Cheer Up Sleepy Jean

I had a dream last night that I walked into my architecture studio, and the whole building was under construction. Which is true enough to life, on a small scale, but in my dream everybody was working away quite happily, only without a roof on the building. Sitting at their computers under the open sky. And I realized this meant it was a dream. But I was amazed to see that even in my dream, I was visualizing the office perfectly, except for the missing roof, and everyone was in their proper place, as in real life. And then I woke up. And then I woke up again.

*blink blink*

At least at this point, I realized I'd been having a dream within a dream. So, to clarify, in my dream last night, I dreamt that my dream's dream was portraying life exactly as it was in my real dream, which I'd mistaken for reality. How convoluted. It's why I love dreams, except they usually mean I haven't slept well.

Which might explain today being a near-total write off.

Me to the 25th Degree

I shan't tag anyone, for that scares me. But I'm sending out brainwaves to the people who tagged me in their notes, and hopefully they get the message.

Ahem.


I like bandwagons. Though I usually avoid jumping on them. Except this one.

I used to think I was witty. I have since realized this is not the case. Sarcasm is not wit. Now I'm aware my mind actually processes life at a slightly slower speed than I'd like. I blame it on the concussions.

On a similar note, I like to think of myself as creative. But I can't be spontaneously creative. Ask me to say something random and I'll freeze up entirely.

I have a fascination with all linguistics. The language sections of libraries and bookshops can entertain me for hours. I think this is related to me thinking I'm more intelligent than I actually am, and thus I think I can learn all these languages. Or maybe the idea just intrigues me.

I hate the word actually and would like to abolish it from the English language. This doesn't stop me from using it, but I hate myself every time I do.

I'm pretty good at mental math.

I grew up on a chicken farm. Which was exactly as cool as it sounds, provided it sounds really cool. 'Cause it was cool. Seriously. Thousands of little yellow chicks are just too damn cute. And then, after they were fully grown and the majority collected, we got to catch the stragglers and take them out to our grandparent's land where they lived in a chicken coop. Until a snake ate them. Or maybe it was a fox. Or coyotes. There was definitely a snake there once...

The scariest stories I had as a child involved snakes, and may or may not have been made up. My sister and I were once chased by a water mocassin from the middle of a lake back to the pier, where we were hoisted out of the water by my dad. I also jumped over lots of snakes, happily never on them. Although my sister has done that. But it was last year, so doesn't count as a childhood story.

I detest shoes. Such that the moment I get to work, I kick off my trainers in the coat room and walk around during the day in only socks. Because of this, I go through socks at a prodigious rate. But I don't have to buy many pairs of shoes.

One day, I will write the great American novel.

I blame my parents that I'm not an elite athlete. I blame them, because they put me into school a year early. So rather than being the oldest kid in the class, and thus the biggest kid, I was always the baby. Though this might not have helped anyway, as I didn't grow until junior year in high school, when I grew 12 inches. No joke.

I can almost count to ten in eight languages. This is not impressive.

Ever since architecture school, I feel like I sleep too much. This isn't necessarily bad, as I'm a fan of sleep, I just feel as though I'm wasting time.

Discovering new music, or being introduced to it, is one of my favourite things in life. Send me a song that I like and I will love you forever. And yes, I am that easy.

I hesitate to call myself a nerd, but I am definitely a dork.

Recently, I learned to swing dance. Because I'd always thought I should at some point in my life learn to dance, and the movie Swing Kids is awesome.

I'm planning to run the London Marathon this year. I look on this as no big deal, it's only 26.2 miles, but some people have told me it's difficult. Guess we'll see...

I never knew what 'facetious' meant. 'Til I looked it up.

I'm not an excessively negative person, but certain subjects really get to me. These include, but are not limited to: basketball, lawyers, shoes(see above), and Phillip Pullman novels.

I used to like writing about myself. I still do.

I taught swim lessons in the summers back in high school. As a result, I can't now see people swim without critiquing their strokes.

All of my jobs have been awesome. I have referreed soccer games, taught swim lessons, made snow cones, bell-hopped both in Nacogdoches and San Diego, worked/played in an architecture library, and now pretend to be an architect. For this I feel very fortunate and lucky. Or maybe I really am that good.

I can write in Arabic script. I once thought this would be a springboard to learning the language, but have now settled for it just being cool. Plus, I can write in code to myself. Not that people can read my handwriting anyway. I tend to not write the ends of words. Or say them. But my signature at least is pretty damn cool.

My favourite author might be Bill Watterson.

I don't like cursing, unless for the comedic value. So I make up my own curse words instead. Like 'Holy flip flop!' 'Son of a marzipan!' and 'Mother of pearl!' Then I say them in a really mean way.

This is number 25. Trust me.



Please don't take the words above at face value, for though they're all true, you might think I'm an idiot.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet?

I like walking through history. Or running though it. And especially literary history. Last week had me in Risinghurst, just north of Oxford, walking through the woods as a heavy snow fell all around us. But it wasn't Robert Frost's world, it was C.S. Lewis'. His house lay at the bottom of the hill, and as we walked up it were the pools leading to the other worlds of The Magician's Nephew. Then this morning I went for a twelve mile run through Buckland, Tolkien fans anyone?, past Stanway Manor, where J.M. Barrie resided after creating Peter Pan. And to add to its allure, the site of an adaptation of a Jane Austen work. Truth though, the whole run might as well have been through a Jane Austen novel. From Childswickham, near Aston Somerville, past Buckland, Laverton, Stanton and Stanway, turning back just shy of Snowshill Manor, and returning through Broadway. Not a sign though of Mr. Darcy. Though he no doubt would have snobbed me. Unconnected as I am. Back again now in Oxford, where the city itself breathes history.

A pint at the Eagle and Child anyone?

Monarchs and Milkweed

There are thousands of paths my life has taken. Primarily in the moments when yes or no, left or right, up or down, became crucial. And I feel those keenly. When life diverged, but so clearly that I saw the other potential path receding into the distance, even as I walked along my chosen one. And the flippancy of our lives life really hits hard when you look back on those moments, and retrace the life you didn’t lead. The moments that would have led me anywhere but here. There are fragments of life that changed due to other people’s actions, and those that changed for my own decisions. Slivers where family choices put me in a certain place that became the familiar one. Where age and the circumstance of birth spun mine and others reactions. Mirrors where university led me down a different path. Where the people I met came from entirely different backgrounds to the ones I know now. Windows where I said yes to another job, where I forsook jobs, where responsibility weighed less heavily. There are shards where the band didn’t break up. Where I wrote a successful novel, graphic novel, song, screenplay. Splinters where I married the girl, where I never met the girl, where the girl said yes and we both risked what we didn’t even know.

I like to think though, that somewhere these paths converge. That some things about me, about who I really am, have happened regardless of circumstance. Maybe that’s what destiny really is. The moments that appear in every shard, and shape what happens after. It’s a pretty thought anyway, to think that certain things will happen, regardless of which path we choose.

A butterfly can flap its wings in the Himalayas, but it will still always be sunny in Texas.