Fin

I think it is safe to say that the most hellish summer of my life is now over. At least that's what the temperature sign down the street has been telling me for the past week. My window is open and there is a chill breeze blowing in, shooing out August with a cold goodbye. I don't mind it so much. I mean, its not like I had much of a summer anyway. I hope there will be more to come. Maybe even in Chicago.
Yesterday I went to church. It was about parenting. It was my second time seeing John since I threw a fit in Tony's car. All I could think about was Adam. I want so desperately to be over it. I was thinking about this yesterday... I mean, my friends probably want me to either shut up about it, or do something more about it. But I have decided not to do anymore about it, but I have to be okay with the fact that I may never see resolution. It is all just so messed up. There is so much I don't know, like what Adam told John in his defense, what other lies he crafted, that I may take the blame. He knows what he is doing, that much is certain. It sickens me. I am obviously far from over it. I am trying to move on, to care less about what others think. But there is some creep out there who is moving on with life apparently unscathed. He can't escape God though. I should take comfort in that fact.

Mercilessness of Time

The black and white photos were set against black paper. The pages were very worn, and some of the photos were slipping out of the small corners that held them onto the page. I looked at faces of people that I had only known as older great grandparents and great aunts and uncles. Yet these faces were youthful, they had dark hair and distinguished faces, cigarettes in their hands and smirks on their mouths. There were always pictures of couples and toddlers. My great uncle Darrel was quite handsome and seemed to always be grinning in the photographs. There were pictures of him and his wife Alberta looking relaxed and happy. My grandpa and my grandma always looked distinctly different. My grandma seemed more rigid, with her hands clasped behind her back. Grandpa seemed more laid back, a more easy-going smile on his face, rather than the roguish grin that his brother always seemed to sport. Yet grandma and grandpa didn't seem as affectionate towards one another as the other couples seemed to be. More often grandma seemed relaxed and outgoing with her sisters or girlfriends. Of course, all of these conclusions I have made merely based on one old photo album. Yet, as I sat on the couch, I was intrigued by these people that surrounded me with affection as I grew up. I realized how little I knew about my relatives. The pictures depicted brothers with their darling nephew, who would tragically die at only 30 years old. My dad's cousin was doted upon as the only grandchild for 11 years. One picture of my great uncle showed him in a field with his shirt off, the photograph forever capturing what it was like for him to be young and strong in the army, that classic smile stretched across his face.
My grandma was showing me these pictures after we had spent some time talking about what Ladoga was like when she was young. A time when the small town offered its residents everything they needed. Downtown Ladoga now has a small grocery, a liquor store, a tanning salon, a small cafe, a Library, town hall, and the post office. There is a small furniture store, a hardware store, and an old antique shop. A railroad runs through the town, passed a few abandoned builds and a Pizza King, where the conductor sometimes still stops for Pizza. When my grandparents were young, there was a general store where you could buy whatever you needed, a hat shop, a dress shop, a few barber shops and beauty salons. There were a couple of car dealerships, and four gas stations. Along the railroad was a lumber yard, a coal yard, and an elevator. There was a train depot. My grandma rode the train once from Ladoga to Roachdale. My grandma was afraid she was boring me, but far from it. I was intrigued listening to my grandparents describe a Ladoga that I had never imagined. A small farming community that seemed to be industrious for its size and provided for its community.
Why must things change so drastically? I will never be able to experience a simplistic life like that. Time drags on, taking with it memories and forcing change. Darrel's wife, Alberta is now in a nursing home, suffering from Alzheimer's. My grandpa's other brother, Bob, lost his wife four years ago after she had a stroke. Bobby Sandusky, his son, died in his chair at the age of thirty; something was wrong with his air passage.
I wonder if I would be happier living 50 or 60 years ago. I love my time spent with my grandparents in the country, at the fish fry with their friends and family coming to enjoy fish sandwiches and line dancing at the basketball courts. I enjoy sitting on the front porch, drinking sweet tea, as close as I can be to a simpler life, and a simpler time. Yet I also enjoy the thrill of the city, the hustle and bustle, commotion and action. I appreciate my laptop and cell phone. I am thankful that I have Facebook to keep in touch with friends I wouldn't normally maintain contact with.
I am sad at the prospect of time and the way it moves ever onward, mercilessly and graciously moving mankind onward, leaving in its wake only memories and a few empty buildings crumbling with age. Maybe someday my own grandkids will look at digital pictures, shocked at how I possibly could survive with such limited technology, and how I could have ever thought that the clothes and hairstyles that I wore were cool.
I will just have to be content with old photographs and the stories of my grandparents. After they are gone, who will there be to recount what their lives were like? It saddens me to know that this too shall pass.

Purple woes from the blacklisted blog.

I just spent time and money on trying a radical new look. Well, maybe not too radical. But different. And it failed. I am kind of bummed. Well, not kind of bummed. Very bummed. I cut my hair just so I could dye the tips purple. And all it did was make the ends a very subtle shade darker. Oh well. It wasn't meant to be. But I now have purple thumbs. And spots on my neck that look disgustingly like hickeys. At least the hair cut is cute.
I am home again, enjoying temperatures that stirred a memory of what summer should actually feel like. How wonderful to escape the prolonged spring of Chicago to a place where my car overheats sitting in the drive thru at McDonald's.
The drive to my grandparents house from my parents takes you through nothing but country. I take US 136 out of Crawfordsville. The road goes past a small horse farm and then gently slopes into a woods and over Sugar Creek. The speed limit increases from 45 to 55 as you go down the hill. The road weaves easily through the trees, with curves you are supposed to take at 50. Its much better at at least 6o. Its one of my two favorites stretches of road. The trees trees are thick around it, and the gentle curves are fun to drive. As you approach Nucor Road, the trees fall away to your right, and there is a small field that dips slightly, planted with soybeans, and then corn. This particular field, bordered by the trees and the creek sometimes bears a shroud of mist towards the twilight hours. With the sun setting over the woods, the field glows a beautiful gold, with the tassels of the corn barely shuddering in a breeze. It is beautiful. I never thought there would be a day when I came to find the sunset over the corn fields of Indiana so breathtaking. Yet there have been many of those days this summer. Another favorite stretch of road is on Ladoga Road. There is a point where the road is straight, and very slightly hilly. It ends in a sharp curve over a creek and past another horse farm. Driving this stretch of road earlier today, between corn and bean fields, I love to put my arm out the window and just enjoy the speed, the sunset, the music playing, and the scenery.
I realized after my last blog that I am boring. If all I have to write about is my day at work, then I should probably not waste the time of the very few people who might be reading my blog. I have found that I am so frustrated about having my writing confronted. I now know specifically who my audience is, which is a little weird. I feel like now if I am too honest about what I am dealing with in my life that people will take offense. Its discouraging how much people hate and fear the truth sometimes. I am realizing more and more how offensive the truth can be.
Pardon me, but I am going to be a bit frank now. Speaking of offensive truth lets talk about A---. That is a truth that no one wants to hear. And those who have heard it are skeptical. Which leaves me with a mutilated reputation and a burden that I will have to bear until he admits what he has done. The whole situation has incurred such a swirl of emotions ranging all across the board. I have never had such unresolved tension. It has hardened my heart and is stirring a hatred within me that is hard to suppress. I dream about it often now. "A waking nightmare that is only worse when I am sleeping." I know though, that God is a just God, and that He will deal with the situation in His time and way. I know that He knows the truth and that His opinion of me is the only one that matters. I just really struggle with thinking that people that I look up to and admire may think of me as a liar, as someone who has serious issues. Only someone with serious issues would make the accusations that I have made with no foundation of truth. Alas, that is what I have been dealing with. My teenage angst has not passed since June, but merely been suppressed by unappreciative readers. How vague and moody I am feeling tonight. I assure you, there is always more to come.

Tick, tock

I have to leave for work in two and a half hours. I have to have my room spotless before then. I have to have all my belongings packed, once again, to move down three floors. So, here I sit. I spend eight hours a day doing mindless, dirty, sometimes disgusting work. In those eight hours, my mind wanders. I day dream, I plot, I plan, and sometimes I pray. Today I spent way too much time plotting... It seems that there is a division among Brian Taylor's physical plant day crew. It is usually the Stalker sisters versus myself, Josiah, Nate, and sometimes Liz. We hide in closets, wardrobes, and under beds to startle them. We sit and talk while they bustle around efficiently, singing songs from musicals and Disney movies.
Yesterday we decided to take our pranks to the next level. Mental warfare. I worked alone with the Stalker sisters today. For a long while they worked quietly while I listened to my offensive music. They were in the kitchen, I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the bathtub in the bathroom. I was trying to think of a conversation to engage them in, but decided to let them do the talking. I turned off my music, reluctantly, to better eavesdrop. They turned on Disney songs. I instantly regretted my own silence. Yet, I patiently listened. And the conversations started. Significant portions of their conversation is now saved in a text message on my phone, which I sent to Josiah. Now, we wait. And the next time we are all together, they will hear the very conversation they themselves have had. Down to the word. "Josiah has a pet crab named Tom Hamilton, also? Bizarre!" This is what I do with my day. I get paid nearly 10 dollars an hour to connive and clean. Its not such a bad deal, until I am pushing a gigantic cleaning cart down Wells, sweating and swearing as a bar of soap falls off every few feet, looking like a fool...
I think of other things other new ways to prank my coworkers... I think of meaningful things. I think of a lanky blond playing the piano with such passion that I get a little weak in the knees... Haha.
Seriously though. I realized today that 20 years is a long time. Much has happened in the twenty years since I first graced this world with my presence. I am sitting with a miniature laptop in my lap, a touchscreen cell phone at my side, and looking out onto a street occupied by Hummers and smart cars. I have known of three presidents, including the first African American one. I survived Y2K. I watched the World Trade Center topple as well as a statue of Saddam Hussein. But what is 20 years? I am only 20 years old. Too young for marriage, for my own house, for a rental car, and for drinking. Yet in another 80 years I'll be dead. 20 years of my life has passed and what do I have to show for it? Not much. I haven't been further west than St. Louis. I haven't left these blessed American shores. I don't know what the hell life is. I feel like for having lived 20 years, I haven't lived much at all.
Thank You, God, for eternity.

Here I am.

There is a square door in my ceiling that I have never noticed before. I wonder where it goes to. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't flopped down on my bed in despair, listening to Andrew McMahon and imagining how wonderful he looks as he is playing the piano. I don't imagine that I will ever accomplish anything again until I finish the Order of the Phoenix, or chuck it out my window. In the meantime, I am picking up some fun British lingo.
My room smells like fish. There is rootbeer spilled on my mattress. Two cans of Sprite, two cans of Mountain Dew, one Portillo's cup, and three cups from the Commons on my desk. A McDonald's sweet tea at the foot of the bed. Yes, I do need to clean. And I have to be at work in eight hours. I should also sleep.
I have seriously contemplated giving up school and spending the rest of my life in a saddle. It would need to be seventy degrees and sunny at all times. Perhaps I am thinking of heaven.
If I were Donnie Darko, I would never have said the words "I love you, but I just don't like you." Things would have ended up so differently. I would have also decked Adam in the face and asked him what the hell he was doing. Maybe then I could wake up from this nightmare. Also, if I was Donnie Darko, I think I would never stop looking in the mirror.
Last pickup line I heard was, "Oh, you're a childrens ministry major? Well, I'm like a child. A mature child."
I feel hopeless when it comes to dealing with guys. Even as I think, "Sanyelle, this is a pretty awful idea..." my mouth opens and words come spilling out. I shock myself sometimes. And then spend hours kicking myself.
I would never date a vampire. Love never comes without risk, but I do draw the line somewhere.
I still wear the diamond promise ring Arni gave me. On my right hand. Its too pretty to sit in my puzzle box.
Free will is an immensely intriguing subject to talk about, but the thought of eternity makes my stomach ache. I would rather ponder the complexities of time within the context of how every decision and event effects my life and choices rather than try to wrap my mind around the concept of living forever. Ironically, I never want to die.
Yet I think of death a lot. "Do you feel when your last breath is gone?" "Love is watching someone die." "Every living creature dies alone."
Konstantine is one of my favorite songs. He never sings it the same. I don't blame people for begging McMahon to sing it at his Jack's Mannequin concerts. I may include the lyrics at the end of this post. I don't expect you to feel the same way about the song.
MGMT gives me nightmares if I fall asleep listening to it. Can you blame me? Last time I was listening to it, I woke up kicking the crap out of my cat thinking it was Frank the rabbit. I know- yikes. Speaking of MGMT and rabbits- Alice in Wonderland is coming out in March. Who could be a better Mad Hatter than Johnny Depp. No one, I am convinced.
Sometimes I wonder if I am better off alone. Marriage is the Moody theme, but I would think if they were such strong advocates of marriage, they would provide a better batch of prospects. Ouch. I just don't want to be a better pastor's wife. Sorry, boys. Where are all the tall skinny guys with dark hair and dark eyes, covered in tattoos and playing the piano? (Preferably more than just hymns...) Yeah. My prince will come. Who hasn't heard that one once a week? Of late, I have been boy crazy. Perhaps just crazy. I do spend a lot of time in cramped bathrooms with enough chemicals to make a decent meth lab. Okay. Enough procrastinating. I'll spend another 20 minutes copying the Konstantine lyrics, and then using poor judgment, will probably go to sleep rather than working on cleaning my room for room inspection.

I can't imagine all the people that you know
And the places that you go
When the lights are turned down low
And I don't understand
All the things you've seen
But I'm slipping in between
You and your big... dreams
It's always you in my big dreams
And you tell me
That it's over
Wake up lying in a patch of four leaf clover
And you're restless
And I'm naked
You've got to get out
You can't stand to see me shaking
No, could you let me go
I didn't think so
And you don't want to be here in the future
So you say
The present's just a pleasant
Interruption to the past
And you don't want to look much closer
'Cause you're afraid to find out all this hope
You had sent into the sky by now had... crashed
And it did because of me
And then you bring me home
Afraid to find out that you're alone, no
And I'm sleeping in your living room
But we don't have much room
To live
I had these dreams, in them I learned to play guitar
Maybe cross the country
Become a rock star
And there was hope in me
That I could take you there
But damn it you're so young
But I don't think I care
And if I hurt you thenIi'm sorry
please don't think that this was easy
And then you bring me home
'Cause we both know what it's like to be alone, no
And I'm dreaming in your living room
But we don't have much room
To live
And Konstantine is walking down the stairs
Doesn't she look good
Standing in her underwear?
And I was thinking, what I was thinking
But we've been drinking
And it doesn't get me anywhere
My Konstantine came walking down the stairs
And all that I could do
Was touch her long blond hair
And I've been thinking
It hurts me thinking
That these nights when we were drinking
No they never got us anywhere, no
This is because I can spell konfusion with a K
And I can like it
It's to dying in another's arms
And why I had to try it
It's to jimmy eat world
And those nights in my car
When the first star you see
May not be a star
I'm not your star
Isn't that what you said?
What you thought this song meant
And if this is what it takes
Just to lie with my mistakes
And live with what I did to you
All the hell I put you through
I always catch the clock it's 11:11
And now you want to talk
It's not hard to dream
You'll always be my Konstantine
My Konstantine
They'll never hurt you like I do
No, They'll never hurt you like I do
No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No
This is to a girl who got into my head
With all the pretty things she did
Hey, you know, you keep me up in bed
This is to a girl who got into my head
With all these fucked up things I did
Hey maybe baby, you could keep me up in bed
My Konstantine
Spin around me like a dream
We played out on this movie screen
And I said,
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
I miss you
And then you bring me home
And we'll go to sleep but this time not alone, no No,
And then you'll kiss me in your living room, oh
I know you miss me in your living room
Cause these nights I think maybe that I miss you in my living room
We don't have much room
I said, does anybody need that room?
Because we all need a little more room
To live

...My Konstantine.