So, I am doing this challenge on my own time. I figured no one will really mind.
Today's letter is supposed to be to my favorite Internet friend. Does this imply that I am supposed to have friends who are only known to me because of the Internet? I don't think I have those. Should I pick the person who makes me laugh the most on the Internet? The person who has a blog I check each day? The person I stalk the most on Facebook? (Don't tell me you don't have those people.) Well, I can't pick a favorite, so I will take a different route. (Surprise.)
I wonder if Facebook has ruined me permanently.
During last Spring, when I was uber-busy, I realized that my only communication with the outside world once I left school was Facebook. I didn't see my friends, I didn't talk to my friends, but I would see what they were doing on Facebook. As sorry as this sounds, there was a period of time when Facebook was my social life.
Even now, when I am not nearly as busy, I know I hunger for real fellowship and camaraderie in my life because Facebook just doesn't cut it. When I got home from my trip, I was so depressed that I would hope for photo comments to make it seem like real conversation was happening. This sounds so pathetic, but it is true.
Would I be an absolute hermit if Facebook didn't exist? OR, would my relationships be more meaningful because I would have to try harder, rather than relying on simple status updates or pictures to make me think I know what is going on in people's lives? I am not sure I know the answer.
I do know that I spend too much time on Facebook, but it really is useful. And I love witty people. And I love the ease of communication for clubs and such. And I love keeping in touch with people who aren't here right now. I love all of that. I wonder if the fad will end. I wonder what will take its place, what major life-changing web page will happen next. I keep waiting to see when it will no longer be useful, when it is old hat. (I held onto my xanga for a lot longer than most people...) I don't know. Huge societal changes fascinate me. The world will never be the same. I will never be the same. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it is true.
I just don't know if I am better.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Letter 7--I know why it took me so long.
Hey, online world.
I decided to return tonight.
I left off at Letter #7. This one is supposed to be to an ex-boyfriend/crush/love. I shudder at the thought.
Dear __________________,
I wrote poems about you, to you. I kinda laugh at myself now when I stumble upon all of the musings in old journals about you. You are not just one person. Technically, you could be, but no, my heart was broken many times. I was told I loved too much, too readily, too easily. I was told I played all the wrong games, set myself up for disappointment. Maybe so. I hate those kinds of games. Still do.
You taught me that I am intrigued and intimidated by shyness. I always fall for guys who are tall, intelligent, and competitive. I deeply desire to be with someone I can trust, someone who knows me, someone I know. I love when you make me laugh. You taught me to be careful, to stop assuming that little things mean big things. You taught me to quit wishing for signs that were not there. You taught me never to take the first step, for fear of losing everything. You taught me what it feels like to be discarded. You taught me what it means to be a friend.
I hold no anger, really. I just sobered up, stopped dancing in the daze of hope.
And I have you to thank for that.
EDIT: Holy muffin-top, Batman. Upon second read, that sounded like the biggest bowl of angsty fifteen-year-old soup I have ever consumed.
I decided to return tonight.
I left off at Letter #7. This one is supposed to be to an ex-boyfriend/crush/love. I shudder at the thought.
Dear __________________,
I wrote poems about you, to you. I kinda laugh at myself now when I stumble upon all of the musings in old journals about you. You are not just one person. Technically, you could be, but no, my heart was broken many times. I was told I loved too much, too readily, too easily. I was told I played all the wrong games, set myself up for disappointment. Maybe so. I hate those kinds of games. Still do.
You taught me that I am intrigued and intimidated by shyness. I always fall for guys who are tall, intelligent, and competitive. I deeply desire to be with someone I can trust, someone who knows me, someone I know. I love when you make me laugh. You taught me to be careful, to stop assuming that little things mean big things. You taught me to quit wishing for signs that were not there. You taught me never to take the first step, for fear of losing everything. You taught me what it feels like to be discarded. You taught me what it means to be a friend.
I hold no anger, really. I just sobered up, stopped dancing in the daze of hope.
And I have you to thank for that.
EDIT: Holy muffin-top, Batman. Upon second read, that sounded like the biggest bowl of angsty fifteen-year-old soup I have ever consumed.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
I'm coming back, I promise.
I know I said I would be back after the trip, but just give me a few more days.
(As if anyone cares. I just feel less guilty this way.)
(As if anyone cares. I just feel less guilty this way.)
Friday, July 23, 2010
It was at school, but it wasn't really at school.
Ooops, I accidentally wrote a letter to a stranger before I wrote a letter to my dreams. How dare I, really? I wonder if I am supposed to write a letter to my dreams (my hopes and aspirations) or to my dreams (those things that happen while I sleep). I am not feeling too serious, so I will go ahead and write a letter to my nocturnal musings. Really...I am skirting the issue...I will write a post about dreams.
There was a short period of time when I wanted to be one of those people who interprets dreams. I was fascinated by them. Then, there was this old guy, Robert, who had some connection (I have no idea what) to my dorm in college. He would show up from time to time, wearing his big, black shoes and his too-thin tie, and this man could spin a tale about dreams that I had never witnessed before. He had books and history and psychology mumbo-jumbo attached to all of his analysis. I thought he was just a little bit crazy, but I loved him. I don't remember the names of most of the people on my floor in college, but I remember Robert, the dream-chaser.
I hate how dreams drift away. The details become fuzzy, and unless you have someone to share them with almost immediately, they inevitably disappear, if you remembered them in the first place. I have always wondered how much dreams mean. Like, why do some seem so real? Why do some seem so deranged? Why do some repeat themselves? Why do the visuals often not match up to the presumed reality of the characters? Why am I in the dream sometimes and watching myself sometimes? Color? Black and white? People I know? People I have never seen? It's all a little wacky, really.
I remember a vivid dream I had in elementary school. I was re-telling it to a friend, and right after I got to the part where the person (another friend) apologized for being cruel in the dream, the other friend came up and apologized for being cruel in real life. I almost wet my pants.
Speaking of wetting my pants, I remember one time (in...seventh grade...), I dreamed about a new holiday: National Pee Day. And everyone had the freedom to pee wherever they wanted all day long. I woke up to a pee-soaked bed.
I remember I used to dream about driving a car (before I drove cars) that got larger and larger as the dream progressed. And it would drive on the walls (yes, walls) of the interstate, and I couldn't see anything. It was terrifying. I had this dream a lot.
I remember I dreamed that I screamed at my students because they wouldn't stop laughing at me. I was trying to teach class, and they just laughed and laughed. I was incensed. Like, rip your hair out, total loss of control. Really, it was just my alarm clock that was set with a laughing ringtone. (A similar situation has happened on MANY occasions...almost always dealing with students...isn't that weird? It is as if they are trying to get me to wake up or something.)
There are more, but I will stop.
I definitely think there are aspects of life that we will never understand, maybe we aren't meant to understand. Deja vu (no idea how to spell and punctuate that correctly), middle school, the grief process, people's capacity for evil, dreams, etc. It seems impossible that symbols mean the same thing in one person's dream as another. I just can't believe that our sub-consciences work out issues with the same symbolism and imagery. Maybe our dreams are a chance for our brains to imagine without our self-editing tools kicking in. I wonder if the dreams of children are less vivid because their imaginations are turned on so much more during waking hours. Who knows? I don't think about this often, but I was told to write a letter to my dreams.
Love Always,
Jacqui
PS. Hopes and dreams, umm...I want a room wallpapered with postcards. I want to go to Africa and Greece. I want to build/have/make a photography studio and learn how to take pictures better. Ehhh, I want so much. Namely, right now, I want fair food, so I will be driving to Lafayette and enjoying pulled pork, corn on the cob, and a funnel cake tonight.
There was a short period of time when I wanted to be one of those people who interprets dreams. I was fascinated by them. Then, there was this old guy, Robert, who had some connection (I have no idea what) to my dorm in college. He would show up from time to time, wearing his big, black shoes and his too-thin tie, and this man could spin a tale about dreams that I had never witnessed before. He had books and history and psychology mumbo-jumbo attached to all of his analysis. I thought he was just a little bit crazy, but I loved him. I don't remember the names of most of the people on my floor in college, but I remember Robert, the dream-chaser.
I hate how dreams drift away. The details become fuzzy, and unless you have someone to share them with almost immediately, they inevitably disappear, if you remembered them in the first place. I have always wondered how much dreams mean. Like, why do some seem so real? Why do some seem so deranged? Why do some repeat themselves? Why do the visuals often not match up to the presumed reality of the characters? Why am I in the dream sometimes and watching myself sometimes? Color? Black and white? People I know? People I have never seen? It's all a little wacky, really.
I remember a vivid dream I had in elementary school. I was re-telling it to a friend, and right after I got to the part where the person (another friend) apologized for being cruel in the dream, the other friend came up and apologized for being cruel in real life. I almost wet my pants.
Speaking of wetting my pants, I remember one time (in...seventh grade...), I dreamed about a new holiday: National Pee Day. And everyone had the freedom to pee wherever they wanted all day long. I woke up to a pee-soaked bed.
I remember I used to dream about driving a car (before I drove cars) that got larger and larger as the dream progressed. And it would drive on the walls (yes, walls) of the interstate, and I couldn't see anything. It was terrifying. I had this dream a lot.
I remember I dreamed that I screamed at my students because they wouldn't stop laughing at me. I was trying to teach class, and they just laughed and laughed. I was incensed. Like, rip your hair out, total loss of control. Really, it was just my alarm clock that was set with a laughing ringtone. (A similar situation has happened on MANY occasions...almost always dealing with students...isn't that weird? It is as if they are trying to get me to wake up or something.)
There are more, but I will stop.
I definitely think there are aspects of life that we will never understand, maybe we aren't meant to understand. Deja vu (no idea how to spell and punctuate that correctly), middle school, the grief process, people's capacity for evil, dreams, etc. It seems impossible that symbols mean the same thing in one person's dream as another. I just can't believe that our sub-consciences work out issues with the same symbolism and imagery. Maybe our dreams are a chance for our brains to imagine without our self-editing tools kicking in. I wonder if the dreams of children are less vivid because their imaginations are turned on so much more during waking hours. Who knows? I don't think about this often, but I was told to write a letter to my dreams.
Love Always,
Jacqui
PS. Hopes and dreams, umm...I want a room wallpapered with postcards. I want to go to Africa and Greece. I want to build/have/make a photography studio and learn how to take pictures better. Ehhh, I want so much. Namely, right now, I want fair food, so I will be driving to Lafayette and enjoying pulled pork, corn on the cob, and a funnel cake tonight.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The Stranger on the Street
I am not really a fan of this assignment.
I am supposed to write a letter to a stranger.
Ugh. I have to have more direction than that, so I will create it.
To the stranger I will meet in New Orleans,
I hope I talk to you, take advantage of meeting someone with a lifetime of different experiences than me. I hope I can be an encouragement to you, the hands and feet of Jesus, while I work on building a house. I hope your week is brightened by our team's presence, a lift at just the right time. I hope I see your story rather than judge your appearance. I hope you play music and create memories for my kids. I hope you will be given an ear, someone who wants to hear what you have to say. I hope I can be patient if you change plans on me.
But, really, I just hope I see you. Really see you, even if just for a moment.
I am supposed to write a letter to a stranger.
Ugh. I have to have more direction than that, so I will create it.
To the stranger I will meet in New Orleans,
I hope I talk to you, take advantage of meeting someone with a lifetime of different experiences than me. I hope I can be an encouragement to you, the hands and feet of Jesus, while I work on building a house. I hope your week is brightened by our team's presence, a lift at just the right time. I hope I see your story rather than judge your appearance. I hope you play music and create memories for my kids. I hope you will be given an ear, someone who wants to hear what you have to say. I hope I can be patient if you change plans on me.
But, really, I just hope I see you. Really see you, even if just for a moment.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
We are Family.
Hello, world.
Letter 3 is supposed to be to my parents. Letter 4 is supposed to be to my siblings. I am just going to smash them together into one gigantic letter to the family. Because my family did not request that I write them letters that anyone can read, I will choose to keep these short and simple, not too personal.
Dear Mama,
Thanks for letting me be who I wanted to be, rather than a manufactured version of yourself. It is hard to imagine life with different parents or a different family, but I took for granted how independent you always let me be (and it might now be bothering you, actually). You have allowed me to make mistakes and make my own choices, and I honestly think I can handle pretty much anything because you have always told me I could. Thank you for your unwavering compassion on all living creatures and your bravery to walk down new roads even late in life. Thank you for watching movies and television with me, for loving me through your frustration with me, and for always providing a home for us.
Dear Dad,
Goodness knows we aren't that close, but there are things about you that I admire. I assume that I got my thirst for knowledge from you, and I love how much you know about history and the world. Thanks for always taking me on rollercoasters when I was a kid; those times at Kennywood are some of my dearest childhood memories. Thank you for not taking things (especially yourself) too seriously. Thank you for your work ethic. Thank you for your unique and heartfelt Christmas presents and your generosity to me. Thanks for naming me Bunk.
Dear Tara,
I am so glad you are going to New Orleans with me. I am so excited for you to enter into my world, to see what it's like from my point of view. I hope you love it; I hope you love my kids. Tara, of anyone I know, I think I watched you change so much as you have gotten older. That is something rare in a person, and I truly respect how you have embraced and chosen your life. I have watched motherhood soften your personality, but I love that you have a fire that won't go out. I am amazed that college you existed when I see how amazing your home is now. I can handle the fact that you are pathologically crazy when it comes to cleaning and "purging," especially when I reap the benefits. :) Your self-discipline astounds me, and yes, although I would never want to work hard enough to get there, I am jealous of your mad marathon-ing skills.
Dear Greg,
I know that my distance has hurt you the most. I am sorry for that. I have always looked up to you, even during your awkward junior high phase, and I must have gained at least a piece of my competitive nature from you. Nearly every reminiscence about childhood begins while dancing on your toes, and now, I love to see you raising two wonderful children, providing so much for your family. You are a go-getter, which I admire, but you haven't lost your humanity, which is utterly important. I wish you would slow down once in a while, let go of your phone for a few minutes, allow yourself not to be defined by your work, but I know you will eventually slow down. I love your sense of humor and your loyalty to sports teams. I hope we do grow closer.
Hey family,
I can't wait to travel the world with you next summer. Sincerely, I simply cannot wait.
Letter 3 is supposed to be to my parents. Letter 4 is supposed to be to my siblings. I am just going to smash them together into one gigantic letter to the family. Because my family did not request that I write them letters that anyone can read, I will choose to keep these short and simple, not too personal.
Dear Mama,
Thanks for letting me be who I wanted to be, rather than a manufactured version of yourself. It is hard to imagine life with different parents or a different family, but I took for granted how independent you always let me be (and it might now be bothering you, actually). You have allowed me to make mistakes and make my own choices, and I honestly think I can handle pretty much anything because you have always told me I could. Thank you for your unwavering compassion on all living creatures and your bravery to walk down new roads even late in life. Thank you for watching movies and television with me, for loving me through your frustration with me, and for always providing a home for us.
Dear Dad,
Goodness knows we aren't that close, but there are things about you that I admire. I assume that I got my thirst for knowledge from you, and I love how much you know about history and the world. Thanks for always taking me on rollercoasters when I was a kid; those times at Kennywood are some of my dearest childhood memories. Thank you for not taking things (especially yourself) too seriously. Thank you for your work ethic. Thank you for your unique and heartfelt Christmas presents and your generosity to me. Thanks for naming me Bunk.
Dear Tara,
I am so glad you are going to New Orleans with me. I am so excited for you to enter into my world, to see what it's like from my point of view. I hope you love it; I hope you love my kids. Tara, of anyone I know, I think I watched you change so much as you have gotten older. That is something rare in a person, and I truly respect how you have embraced and chosen your life. I have watched motherhood soften your personality, but I love that you have a fire that won't go out. I am amazed that college you existed when I see how amazing your home is now. I can handle the fact that you are pathologically crazy when it comes to cleaning and "purging," especially when I reap the benefits. :) Your self-discipline astounds me, and yes, although I would never want to work hard enough to get there, I am jealous of your mad marathon-ing skills.
Dear Greg,
I know that my distance has hurt you the most. I am sorry for that. I have always looked up to you, even during your awkward junior high phase, and I must have gained at least a piece of my competitive nature from you. Nearly every reminiscence about childhood begins while dancing on your toes, and now, I love to see you raising two wonderful children, providing so much for your family. You are a go-getter, which I admire, but you haven't lost your humanity, which is utterly important. I wish you would slow down once in a while, let go of your phone for a few minutes, allow yourself not to be defined by your work, but I know you will eventually slow down. I love your sense of humor and your loyalty to sports teams. I hope we do grow closer.
Hey family,
I can't wait to travel the world with you next summer. Sincerely, I simply cannot wait.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
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