I like to update my blog at night...generally well past midnight (which is probably the closest I'll ever come to actual intoxication). There's nothing quite like a Dr. Seuss movie (oh yes, I did) and a crepe to make me wax contemplative in the wee hours of the morn'.
These past couple of weeks have been extremely eventful - I met a girl (yay!), separated my shoulder (boo!), my baby sister got married, a good friend "came out" to me and another good friend is tying the knot ten short hours from now (and then there were two).
There are so many fantastic things about meeting someone new. I love the awkwardness of first dates and doorstep scenes. I love knocking on the door for the first time and getting that sudden, gut wrenching feeling that suddenly your skin doesn't fit right. And yes...sometimes it can be exhausting to get to know someone new - to fill them in on all of your quirks and idiosyncrasies...but then sometimes it can feel like you're Columbus stumbling his way onto the American shore for the first time. You wonder - "how could I have lived this long, so close to something this amazing, without ever knowing it?" I love the talking in cars after the dinners or movies, the awkward phone calls where you're never quite sure what to say but still end up talking for hours. Most of all I love the (treacherous?) hope that rises unbidden from somewhere deep within. It's the same hope that robs me of confidence and propels me forward into....?
Shoulders were not meant to be separated...in fact, I've come to believe that shoulders were meant to be left entirely alone. There should be no tearing, dislocating or otherwise misusing this joint unless you plan on never changing clothes, or really ever moving that region of your body, again. But, if you're like me and you do stupid things occasionally and end up messing things up - I would advise you to pray for Vicodin.
The one good thing about separating your shoulder though is that you'll DEFINITELY stand out in your sister's wedding pictures. ("Who's the idiot with the arm brace?") Shortly after said shoulder injury, my baby sister got hitched. For me, the hardest part of the entire process is watching the photo-montage that they put together. You know the one - there's a country song playing in the background while the bride and groom blossom before your eyes blah blah blah. I thought I'd seen enough of these to be forever immuned to their tear-jerking ways...but then I saw my baby sister on the screen. It's different when the little girl on the screen is still a little girl in your mind...when you remember that easter dress or the fabulous 80s hairstyle. It's somehow different when you remember the baby, the little girl, the young woman...and somehow difficult to put all of those memories into the beautiful bride you see dancing with her new partner - and realize that your baby sister is all grown up. I love that little girl, and I'm so proud of what she's grown into.
You're going to have to wait to hear the rest because my Nutella-induced melancholy has faded - but rest assured that the next time sugar and I meet late at night, you'll find our love child in the words of this blog shortly thereafter.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Thoughts, a sad tale and a dash of Shakespeare
I realize that it's been a little while since my last entry...and I have a very good explanation for my absence - I'm a lazy S.O.B. who would rather watch old episodes of "Scrubs" than blog. (For other sad facts about the writer, please visit scotkeithly.blogspot.com and check out the latest post). Also - I don't think I had a single interesting thought during the past couple of weeks...and there's really nothing worse than listening to nonsensical ramblings by those with nothing better to do than rant at the expense of you, the poor, unsuspecting reader (again, see scotkeithly.blogspot.com).
A friend of mine (who, in order to protect myself, will remain nameless) had an interesting experience on Saturday night.
This young lady recently got out of a pretty serious relationship, and has been suffering from the after-shocks of lost love. Luckily, she's a cutie, and the gentlemen (and others) just can't seem to get enough of her...so she hasn't been sitting at home alone on the weekends. She even started moving towards serious with a certain young man. unfortunately, like many of us who have felt the fury of a hot stove...she's afraid of getting burned again, especially with scars that are just now beginning to heal.
So our little friend told semi-serious boy that she wasn't ready for anything REALLY serious...and wanted to date around. He, being a pretty understanding guy, was fine with that as soon as she promised not to kiss any of these others.
But then Saturday night came along (as it tends to do) and with it a smooth young man with a silver tongue and lightning quick texting thumbs. And later on that same evening, our little friend found herself in his sculpted arms.
Unfortunately, chaste reader, we must leave them there...and pick up our tale on the following evening.
Semi-serious boy came to pick up our little friend and spend an enchanting evening by the sea - gazing into each others' eyes and whispering sugar-coated nothings into each others' ears. But the light of the setting sun revealed more than the love in our little friend's eyes...it also revealed a little (actually, quite big) something that the sculpted, silver-tongued young man left behind a few degrees north of her collarbone.
"what's that?" semi-serious asked? and, faithful reader, that was the end of the magic on that fateful evening by the sea.
The next day our little friend lamented her lasciviousness and her loss, but could not (no matter how hard your persistent penman pressed) come up with a reason for her lapse. Instead she bemoaned her semi-beloved's departure and cursed her folly.
When I finally found the fortitude to forego my fit of fun (at our fair little friend's expense), I was reminded of a bit of shakespeare that I had memorized in jr high that seemed particularly fitting under the circumstances. This passage comes from The Rape of Lucrece:
What win I if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
So enough with the olde english and alliteration. In this passage, Billy explains why so many of us are moral. In the end, who would destroy an entire vine in order to eat one grape? It seems like a foolish thing to do. And while it would be overstatement to accuse our little friend of such a gross misdemeanor, in a small way, that's exactly what she did. And it's the same thing so many of us do so often. We allow ourselves to live so much in the moment that we forget that life is made up of such moments. Life is, in fact, a compilation of millions and millions of moments, the vast majority of which mean almost nothing. But every now and then we come across moments that determine who we are. And in those moments, we simply cannot afford to sell eternity...no matter how shiny the toy.
A friend of mine (who, in order to protect myself, will remain nameless) had an interesting experience on Saturday night.
This young lady recently got out of a pretty serious relationship, and has been suffering from the after-shocks of lost love. Luckily, she's a cutie, and the gentlemen (and others) just can't seem to get enough of her...so she hasn't been sitting at home alone on the weekends. She even started moving towards serious with a certain young man. unfortunately, like many of us who have felt the fury of a hot stove...she's afraid of getting burned again, especially with scars that are just now beginning to heal.
So our little friend told semi-serious boy that she wasn't ready for anything REALLY serious...and wanted to date around. He, being a pretty understanding guy, was fine with that as soon as she promised not to kiss any of these others.
But then Saturday night came along (as it tends to do) and with it a smooth young man with a silver tongue and lightning quick texting thumbs. And later on that same evening, our little friend found herself in his sculpted arms.
Unfortunately, chaste reader, we must leave them there...and pick up our tale on the following evening.
Semi-serious boy came to pick up our little friend and spend an enchanting evening by the sea - gazing into each others' eyes and whispering sugar-coated nothings into each others' ears. But the light of the setting sun revealed more than the love in our little friend's eyes...it also revealed a little (actually, quite big) something that the sculpted, silver-tongued young man left behind a few degrees north of her collarbone.
"what's that?" semi-serious asked? and, faithful reader, that was the end of the magic on that fateful evening by the sea.
The next day our little friend lamented her lasciviousness and her loss, but could not (no matter how hard your persistent penman pressed) come up with a reason for her lapse. Instead she bemoaned her semi-beloved's departure and cursed her folly.
When I finally found the fortitude to forego my fit of fun (at our fair little friend's expense), I was reminded of a bit of shakespeare that I had memorized in jr high that seemed particularly fitting under the circumstances. This passage comes from The Rape of Lucrece:
What win I if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
So enough with the olde english and alliteration. In this passage, Billy explains why so many of us are moral. In the end, who would destroy an entire vine in order to eat one grape? It seems like a foolish thing to do. And while it would be overstatement to accuse our little friend of such a gross misdemeanor, in a small way, that's exactly what she did. And it's the same thing so many of us do so often. We allow ourselves to live so much in the moment that we forget that life is made up of such moments. Life is, in fact, a compilation of millions and millions of moments, the vast majority of which mean almost nothing. But every now and then we come across moments that determine who we are. And in those moments, we simply cannot afford to sell eternity...no matter how shiny the toy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
