Walking in Beauty

Yesterday's word was destitute...  Here's the problem with that. Someone guessed it... well, maybe 2 someones... but the first guesser came up as anonymous.... so, I have no clue and no means of verifying who you are. So if you want to remain anonymous I think you should e-mail me and let me know who you are... if not-- comment and tell me! This is especially confusing because the people who most often guess did guess- under their own names.... *confused*

Also I'm pondering a retro-active rule change... in that if someone guesses they get 1 point... and if they get it right they get 2 points and if they are the first to get it right they get 3... what do you guys think? I'll be blown out of the point-water pretty fast with this method, but it will be less discouraging for those who guess and guess and keep getting it wrong. *coughRhondacough*

Anyway, moving on.

I took a nap this evening, and I dreamt of several things... One of them strangely enough was my favorite poem. Then I searched my blog and realized I've blogged about a lot of poems, but never my favorite one.

My favorite poem is She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron.

It has been since my senior year in high school, when we had to memorize and recite a poem for College Prep English. I choose this one, because I read it once and immediately fell in love with it. I still know it by heart.

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

 
Like all of my favorite things, I want this poem to be about me... I may live my life so as to try and be as much like this poem as I possibly can. One interesting aspect, which might not be true but makes me like the poem all the more, is that it's said Byron wrote it about a cousin who was in mourning.

I've been in mourning before! See, this poem is totally about me. *nods decisively*

I can't decide if it's nature or nuture that makes girls/women want to be thought beautiful, but it seems to come from somewhere deep deep inside. And I think it's rather interesting that yes, I want to *be* beautiful, but the thing that is more important to me is that I'm *thought to be* beautiful. I've mentioned several times that Nathan telling me I'm beautiful is one of the things I miss the most... and it's also one of the things that has most strongly affected my life/self-esteem.

Men/ boys don't seem to have this same desire/need/longing. Yes, they want to be thought attractive... but they also seem to be a lot more confident that they just are attractive... or that it doesn't matter. Or am I wrong? Do men want to be handsome just as much as women?

See, even writing that, the thought seems ridiculous.

How silly is it that I want to be thought highly of in a context that I have so little control over? I mean I can control how much makeup I wear, but studies show that men actually normally prefer women with less makeup/makeup that looks natural. I can control the color and style of my hair (and boy, howdy, do I!) I can control what I wear and choose the best styles for my body type, and I can control my weight, to some extent. But I've been thinking lately that people don't normally look at your body that closely I mean, I think of all the people I see in a day and I look at their faces and generally have an idea of their body, but I don't pay that much attention.... though that might just be because I'm a girl? Not sure on that one.

Anyway, (barring expensive and painful surgery) I can't control the shape of my face, or it's symmetry, or the color of my eyes, or the height of my cheekbones. I can't control the upturn of my nose or the size of my lips or any of their placement.

And yet it matters to me that other people find them pleasing.  But then I wonder... is it just that? Is that really all I want? To be thought physically attractive?

And it's not... not really. It's *part* of it, but what I want is so hard to pin down and so hard to find/ know. Because what I want is what Lord Byron is saying in that poem. I want a beauty that is internal but somehow expresses itself in my face and body. I want to be such a beautiful person that somehow people can see that just by looking at me.

I want to be so beautiful that men are driven to write poetry about me. I want to be so beautiful that people like me without quite understanding why. I want to be so beautiful that people still like me after they get to know me. I want to be so beautiful that the more a person gets to know me the more they like me and the more beautiful they find me and on and on until the people who know me the best are also the ones who totally adore me and think I am the most beautiful creature to grace the Earth.

Why is it that I'd only ever want to be called a creature when beautiful is before it? I think it's because when you are called a creature it sounds as though you are less than human, but when you are called a beautiful creature it's as though you are transcending humanity. Your beauty takes you to a level higher than human.

Yes, it's all a very attainable and easy goal.

How does one become a mentee of both Audry Hepburn and Mother Theresa?

Mentee? That's a weird word. But it is a word- I just looked it up, to be sure. Apparently we just pulled that word from mentor... but that suggests all sorts of weird words using that same rule. Like the audience is really of bunch of actees... and if you ever hire a contractor you will be a contractee. Melissa sees not patients, but counselees, and people who are fooled by charlatans are impostees.

It's prediculous!

Plus, it looks like manatee... I don't wanna be no stinking manatee!

I'd like to rephrase my previous sentence:

How does one become a mentee protege of both Audry Hepburn and Mother Theresa?

Yeah, I could have just gone back and edited the original sentence, but then you would have missed my little rant and I found it kinda funny, so I thought you might enjoy it.

What's worse?

Yesterday's word was: attache(s)

"Imagination is always so much worse than the truth."

A girl said this today in one of my classes and I found myself filled with rage.

And I'm not normally a rage-filled kind of girl.

In fact, I'm normally a rage-destitute kind of girl.

But it's just such crap.

She was using this quote to argue that something in a story should be more vague than it was (and let me be clear, it was already quite obtuse enough in my humble opinion.) And she was saying that it should be left up to the imagination, because the imagination can create things that are a thousand times worse. I'm pretty sure she even said, "Like when someone dies, you can deal with that- but the not-knowing is a lot harder." Though, to be fair, my blood was already boiling at that point and so I might be mis-quoting her terribly.

Here's the thing. Not-knowing is indeed awful. It really is. I've been there and all I wanted was to know what was happening so I could deal with it.

But imagination is only worse than the truth when... it's worse than the truth. In this case, the situation she was referring to in the story was child (sexual) abuse. Nope. Imagination isn't worse than that.

Imagination also isn't worse than a cancer diagnosis. Or widowhood. Because I *couldn't* imagine in a myriad of ways before it became truth, just what exactly it meant.

Imagination always being worse than the truth is something that people tell each other to make themselves feel better when they are afraid of something. But the worst case scenario does exist and if it actually happens, it will turn out to be so much worse than you thought it would be.

That's why I think choosing not to worry is the best plan.. and yes, that is a choice sometimes.

There are so many more things in this life that are a choice than seem to be at first blush.

On top of all that, I never think making something less relate-able and understandable is a good way to go.

I almost called her out on it. It was close. But I refrained, because sometimes you just get started talking and you say things that you know are stupid and then you have no way to backtrack and recant... And that's what I'm choosing to believe of this girl.

But, you can bet your bottom dollar that I felt righteous when the professor basically offered up the exact opposite advice... which was more in keeping with my own.

A Jackal Story

I was downtown tonight. My friend Kara T. (Not to be confused with Kara G who I've been known to wax eloquent about on occasion.) wanted to go see Hunger Games. I wasn't that thrilled to do so, but I don't mind having at least a passing knowledge of this trend though I don't have any plans to actually read the books. My distaste for distopias is probably fodder for a different blog but suffice it to say, I really don't care for them. So a few hours at a movie is about all I can or want to handle to gain this knowledge.

But the important thing is that we went to the Hollywood Theatre downtown. *sigh* I really like downtown but it sure does bring out the worst in society and tell them to go ahead and just be themselves.

So we left the theater at midnight and our car was in a parking lot across the street.

I was wearing a black skirt and a gray t-shirt-like top. (Though I had a jogging jacket over it) I had on black wedges and my hair was in three buns at the nape of my neck. This was my outfit all day long. (Also I always wear shorts under a skirt unless the skirt is floor length, because it just makes me feel more at ease.)

So as we approached the corner of the street to get to the parking lot where our car was, some dude yelled out his window, "Hey, no prostitution!"

 I wanted to yell back, "Hey, no idiocy!"

I didn't.

What a Jackal. (Jackal is not the animal that starts with "jack" that I want to call him, but I'm a good girl, I am!)

It does make me feel better to think how bad he would feel if he could somehow emotionally connect to the fact that he just called a 28 year old widow a prostitute because she happened to be crossing a street with a skirt and heels on.

I don't have much respect for him, but I have to believe that somewhere under that jerky exterior is a boy who his mother loves... who probably has a sensitive side and loves his dog... or will love his kids... or was bullied in school. He yelled to prove to his girlfriend that he wasn't checking me out, or to show off to his buddies, or because he has the worst sense of humor in the world. He forgot that the person he was yelling at was a human being, because we are all so wrapped up in the drama of our own life we forget that just because we don't know them doesn't mean they aren't flesh and blood... 

But we are. If I could have I would have yelled, "Hey! I was a virgin on my wedding day. I stood by my husband's side through 16 months of cancer. I took care of him through much of it. I live in a world without him there every. single. day. I don't deserve your cruelty." And I kinda hope that someday God lets the jackal know who he was yelling at.

But that's up to God, not me.

And so, after my little venting blog, I'll forgive him. That kind of bitterness will only serve to hurt me... it's possible he has already forgotten.

*sigh* Turning the other cheek is not easy to do.

Rant

So the collision center left a message to let me know that my car is done...  Thanks, dude, I picked it up on Friday. Kinda makes me think I should go out there and try and pick up my car again. Anyone want an extra Pruis?

Anyway, on to the real reason why I blog tonight:

I'm irritated. Irritated with stories that obviously aren't true and are just made up to manipulate emotions. I'm irritated that these stories don't get facts even close to possible. I mean I know that "Christmas Shoes" is just a bunch of schmaltz but I saw a story today posted on facebook that took "Christmas Shoes" and added a little sister who also died, a drunk driving accident, and a newspaper which is apparently allowed to publish facts like that a family has to decide whether or not to take someone off life support. I mean the original story is just this side of likely. But adding all the other things in there to manipulate emotions... it's really wrong. It's like a Jr. High kid trying to manipulate adults. Really transparent and rather offensive... especially because after all the bs of this made up story, this was the final line.

"Now you have 2 choices: (1) Copy & Paste this on your wall (2) Ignore it as if it never touched your heart."

I would like to add a third option. Blog about it as though it totally ticked you off and you can't believe that someone would try and use death as a manipulation device.

It might be that I'm so mad because I try so hard to not use death as a manipulation tool. I go out of my way to avoid bringing it up. I go out of my way to joke about it to make people more comfortable. I go out of my way to be cool when people make off-handed comments that hurt, because they weren't thinking. I try so hard to not freak people out and to be normal-acting, even when on the inside I'm hurting so very badly. Because using grief to manipulate people, cheapens it. It cheapens my relationship, it cheapens my love, it cheapens everything about this terrible experience that I'm trying to survive. I ask for what I need, not what I want. If I asked for what I wanted I'd be using Nathan's death and I'm not ok with that. I'm barely ok with asking for what I need, lest someone think that it's just something that I want.

It's just... not ok.

Why I hate "Inception"

Have I told you about how much I love Tamora Pierce as a writer? Cause it's a lot. I know she's a YA Author.... but seriously her books are just so blamed good. And it's not just because she pretty well only writes about strong female protagonists- Though I like that about her too. Been up reading one of her books and honestly could probably start on another if it weren't already 2:30.

One of the reasons why I really like my new class/ professor is that she went on a mini-rant on the first day of class about how our writing had to have endings and closure. That adults will deal with ambiguity but children will get mad at you or call you lazy... and if anyone has heard my rant about Inception, then you know how much and strongly I identify with that sentiment.

Inception rant summed up: They made an incredible movie. It draws you in and somehow makes sense even with all the insanity inherent in the premise... and then they completely punk out on the ending, leaving it ambiguous. Make a CHOICE! It makes me mad. Yes, I realize I might not be rational on this argument but it feels like everything that wrong with the world. The inability to commit somehow made into a virtue. BAAAAAH! Choose and then deal with the consequences.

Needless to say, you shouldn't take this up with me. Cause contrary to my normal laid-back nature and cool demeanor, this is a topic that I won't cede and I will fight you about. It's best to just let it lie. I know, some people feel this way about politics or civil rights or important things... I feel this way about a movie ending. Just call me Dawson Leery.

God's really good at bringing who you need into your life when you need it.. I should remember that and remember that just because I think I need something doesn't mean that God does. I'm not very patient, though. I don't know that I ever have been. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?) I'm not a settler, either (except of Catan). But if there is anyone in this life who has seen God bring the exact right person at the exact right time, it's me.... How quickly we forget how very much we've been blessed.