Too Good Not to Share...

Are you troubled by the thought that you might be a writer? If you can answer "true" to more than five of these questions, you could be right.

a) You brought your pen and notebook to bed with you on your wedding night.

b) At least 90% of your friends and relatives are no longer speaking to you.

c) The furious scratching of your pen has gotten you kicked out of a public place.

d) You dream in chapters.

e) You've stared at a blank screen for more than four hours.

f) You have the option of wallpapering at least one room in your house with rejection slips.

g) You've lied about your current occupation on a resume, listing something other than "writer."

h) You get excited by paperclip sales.

i) You secretly stalk editors.

j) You've written on yourself with indelible ink because there was nothing else available.

k) You've rewritten a Shakespearean play because you thought you could make improvements.

l) You have strong masochistic tendencies.

m) Rejection has always been a personal goal.

n) Your dentist has advised you to stop chewing pencil erasers.

o) Your first name is Patience.

p) Your last name is Writer.

q) You've furtively taken drive-by pictures of your favorite author's house (this could also be an indication that you're a stalker - you'll want to watch that).

r) You copyright your grocery lists.

s) You prefer bookstores to chocolate shops.

t) You spend more on postage than you do on rent.

u) You've gotten a traffic ticket for writing while driving.

v) You've never felt the need to mind your own business.

w) The smell of ink makes you swoon.

x) Scrabble is the only game in your closet.

y) Discovering anagrams is the only way you can truly relax.

z) Improving your vocabulary is always on your list of New Years Resolutions.

aa) Someone has said: "Step away from the keyboard" to you while using a bullhorn.

bb) You and your preschooler fight over the magnetic letters on your refrigerator.

cc) Your bathwater has turned your skin blue because your pen ran.

dd) Your journal is attached to your belt loops by a chain and padlock.

ee) You have a picture of a fountain pen tattooed anywhere on your body.

ff) You pour your heart and soul into your writing on a daily basis for no logical reason whatsoever.

Congratulations. You're officially insane. And probably broke.



credit where credit is due.

The Day Well Spent..

There's something to be said for staying in place.

When you're stationary you begin to realize what is important in your life. What really matters. And who matters even more.

Let it be known that I have really amazing friends. I know that everyone has at least one or two people they'd surely take a bullet for, but seriously...I have many that I'd lie down in traffic for...and I used to think that maybe it was my loyalty that brought this school of thought. As if this decision for friendship martyrdom solely relied upon me. While I was never quite sure that my friends wouldn't do the same for me mostly because they had never mentioned it--and I was rather happy with that assumption, to be honest--although, I believe I am the only one who would be morbid enough to protect my friends as if they were a President of the United States of Shea. I know it's weird. I never said that my ramblings made sense....just go along with it. I can honestly say that I have never truly been "in love" but I have experienced the love of friends that is so powerful it could jumpstart a heart--God knows it has done so to my own many times.

Today was a rather impromptu day--but the best days are.

I had planned on being at school in the morning to talk to some Freshmen about The Writing Center--give a brief presentation upon what we do at the Center and encourage the students to come see us. After my second class of this, I went to Loopy with my best friend Jess. We ended up getting lunch and while I knew I should have gone home to do some much needed housework, I chose to go with her to her new apartment and help her paint her bathroom. We talked, laughed, listened to Regina Spektor, and painted her bathroom this icy blue color...or at least that is what we thought was supposed to be the color...it was less icy than we thought. :)
When Jess's husband, Jeremy, came home, we went to Ikea, had dinner, and picked up new bookshelves, a curtain rod, curtains, and a palm tree named "Palmy." I got home about a forty-five minutes ago and I am just basking in the day well spent.

Life is but a series of impromptu moments. How will you answer?

On death and things of that nature...

I should preface this post by revealing a huge nugget of me: I have the ability to be a very selfish person.

And I know what you're going to say---Christine, everyone has that ability. Move on. Next Fucking Case.

But moving on is never that simple.

Allow me to explain.

On Thursday I was playing around on Facebook and I noticed that a friend of mine had mentioned something about someone dying...and at first I thought it was some sort of joke. Surely not all jokes are this macabre, but I was also wasn't paying much attention to Facebook as I had a ton of reading to get through for my Staging Witchcraft Plays class...

Remember this, my friends. Always pay attention.

So after Staging Witchcraft Plays I met up with one of my best friends and we did an hour worth of yoga (first time ever, and I loved it!) and then we went to a zumba class (also first time and loved it!). When class was over I checked my phone to see what time it was and I noticed I had a text message from one of my best friends in Florida (yes, I have many best friends--just go along with me). She just said, "Mike Snellgrove passed away today."

I was a bit more awake when I got the news this second time around and here are the details about his death: He died from some sort of issue with his heart and is survived by his little girl.

Maybe I should give you some background on him...
In junior high and high school I severely disliked Mike Snellgrove. He had this attitude of superiority and he put forth the notion that he was, indeed, God's gift to women. This made me feel incredibly uncomfortable because I always felt that he wanted something if he came to talk to me. So I was sarcastic and made jokes at his expense...especially to his face and he seemed to really enjoy it, which made me even more infuriated. In the social constructs of high school, he really had no business talking to me--he was the popular one, and I, was not. After high school ended I chose who I kept in contact with and whom I didn't. Up until Myspace and Facebook.
A few months ago, Mike asked to be my friend on Facebook and to be honest, I didn't have a problem with his request. I have surely grown as a woman and I'm sure that he has changed as well. I found him to be a really smart, caring individual who had a beautiful little girl--and he was crazy about her. He also coached cheerleading for little girls and joined the military. He just really came into his element and it made me proud for him. I wish I had known this Mike Snellgrove--and perhaps he didn't change all that much...perhaps it is really me who grew up. Of course, none of this matters now.
On Wednesday, Mike had posted a status update on Facebook that described his excitement for his first day on leave and getting to see his little girl. And he died the next day.

My heart and prayers go out to his family, friends, and especially his daughter. That goes without saying. But I'm sad that I didn't know him better--the way that all these other people did...maybe I was just too much of a bitch to care about these people. I was wrong. For years I thought that these people acted like they were better than me...perhaps it was the other way around. I just don't know what to feel--I am sad for those aforementioned people, but I feel like Senator Kennedy's death had more of an impact on me, or even J.D. Salinger's recent passing...and those two men didn't know me at all--and Mike did. What does this say about me as a person? And am I wrong for seemingly making this about me instead of him?

One thing that has been on my mind since Thursday night is the issue of my own mortality. My mother always remarks that when a parent dies, the son or daughter have this self realization that their number is closer to being called. And while Mike is not my parent--he was my age. I am not one to argue with God about His decisions of how much time we all have here on Earth--and I truly believe that it is better to be in Heaven than to be on Earth, I just don't understand how death like this occurs (and yes, I realize that Mike is not the first young person to die). It's just that he had plans. I can speculate about how he would have loved to see his daughter's first date, witness her graduate high school and college and then perhaps walk her down the aisle. They've both been robbed of those memories...At 30, I don't know what I would do if I lost my Dad, and I worry about it quite often. What if he doesn't get to meet the man I decide to spend the rest of my life with? What if he is not around to see my first child? (This is all hypothetical..I am nowhere near marriage, nor motherhood). I can't even begin to imagine what is and what will be going though his little girl's head.

So, Mike. I am sorry we didn't really know each other. And while I may not be able to grieve in the same manner as those who knew you better, I leave you with these words from Walt Whitman: "... there is nothing to be commiserated,
I do not commiserate, I congratulate you."

Requiescat in pace, Michael.