The Last Post

This is my last post on The Last Classic until August.

While the blog URLs have changed repeatedly, the title of the blog, and my username have remained the same. The Last Classic is my anchor. My source for comfort and advice. A place where I can tell stories, my stories.

This is the end of a giant chapter in my life. I hate change. I truly, truly hate change. But this is what I want. This Summer I turn eighteen, Heather gets married and I leave the state. I’m leaving because I want a clean slate, a fresh start.

This whole thing started for a lot of reasons, but I can’t deny it started simply because I was a kid with some time on her hands, a computer nearby and a knack for writing.

Ya’ll know how to get in touch with me – I have a Twitter, and my e-mail address is on my Gravatar profile (contact me any time!). I’ll probably comment on your blogs throughout the Summer using my other blog account, so just look out for Hannah-Elizabeth, instead of Classic. My other blog, unlike The Last Classic, is not going to be a secret from my family, so I won’t be writing as freely as I do here. I will be posting and continuing the People Who Read People series on the other blog. As soon as some recent personal difficulties have cleared up, I’ll start posting on the new blog and tell ya’ll the URL.

I’m sad. Today I’ve reached the point of no return. I hate change – have I told you that? I hate knowing how soon I’ll have to say goodbye. And I’m afraid of how scared I’ll be to leave everything behind on my own. It’s one thing when it’s all just an idea, just a notion, just a pleasant thought to escape to on difficult days. But when it’s real, when there is no turning back, it’s easy to just wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, and just keep looking around my room at familiar things. Over and over and over. I know that wall. I arranged the books on that shelf. I stared out of those windows for hours during the last heavy storm. And I begin thinking about how one day I’ll wake up, and I can’t look around at familiar things. I can never again wake up to the sound of my alarm and tell myself I need to get ready for church, because Heather will drive up soon to take us there. I can’t be annoyed at the sound of my brother playing his guitar at two in the morning. I will be alone, but I have no regrets.

Until August,



The Classic Award!

Well, folks, I have once again been bestowed with a lovely award by a lovely fellow blogger, Miss E from Looking For Pemberley!

I am going to break the usual routine this time around, my fellow bloggers, by switching it up a bit. I was given the Creative Chaos award, and while I will follow of the rules precisely as they are written out, I am not going to give out the Creative Chaos award, but my own award, The Classic Award:

Here are the rules from Miss E’s site on giving out the Creative Chaos award:

1. You must tell 3 completely weird things about your habits. If you claim to have no weird habits, you’re lying and we’ll have to send an investigative team for further analysis.

2. You must tell why you look at the “glass half full” scenario and ask “what? No coffee?”

3. Complete any one of the following essay questions:

A. You find yourself in a desolate place when your car breaks down. You have no cell phone service, no stores, and only a candy bar for food. It is 150 miles to the closest town. What color are your pants and why?

B. You find yourself having to ride an elevator quite frequently. How do you pass the time to show off your creativity?

4. Then you are to nominate 5 random people and let them know.

5. Make sure to show proper gratitude to the person who nominated you whether that is to shower them with gifts, prizes, and cash or to see that they are put into a clown costume and photographed for internet mocking.

6. Make sure to post the award somewhere other than the underside of the toilet seat.

Here we go! 3 weird habits:

1. When I’m bored I sit at my desk and place my favorite magazines, books and study materials around my chair on the floor so I can easily grab what I want to read and if I lose interest in what I’m reading, I can just toss it and grab a new book/magazine/chart. I do this for a minimum of two hours at a time.

2. Sometimes as I’m falling asleep my mind will start replaying the sound of someone’s voice from years ago. I have an odd thing about voices, I really love listening to people to talk, it’s just comforting to me, it never matters what they’re saying as long as they aren’t angry (I really hate the sound of an angry voice, it’s physically painful when I hear one.) So I suppose when I don’t have a voice to listen to, my brain helps me out by making a ‘Greatest Hits’ playlist of sorts.

3. Whenever I’m out in public and I notice two people having a conversation, I try to read their lips and predict what body language signals they’re going to shift into. If I can manage to, I’ll eavesdrop (not that I enjoy eavesdropping… but I do really enjoy eavesdropping.)

Alright, number two! I must look at the “glass half full” scenario and ask “What? No coffee?” Well, like everyone else, I have no idea what this means. But! Suppose someone gave me a glass half full and it wasn’t coffee, I would probably want to know why it wasn’t coffee. I would then ask what on earth I was just given that had to fill the glass to the point of being exactly half full. What will happen when the glass is no longer half full?

And I pick essay question A! And my answer is:

I am wearing bright orange pants because I want rescue helicopters to see me as they fly overhead. And if there are no rescue helicopters, then I hope to attract the attention of a helpful talking bird of some kind that could get help for me… or maybe the bird will know how to fix the car.

Annnnd the award goes to:

Sir Josh at Mathematical Mischief! Josh has one of the most helpful, informative and encouraging blogs I’ve ever seen (mostly because I’m horrid at math and his blog has come to my rescue more than once), and he is one if the kindest fellow bloggers I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.

Legend of Pi! Not only do I just admire this blogger, but the blog! It never fails to enlighten and entertain. I don’t know why it hasn’t been showered with awards already!

Sir Mark (aka, The Idiot) at The Idiot Speaketh! Because he’s the idiot! The. Idiot. His blog is inspiring, heartstring-tugging, tear-jerking and laugh-inducing. This is the most original blog I’ve ever seen. We all love you, Sir Idiot.

The Dippylomat esq. from The Northern Plights! I’m giving this award to this blog because of the amusing, unusual nature of the blog itself. As well as the amusing, unusual nature of the blogger. Also, the author of this blog wrote my favorite comment of all time on my blog: “We love you. That is all.”

And last but not least, even though she has recently decided to not accept blog awards (cue drumroll)…

Ryoko861 at Me, Myself and I! This Madame is one of my favorite bloggers not only because of her writing, but because of her advice and kindness.

The rules for giving out The Classic Award

1. Tell the blogosphere one of the following:

a. Three of your favorite books (not much of a reader? Then three favorite movies!)

b. Three of your favorite people in the potential multiverse (or just in the world.)

or c. What you dislike the most about writing the “Passing On The Award” post (we all find it awkward and tricky, you’re not alone!)

and 2. Nominate 7 bloggers (unless there’s a Whose Line rerun on and you can’t pull yourself away from the endless charm of Colin Mochrie…)

Aright then! I’m probably going to write another post tonight, so I suppose you all shall hear from me then!

Until I Write Again,


A Moment

I was sitting on the couch sipping a cappuccino in my father’s home office as Mother Madame explained all of the wonderful things about Downtown Clovis (we lived in California for ten years before moving to Texas, and my mother is determined to return ‘home’ in the next year,) first she looked up the official California website, then Old Town Clovis on Google Maps, and then WordPress blogs.

“You should really get a blog on WordPress.” She said.

For my own amusement I replied, “Oh no, I’d be a horrible blogger.”


2,291 Words In This Post (It’s Not Worth It!)

I’m so stubborn and pig-headed. Once I focus on a goal, there is no way to reason with me, I can’t even seem to get through to me.

People affect me too much, because I let them, because it makes me happy, but perhaps believing that something is insane should not immediately inspire an impulsive action, but rather slow the decision-making process. I seek out sayings and people and memories that can help me justify to myself the things that I want to do, and I talk myself into believing I’m proud of my impulsive actions. But jumping out of a plane without checking for a parachute doesn’t exactly make one poetic, wise or even intriguing. It makes them naive, it makes them stupid, and it sets them up to turn to emotional wreckage.

Everyday has a million different possibilities. No one can predict the exact outcome of any week, month or moment. I want to believe I have a certain amount of patience and willpower, but there comes a point when I can no longer delude myself.

I don’t know where I’ll be when all of this is settled, I can only hope what I hope for now and hope I won’t change my mind out of impatience yet again. My choices change day-to-day – more than that, hour to hour. Because of people. Because I want to jump out of the plane, but I don’t want to get in anyone’s way.

I’m not worried about regretting the things that I’m going to do. After all, at least I can say I tried, I asked, I sought out, I leapt. It isn’t courage, it’s the denial of fear. Just don’t think about the height of the leap, the strangers below, the danger involved, don’t even shut your eyes and give yourself a shot to imagine how things might go wrong. Just look down, jump and hope it all pans out. Nevermind that you’re afraid of heights, your life is down there waiting, people are down there waiting for you, they just don’t know it yet. Surely they’ll get attached if you give them a few months.


I suppose I should explain myself, why I disappeared from my beloved little blog for over a week without a word. Spring break is partially to blame. Heather Madame and I had one little adventure after another. Including wandering through a forest and happening across the most breathtaking, awe-inspiring, peaceful meadow that seemed to come right from the pages of a fairy tale. I ended up really chasing a butterfly for the first time in my life…goodness, I didn’t know I could act like that much of a dork (this butterfly was like a tiny bright yellow ninja with wings,) I don’t know what got into me, really. After we had skipped rocks (well, Heather skipped rocks, I sort of just violently hurled them at the water,) climbed a giant hill covered in various green plants, and ran away from (okay, fine, I ran away from) an odd-looking frog in the grass (I bet it was deadly…) We decided it was probably best to find the car before it got too dark. But, as we began walking towards the trail, I saw a flicker of bright yellow in my periphery. I looked over, paused, stared at the butterfly for a moment, and then the chase began. This isn’t normal behavior for me, so when Heather suddenly heard an odd amount of rustling behind her and turned to see me hopping around running after a butterfly, she burst out laughing and had to rest on her knees for a moment from the sight.

“Hannah! You’re not going to catch it!” She called over.

“I know!” I half-yelled, half-laughed. And then I caught it. “Ha!” I held up my hands in victory. I walked over to Heather, we stared at it for a moment, and I let it go.

“You know,” I said, “I suppose I never really considered what you’re supposed to do when the impossible moment arrives when you actually catch a butterfly.”

For the past four days we’ve been impulsive little kids, I even whipped out my previously dormant pun-making superpower over spring break. It annoys Heather a lot (every time I think about it I start laughing, including now,) but I was in an immature enough state of mind that I didn’t let that stop me. This week was the first time in years that we were that carefree, for the first time since Ryleigh left our lives, we entirely let loose and were irresponsible and immature and impulsive. It was, in a word, therapy.

“Hey Heather?” I said, hopping from a muddy hill onto a stack of large rocks by the river.

“Yeah?” She picked up a nearby stone and turned it over in her hand.

“Let’s not talk about our families or guys today.”

“Sounds good.”

“Good.” I paused and stared at the water for a moment, “No men.”

“Unless it’s someone we can only say good things about.”

I chuckled and glanced over at her, “You mean someone we know just well enough to only know positive things about.”



We paused for a moment, just thinking. Heather looked to the trail, took a step forward, and we continued the day of adventure with our agreement laid out plain and clear. And we stuck to it.

Things that also happened over spring break: we went to a couple of bridal shops and Heather tried on a few wedding dresses. The dress we both firmly believe is ‘the one’ is the most expensive of any of the dresses she took a fancy to. $1,299…Heather finally agreed to let me help pay for the dress (with Carlisle still in basic training and no other close friends besides me, Heather is doing the impossible and trying to plan a wedding and find them a place to live entirely on her own. And she’s doing it all in five months.) We also marked off another list item (number 18: Go to a restaurant we’ve never been to and try a dish we’ve never had.) We took a stroll around downtown Grapevine (I love Grapevine) and had lunch at an adorable italian cafe. I made sure to get an autograph from our waitress (I should also mention – I’m trying to get 100 autographs in 2012, only 95 to go!) We wandered into a dark tunnel marked with graffiti (okay, maybe we only took several steps in before running out, but that still makes me a rebel, right?) We had a picnic and ate way too much candy (darn you, Walgreens and your 3 for 3$ deals…) We managed to catch up on Ghost Adventures and return our library books, of which I had 36. The process of getting the books from my bedroom floor went something like this:

“Oh! And this one was due two weeks ago.” I said as I handed French Essentials for Dummies to Heather. My arms were already full.

Please tell me this is the last one.”

“Oh! And this one!”

“Alright then-”

“Oh! And that one!”


“And that one!”


“And there’s just a couple more by my desk chair.”



“You said you had a few library books!”

“Yes, yes I did.”

“You didn’t say you had an entire library!”

“They add up rather quickly… Oh! And that one by my window!”

I will literally pay dearly for my love of library books and hate of library due dates:


Josh text-messaged me again (the latest text arriving two minutes ago.) I’m back to being on the fence about staying in Texas. But, honestly, I don’t trust my own judgement these days. All I can do is what I’ve been doing my entire life – just taking things as they come and adjusting my plans accordingly. If something happens during the Summer, I will stay, but if not, I’ll move forward with my plans to leave the state. You may have noticed that I’ve been asking for advice more often than I used to, this is out of a childish desire to have other people make tough decisions for me, because I don’t trust myself. I know it’s absurd, and I know I shouldn’t handle big choices by turning to other people to make up my mind for me.

I hope I can explain this in a way that makes sense.

I know who I am, who I want to be, what I want out of life and what I’m looking for in somebody. This is constant, this is steady, this is defined and it is unchanging. But above this cut-and-dry foundation is my emotional life. The things that I want but can’t have, the people I want to reach out to but who wouldn’t understand, the person I want to be with but can’t currently try for. Mixed about these two levels is the day-to-day varying levels of emotion. Ever since childhood I could look at someone when they were speaking and feel what they were feeling (I was a dreadfully emotional child,) and now after all of my studies my ‘spidey sense’ about what people are feeling is amplified. Throughout a conversation if I’m watching your facial expressions, any fluctuations in your emotions I can not only read but feel on a milder level. I can’t stand conflict because when I fight with somebody I see not only basic anger microexpressions but bitter disgust, and without fail it’s like a slap to the face. I’m sensitive to vocal tones so when I hear the tension and resentment in someone’s voice it makes me physically ill instantly. I’ve said it before, but perhaps not as strongly as I should have: people affect me on every level. It’s very easy to get inside my head and I’m admitting it here, it is very easy to manipulate me.

All of that to say, on level one I am always entirely alright because I see the world strictly in logical terms, it’s my common sense, my anchor. It is the reason that even in my most frantic posts, a bit of sanity slips through. Level two is more of a soap opera character wrecking havoc on my peace of mind.

I vanished for a week because I became aware of these two levels of my personality with the odd, rather erratic third level… *Cue lightbulb* Well, I feel like a dummy, I just realized how similar this is to Sigmund Freud’s theory of the ego. Not in terms of consciousness and memory, mind you, but the notion of having a logical ‘I want, but cannot have’ state of mind directly next to an immature ‘I want, and I will have’ state of mind.

Sorry about the sidetrack. In a nutshell, I disappeared because in the middle of the stress of life as of late, my mind is doing that annoying nonstop spinning thing it does, Heather and I started having what we call ‘mini-vacations’ around town and at our favorite spots, which tossed in little patches of peace of mind and genuine happiness. When I write, my life pauses for a few hours, I realize things about myself and my thought process gets flipped upside down. I walk away from every post in a sort of daze, and dive back into life, or otherwise collapse into a pile of books on topics no one cares about and avoid the outside world. I thought since I was so carefree for the first time in years, the last thing I needed was a life-altering realization about anything. I finally knew of the existence of the two levels, and I didn’t want to do anything that might make the emotional level start thinking too much. I would consider writing a new post, but then I would remember, if I published anything, I would have to say goodbye to my mindless bubble of peace and quiet. I logged on out of curiosity a couple of days ago and saw a couple of comments from WordPress friends of mine wishing me well and worrying about me, I checked my e-mail and found messages from other WordPressers asking how I am (and I do hope that this has always been a given: always feel free to contact me if you have anything to say about a post that you don’t want to comment on, or if a thought occurs or even if you just want to send me an e-mail ‘just because’, you can find my e-mail address on my gravatar profile) At once I decided to write a new post explaining my silence, but for the first time in a long while, I stared at a white screen and no words appeared in my mind. No words. I rarely get writer’s block when it comes to The Last Classic. I can just pull up a screen even when I don’t feel like writing and the next thing I know I’m writing a ridiculously long post, I usually wrap it up and publish it in about three hours altogether.

I’ve been writing this post for three days. And 80% of what you have just read I wrote in the past two hours. I’ve been just deleting and retyping and deleting over and over again… Overall, my return to my blog has been a long one, and rather unpleasant. This is certainly not my finest work, but I had to get the ball rolling again somehow.

Alright then, Heather Madame and I are going to get up early for church tomorrow and I should get some rest. I leave you with this:

All of you have never failed to make me feel loved, valued and respected. And thank you for showing your concern and keeping up with my life.

Until I Write Again,


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.



Minding My Own Mind

I messed up last night.

Longtime readers will recall that I used to have an eating disorder – bulimia. And anyone who has ever had an eating disorder will tell you the same thing I’m telling you here, that it is impossible to be ‘cured’. Everyone has relapses. It’s addictive when you see results.

I was so sure I was okay, I was so certain. I know I’m pretty now, I know there isn’t anything wrong with my appearance, I don’t feel out of control of my life, the thoughts don’t attack me like they used to. I was alright.

But last night I felt a cloud over me. I needed to write something, I could feel it, but I didn’t want to turn to WordPress and risk publishing something foolish, so I went to my Gmail status instead:

I never felt ready to be 17 – I never felt ready to be 16. I sincerely wish I could be forever young. Tonight I feel my future looking me in the face, with none of my friends nearby or even on the phone, and I can say I feel afraid. How poetic it would be if I could say I’m going to be brave, but at the moment, I am content to be a scared child. Hiding from the world, from my future.

I felt like I would never be ready for medical school – how could I ever be? I’m not brilliant, I’m not competitive, I’ll just be eaten alive. Maybe I could become a private investigator or a journalist. Something fun involving travel like that. I wouldn’t be able to make it all of those years anyway – I’m too impatient to start my career. Oh no! My mother – my grandparents! My friends – my teachers! They’re all expecting me to go through with it. And I’m an idiot when it comes down to it. Horrid at math and physics and chemistry and french. I just know a boatload of medical jargon and psychobabble. I have no place out there in the real world. I’ll crack. I’ll do it to try to make them proud but I’ll just have to snap in the process.

I suddenly went into panic mode and started pacing my room. The most solid part of my consciousness knowing I would always want to be a forensic psychiatrist, but my faith in my own ability to reach that point had vanished completely, the mere idea now a phantom to my vision of the future.

I caught my reflection from my peripheral and looked over to my five-foot vanity mirror. The least you could do is work harder on your looks. Goodness how strong my cheekbones suddenly were. Oh, gosh, my eyes were so soft – they always look sad, even when I smile. My lips are an odd shape, like a tented cupid’s bow. Why didn’t I do anything with my hair? How can anyone stand to look at me? Who would anyone want to date someone like me? An idiot with no looks. No future.

I felt I had to do something.

In a single state of mind I left my room and, after turning on the faucet to make sure I wouldn’t be heard, I made myself throw up.

After I washed up and brushed my teeth (the usual routine), I felt like I desperately wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to go somewhere and cry and talk – ramble, really. My mind was spinning and I needed someone to state the obvious and calm me down. I wanted someone to talk me down from the frenzy going on in my mind.

I didn’t know how to remedy the feeling of idiocy, I felt that the only way to cure myself of the feeling was to start reading. A lot. Start filling my mind with words. Any words.

I grabbed three books – one containing science essays, one on art history, and a book I’m renting from the library on the history of Baylor University. I sat at my desk and just read for a while. A nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me how useless it was. How hopeless it was. I should know every ounce of this information already. It was too late. Much, much too late.

I made a mistake, didn’t I? I silently asked the empty air. I thought of how automatic it had been. Why did I do it? I don’t need to do that sort of thing. I realized I was hugging myself, hunched over my desk as I read each page. I thought of how I wanted someone to hug me and tell me that, yes, I made a mistake, but it was okay, because everyone loses themselves every now and again. It was just me coping with high stress in a familiar way. A way I haven’t turned to in over a year.

This is all horribly humiliating for me to admit. I’ve always been honest on my blog, but some posts are more painful to write than others. I can’t tell any of this to my closest friends or my mother. I’m too embarrassed.

The date of my graduation is coming up faster and faster, it seems. And I feel as though this fact has made me extremely driven, the first thing on my mind when I wake up is the need to devour information. To know as much as possible. To become brilliant. I need to be brilliant. And I can feel with a profound certainty how little I know about anything at all in the universe. There is so much to know, so much to learn, so much to do.

In a bizarre way I love that this pressure exists – the need to never stop seeking out what I don’t know, but I feel an emptiness, like someone in my life is missing. Like I don’t belong here, in this room. Like my feet are caught in cement, like I should be further along in my life. I said goodbye to my childhood a while ago – being around Josh was a wonderful, much-needed therapy for me, but I have doubts of ever seeing him again. I thought I would be happy with the knowledge that he’s in my life, that I would be simple enough that I could accept that we won’t be together, but I can’t be simple regarding this. When I consider looking for someone else, everyone looks so dim in comparison. I meant it when I said that I think it would be nice to have someone to admire and tolerate. And while I know a couple of you think I’m being silly for wanting to show affection for only one guy, I can’t imagine being happy showing affection for multiple gentlemen. I know I’m young and it doesn’t make sense to even many of my friends, but that is what I’ve always wanted.

It is now one in the morning. Logic insists that I wait until daylight, when I will no doubt be in an entirely different state of mind and will decide against publishing all of this. But I feel at though erasing this post from existence would be lying.

This blog is a journal. I can always look back on the past nine or so months, and see my life. I can know I am always honest. I can know that I trust all of you enough to share this with you, and I can trust you to tell me the truth.

Sometimes I wish that I wrote posts like many other bloggers. Browsing recent posts from dozens of bloggers everyday, I see themed posts with bits of humor spread throughout, amusing photographs and witty quotes. Perhaps I would get more readers if my posts were more light-hearted and general. But then, I suppose, the purpose of The Last Classic has never been to entertain. It was created for purely selfish reasons.

I can’t imagine what all of you must think of me by now. I truthfully feel as though I should delete this post and never look back. But I can’t seem to make myself get rid of it.

Until I Write Again,


Dear Friends,

I suppose I shouldn’t write anything tonight.

I’ve decided this wholeheartedly. After last night’s incredibly ridiculous post, I understand that I simply should not write after 8PM, and certainly not at two in the morning. No, no I won’t write tonight. I ramble too much, I rant too thoroughly, I assume and poke and prod at the dead animal of ideas that I write about, I then ramble about the poking and prodding once I realize what I am doing.

Chain my netbook to my desk, keep the darn thing shut with superglue and cement, and perhaps a layer of spirit gum for good measure. Build an alarm system so that I won’t wander near it. Hide my notebooks and pens (you don’t have to worry about the pencils, I dislike writing with pencils so I won’t touch them if you leave them out in the open.) Hide my eyeliner and lipstick, lest the notion strikes for me to scribble on a nearby mirror or wall or window or lampshade. I cannot write tonight, and if I consider it, then those of you who call me your friend must take certain measures, identical to the ones just described. If you fail, then you must attack my words postmortem via hacking methods.

In any case, I must be kept from publishing a single word, because I can assure you it will be of the most foolish and idiotic tones. The most ignorant monologues. The most childish phrasing.