Christian Fish
Ever notice that the cars with the "Christian fish" on them are the worst damned drivers on the road? Notice. [DECEMBER 26 2004]

Gracelessly
I don't care what anyone thinks anymore. Really. From this point forward, I answer only to myself. And my dog. I want to do this. I care about this. Madly. Passionately. Gracelessly. So I don't care what you think. And I won't want to hear how you've changed your mind and are sorry, either, years down the road, when you realize you were wrong. [DECEMBER 20 2004]

An Ideal Life, as Defined on June 23, 1990
I want to be capable of being totally independent, but I don’t want to have to be.  I want fame, but at the same time, privacy.  I want excitement, but at the same time, stability.  I want freedom and independence, but at the same time, someone to depend on.              

I want a big white house somewhere peaceful and quiet, with a huge back yard filled with oak trees.  I want a black grand piano that sits alone on a raised marble floor, surrounded only by the glass through which I watch the starry skies at night.

I want a loving, funny, intelligent, handsome, energetic, thoughtful husband from whom I can learn something new each day (and who doesn’t mind bringing me flowers for no reason).

I want to earn a Bachelor’s Degree, and later I want to be a Professor—and be very successful.  I hope the job is rewarding, but I only want enough money to be able to support myself comfortably.  I want to work at a job I truly enjoy and surround myself with people I truly love.

I want to stop worrying about mathematical equations and correct verb conjugations and get on with what’s real.  I want to find what’s real and hold on to it until the day I die. I want to learn things and do things that nobody else learns or does. I want to see the world without leaving anyone or anything that I love.  I want someone who will share my dreams and ideas, who will help to make them a reality.

I want raspberry bubble baths every weekend, with bubbles that last forever. I want to learn how to play an acoustic guitar and flute.  I want to perfect piano and saxophone and drums.

I want to be happy.  Instead of dreading the idea of aging, I want to welcome it as being natural.

I want to experience life outside my hometown.  I want to experience life outside of Midwest America.  And maybe I’ll return to say that “there’s no place like home,” but I want to know what else is out there—what else awaits to be discovered and jumped into and experienced—before I decide.  I want to know what life has to offer, and I want to find and experience it all.

People often say that happiness is determined largely by attitude.  They say that you can be content with anything if you look at it positively.  Forgive me for seeming discontent and unappreciative, but I want genuine happiness.  I don’t want to have to twist and contort the facts to discover a generic feeling of happiness.  It’s not that I’m expecting perfection, but I find it hard to exist in a place where respect is given to those who can run the football and hold their alcohol.  I want more.  And I intend to find it.

I don’t think I’m being selfish or greedy, either.  I honestly believe that this ambition and desire is very simple.  Everyone deserves it.  Everyone needs it, but no one knows how to get it.  And of course, it’s the same song everywhere, with different words for each person.  My grand piano to play beneath starry skies becomes a shiny new Corvette for someone else to tour the country.  But the ideas are Universal. 

Is all of this just youthful idealism?  I don’t think so.  Then again, everyone always tells me that I’m a dreamer.  But almost every dream I’ve ever shared, I’ve also made a reality.  So here’s to dreaming.

Along
"I feel the same spiritual comfort holding a leash that others feel holding a rosary."  -Susan Conant

"I seem to spend a great deal of time just staring at the dog, struck by how mysterious and beautiful she is to me, and by how much my world has changed since she came along."  -Caroline Knapp

Dishonesty
The things people say are quite often exactly opposite of the things people mean. I'm finding myself a perfect example of this, as I spend the night contemplating a wide range of important-to-me-but-silly-to-everyone-else thoughts. I despise dishonesty in people, yet most of what leaves my mouth is little more than a series of lies and/or embellishments intended solely to disguise the nearly insane level of discontent I feel—with my life, and with life in general.

Tonight I want to write, write, write, write, write. Put it all on paper (fine, on screen) and see what happens. But you know what stops me from doing that, every single time? It's so stupid; I'm nearly 30 years old. What stops me from writing is the simple thought of my parents reading what I write. They'd be disappointed and embarrassed that their daughter was filled with thoughts like mine. And God knows my parents don't need any more disappointments from their children. [OCTOBER 9 2004]

Confirmed
It has finally and officially been confirmed to me that I will NEVER understand people. [OCTOBER 1 2004]

Pretending
I've said it before, but I'll say it again: the sound of a ringing telephone is the worst sound in the world. It either means that (1) something horrible has happened, (2) something wonderful has happened, or (3) nothing has happened, and you're gonna be stuck on the phone for the next eternity pretending to care about a pointless conversation that you only wish was over. [SEPTEMBER 23 2004]

Too Much
I've been dieting lately, trying to lose a couple stubborn pounds that haven't left me for, oh, say 27 years. A thought occurred to me this weekend, though, and I can't shake it. It's a disgusting thought that becomes more disgusting the more I think about it. Americans are so fat, so "lucky," so economically blessed, that we have TOO MUCH to eat. We eat too much and weigh TOO MUCH—while much of the rest of the world can't even imagine such a thing. This is not a new or original thought; it has just become far more repulsive to me. And it occurred to me while on my organizing spree as well. I found myself throwing away bags and bags of stuff, then packing away more bags for Goodwill. How on Earth have I become so accustomed to excess? How on Earth have I allowed myself to accept "extra" as normal for the past, oh, say 27 years? This has to stop. [SEPTEMBER 7 2004]

Numbed Me
I have to say it: my dog has taught me more in 9 months than I ever thought possible. She has mellowed me out in ways I never imagined. She has numbed me to an incredible—and almost endless—variety of messes. She is always happy to see me. She teaches me to enjoy just being outside, smelling the smells and seeing the sights. She's happy just being...whether we're walking, or lounging, or playing, or whatever. And she's hilarious, too...

What's best, though? My dog makes me smile every single day. She makes getting home from work my favorite part of my day: hearing her collar jingle as she jumps off the couch, and seeing her tail wag at the top of the stairs. Lucky is a cool dog. I can't imagine what I did before her.  [SEPTEMBER 6 2004]

Barns
Some time this month I plan to attend the "Barn Again" exhibit at the Wright County Historical Society. It's also going to be featured at the Minnesota State Fair—so I'll probably check it out there, too. Everyone should go check it out. It's interesting, even (maybe especially?) to those of us who grew up on farms and played in barns.

This weekend I'll be attending a writing workshop at The Loft literary center downtown. Am looking forward to it.  I hope it sparks some interesting ideas for my writing.

Next Monday through Wednesday? A quick trip to Duluth, where Lucky and I will enjoy plenty of outdoor fun. I'm excited to take her to a new place and let her check out the scenery (and I'm excited to check out some scenery as well!). Will let you know if anything exciting happens.

By the way, spent a night last weekend camping with friends, whose two daughters happen to be scared of dogs. I brought Lucky (who is a shy and fearful dog), and it went really well. It was funny: the dog and the girls were kind of hiding from each other at first. Then after some time passed, everyone was friends. My dog is SO weird. But I love her. :)  [JULY 15 2004]

Like This
You can ask anyone: I wasn't always like this. The neurotic and completely over-analytical little person I lovingly refer to as "me" emerged only after years of both symbolic and literal brain-beatings from crowded literature classes that were led by deflated but still egomaniacal would-be writers who'd seen their dreams dangled mercilessly over their heads, only to be yanked at the last minute and traded in for unmotivated yet amazingly pretentious and superioristic graduate students whose core vocabulary consisted of pompous and unnecessarily complex examinations of "paradigm shifts" and "structural semantics." The beauty part? These grad students thought they were smart. Important, even. I was one of them, I suppose. But superioristic? Not me. I was too busy and important to get bogged down with my own superiority. [MARCH 28 2004]