You Have Been Warned

As Alfred Hitchcock would say, good evening.

Odds are, this will be my dullest post yet, so if you find yourself seeking blog post gold here, I suggest instead seeking out the likes of the bloggers on my blogroll.

You have been fairly warned, this is going to be a dull post.

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So, tonight I was torn between trying to read Ted Bundy’s face in an old interview, or doing homework.

Something you should know about me – I love trying to read and intuitively profile psychopaths. Something you should also know – I like turning in completed homework. I picked Bundy. So I had to hurry to complete my homework and it’s rather messy, but, it is complete.

I took notes on his facial expressions, and I may do another post similar to my Harold Camping post, which has become one of my most popular posts of all time. I’ve considered doing a body language analysis post every other week since I profile people in the public eye for fun anyway. Of course, like the Harold Camping post I couldn’t just do intuitive analysis (profiling someone just from a single play of the video and my ‘spidey sense’ about their personality,) like the Camping post I would do a step-by-step, frame-by-frame explanation of what I see and read.

Hm…perhaps this will have to become a regular bit? My blog is not organized in the least, perhaps it is time for some order.

Until I Write Again,

–Hannah-Elizabeth/Classic

Lovely (Encrypted) Letters

Silly me, I thought I was going to be able to sleep without writing a post.

I got a letter today from Heather Madame:

It takes about a month for any letters from my pen-pal in Spain to arrive, so it’s always a fantastic day when an unexpected letter arrives, especially from Madame. So I grabbed a sheet of my favorite paper, sat down in front of Royal (my typewriter that currently sits on the floor by my desk) and started tapping away. I text-message Heather every day, so there was nothing really new to say, except for the obvious, but that never matters. I also added in a favorite little game of sorts to the message. I read once about secret lovers in the 1940’s who would hide messages to each other in their letters by putting a tiny dot below certain letters, so when the intended recipient got the letter, they would write down all of the characters with a dot below them, in order, and reveal the actual message. I had nothing to hide, so I just came up with something we always ask each other in our notes, anyway, and scribbled random french words here and there while I was at it (learning french is on our 20 before 20), ‘le lard!’ means ‘bacon!’:

In case you’re a new reader, you may not know that my “ongoing war with my thyroid” is referring to my hypothyroidism. Oh! Also, here the code I mentioned. We created a nomenclator using some greek characters and the original nomenclator used between Gilbert Gifford and Mary Queen of Scotts while Mary was imprisoned by Elizabeth (if you don’t know the down-low between those folks, grab a copy of The Code Book by Simon Singh, I’ve read that book a half a dozen times and I still love it):

Heather’s letter was exactly what I needed today. As soon as I saw her name on the corner of the envelope I went skipping up the stairs. I only read and write letters while sitting at my desk. You would understand if you saw my desk. I bought it from one of my favorite antique stores, it was simply made for reading and writing letters… as for the skipping, I found this to also be essential to the perfect letter-reading experience.

Alright, it looks like writing every single night is going to become routine, no matter how much I tried to avoid becoming a daily writer. You shall never wonder what I’m up to, because I’ll always return here, and I will be unable to stop myself from telling you all every little thing about what I think.

So, same time same place tomorrow, then?

Until I Write Again,

–Classic/Hannah-Elizabeth

Suppose I’m Crazy…

Like a light switch.

That seems to describe my decisions as of late. I was awake late last night, thinking. Just thinking. Changing my mind about one little decision, and then another. Asking myself questions that I thought I had answers to. Eventually I just started pacing, my mind spinning like it did when I was so infatuated with Josh. But over so many little things.

Until the first of June I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep a secret from all of you. Part of the reason I couldn’t sleep was because I knew I wasn’t going to write about it here, I couldn’t. I can’t. Because this decision will entirely alter where my life goes from here, and I haven’t even told Heather my real reasons for doing what I’m going to try to do. Because it’s complete and utter insanity.

I’m not going to go jumping off of a bridge or join a cult, I can assure you that those would make for far more interesting posts than the one that will be posted June 1st, but it’s still something I can’t get off of my mind, and you can’t blame a teakettle for whistling a bit under pressure. I’ve flung various rants throughout little notes in my books and blogs, because the fact is that last night I discovered there is no way I can stop writing how I truly feel. It is part of my very being. I need to tell the world what I think, know and learn. I suppose we all know what this means:

1. I can never join fight club.

2. I can never be trusted with matters of national security.

I react too strongly to people, to their presence in my life. Everything they do and say I take into account, I think on it, a lot. I tell people who I care about that I care about them, it feels unnatural not to.

But I react much too strongly. Like the presence of the earth in the cosmos, the fabric of space and time being steady and flat, until the existence of the planet causes the fabric to bend in compliance, forming a valley around which the moon dances. That is the effect that every person in my life has. A massive impact that changes my life in an instant.

I suppose this is just me trying to explain to myself why I’m doing what I’m doing.

_______________________

I think about how emotionally open and vulnerable this blog has made me. I’ve decided that I’m ‘over’ Josh, it hurts to think about him, but I have decided this, he is my past. And no matter what it takes, I am leaving Texas. My future isn’t here. My life will not be here. And for the rest of my time here I won’t be pursuing a relationship with anybody. I’m tired of being an adoring puppy, clinging to every word they speak, aware of their every move, losing sleep over them. There is someone worth it, but (and say what you may about this) I refuse to find him here.

I know that this post is senseless and I must seem at least a smudge crazy or unstable. I feel crazy and unstable at the moment. An increasingly familiar feeling of just wanting to run away from it all has returned stronger than ever.

This is just the way things are, and I know that it’s going to pass. I know that it’s all going to work out. My mind is simply spinning nonstop, as it does in times of stress, and eventually I’ll reach the light at the end of the tunnel.

I don’t know if any of this made any sense, I suppose I didn’t try very hard, but I needed to say all of this. I’m feeling so overwhelmed, I just want to walk outside right this second and go for a walk in the wonderfully cold air to the little playground down the street, and sit on the swings while staring up at the stars. That is truly what I want to do.

I try to avoid posts like this. I do write impulsively, and I do write when I’m in an emotional frenzy, but I’ve never written in this sort of state of mind before. And I have no doubt that tomorrow I’ll want to delete this. But I won’t, because it would be the same as lying.

I suppose, in a nutshell, the entire point of this post was to say that for the first time in a while I am really not alright. I’m young and I’ll ‘get over it’, but it doesn’t make my present feelings less real. I don’t like the word ‘feelings’, at least not when I use it, because it seems so immature and petty and it seems to threaten to take away any weight that my words hold.

I’m going to try to get some rest.

Until I Write Again,

–Hannah-Elizabeth/Classic

The Versatile Blogger Award!

Rewind to September 2011, twice in one week I was given The Versatile Blogger Award! I promised to continue the giving of said award, and then promptly forgot about it… Well, nearly six months late, here I go! According to the rules of Madame Adeeyoyo and Madame Kathryn, I must:

1. Tell you all five things about myself and

2. Hand the award off to five other bloggers!

Those of you who are getting the award will not be shocked in the least, speaking as I tend to constantly remind my favorite bloggers that they are, indeed, my favorite bloggers.

Behold, five things about myself:

1. I hate happy piano music.

2. I enjoy knitting.

3. I may pretend to be reading the Economics section of The Star Telegram, but I’m really reading the comics…

4. I buy a lot of random antiques. for example, I have a war department pamphlet entitled ‘Going Back To Civilian Life’ from 1946, a book with the title ‘Controlling Human Behavior’ (it makes me feel diabolical…but really it’s just a dull behaviorist handbook.) A black blazer with a tag sewn on the inside from ‘A. Nash Tailors’ dated 3/18/1940, and a Japanese microscope with scary-looking tools that came with it.

5. I have an odd obsession with voices. I like listening to people talk just so I can try to identify specific vocal inflections that only they do, and when I start to recognize phrases and tones they use often, I feel rather proud of myself.

And the award goes to…

1. Mandii Madame from Fossi Una Farfalla!

Mandii is one of my greatest friends, not only on WordPress, but in the world. I have no idea where Madame finds so many inspiring quotes, or how she comes up with her amazing short stories, but she should be positively showered with awards by now. Mandii Madame is one of the most encouraging, most positive human beings I’ve ever known.

2. Melanie from The Past to the Present!

Melanie’s blog has always been wonderfully entertaining. There are always impressive photographs, amusing lists, bits of conversation from her daily life and posts regarding life lessons learned on this Madame’s blog, I have yet to find a single post that is anywhere near dull.

3. Jennifer from JenniferKoman!

There are so many things to love about this blog. Starting with the fact that this woman is in law school! She posts beautiful photographs from her everyday life, including shots of her fantastic outfits (this woman has a runway-worthy sense of style,) deliciously healthy foods, and glistening city streets.

4. Caleb from Priority & Default!

Addictive writing style, impressive music remixing skills, and star of the highly amusing Fake Trix Project. Sir Caleb’s blog has been a favorite of mine for some time. He may not post often, but when he does, it is always memorable, thought-provoking and worth a second read (or if you’re me, a third read…or forth read…or fifth read…)

5. Alannah Madame from Alannah Murphy!

There is so much to say about Alannah. Her writing is incredible (anyone who has been keeping up with her blog is already attached to her boy, Julian, the main character of her novel.) Her journey through writing her novel, and her everyday life described in her blog make the reader emotionally involved in the whole bit. I have no doubt she’ll become a bestselling author, because determined, hard-working, sensible, kind-hearted human beings like Alannah Madame cannot go throughout life unknown to the world.

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Alright, then! If you have been given the award you know what this means:

1. You must tell your readers five things about yourself and

2. You must hand off the award to five other bloggers, and comment on their blogs to inform them of their success!

–Hannah-Elizabeth/Classic

Better Than I Know Myself

“It’s quiet.” I whispered. Everyone had wandered into the study hall, leaving me and Kyle alone in the cafe. Show tunes could be heard being sung by Claire (the world’s greatest barista and an old friend of mine.)

He grinned and took a seat nearby, “I know. Theatre people.”

“They’re grand fun, though.”

“They are. So,” Piercing blue eyes looked in my direction, “Why are you here this evening?”

“Anatomy and physiology.” I realized I was resting my head against the wall and sat up properly. “I suppose it’s obvious why you’re here.” I gestured to Kyle’s name tag, he grinned again. Today was the first day that an opportunity arose to have an actual conversation with the fellow. Eighteen or nineteen if I had to guess, and a former boy scout if I had to guess. Blonde hair of a sensible length, broad smile, strong jaw, symmetrical features. Overall nothing notable, except that he was wearing a gray v-neck long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and casual pants (my previously mentioned favorite look on a guy.) Oddly enough, when I noticed this I almost laughed out loud. I was so accustomed to seeing Kyle in his signature white button-up shirts and robot-like stiff movements that seeing him dressed so casually was enough to make me double-take.

We spoke for about half an hour before my mom pulled up in the Fit (on a side note, I drove us to The Center today and I managed to not kill anybody!) As she was walking towards the door he suddenly stood and opened it for her.

I smiled at her, “Hi, mom!”

Kyle looked over at me, then my mom, then back again. I grabbed my things and made my way to the door.

“Nice meeting you, Kyle.”

“You as well.”

We shook hands and as I stepped out he added sincerely, “Have a wonderful evening!”

I glanced back, “You too!”

As I shut the car door I realized this meant I had a new acquaintance, I smiled the rest of the trip home.

The rest of the day has been rather dull, tea and cappucinos with mom, reading an old Star Telegram (I personally prefer The Dallas Morning News,) and catching up on a few favorite blogs that I’ve missed out on as of late. I’m currently plotting how to make my mother play chess with me. I love chess, but mother madame finds it too tedious.

I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if I end up staying in Texas. I’ve started having dreams about the drive out of state, and writing down potential playlists for a long trip whenever there’s a pause in activity. It’s my petty impatience, I just know it. I could never wait for Christmas morning before opening at least one present, and I was always the annoying child who always asked ‘Are we there yet?’ In my defense, those drives to Disneyland felt like they never ended, the drives seemed so long that it feels like a part of me is there still. Clapping and yapping and bouncing around in anticipation.

I suppose, whatever the result, it will be a lovely state of existence when I at least know for certain what the future holds.

I must say, I’m rather disappointed in this post. ’tis a rather dull one.

I know, I know, a writer (even a simple blogger) is supposed to never be disappointed in that they write if it’s from the heart. But folks, let’s face it, this wasn’t exactly prime entertainment. It would be lovely to always say that I’m proud of what I write, but many times it’s an embarrassing, teeth-pulling-esque process and I know that my writing at times is downright crappy. I don’t say this with pride, I just say it so that I know I’ve said it.

The general mood of my posts as of late seem to be inching further downward, as though I’m notably unhappy. Obviously there have been positive posts nestled in between the (for lack of a better word) stale ones, but, skimming through the past couple of months through my posts, I can’t ignore a pattern that seems to be forming.

Now, I have no idea what any of this really means, or what should be done/if anything should be done, but allow me to play this thought out.

Everyday I still decide on something to be happy about, sometimes it’s a person, sometimes it’s something to look forward to that day, and sometimes when I can’t come up with anything, I just settle with ‘Today is going to be a good day.’ This has lightened my overall mood considerably, I’m an entirely different person than I was when I posted my decision to try to be happy. It has changed me completely. But it’s starting to feel as though the steady tension in my life as of late is turning me back into the person I once was. Serious, overly focused, selfish and impulsive. Alannah said something to me in a comment once upon a time, because I had mentioned that I felt guilty for being too sensitive. She told me that she had always seemed to ‘feel too much’ as well, and said something to the tune of ‘When we feel so strongly for so long, selfishness is only natural, because our focus is only on ourselves.’ An invisible tug of war seems to be going on between me and the people I care about. Because a part of me does want to stay because Heather wants me to stay and I could see myself going after Josh again and meeting more new acquaintances and not having to read my mother’s face when I bring up leaving. And then the complete and utter uncertainty regarding whether I’m leaving at all being decided entirely on where I get accepted.

I’m a control-freak when it comes down to it. I love being in control of my environment and knowing that I can create order where disorder so annoyingly sits (often rather crooked or on the wrong shelf, I might add,) I love being in control of my surroundings and my future and my actions and my plans. But I can’t control the approval of Heather Madame and my mother, I can’t control where I’ll get accepted, I can’t control whether it will rain or shine and the bossy little child in me doesn’t like it one bit. All the worrying is doing is about as much as pushing against a steel door. I can wear myself down trying to shove it open, but until it opens or locks on its own, nothing will change.

I’m truly happy when I’m here, telling the truth, at least some of the time. But something that this little website has proven to me, is how blind I can be to things right in front of my face. Right in front of me. I’m sincerely afraid because of this fact. It’s part of why I’m afraid of making somebody miserable. Because I know how foolish I can be, how thoughtless I can be. I know I have a lot of love to give, but I know that, while I’m trying so hard everyday to hold back from doing anything to hurt anybody, the battle is one that will never end. We hurt people. It’s a part of life. And heck, my heart hurts even writing that. It’s my worst nightmare. I am so entirely full of faults that I know it’s inevitable. I don’t know how or when or who, I just know that there will come a day when the thought will run across someone’s mind that they will wish they had never met me.

I know I can never stop making mistakes and I can never stop being blind to obvious things until later introspection, I need to get over any sort of notion that I will somehow condition myself against human nature. The battle will never be won, because everyone is battling something, and suppose that fight dies out, another is waiting at the threshold of the morning to take its place.

…Well, alright then.

Until I Write Again,

–Classic/Hannah-Elizabeth

A Post With No Point

No. No writing tonight.

But I feel like writing a post…

Nooo! You’ve been smothering your poor readers lately! Do you not remember posting twice in one day this week?

Yes, I remember that… They didn’t seem to mind, though.

Exactly, so don’t push your luck. You’re almost at 100 subscribers!

But The Idiot and The Good Greatsby post everyday, and they have a ton of subscribers…

Ah, Hannah-Elizabeth. So naive. So thoughtless. It would be cute, if you weren’t talking to yourself. Those folks are so sensationally popular because The Good Greatsby is a comic genius with striking good looks, and The Idiot is a loveable Texan with a knack for absurdist fiction. You, on the other hand, are just a teenager who whines at the internet.

Hey! I’m…ah, a Texan.

You see?

I don’t think I like you.

Makes two of us.

That doesn’t…oh, never mind.

_________________________

–Classic/Hannah-Elizabeth

The First Chapter

Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom.

–Thomas Jefferson

I have a problem. With books. Good books. Whenever I read a good book it takes me forever and a day to get through the first chapter. Because I read and re-read the introduction and the first sentence. It’s exciting for me to discover that I’m reading a good book, and I mean, absurdly exciting. Some of my favorite books of this sort are The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, What They Know About You by Bernard Asbell, The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, The Lucifer Effect by Philip Zimbardo, Emotions Revealed by Paul Ekman, The Hidden Reality by Brian Greene, Anatomy of an Epidemic by Robert Whitaker, The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin by Benjamin Franklin, and The Midnight Disease by Alice W. Flaherty.

I really wish I could skip ahead past the next six months. I am a horribly, horribly impatient human being and it feels as though every hour is drenched in uncertainty, expectation and tension. Even if it sits in the back of my mind, just behind the shadows of unconscious thought, it waits until there is a moment of stillness before emerging and inquiring why I’m sitting still. I must keep moving, pacing, thinking, worrying. Because surely pounding one’s fist on a button for an elevator makes it arrive faster.

My thoughts are split in two. One half consists of taking mental notes and reminding myself how fleeting time is, and to cherish the moments I have with the people I care about. And then there’s the other half…and this half isn’t nearly as appreciative of the beauty of the everyday.

Restless, restless, restless. It never ends! I know for a fact that I have it in me to handle the things that I need to handle, that even if I fail at times in the near future, it will not be the end of the world and there will be nothing left to do but try again. And I will try again. But there also remains the idea that simple will is not enough, and suppose I’m lacking in the qualities that actually matter.

Eight minutes ’till midnight, I should try yet again to get some rest.

Goodnight,

–Classic/Hannah-Elizabeth

Energy Redistribution

My voice sounds absurd when I’m yelling.

Today was the first time in a while that I had a screaming match with my mother. The good news: these days my temper is nearly nonexistent, so 90% of the time I keep my voice level. The bad news: the 10% of an argument that I just completely lose it, I am the least logical, least agreeable human being on the face of the planet. I just yell for yelling’s sake, because I’m tired of trying to talk someone else down.

I’m not proud of how stubborn I am. Once I have made a decision, heaven help anyone who tries to change my mind. This blog has done wonderful things for me, because many comments have thrown me curveballs and forced me to think about myself in new ways. The very blatant fellow from Kluck It, for example, has always been extremely honest with me on my blog, to the point of actually annoying me on several occasions. But comments such as his that first make me ball my fist, force me to ask myself “What if he’s entirely right?” and every single time I discover, other people see things that I entirely miss. Trouble is, when I’m in the middle of an actual argument, I don’t have several minutes to contemplate every response. I just have a little voice in the back of my mind constantly reminding me ‘Watch yourself, be careful.’

All of those books that I read that annoy my mother come quite in handy in the middle of our arguments. Lately I’ve been applying what I’ve learned from John Gottman, a relationship psychologist who formed the famous ‘Love Lab’ in the 1980’s to study what makes relationships work, and what makes them fail.

I discovered the works of John Gottman through my obsession with Paul Ekman’s books on emotions and micro-expressions.

As I just mentioned, my mother takes issue with the amount of time I spend reading. And when I’m not reading for enjoyment, I’m studying, writing on WordPress or searching for new library books on the library site.  I have no desire to know my classmates or acquaintances at The Center beyond a social level. I can’t pinpoint why exactly. I just know that all of you know me better than anyone else, and Heather knows me better than I know myself, I don’t need anything more. Besides, the library just got in a new book on…get ready for this… the history of typewriters. The history of typewriters!!

I’ve been writing nonstop today. I stuffed my netbook into its case and tried to focus entirely on studying for an exam on Friday, but I kept grabbing pieces of paper and just writing anything and everything that came into my mind. I have no doubt that it’s because of how restless I’ve been as of late. Pacing for no reason, walking up and down the stairs at times to get out some of the energy. Just writing and pacing with a sort of anxious tension in the atmosphere. Like I’m waiting for something to happen at any moment.

I made the decision, if I get accepted into a university up north, I’m going to go.

I made it all day yesterday without thinking about Josh. I hope that I bump into him one day, look him in the eye, and feel nothing. The pain is nearing a dull ache at this point, and he doesn’t seem to be the bright and shining star in my eyes that he was a month ago. But a part of my mind will not stop nagging me, insisting that I let myself imagine what it could be like if I go back to work at Kohl’s and see him every other day or so. And then a more sensible voice will pipe up and keep me grounded, seeing him wouldn’t be healthy for me, and I need to remember that. I need to remember the pain, and how quickly he forgot about me.

Never again, folks.

Until I Write Again,

–Classic/Hannah-Elizabeth

P.S. Energy redistribution is a body language term, referring to someone trying to contain a strong emotion by attempting to shut down body language signals to the outside world, so the energy instead finds itself in a form it wouldn’t normally be in, such as tapping toes, tapping fingers, bouncing knees, and pacing.

Mental Polaroids & Running In The Rain

“It’s not over yet?!” Heather’s voice had been reduced to an annoyed, sleepy mumble.

I chuckled and glanced at the clock on the oven. 1:47AM. Somehow it always ends up the same way: Heather nodding off and me trying to keep her awake. The difference being, this time, instead of watching a Ghost Adventures episode, it was The Godfather.

“So…why are they killing the guy in the car?” I held my phone in the way of the TV screen for a moment until the sound of machine guns stopped. Fake blood or not, I shuddered at the sight of it.

“He’s the son of the godfather, right?”

“I don’t know. He just drove up and they shot him, and I don’t recognize him in the least.”

“Wait, is he a bad guy?”

“Aren’t the machine gun guys the bad guys?”

“Hey, Hannah?”

“Yeah?”

“This is the world’s worst movie.”

“I know!” I looked over in surprise at Heather, I was a tad afraid to voice the opinion myself. Heather had been keeping up so well with the storyline that I thought she was more interested in the film and perhaps understood the hype.

“It never ends.”

“I know!”

“And there’s too many characters.”

“I know!”

“And it’s confusing.”

“I know!” We both started laughing.

“It’s so stupid!” Heather’s tired, half-laughing mumble was the most comical thing I had ever heard in my life. I remember thinking that I would never forget what Heather sounds like when she’s laughing, it’s musical and infectious.

We complained and laughed sleepily at each other’s complaints every few minutes until finally the credits started rolling, both of us half-asleep by the time it was finally over.

“Wait…that’s how it ends?”

“So it would seem.” I chuckled when something came to mind. “Heather, you realize this was the easiest thing on the list?”

She chuckled, “Ha! I can’t do any others! This was too much!”

I suppose that could count as our movie review. We did get attached to a few characters who ended up dying (and a lot of characters ended up dying,) and we were able to piece together parts of the storyline, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

The upside, of course, is that now me and Heather Madame have one more item marked off of our 20 Before 20 list.

It was raining heavily all day. The drive to church in Heather’s cantankerous Jeep (that we have named Cher, because it is the color of a cherry,) was the most intense we have ever experienced. I tell you now that those windshield wipers were plotting our demise and attempting to execute a hit using the newly formed puddles in north Texas’ many potholes to cause us to repeatedly lose our sense of direction, and the unusually blinding and glaring street lights to disorient us. Even with the rain the drive consisted of a mix of contemplative discussion and absurd, hilarious stories, it’s just that this time, in between each story there was a moment of my life flashing before my eyes.

If there is one thing I’ve learned about Heather, it’s that she is hypersensitive to the stares of other people. We walked around the lobby and wandered into a couple of hallways (well, I wandered into a couple of hallways, Heather just made sure I didn’t get too curious about the ‘Church Staff Only’ rooms and try to sneak in), I knew she wanted to duck into the sanctuary and stay out of sight, but the hallway looked interesting, so I slowly inched farther down as we chatted. Next thing I knew she was making a beeline for the sanctuary doors and there was little I could do except follow along. Sneaking down hallways is not nearly as fun when one is sneaking alone.

“I felt like there were a lot of eyes on us out there.” She whispered as we sat down near the back.

“Where, in the hallway?”

“Yes!”

“Well, I suppose it does seem like a modest group, new people must be a bit of a big deal.” I raised my stare to view the room and, sure enough, several people were staring directly at us.

Halfway through the sermon it struck me that I wasn’t even dissociating (usually the first step in a panic attack for me, dissociating is when you feel distant or separated from the environment and yourself.) I wondered if it was perhaps because of Heather’s presence, or the fact that, for the first time in years, I was actually bored with a sermon. Perhaps my lack of any sort of anxiety was due to the fact that it didn’t feel like I was in church. Like it was just another building with no significance, with a kind-looking fellow at a podium who didn’t seem to be talking about much of anything.

When we stepped outside it was pouring much harder than when we had first arrived. The sky was black as ink, the sound of the downpour drowned out any voices and the pleasant clicking of our heels, and the raindrops were so tiny and fine yet so overpowering that the air surrounding the street lamps seemed to consist of a dancing fog that consumed the very air we breathed. Both Heather Madame and I were expecting to end up in some sort of car accident, perhaps a little bump into a pole or a collision with one of those tiny ‘Geek Squad’ cars. We couldn’t tell the sidewalk from the street, and those merciless, twitching windshield wipers did nothing to calm the tension. Nothing happened, thank goodness, and we still somehow managed to talk the entire time.

I took a lot of mental photographs last night. Because I loved that moment of running through the rain in our high-heels (it was my idea…I thought they would look classy with my new slacks, and Heather doesn’t wears her very often) with nothing to shield us from the storm but Heather’s comically puny parasol that her mother bought her on a trip to Disneyland when she was ten. And the moment when we walked over to the stove while making the quiche and realized that we had just accidentally deep-fried the spinach and bacon bits into a state of semi-charcol. And reminiscing about the days when Ryleigh was part of our lives, the little adventures we’d get into, and wondering aloud for the thousandth time why she left.

I used to believe that the best memories happen when you don’t think you’re making memories, and I suppose I still believe that, but there are moments that are exceptions, like when you’re staring into a pan of deep-fried blackened bacon bits with your best friend and with the utmost horror wonder aloud “How did it come to this?”

I had hoped that I could keep it brief, but, once again, a post has extended far past my 300-word goal.

Until I Write Again,

–Classic/Hannah-Elizabeth

Expecting The Unexpected

Good Morning,

Heather Madame is coming over today for a sleepover. Which is really irresponsible of us, because neither of us can afford to lose the study time, and heaven knows important tests are coming up. But, unless that rain outside turns into a hurricane, we will be making quiche and watching the only movie on our 20 Before 20 list: The Godfather. We tried to arrange for a movie night last week, but it didn’t pan out.

Also part of the night will be going to church. So, I have prepared an ‘anti-panic attack kit’, which includes lavender perfume, anti-anxiety throat spray and homeopathic dissolving tablets. Besides that, I only have my will to not run like a madwoman out of the sanctuary or in any way embarrass Heather. Since Carlisle is away for basic training, Madame is taking the time to try out a new church. She was going to ask me to join her at the same moment that I was going to try to bribe her with fresh-brewed coffee to let me go along. I’m not worried about it, really, mostly because I know that having an attack is completely out of my control. I was entirely calm the last time I walked into a church, and I didn’t see the attack coming, pre-sermon apprehension and exactly where I am in the building has nothing to do with the attack. Just taking a step into the place is enough.

I’m afraid I can’t seem to come up with more than that.

Until I Write Again,

–Classic/Hannah-Elizabeth