The Adventure Cometh

Tomorrow, the adventure begins.

Stay tuned. I'll hopefully have video.

A Stranger Dream

Ever have a dream that is so, so real that you wake up still half believing it?

I had one last night. But it was a nightmare. One that I pray will never come to be; it involved so much pain that I don't know I would survive it if I couldn't wake up.

SO, for those about to leave this Depression Alley, never fear. I want to tell you about a more entertaining dream I had last week -- both so you can enjoy the science fiction nature AND to train my brain toward happier (stranger?) thoughts.

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The house was dark, the only light flickering in from outside the windows. We stayed inside because we thought... or hoped... we were safe.

There were creaks. Huge eyes stared stricken at one another, as we hoped the sounds were out beyond our walls. We whispered conversations, and pretended whispering was normal and that sitting in the dark was normal and that nothing at all was out of the normal.

It started with an orange. It rolled off the counter and hit the floor. As if tied by the same string, our heads whipped around in unison to watch it pick up speed as it rolled down the hallway.

Another orange, and then an apple, rolled off the counter and through the hall, and we knew the house was infected. Jumped off the floor. Someone grabbed a shopping cart and began throwing food into it that we could take with us as we fled.

Electronic humming started low, but grew louder in proportion to our panic. It was as if they knew we were attempting escape, and they'd have nothing of it. Moving grew harder, as the magnetic current, or gravitational pull -- or whatever term they'd used on the newscast -- pulled us strongly toward them. We leaned into our strides toward the door, the biggest one pushing the cart of food. I watched one slide and skid backward -- we couldn't save her, so we tried to move faster so we wouldn't succumb.

The machines. The DVD players, and iPods, and refrigerators, and light switches, and space heaters, and laptops, and irons... they were drawing us in with increasing force. We escaped this home, but would we escape it in the next?

Thanks For Keeping Us Alive

I'm kind of selfish.

I don't want to share things.

I don't like being nice to people who annoy me.

I like sleep more than most things.

I love beautiful shoes and clothes more than sleep, though.

I have a temper.

People who manage to REALLY rile me (like to the point of The Silent Stare Angry) probably should watch their backs.

I don't like volunteering to help out. Unless it's finishing up some ice cream.

Housework is not my thing. Neither is laundry. Or really... anything that has to do with house stuff.

I like to point at people.

I drive too fast (or so I've been told).

Given the chance, I will *always* do something to make one or both of my siblings irritated... because it is the most fun thing to do in the world.

These are all good reasons why I'm not a mother. And while my own mom doesn't hate beautiful clothes and will occasionally bug one of my siblings (who could blame her when it's the most fun thing to do in the world?), she's put similar preferences aside to be a parent. She managed to corral me and keep me from pissing anyone off so badly as a child that someone strangled me. She force-fed me foods that made me grow really tall (wait...), and she convinced me to eat when I just wouldn't eat at all. And when problems came up that she couldn't fix, she gave me a hug and told me she loved me.



Thanks, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.

"No Subject"

Take a look at my shapely leg.



Wait, you didn't notice the lovely curve of my calf, did you? What you were probably noticing was the result of intense determination without a lot of physical coordination.

It's a long story, involving my belief that desire + stubbornness + trying really hard = achieving whatever I want (thanks, after school specials for teaching me that falsehood). The story also involves me dropping a motorcycle on my leg.

I was angry with myself for not succeeding in what I wanted to accomplish the very first time (because I am Christina, the empress of awesome), I was irritated with my leg for its multi-colored status (it made swimsuit tryouts less than appealing), and the only way I reaped anything happy out of the situation was by forcing people to look at my calf when they obviously didn't want to (I even emailed pictures to friends, using deceptive email subject lines like, "no subject").

So tell me, when you hit that moment where you can give up or try again, how do you decide which one you'll do? Or do you just make everyone around you miserable with ugly pictures?