Catching Up (It Might Take A While)

       I realize it's been awhile since I talked to you people (Yes, that's your name: you people). But cut me some slack. Not only have I managed to not get lost in the woods on a camping trip since I've last spoken to you, I've tasted what it's like to work a full-time job, planned a murder, applied to a college, drunk about three gallons of coffee, learned how to shower in a campground bathroom, survive thousands of those blood-sucking vampires we call mosquitoes, managed to cope with the loss of our local library, gave a horse a sponge bath, and went through the drive through at McDonalds with seven other people in the car.
       Say that ten times fast--I dare you.
       Needless to say, my summer has been crazier than usual. I could name a few people reading this blog who could match those feats and surpass them while only looking at a single month of their summers, but hey. My summer usually consists of dancing and cabin trips. That's it. Today has been the first day in a long time that I've had time to spend brain power doing nothing. I'm actually struggling to shut down the part of my brain that works with agendas and productivity.
       GASP.
       Who knew.
       Today I undermined my biological alarm clock and went back to sleep after waking up at eight-eighteen, when my physical alarm clock goes off. The experience was liberating. My brain-computer (whom I have named Carlotta) is in the process of rebooting. I haven't heard from her all day, except for garbled attempts to make me believe I have so much on my plate I need to make a list of things to do. At last! FREEEDOOOOM!
       But I guess I'll have to find something to do....Because despite how much I love having no obligations....I'm not sure I can handle it.  
       I'm a hot mess. A beautiful mess. This summer, I am chaotically amazing.

On Books and The Fault In Our Stars

     I've been reading quite a few books lately. I'm working my way through the Search For Significance (A wonderful choice, thanks Ashley), which has been wonderfully helpful. (That is a discussion for a much more solemn post). I just finished the second to last book in a series that deal with the question, "If all of the extraordinary minds (People like Tolkien, Verne, Poe, Tesla, Richard Burton) from the past gathered together in one room in an imaginary world, what would happen?" Short answer: Mayhem, murder, the end of the world, war, death, and some very witty humor. It makes quite an interesting read. But as nothing could ever be simple with that many deep thinkers trying to work together, the series is so confusing I'm going to have to re-read the entire thing.
     I've also been catching up on my history with a little of Stevenson's Kidnapped, an excellent book that doesn't receive as much notice as it should. Come on. Who wouldn't like pirates, swashbuckling, and flight through the Scottish highlands with a somewhat crazy (If they ever remake the movie, David Tennant should play Alan) Scotsman? Why Treasure Island got more notice that Kidnapped I'll never know.
      There are probably more, lying on the floor of my bedroom waiting to be noticed, but I'll skip to the last one. The Fault In Our Stars. As you might know, this book is making something of a tidal wave in the teen community right now. People rave about it--it's humor and pathos, warmth and darkness--but I think if you stripped away the pretty words and fun, lovable characters, you'd find something a little less pleasing to read.
       John Green's words are soaked in a kind of bravado, that even though life is pointless and we are all just "side-effects" on a randomly spinning globe, we (humans) face death and refuse to sink into nothing. Not bravely, but at least with more attention on living than dying. Now, I'm only six chapters into the book, so any assumptions I make are likely to be blown to bits by the end. But I think I'm right in one thing--John Green is an incredibly skilled writer--so skilled that his opinion seeps off the pages and onto you without realizing what he's saying. He writes with such eloquence that the concepts he presents are pleasing to agree with, even if you actually don't. Impressions are so easy to come by.
       Now, I don't believe in a pointless existence, but it was only due to the comments made by my friend that kept me from accepting what Mr. Green said.
       It's a little scary, when you think about it. If I, who thought myself sceptical enough to disagree with an opposite worldview, really wanted to agree with Mr. Green, how many other books have I, or you, read and absorbed that distracted from truth?

Food for thought.

Story Blurb

      The sword flashed behind me and I ducked, yelping as it changed directions and hit my shin. I ducked again as it swung around and this time, retaliated. The metallic, sharp sounds filled the clearing. Akira laughed as I turned a clumsy, but effective, summersault and swung at her from behind. “My old fencing teacher thought that grace is as much a part of swordplay as the swords are! I don't believe he would find your methods particularly pleasing.” A sparkle glittered in her eye as we circled each other, both panting. I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my back.

     “I’m--not--here--to--impress your old--fencing teacher,” I grunted as we engaged once more, letting my strength make up for my lack of...what did she say it was? Grace? “Grace will not accomplish anything.”

     “On the contrary, I think it does quite nicely.” Akira said as she slid from under my headlock and gave my calf a sound thwack.

     “You are just begging for a good thrashing!” I shouted. Then I lifted my blade high and roared like an angry bear. Kira shrieked and ran in circles around the clearing until I cornered her at the pond’s edge. She was caught. This would be easy. Grinning, I charged again--and recoiled as something flashed by me and tugged at the side of my hand. “Kira!”

     I was unable to slow down in time. Kira threw herself on the grass and caught my ankles. A wave of murky water washed up on the bank as I fell headfirst into the reeds and marsh marigolds.

     “KIRA!” Coughing, spluttering, I crawled out of the tangle of weeds and wiped as much of the mud from my hair as I could. She stood, leaning on her sword. Out of reach of the splash. Of course. I considered getting angry as I stood panting on the bank, water running down every part of me. Then I gave in. A grin broke through my shock. A laugh started to grow. It burst out of the deep part of my chest where it always does when I'm...more than happy, more than amused. I laughed until tears joined the pond water. For a moment, everything was golden--The afternoon sun, the water, Akira’s hair, and our pleasure. But the golden never lasts for long, and it faded until only the memory remained. Kira smiled at me as I walked up and joined me as I turned back towards the road, carrying my sword. “Let’s go back. Have anything for this?” I held up my hand, where Akira’s knife had nicked it. She handed me a kerchief. Then we were silent until we were a little ways into the city.

     “I definitely beat you.” Kira said.

      I, futilely, continued trying to rid my cloak of its excess moisture. “You pushed me into the pond! It hardly counts!”

      “I didn't push you. You tripped.”

      “Oh, yes? Over your hand?”

      “You said yourself there were no rules.”

      “Only because I didn't know you were carrying throwing knives! Remember last time, y--”

      “That occasion was entirely irrelevant. You try aiming at a moving target with a bull charging you.”

       I lifted my bandaged hand. “You nearly cut my finger off!”

       Kira rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a ninny.”

       I tossed my sopping cloak at her and gave an exasperated, but not displeased, groan. After all, it takes two very good friends to enjoy disagreeing.

I wrote that last night . I had so much fun I thought I'd share it here. Kira and Ben are comrades now as a result of their adventuring escapades, and that's all I'm going to say 'cause any more and I might spoil stuff. Also I don't feel like explaining their life stories right now.

I hope you enjoyed the blurb, though.

No title for this one--spoilers.

       I walked in the door sweaty, tired, sunburnt, with sand in my shoes. Usually you could guess what I had been doing--mowing the lawn perhaps, or helping Dad with one of his projects. But I forgot to mention the idiotically huge grin plastering itself over my face.  Mowing the lawn doesn't usually go hand-in-hand with that expression. There is only one thing on earth that could make me that happy. Yup. Horses.
       I know, I know,  its so darn cliche! About fifty-five percent of the world's female population will say that their favorite animal is the horse. I still fit in with the majority. Every little girl gets a bug in her brain about horses at some point in her life. most of them grow out of it. ...I never did.  Every person who has been around me long enough to have a conversation that goes somewhere along the line of "what do you like to do" knows this about me. So I proudly hold up my head and say that, yes, my favorite animal is the horse.

  Normally, this would be a perfect place for a rant about the beauty, grace, strength, and freedom of horses. But even if your brain is the size of a hummingbird's, you don't need me to tell you that. Suffice to say that no animal will ever, ever compare to a horse. That's why I came home that day with a gigantic grin on my face. 

     
     
                                    

Pinecone

It started with a pinecone. A measly, prickly pinecone. An' it just about killed me.
Now, I'm not sayin the pinecone was the thing that could have killed me. It would take more than that to even put a dent in my hard skull. The problem was, that pinecone fell to the ground, and just had to grow into a pine tree. And then there was a thunderstorm. And...it was partly the dog's fault. He just had to go outside. In a thunderstorm.
The tree fell on me.
Dang.
After a week in the hospital and several months of casts, I came away with a very important life lesson: Never, ever, trust a pinecone.

That was a blurb I wrote last year. Still makes me laugh.