Anne of Green Gables

Okay, so I NEVER ever check my blog, and I really should. My friends all have darling, hilarious, introspective blogs . . . so I figure I should at least put in the effort and write every once in a while. Just so instead of being a random, once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing, it can be a more dependable way to check up on my life. (Boring part over.)

I've been reading Anne of Green Gables for the last few months, but the story started mirroring my life so perfectly (in an Edwardian kind of way, of course) that it creeped me out when she finally got engaged, because I've been a tad misogamic lately. I do not want to get married.

For those of you who know me, this is kind of hilarious, I know. I've been learning how to cook and clean, how to raise children, daydreaming about my future husband more than just about anyone of my acquaintance. Marriage has ALWAYS been a focus for me--a major goal. And now? I am at the point in my life where I can honestly contemplate making a decision that drastic. And it sounds AWFUL. It's amazing how when you're young you think you know everything, and the older you get, the less you know. I used to know just what I wanted in a husband. I had a whole list planned out, with desirable attributes ranked and matched up to features I had. If marriage were like nutrition, I could very possibly be an an extremely "well-balanced" diet right now. But since foods aren't the sum of their parts (as it says in 'In Defense of Food,' this awesome book I've been reading. I've kind of decided to "go granola" if you know what I mean.) this doesn't work. Eating vitamin A instead of carrots and pure protein instead of whole grains . . . just doesn't do it for you. I can't just get a guy that has all the traits I want--I need a person. A human being. We eat carrots for lots more reasons than vitamin A, and we haven't come close to discovering all of the benefits of this (seemingly) simple food. It's the same way with people. I can't just judge people based on their nutrients. I can never imagine all of the ways that person could affect me!

And yes, I realize it's mildly creepy that I'm comparing my husband criterion to food, but what else can I do? It's been on my mind.

About the whole "going granola" thing . . . I really meant it. I want to eat better. Just . . . fruits and veggies and whole grains and oatmeal and stuff. None of this food that has been so processed as to cease to resemble food. Plus, D&C says it's a good idea. And I love making whole wheat bread. :) w00t.

Okay, other news . . . uh . . . I've been heinously busy this spring semester. 20 hours of school, 25 hours of work a week . . . plans every single weekend, church activities and callings, writing a novel . . . basically dating has not been on the agenda, which is good. UNFORTUNATELY, I also haven't had much time to hang out with girlfriends, which leaves me sort of mopey all the time.

Sheesh. Will I ever get this whole "living" thing right? I always seem to forget something or botch something beyond repair.

At least I finally changed the background of my blog, right?

A Clipped Coiffure

I chopped off my hair a couple weeks ago, Ichabod. I haven't had my hair this short since . . . well, since I had hair at all. And I LOVE it. A lot. So much. I had thought that, because I was chopping it off and donating it, and because my hair had long been a source of vanity for me, and because it fuels my imagination, and we have a deep connection, and it is a link to me and the maudlin little universe I'd created for myself . . . well, in short, I thought I'd actually miss it. Funny, huh? I am still joyfully in the phase of looking at people with long hair and just pitying them--the tangles, the amount of time it takes to fix, the hampering feeling of having long hair with a backpack . . . Yes, it is pretty. Yes, boys--it is fun to run your fingers through. But I have news (mostly for myself)! Having short hair has almost all the perks of long hair, and much much much more convenience.

Fact 1: Long hair is attractive to the male gender. (Boys--do not deny this. I have conducted a large informal poll on the subject, and have come to this conclusion.)
Fact 2: Long hair is pretty.
Fact 3: Long hair is tragically romantic.

These three things were really the only things keeping my hair on my head several weeks ago, when my long hair was driving me absolutely insane and I couldn't seem to get it to do anything I wanted it to do. At the time I cut my hair, my annoyance simply overpowered these three facts. However, now that I have experienced the free and easy joy of having a head half a pound lighter, I can very easily refute these.

Response 1: Boys? You like long hair because it feels nice and smells nice and is feminine. Well? My hair is feminine. I didn't shave my head--it still curls on the edges and frames my face and all that--it's just short. Also, it smells nice because I haven't yet abandoned personal hygiene. And because it's shorter and therefore healthier, it is even softer than it was before. Still great for running fingers through. Onto the next point.
Response 2: As aforementioned, my hair is feminine, and very cute! I can do all kinds of things with it--it's a very versatile style. It's fashionable, and "cute," but it can also be more serious. It is pretty. I like it.
Response 3: Okay, okay, so although my hair will still blow in the breeze, it doesn't have quite the same tragically romantic appeal that my waist-length hair had. You know--picture a balcony by the seaside, in the purple twilight just after sunset, in a long, flowing white gown with long golden hair occasionally catching the barest sparks of light, tumbling over ivory shoulders in the slight breeze off the ocean . . .

BUT,

I can be a pixy now, which I've always wanted. It's a completely different, tinkerbell kind of whimsically romantic. My imagination still runs away with me--my lack of Disney princess tresses hasn't hampered it at all. (And by the way? NO ONE has Disney princess hair. It is not real. I have tried over and over to get the same hairdo as Sleeping Beauty and have sadly come to the realization, time after time, that it is simply not possible because she isn't real, and neither is her hair.)

At any rate, yes. I love my new haircut. It is SO much more convenient. It never bugs me anymore! And takes about five minutes to style every morning. I am in serious danger of never getting the amazing wedding hairdo I'd always imagined, simply because I love my new haircut so much.

Peace out, Ichabod.

Official forsake-ment of teenager-hood

People asked me what retarded things I was planning on doing before I was officially not a teenager anymore. I got some interesting advice (most of which I decided not to take) and it got me thinking. How will I act now that I am no longer of teen-age??

My answer, after much pondering, was that I will act very much the same as I do now.

I guess I've always felt old, in a way. My older siblings are separated from me by drastic age differences. Youngest children of my age and circumstances generally either act much younger than their older siblings, becoming spoiled and distanced from them, or they hurry and grow up as fast as they possibly can, so they can befriend them. I feel like I've chosen the latter. Not that I haven't been terrifically blessed (okay, okay . . . so a little bit spoiled.) but I've always wanted to be closer to my siblings. Some of the hardest times in my life were during that awkward phase where I wasn't cute and little enough to be a novelty, but I also wasn't quite old enough to be a real friend. As soon as I started being included in their "sibling bonding time" I relished every moment of it. Even this year.

Each Christmas, when we all get together at someone's house and wedge ourselves in (this year it was five siblings, three in-laws, two parents, and twelve young children in a fairly small Las Vegas home) the siblings all get together for a dinner. We hire babysitters (well, now we do. I used to do it.) and go out to eat and just talk. Talk the way grown-ups talk. The moment I was invited on one of these excursions was a truly delightful one. I don't think it happened until I was sixteen or seventeen, and it became one of my most treasured memories.

So, yes, I suppose I've grown up quickly. Onto the next topic. How am I NOT grown-up?

Well, for one thing, I've only got twenty years of life experience, and not twenty-five or thirty or sixty or ninety like other people do. Naturally, this is going to make my choices in certain situations less . . . intelligent. But somehow, I think I'll get by just fine.

Maturity? That's not really it, either. Aside from my nieces and nephews (who still insist that I look like I'm eighteen or less) most people seem to think I'm older than I am. This could be my grammar and vocabulary, my useless stores of information, my general confidence . . . but most likely it's just that they've never seen me when I'm hyper and acting retarded.

I want to grow up, because I want the life experiences associated with being grown-up. Especially a family, if I ever get one. If not (and now that I am officially at an age where instead of saying "you have plenty of time!!!" my dad is now saying, "well, you need to find the guy first . . .") I will very likely continue to be the crazy maiden aunt for the rest of my life. I'll take turns living with each of my siblings and their kids (and then their kids) and I'll write ridiculous romance novels that will describe lives very unlike my own and foster a love for opera in each of them.

But I would prefer not to.

However, as my dad used to say . . . I have plenty of time. And I still have no idea what the Lord has in store for me and my life. I used to be so sure of everything! So sure that I wanted to . . . to go on a mission, to study in India, to be an opera singer . . . and suddenly it feels like I'm doubting every single thing I've ever wanted (except to be a novelist--that's never going to change). Basically . . . I'm not sure of anything anymore. Except the Lord--that he lives, and loves me.

I'll get through life just fine. It's been a breeze so far. And now I think I'll finish contemplating and go finish off some homework before I leave for class.

All my love,

Mary-Celeste

CRAZY!!

Guess who is registered for sixteen credits! Guess who has SIX classes every monday and Wednesday! Oh, yeah. That'd be me. Crazy, isn't it? And yet, all of them look awesome, and I love my job, and life is just going great. I just need to keep walking this tightrope of hard work for another while, and try to keep from plunging into a bottomless, education-less pit.

SAY A LITTLE PRAYER FOR ME!

More later, Ichabod. (That'll be my blog name. Like Chuck, for any who know who that is, you will now be Ichabod. So Christened, let it be.)

Amen, Brotha.

-MC