, I've been so excited I can't sit still. I've also been so scared I've had a hard time going to sleep. It's what I want to do with my life, and really look forward to it, but leaving my family and striking out on my own is...mind-boggling, terrifying, and foreign.

Anyway, enough rambling. I just had stuff I needed to muse on for a bit.

Revenge of Lobster Man

How did I get here again? I'd like to say that I made some kind of horrible mistake, and I'm reaping the consequences of my actions, but that wouldn't be true. This is one time where I am not to blame for the misfortune that has befallen me, it is simply sorrow delivered straight from the Universe.

No, I didn't perform scientific experiments revolving around the genetics of lobsters and humans resulting in a super powered lobster man to rampage through my lab and nearby town in a furious rage on a quest to understand his origins. That would be way more interesting.

Thursday was my day off. To celebrate my day off, my friends and I -- and My Darling Dearest -- packed up and headed off to a swimming hole that we know of. It took a while to get there. My brother, who came along, thought we were fooling him when we told him you had to climb rocks to get there. We weren't. We were actually underplaying it a bit. It's a pretty hard hike to get to this swimming hole -- over enormous rocks cliffs.

Once there, I put on enough sunblock to fill the ozone layer and protect the Earth for the next 30,000 years. Then I went swimming. Then we ate lunch. Then I put on even more sunblock. I was literally dripping with it at one point, and I asked my girlfriend to aid me in the quest of rubbing it all in. We're both significantly Irish, so we burn easily. We knew the dangers.

Anyway, by the end of the day, which had resulted in about five hours of swimming, we headed back. It was hot. So hot, as a matter of fact, we all almost passed out. My face started going numb, so we all got back in the water -- a different spot, since we were on the hike on the way home -- to drop our body temperature some. By the time we got back, we were all thankful to be alive.

However, since then I have learned of the price I paid for my desire to continue shuffling along on this mortal coil. My ears, face, and back are sunburned raw, and my shoulders are so sunburned I have hundreds of blisters popping up. It hurts to move, and shirts are things worn only in the most dire of situations. Nobody else got it that but, just me and Oh Dearest One. She got it just as bad as I did.

I missed work Friday because it was so bad, and while it's improved since then, I'm not looking forward to going back to work today just so I can see the little tykes and have them slap me on my burns. By the way, it's "Wet and Wild" themed week at work...yippee dee. I get to be outside in the baking hot sun for hours on end. And I have to go to a water theme park on Wednesday with the kids. Even more time spent outside...

As if that wasn't bad enough, I got a TB test on Monday. On Wednesday, I was supposed to have it checked, but my boss left for the day and left me in charge, so i couldn't leave. So now I have to start all over!! I hate needles, and now I have to do it again...and then again b/c if you haven't had a TB test in 2 years, they make you take two...

Wake me up when this week is over, okay?

Being a Public Nuisance

So, on top of the new job, I am now the proud owner of lower ears. I received two things yesterday: a new haircut, and a shot.

I had to be talked into the haircut. I don't mind haircuts. Except for the fact that I never like the outcome -- which is probably more the result of me being terribly down on myself -- they're not terrible experiences. My aunt, my mother, she who is so dear to me all talked me into getting a shorter haircut that can be gelled into the "messy" look. Since that was three votes from three women I respect highly, I caved. They think it looks fantastic, so I'll take their word for it. Anyway, haircuts = not a big deal. Sitting in a chair while someone hacks off the fluffy curls that I get when I let my hair grow long isn't painful, and actually sometimes results in some nice conversations.

On the flip side, needles are the devil in every way. Shots are an outdated procedure, and a large source of physical and mental torture, in this age when we can land men on the moon and carry an entire library of books on a device about the size of a cigarette box or smaller. I also, I'm ashamed to admit, throw a huge fit when I have to get them. I complain for days in advance, and the complaining grows worse the closer the shot gets. On the plus side, this means I can never be a heroin user.

Because of my new job, I had to get tested for TB. I have never had a TB test before, but anything that has to do with needles or me losing blood to anybody else puts me on edge.

My girlfriend went with me and, God bless her, she should be optioned for sainthood for not strangling me in the waiting room. I complained the entire time about how they were going to stick me with the wrong concoction and then I'd be sent home in a pine box. When the nurse finally led me back there, I heard a kid crying, and started accusing the doctors of running an underground organization that tortured children and sold their tears on the black market. All this was in good nature, but to cover over how scared I actually was of the needle. I don't think my girlfriend realized how scared I really was until she saw the look on my face -- the look of panic in my eyes -- when I saw the needle.

"Are you serious? Do you see that thing? I thought they said it'd be tiny! You could harpoon a whale with that thing! I was thinking a quarter of an inch long, not two inches! Are you harvesting my marrow? You'll scrape my bone with that thing!"

My girlfriend is way too patient. She even managed to keep her cool when I began demanding blood for blood when the area I got the shot started bleeding.

On the way out the door, I was still ranting, so they gave me a sticker with a happy purple hippo on it that said, in big, happy, ironic letters, "I got a shot!" I accused the hippo of making a mockery of my traumatic experience, and obviously the hippo got it's jollies by laughing at my pain. Also, because the test left a bump for a few minutes, I began trying to convince my girlfriend that what they really did was give me an injection that would raise my body temperature to ridiculously high levels, and that bump was actually me boiling from the inside out.

Eventually, for the sake of our relationship, and my relationship with anybody that meant anything to me at all, I shut up. I consider it payback, though. Dearest One has had her moments where she has gone off on rants too -- usually in traffic when she sees a bumper sticker that contradicts her beliefs, or when she's cut off by some inconsiderate bozo. Once, she tried to tailgate and intimidate a diesel hauling a backhoe in her tiny little Ford. You just can't do that.

I may have been loud and obnoxious before and after the shot, but during, I was calm, quiet, and still as can be. There's something to be said when all you have to do is look into someone's eyes and know that everything is going to be okay.

Fear

Fear. Writers try to ensnare it in words all the time. It's our job to try to find those words that will make readers' hearts race, their palms sweat, and their hairs stick up on the back of their necks. An entire genre was created for those who couldn't get enough of the heeby jeebies, and even if you don't read horror, every writer uses the tool of fear at some point or another because every character has fears, desires, goals, and the like.

I thought I knew fear. I've experienced some terrifying things before. When I was six, I fell into the adult deep end of a very large hotel swimming pool. I was terrified that I was going to die, and if one of my family hadn't seen me fall in and dove in to get me, I may have.

When I was 12 or 13 I was hiking with my dad one day and fell off the trail and off the mountain. The only things that stopped me from rolling and crashing to the bottom was a patch of briars that I bounced into.

A couple of years later, when I was hiking with my step brother on a camping trip, we became surrounded by coyotes.

However, I never really knew fear until a few months ago. I was talking to my girlfriend on the phone. We weren't quite dating yet -- we were in that awkward "basically dating, but still not official" stage, when suddenly she told me that she was watching the news, and some pretty big storms were brewing. I was at college, so I was more concerned with her, but she was more concerned about the ones brewing near me. As I spoke to her, I was slightly concerned, but nothing more than the typical, "Man, I hope the storms don't get too bad."

Well, is the storm progressed, she was placed under a severe storm warning, and then a tornado watch. I became a little more apprehensive, but tried not to let it get to me. My dad died about a year ago from tornadoes, so I have a new found respect for their power. I know what they can do -- I saw his solid oak and stone log house. It was gone except the foundation.

As I continued to talk to her, the "watch" progressed into a "warning." Then, she told the sirens went off. My heart leaped into my chest. She had to go into their shop so that she could be away from windows. She lived in a mobile home...this could end badly.

I had two things come to my mind. I had to talk to her, because she was crying and hysterical and her mom was rocking back and forth in the floor praying and frantic, but I also worried for my family, because my mom and brother were in the same town. However, my mom could console my brother, and my girlfriend had no one, so I talked to her.

Now, I've been terrified, before, but I knew nothing of real terror until this moment. Nothing has ever made my heart stop more suddenly, or my blood run colder than these words: "I can see it."

In those four words, I felt my entire life go away. More than that, I felt my sanity break down. My mind shattered. I stopped breathing, my legs gave out, and the only thing holding me up was the fact that I was leaning against my bed. I was silent, speechless, and in complete and total shock. I finally came back to my senses when my girlfriend said in a fragil, tiny voice, "If you could say something to talk me through this, that would be great, because I'm kinda scared right now."

I was instantly talking. I told her everything would be alright, I told her that nothing was going to happen, she would be fine. I told her all these things, but I didn't believe a word of it. I had an empty feeling in my soul. I could feel a blackness hanging around me, and I felt hopeless as I was witness to everything I loved being torn from me.

After a few minutes of talking, it was over, and my girlfriend got in her mom's car, and her and her mom went to go check on a few things. She heard word from her mom, who was on her cellphone, that the tornado hit the court house, which is just a few blocks from my family's house.

I immediately began calling my family. I couldn't get a hold of anyone. My mom's line was dead, my grandmother's line was dead, and when I tried to call back my girlfriend, I couldn't get through to her either. I was completely and utterly cut off from everyone I loved.

As the minutes dragged on, each second counting off a thousand years, I became convinced that everyone I loved was dead. My stomach twisted into knots, I doubled over, and I cried. I cried with everything I had. As tears streamed down my face, I looked up at the sky and begged God to let everyone be okay.

For 30 minutes, the longest 30 minutes of my life, I called the same 5 numbers over and over again: my mom's cellphone, my house phone, my grandparents house phone, my brother's cellphone, and my girlfriend's cellphone.

Finally, I got a hold of my girlfriend, and while I was relieved, I wasn't consoled. I still hadn't heard from my family.

Just when I was about to go into a full hysteria, with my girlfriend doing her best to console me, I heard my phone beep. My mom's cell. Like a flash, I switched lines, ecstatic to hear from them. Not only were they okay, but there was no damage done to our house. The tornado hit, literally, 2 blocks away, and went in the other direction.

I missed my college classes that day and went home for the weekend early. My town was decimated. Hundreds lost their houses, and a good portion of the town was just gone. It will never be the same again. I could see signs of the damage a couple of miles before I even got there.

The first place I went was to my girlfriend's house. It was then and there that I told her it was ridiculous of us to try to fight it, that I cared about her more than I've cared about anybody in a long time, and that I wanted her to be my girlfriend. Obviously, she accepted.

Next, I went to my grandparents house, because all the roads leading to my house were damaged or covered with debris so badly that no one could get through. I met up with my grandparents, and then found a tiny back road that I used to sneak past the cops and the National Guard and went home, and hugged my mom and my brother, and then we went to go see how my aunt fared the storm, all the while, my girlfriend and I called friends to make sure they were okay.

I'm so glad that everyone I cared about not only is totally okay, but none of them suffered any damage to their homes.I've never really understood fear, but after that night, I know it. I've seen it's face. I almost lost everything I love. I'll never take my family for granted again.

Performance 16

1. Furiously read through the script because even though you've run this play at least 200 times, you seem to have forgotten the order of the scenes.

2. Constantly check yourself to make sure your fly is zipped, your shirt is buttoned, your wig is on straight and you are in fact, wearing your pants.

3. Avoid water 7 hours before your performance in fear that you will need to pee in the middle of the performance.

3 a) Despite your efforts, you have to pee anyway, and for some reason this is the time you decide to contemplate how Noah avoided sea sickness on the ark.

4. Scratch your legs until you bleed trying to keep from itching that spot in the middle of your face and screw up your make up.

5. Develop the habit of blinking frequently and rapidly because you're brand new contacts have chosen this moment to screw up and glaze over.

6. Frantically quadruple check that all the props are in their proper places, reorganize them, forget your "improved" organization order, and panic when you can't find one prop.

7. Sit in a corner, crying, and asking yourself why you chose to be in a stupid local play in the first place, you don't like talking in front of people anyway.

8. Write out Post-Its with custom deadly threat and place each one in the seats your friends will sit in. Make sure they understand, if they laugh at you, they will suffer.

9. Tear down every flyer in the town and throw a bucket of paint over the giant sign advertising the play and hope nobody will show up because they don't know what time the play starts.

10. Fake a sign saying the play is canceled.

11. Dress in dark clothes and a white mask and, through the power of song and special effects, scare the audience away and close the show early.

12. Practice loosening your lips for 2 constant hours before the performance in fear of messing up a line during the play.

12 a) Work your lips too much and suffer a rare but painful face cramp in which your face locks down and you cannot move your lips to say your lines, and just so happen to look like you're sneezing through your nose as well.

13. Badger your fellow actors back stage every 5 minutes to ask if your make up still looks fine.

14. When someone mentions breaking a leg, stand and curse loudly for 10 minutes, accusing the director and the rest of the cast of trying to jinx you before your first big performance.

14 a) Insist a witch-doctor be brought in to rid the area of its "bad joo joo."

15. Write a blog post about your fears that will help you loosen up and then try to relax before your performance.

16. Call up the local government officials about being entered into the witness protection program to escape your humiliation if the performance goes bad anyway...just in cast.

Pet Scare and Relief

We had a scare recently here at la casa de la Rayburn. Our poor mini-dachshund Jimi Hendrix got sick. (While he bears no actual resemblance to the rocker of the same name I can hug my Jimi Hendrix and roll him around on the floor and play with him. I couldn't have done that with the other one without causing some risque gossip...although my Jimi can't play the guitar as well as the other Jimi either.)

Anyway, we came home a few days ago and poor Jimi was laying on the floor shaking and whining. I was instantly worried, because I was instantly reminded of when my chihuahua Sugar got sick when I was 10. She had cancer and died, and before she died she laid around and shook and yelped.

Luckily, my mom, God bless her, has a clearer head than mine. She immediately knew what it was. She took him into the kitchen and gave Jimi some mineral oil and some medicine and said, "He's constipated. It sometimes happens to dachshunds. Don't worry. He'll be fine." I wasn't so sure.

My heart sank when, the next day, he still laid there yelping and whining. I was getting panicky, but my mom just gave him more medicine and said that he would be fine. Next day, he was perfectly fine. He's been bouncing around for the past couple days as happy as he can be. I'm so glad that he feels better.

Below is a picture of both Jimis. Try to guess which one is mine, :D

The Idea Well

Everyone writer has one. We go to it whenever we need ideas -- whether it be for stories, or characters, or for chapters for novels or whatever. It's the place where all creativity is stored. Sometimes it's called our muse. That's probably a better description when the muse is being bitchy, but for the purpose of this illustration, it's a well.

After I sent my stories off, I was reluctant to get back to the keyboard. I wasn't the first couple days, but the longer I wait for responses, the less eager I am to get back to writing. I don't feel excited, and actually getting the words to flow takes longer and longer to do. I wasn't sure what was locking me up, but I've had trouble sleeping because I keep dwelling on it, and I finally figured it out. It came to me when I was clearing out old files on my computer.

Everynow and then I go through the computer and look at what I've got saved that's been building up and stuff. Obviously, since the virus fiasco, I don't have as much built up, but I'd like to think that deleting some of the crap time to time helps the computer run faster.

Well, I looked through my story folder at stuff that might be a candidate for deletion, when I realized something. I almost never delete anything I write, ever. Everything I've written (with the exception of some one page starts that fizzled before they got going) is still saved on there. I browsed through the files and found stories I started in the sixth grade that are still on there.

I finally got it, what I was afraid of. When I go back to my story, it's the first original idea I've had in a while, something that I just came up with when I was sitting around one day. I was inspired by the movie 12 Monkeys starring Bruce Willis, but it actually has almost nothing to do with 12 Monkeys, but I'm getting off track. The reason I'm afraid of going back to the keyboard and the reason I never delete anything, is because I'm petrified of running out of ideas.

I think part of the reason that I finished only one or two stories in my life and then left the rest to gather dust on the hard drive is so I could come back to them, write on them, improve them, make them pretty, and then leave them. I was always guaranteed to have something to write as long as all those stories were left unfinished, or the ones that were finished could be rewritten every few years as I improved in my writing.

When I sent off my stories, it was the first two I'd completed in a long time, and my mind went through shock. I just sent two ideas off. I can't go back and rewrite those, I can't improve them. They're gone.

The reason I never finished a novel idea was because I was afraid that if by some astronomical chance I got published, I was afraid I would be a one hit wonder. I was, and still am, afraid that if I get anything published, it's dwindling the number of ideas I'll have. I haven't settled into one genre very easily, I don't have ideas off the wazoo, I haven't, until a few years ago, written very much very consistently, and I don't dream that often to get ideas.

I'm absolutely terrified that I've already drawn the good stuff out of the idea well, and that eventually I'm going to draw stuff that either sucks, or that has been done over and over and over.

So . . . now that I've figured out the problem, I have to figure out how I can fix it.