Happy New Year, and to all a good night

Good morning folks,

I thought it wise to post one last thing before we ring in the New Year. Much has happened over the past year, and well, not all of it good or wise. I learned many lessons, and lessons are learned through mistakes. I made some huge decisions, found a wonderful new roommate and apartment, started a new job, got my heart broken, made some amazing new friends and strengthened the bonds of old ones, I read lots of books, I started a new hobby (ballroom dance) and picked up some old ones again (why hello there scrapbooking!), I found meaningful volunteer service, really started cooking more, and I went to my first Comic Con. I continued to diligently write in my blog, and started a book, wrote some poetry, I hosted my first Thanksgiving, I turned 24, I applied to grad school, beat a few weird illnesses, and took on a second job. I realized sometimes we have to be content to miss people because there is a reason they are no longer in our lives. I re-arranged my life to find new dreams and put myself on the path to reach them. I completed a year of AmeriCorps, I dyed my hair!, and I was published twice. I gained a better understanding of the Italian language, (si, e vero. Capisco piu). I learned that endings are endings, but there is a new beginning somewhere else. I found who my true friends are, and finally understood why friendship is the most important gift.
But most importantly, I survived. I made it through and even with many moments, when I thought I wouldn't, I did. The hardest part is accepting the time, knowing that when your chest hurts so bad and your body literally aches with sorrow, time really will make it better. If you can make it through those moments, it really will get better. It sounds so cliché, but there were times this year when grief ripped my body apart, but I still pulled through. Not because I am particularly strong or resilient, not because I have this great big heart, but because I had people who helped and once you slide on past the hurt, it does ebb away. Sorrow tends to narrow our scope of things. Grief makes us curl into our selves, and we stop seeing the periphery, the future, the days that march ahead of us. Emotional pain is a lingering ache, but we can cure it. Cure it with friendship and laughter and tears and cooking and reading and wine and good movies with good people and good food. There are band-aids for all wounds, even the ones you can't see.
So what did I learn this year? Oh, so many things. I learned to love again, or rather, to keep on loving. I may have gotten quieter, but I still have a voice and I am not afraid to speak. I learned how to heal, and that time is a friend not an nemesis. I learned being single is really awesome because trust me, relationships come with complications and responsibilities, and who wants that in there in twenties when I still eat cereal for dinner sometimes. I learned doing things the hard way lead to the best rewards, and to not give up when it seems hopeless. I learned new words, and found new books. I learned to be diligent and kind and try not to judge so much (this was the hardest thing). I learned to write every day, and whatever you do, don't ever, ever, ever give up on your dreams, even if you need to let the dust settle before you continue walking towards them.
I hope you all have a happy, wonderful, safe New Year. I hope you all find whatever it is you want this coming 2015. I hope you sigh with contentment not frustration, and I hope you stop waiting and start moving towards your dreams too. I wish you all the best, and maybe some of the worst, because life isn't perfect and sometimes it will be messy, but some of most beautiful things in life are the messes we create and the art born from it.
I hope I have a better year. I hope my search produces some treasures. I hope more good people come into my life, and that I can celebrate the good things with the wonderful people already in it. Good luck, my friends.

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves" W. Shakespeare

Bread: The Results

So I swear to you all that I did not plan for things to occur as they did. Remember yesterday, when I wrote that horrid post complaining about my failed bread experiment. How hopeless it all seemed. How the dough was terrible and nothing came out right. Remember that? Remember all that drama?
Well it was drama over nothing. I let the dough sit over night, and even though it didn't rise, I decided to bake anyway this afternoon. Boom. Took the plunge.
I preheated the oven to a piping hot 400 degrees, put some cornmeal on the baking sheet, and popped that stick goo into the oven. I put twenty five minutes on the timer, and went to do dishes. Bam. It was a long shot, trust me. I expected things to go horribly wrong, or for it just pander into nothing.
So imagine my surprise, when the sweet aroma of fresh bread wafted over to me. That warm smell. Ah, that sweet, rich scent of toasting crust. I peered into the oven, and there was a round loaf of bread.
What?
I tested it and sure enough, cooked through, soft on the inside with a crisp crust. Whoa.
So not to get philosophical, but no really, let's do it. I was completely shocked by this turn of events. Yes, it's bread. But hey, it's the little things we take the most from, isn't it? The bread dough really had no reason to come out as tasty as it did. But in the end, with a little faith, hope, and maybe some pixie dust it came out alright. It sure as hell didn't have the end result I had aimed for in the beginning, or the product I thought I was going to get when I put it in the oven. I did have some tasty, tasty bread. Bread is bread, right?
Well wrong. But still, sometimes the road we take to where we want to go isn't going to look right, and maybe the result will be different than what we planned for. The directions will be tricky, the steps don't take you to the right places or leave you with not-quite-right results. I guess the lesson here is to keep going. I didn't have to bake that batch, but I did anyway. And well, the bread came out just as tasty. Mistakes can help you, they can propel you to new places, and help you learn. Or maybe those mistakes turn out to be as great as if you followed the recipe and succeeded.
You just have to keep going.
Thanks Bread, you really taught me something today. 

Bread

I know it's taken me a bit to write another post. My apologies. Life has been tremendously busy, and I know I always say that. Mostly because it's true. With the Thanksgiving Holiday just past, a scary day of working retail on Black Friday (for any non-American readers, this is the day when we greedy Americans trample each other for not so great shopping deals the day after we proclaim our thankfulness over what we have, we love our hypocrisies over here). My weekend was so crazy it gave me a lovely cold which I have been suffering from the last two weeks and finally had to call in sick last night because I couldn't talk and could barely stand.
Yup, I have a hard problem 'resting'. I just can't stop until someone steps in and forces me to sit and relax. It's not a healthy way to live life, but I have responsibilities and well, I can't really afford to take a day off. Do you know how much I lose in a paycheck if I do so? And they take so much out for taxes, it's insane! I'll maybe see 3/4 of a paycheck, probably less.
I could gripe about the government and its exorbitant taxes all day, I need to save money and how can I do that if I barely have enough to survive paycheck to paycheck. It'll work out, it somehow always manages to do that anyway. I work two jobs, which I surprisingly like to do? Well, for one it keeps me busy and entertained. I think too much as it is, and I don't need to the extra time to do so. In my free time, like some I had today, I experimented with making bread.
It didn't go well.
So far, it hasn't risen at all. Which apparently yeasty bread is supposed to do. How can I be a good cook if I can't even make bread? Ugh, so frustrating. It tasted fine. But the consistency is all wrong. Maybe the water cooled too quickly when it was soaking in the yeast? Right now the dough is flat and doesn't look right.
Il pan e male.
The bread is bad. Well if I actually made it to the baking part it would be. Maybe baking bread isn't my thing? It's possible. But I'm not giving up. I'll keep you all updated. I have two more yeast packets left, and several other recipes. It shall not escape me, this elusive trick.

To Be

Alright guys,

I'm in a weird place right now. Just totally weird. I don't even know how to put it into words and that's odd for me. Because if there is anything I am good at, it's talking and writing and putting things into words. And I'm at this loss. It's weird. Not liking it weird.
I was doing really well for a while. I'm a busy person. Two jobs. Lots of volunteering. Plus the holidays and my birthday (ughhh, I'm old now). Embracing my quarter-life crisis. I have no time for dating or people. Just friends, family, and giving myself wholeheartedly to other people. If I can lose myself in others, it'll mask all the other crazy going in my head. At least, that's what I tell myself. Maybe this is my crisis talking or the anxiety, or more likely, the crippling loneliness. I can't even make a joke about it, which is about the only other thing I'm good at. It's something I picked up from a friend, if I can deflect with a joke or a sarcastic comment, I'm sure as hell gonna do just that. Deflect, dodge, hermit. Repeat.
Maybe I can hide from the feelings?
That sounds like a lovely idea.
As much as I hermit (and well, I have some very awesome friends who have done there best at dragging me out of my hole - albeit kicking, whining, and with general curmudgeon-y attitude), I don't really like to do it. Can I sit my butt down and have a book absorb my concentration and attention for a whole day? Why yes. Should I be doing that any time I am not at work? No. I love people, but I find that I tend to hide from them more. I''m….not as friendly anymore. When I left high school, I was such a social butterfly. I had no problems introducing myself, starting up conversations, making people laugh. But lately…I struggle over whispering hello to new co-workers. I see new people and instantly turn tail and run. I don't know why. I have such anxiety over just striking up conversations with people I see on a regular basis. It's a war inside me: this desire to be surrounded by people but simultaneously being utterly terrified of any and all social situations that don't include the same five people. And…how sad is that?
I am doing better, at least I thought I was. I don't even know anymore. Maybe I'm not doing better? Maybe this is part of the recovery process. I mean, even addicts have lapses, so I'm told. Maybe this is merely a lapse. Maybe I need the quiet and the hermitting. I'm not sure what's right for me at the moment. What's up with me?
I question every decision I make: grad school, Italian, my friends, my financial decisions, my outfits, my appearance, my weight. It's this never ending parade of doubt. I know you all must be sick of this whiny, down-on-my-luck attitude. Hell, I am sick of feeling this way. I just honestly don't know how to get rid of it. I am tired of the doubt and the anxiety and the sadness and the loneliness.
I got a body pillow for my birthday. It's beautiful. And so comfortable. You really have no idea how wonderful this thing is. It's as long as I am tall, and I can wrap myself around this thing like a boa constrictor killing its prey.
But that's it. That's my life. Cuddling into objects that don't feel back. That's as much human contact I can get. Sleeping with a body pillow, that while it is warm and fluffy and squishy and fits just right next to me, but there is no reciprocation. And now that I think about it, I feel like that's what drags me down, or is dragging me down. I give too much. I give myself to others. I will comfort others. I will love and tend to them. I will hold someone. I will listen and cry along with others.
But…I don't really receive anything back. I spent a whole year loving someone who didn't love me back, which now that I think, is a lot to give someone when you don't receive that type of strong, emotional feeling back. There are only so many pieces you can give away before the puzzle isn't anything but broken. Maybe that's my issue. Maybe I need to not give back for a while.
So many maybes. Like I said, weird times friends. I'm sure this too will pass eventually. I just don't have the patience, and I want to be better now. I don't want to feel crappy anymore. I don't want to be alone - I hate it. But I need to be. I need to stop giving of myself to anyone who needs it. I just need to be. 

Food for Thought

As I have mentioned before, I have found great love in cooking. In the shopping, preparation, serving, and eating food. These four elements to me create the whole experience, it's not just the edibles itself, but the combination of those four that truly create an amazing experience for my mind, body, and soul. I realize that I am still in the track to getting better, to truly leaving the dark place behind and setting myself in some place that is wholly better. I am not there yet. I still question to my decision to apply to grad school, and I worry it will not pan out in the direction I desire it to. I constantly question myself, my ability to maintain relationships, my sanity, my emotional health, my anxiety,  my financial straights. I question repeatedly what I actually want from my life. If I am the person I want to be. I question and worry and analyze everything about myself. I mope and really, I am just overall grumpy individual to be around.
So really, lots of questioning is going on right now.
But the one thing that does make me focus is cooking. The prep work, the sizzle of the pan, the aromas in the kitchen, and then sitting down to the finish product to feed myself the wondrous meal. But even better, cooking for others. At the present moment, I am doubting all of my personal relationships. I realize I am a hard person to love and to be around. I doubt the sincerity of those I know. I doubt the reasons they stay with me. A rational part of me knows I am being utterly ridiculous. I know my friends love me, my family loves me, I know my co-workers care for me, I know my best friendAmy will probably smack me upside the head when she reads this, and my best friend Janice would give me hug while reaming me out. Even my roommate will probably give me a look and tell me stop being so silly and dramatic. I know they love me. But it doesn't stop me from doubting it. It's hard to bounce back when you're trust has been smashed. It's hard to not to doubt that others will stay. It's all so silly, really. And I'm trying. I am, I am, I am.
So, cooking. When I cook, I am pouring my creative energy into something productive, so physically moving. I create with my hands. I warm my apartment with fresh scents and mouth watering aromas. I can create something that pleases my own palate but other's as well. The warmth of having friends over for dinner, cooking something I made is…is such a relief. I love the way good food makes me feel. Especially with friends. I love the way it has a way of calming me, especially when I'm having a particularly bad day. Food has a way of drawing my attention, keeping it, until the last bite has been eaten. I am no master chef, far from it. I am far from even being a fantastic chef. But…I can care for those I love through it. I can bake something out of stress and create something good from the maelstrom of difficulty that is my emotional state. I am getting better.
I am better than I was.
And I cook. A lot. I cook to show my love for my friends, for my roommate, for anyone who let me feed them. I need people. I need to help people. And well, I need to feed people. I love the reactions when someone eats something delicious or pleasing to them. The look of contentment. That full feeling in the stomach and the soul. Good food does wonders. Food and stories are, in my humble opinion, some of the most important things for the human soul. To connect through food, and to connect through emotion. Beautiful things, people.
This past week I made an amazing autumn meal. Let me tell you about it. I had a rough day at work. The two jobs really wears me down. So I came home and said, let's top the day with something delicious. I cooked myself roasted butternut squash with olive oil and white onions (although I think next time it'll be red onions instead), then mixed that with dried cranberries and baby spinach, seasoned with salt and paper. Then I sautéed pork chops with a honey, garlic, soy sauce, and ketchup (surprisingly good). Well, let me tell you. Fantastic. Full of flavor, warm and hearty. A lovely, quiet meal. So simple! and so easy! Definitely eased the complications of the day out and away. It's amazing how you can relax after a good meal. Problems have a way of seeming easier to deal with and sort after a good meal. Maybe it's just the break of cooking and eating that allows me to look at my problems in a better light.
If anyone is interested, I would love to share the recipe.
Eat well and be merry, friends. 

To Listen

Hello there friends, countrymen, and brethren,

That may not be the exact quote but it works for me right now. I have written before on the importance of volunteering, and the large role it plays in my life. As of right now, I only volunteer for one organization, SARSSM (Sexual Assault Response Services of SOuthern Maine), what a mouth full, I know. But it definitely a life changing organization to be with. I started in October, and it has been such a good choice. I had my first morning shift, and it only reaffirms my decision to volunteer and advocate for women and men in such difficult times.
When I attended Elmira College, I advocated for women and feminism in all aspects of my life. It is something that is very important to me, and something that I feel quite strongly about. My beliefs that women and men should be equal influence me on many levels, from where I work, how I build and formulate relationships, and now where I volunteer. This position will take up much of my free time (the little that I do have, between two jobs and chores), but I gladly give it to such a worthy, admirable, and remarkable cause. SARSSM allows me to return to that part of my values, to help those who need a listening ear, to help those effected by this plague of sexual violence we find in our society. But as I give to those I help, I find that I am learning more about myself. We are all students in this life, and may I never stop learning. Volunteering with SARSSM has helped me discover more about myself, and I believe this is such a huge aspect of volunteering. It is about the give and take. Giving myself to others leaves me feeling whole and content, knowing that I, in some way, have lent my ear to someone else who needs to voice the feelings they have is a very rewarding experience. For those of you who know me personally, you know if there is one thing I can do well, it is talking. I love to talk. I love to have conversations with people (even if I dominate most of it). I always have something to say. I always have an opinion or argument on hand. And volunteering with SARSSM helped me realize listening is just as valuable and needed as talking. Maybe more so. My listening skills have definitely gotten better from my service.
Don't worry, I still talk enough for three people.
Any who, I love volunteering for SARSSM. It's just so rewarding. I am helping a cause I feel strongly about, and I feel like have some purpose again. I like having goals and something to work for. Although I am advocating for a phenomenon experienced mostly by women, I know this is a bit quieter. This is something that has an impact on those who experience abuse, sexual or otherwise, this helps their families, this helps a large range of people. And sometimes it doesn't help. I realize I will not have a direct impact on anyone's life, and I'm okay with that. All I can do is offer my time, my ear, my compassion and empathy. I can't do anymore than that. I give what I can, because that's all I can do. And the reward is knowing I can do that, I can volunteer, that I can help others. 

Thoughts on Food and Cooking

I love to cook. This is a somewhat recent phenomenon that I have constant access to a fully decked kitchen. My kitchen is beautiful, and I wish you could see how spacious and bright it is. I love having a space like this all to myself. Clean, orderly, organized. Cooking has been a great relief for me. I enjoy working my hands, molding dough into something delicious and edible, experimenting with spices to create that perfect chicken. It lets me escape the stresses of the day from work to relationships. I come home and heat up that stove. Baking is personal favorite, because who doesn't love sweet things? I know I sure do. Probably too much.
So, cooking. It's awesome. I realize I am no great chef, and far from a culinary expert. That's my best friend, Amy. She's the culinary genius of the group. But, cooking, it's great. And relaxing. It allows me to branch out creatively.
One thing I have noticed is how rare it is for people to cook meals for themselves. Especially women. I know I am making huge generalizations here, but let's roll with this for a bit. Many women I know -single or married or somewhere in between - won't cook a meal for themselves. They are more apt to eat leftovers or order out or something easy (like microwavable meals). I know men who do this too, unless someone cooks for them or someone is visiting, they won't cook. And I guess, I just don't see why. I cook for myself all the time. Sometimes it's easier for me to experiment that way because if it turns out horribly, no one is there to witness my culinary failure.
I think people should cook for themselves, and make meals. It's not a waste (hey, leftovers for lunch! Show off that cooking expertise at the work place!) because you need to eat and eat good, healthy things. I like eating the dishes I cook because it comes with a sense of accomplishment (whew, nobody died or had food poisoning, score!). Whether someone or not someone is there to share in the delight that is a hot meal, cooking a meal for myself is important. Food is important to me, and eating is also important. As someone who occasionally forgets to feed myself, actually prepping and cooking helps me keep that eating on track. Plus it is one way that I love myself, I cook good things for me to eat. Does that make sense? Just like I take myself on a date every once and a while, I cook a nice meal (nothing huge or extravagant).
Food and eating is a huge part of our lives - even if we don't have enough to eat, it will still be on our minds. You don't have to be a fantastic cook to cook for yourself. It is worth the time to have a meal after a long day, although I understand there are days that really are too long for anything other than sleeping. That a healthy meal is a good way to end the day, no matter what.
But I hear that women won't cook for themselves because it's not worth it to cook only for one person. Well, you are a person and you deserve good food!
These are very erratic thoughts, my mind is mostly elsewhere at the moment. But I really think people should cook more for themselves if they are alone. A meal for a single individual is just as good as a meal for several people. Plus when you cook a meal, you are eating healthier, you know what goes into that food and what you are getting out of it. So good vibes all around. 

Success

So last evening, a fellow and I were having a discussion about life. And by discussion I mean I talked a lot and he listened intently. He's a cool dude. But I also say that about anyone who will let me chatter away uninterrupted. I like to talk for those of you who haven't met me.
Anyway, I mentioned that I consider myself to be successful in life thus far, even though I'm not even a quarter of a century old yet and haven't done much with my life. Except kick the ass out of some depression, get published, maintain a blog, complete a year of AmeriCorps, and pay my rent on time. Out all of that, the rent thing is the most impressive. I have such wild adventures, I know. Crazy me. In-sane.
So, he asked me why I felt this way, and it took a moment, but I have reached an amazing pinnacle in my short life. I am in a way on the summit looking down at the cliff face I just spent a year climbing and I feel successful, I feel better about life than I have in a long while. I respect myself, something I fear I lost. I just completed a very long, arduous training to be CSL advocate (Crisis and Support Line) for SARSSM. An amazing group of people helping those effected by sexual assault in Southern Maine. So, between that and two jobs, I spent an extraordinary amount of time helping other people. Because more than anything that is what I love to do. I love my blog and my friends and drinking red wine with pasta and comics and books. I love to read and hike. I spend much of my waking time loving things because I feel strongly about almost everything I do. I'm not much of a middle ground person, I either love or hate. I don't do ambivalency. I do passion and love. And most importantly, I love helping people. I love working where I do because I can help people first hand and also know my efforts and work go to helping Catholic Charities do the work they do. There is a cycle of good here, that I can keep going.
I sleep quite soundly at night.
So, volunteering is one way for me to give the one resources I have nothing but to give: time. I can let them talk so I can listen. I can give them my compassion and empathy, because I do not have much money. And I'm so okay with that. I can give them something better. At least, I see this is as something better. I realize this is a very idealistic view of the world and myself. I know many other would prefer money. I know some people prefer the material. Heck, I prefer the material sometimes. And even though I live pay check to paycheck, I know I can still give back. I can still do something to make life a little better for someone.
So, why am I successful? Because even without money, I can still maintain a lifestyle I have always wanted. I can still help out where I can. I can still lend an ear, still laugh with my friends, still cook for those I love. I can still dream big dreams.
Because I can still say to myself "I can" and not doubt myself, that I can happily live in the positive, give good, and receive good.
So, this post mya have been a huge pat on the back for myself, but hey, this is my blog and I'm going to write what I want. Maybe, this will inspire others to go out and give a little kindness. I see so much negativity, and its' true, there are many instances where I lose my faith in humanity. But then, I try not to give up hope. This doesn't have to be a losing battle.

Pirates and Monks

Recently, I have been on a book reading binge. I devour books like some people breathe air. I can't help it, my appetite for books is insatiable. Two books that stick out in my mind during my recent book binge escapades are Cinnamon and Gunpowder by Eli Brown (?) and The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco. Let me tell you, right now, I had a wonderful time reading these. Although, Eco's novel is much better, both stylistically and plot development wise. I loved The Name of the Rose, the main character is best described as a medieval Sherlock Holmes, completely British and snarky. But even better, I saw this British mastermind through the eyes of an Italian author, who had great commentary on the Brits. Just so wonderful. The scene of the novel was a monastery high in the Italian Alps that revered books, and supposedly contained the largest library in the Western world. What a place to be. If only it still existed. I heave a sigh at the thought of such a place, and can only aspire to find a modern equivalent.
Anyway, the book was massive, and very intricate. Often times, random bits of Latin would start midway in a sentence, which was lovely but also frustrating as my Latin is quite rudimentary and I needed to open up Google translate (which for those of you who don't know, isn't very good). I loved the descriptions of religious medieval life, and I found myself hungering for Gregorian chants and medieval drinking songs. I admit I may have listened to some chants on YouTube. I feel no shame. I loved the sections on heresy and women. Well, there wasn't much on women, but what was said was very true to the time. It made me think about the connections between women and heresy, and groups that were persecuted by the Church as heretical, because of their relations with women. Intriguing stuff. The characters were well rounded, but I did, in some ways, not quite like the end. I just found the crazed old man to be too much, I just don't see how anyone could hate laughter so much that he would resort to murder. But I guess the fanatical can be found in almost anything: from love of God and hatred of merriment.
The other books Cinnamon and Gunpowder was quite good, and better than I expected. It was more a fun read rather than the intellectually stimulating as Eco's was. It also managed to make me very, very hungry. All the talk of food and pirating. Man, enough to make any lady ravenous. Although it did end up becoming a love story in the end, which was mildly disappointing, because it was great without the romance. The food sounds intoxicating and Brown's descriptions of the scrumptious delights were mouthwatering. He wrote in such a way that you could almost smell the food he wrote about. It also included an amazing Vanilla-Rose Amaretti that I need to try, and when I do, I'll write about it. Ah, the food.
Short post today, and I feel in some ways I should really create a more themed blog instead of online journal. But, that isn't really my vibe. I don't do singular themes, I do whatever pops into my head on any given day. Well…glad I cleared that up. 

Take Me to Church

This post most likely will have no set theme, just the ruminations of a mad lady with too much on her mind and not enough space to put her thoughts into being. 

I've spent too much of my time worrying about money. It's true. I have student loans that need paying and food to buy and rent. I also realize there are plenty of ways to remedy these: for one I could move back in with my family. It's a simple and easy solution, but it feels wrong to me. I love my family (shout out to those of you who read this!). I just really need my own space, my own rules, and way of doing things. It's not that they prevent me from this, it is more the innate reaction of being there. I am different around my family members. I just am. But I also love having my own apartment where I make all the choices. I cook what I want. I do laundry whenever I want. I can lay on the floor and contemplate the meaning behind the universe if I damn well please with no one to tell me any differently. I need my room like I need air. I need to hermit and cry for no good reason because some days I just really need to do that. And some days I am just a curmudgeon and want nothing to do with anyone and want my alone time. Netflix is really great for those days. 

I love having my own space to write in. Of course most of my writing is through this blog, but I am the occasional poet. I even sent some poems out to journals recently, and I cannot wait to hear back from them. Who knows, maybe my next publication will be in a journal? I'd love that. I think we need to bring back a greater appreciation for poetry. What say you? Here is a link to some of the different pieces I've posted on Goodreads: 

Laura's Poetry

Please read if you can. I want feedback. 

Anyway, the biggest change right now in my life is the addition of a second job AND I dyed my hair! Yes! It's now this gorgeous chocolate cherry color that I absolutely adore, and I'm so pleased I decided to do this. I've never really dyed my hair (some blonde highlights that I didn't really like, and a blue stripe in college). I never did do much with it in college because my partner at the time didn't like body modification. He didn't like piercings, tattoos, or hair dye. So….I didn't get any more piercings, color my hair, or look into more tattoos because I spent much of my time wanting to look attractive for him. But now, I realize I don't need to look attractive to anyone but myself. Because you know the most important person in my life is? Me. 

As selfish as this sounds, I think about myself very frequently. I think about what I want in life, where I want go, who I want in my life. I think about all that I've learned about myself and how it took the greatest emotional upheaval of my life to realize I am the most important person in my life and that there are things I have denied myself due to other people. I don't have to or even want to ever do that again. I want to take care of myself. And I do. I love tattoos. I like piercings. I like decorating the walls of my temple, and if you don't like it, don't come here. I do things for myself now, because I like them or want to try them out. This is how it should be: in relationships with yourself and other people. I shouldn't deny who I am or what I like because someone else disapproves or approves. Although my partner never stopped me from doing these things, he never encouraged them either and I became too focused on what he wanted than what I wanted. Well, no longer I say. No longer. Some day - although hopefully not soon - someone will love my red hair and tattoos. Some day I will find someone who loves all these weird sides of me as I love them. I understand that this is not a treasure map, relationships can't be looked for. They just happen. But when you accept yourself and be around people who enjoy similar activities, you're more likely to find someone who loves and appreciates you for who you are. I've stopped pretending to be someone who I am not, and have started living a life that I find fulfilling, successful, and active. I am SO grateful for what I have, what I do, how I look, for my health and all the wonderful, beautiful, talented people in my life. For those of you who are no longer here, well I can tell you, we have gone our separate ways but thanks for being here when you were. I feel better having known you and grown. But now I'm awesome. More so than before. 

I dance and dico italiano. Si, italiano. e quanto bello e che. 

So I give all of my readers my hope and words. As well as the link to my new favorite song:

Laura's Tunes

Buonanotte!  

Crossroads

Ciao!

Bueonasera! Mio italiano e molte bene! hahaha, mentirò. Il colazione e banana. Penso. Io ho la gonna.

Alas, that is far as I can get today. It's sporadic and poor, it makes no sense and has no theme to it at all. But I suppose my Italian is better than before. I have such issues speaking it and I wish I had someone to practice with. I think someone to speak to me in the language would help immensely, but no one around speaks it. And lessons are way too expensive for this chick. So Duolingo it is. But the real reason I decided to write today was about my new and improved decision to remain single. Yes. This little lady right here has decided that she needs lots of lady time, and that means no romance. As much as it kills me to ignore this desire and longing for a relationship, I know to really treat myself right, I need to do this. I need to stop searching for something I'm just not ready for. I need to come to terms with myself, and only myself, as a person and individual outside of a relationship. It sucks.
I don't want to be lonely, but I know that I'm not. I am surrounded by amazing family members and friends and others who really do care about me. My first priority is to myself and only myself. Then friends and family. Somewhere way down the line is romance. I am too busy for one right.
So that means grad school and learning Italian and dancing (amo ballare). It means dinners with my friends and having my mother and step-dad spend Thanksgiving with me. It means volunteering more and enjoying the sunshine. It means date-nights with just me, going to the movies or seeing a show. It means reading more books and writing more poetry. It means a lot of things that I want to do and no one to tell me differently. I won't make time for anyone that I don't want or share my room with anyone but myself. I can focus solely on this crazy chick behind the keyboard (for those of you who haven't guessed yet, that's me).
I don't want a rebound because I'm not going to get better by distracting myself with another human being, with more complicated emotions. Nope. I'm going to get better by treating myself right, but moving on with my own pace and own rhythm. I shake it off (Thanks T-Swift). I still think about my ex - a lot. I still miss him. So, why ignore those feelings? I'm going to feel what I need to feel, and I'm going to start doing right by me. It hurts that he's with someone new. But... rebounds are so messy. Because you what that teaches me? It teaches me that it is only through other romantic relationships can I feel better, feel whole. Well, the relationship I have with myself is going to get me better. I want to reach wholeness by coming whole myself. I want to have to a tumultuous love affair with me. I'm going to pamper myself and learn new things.
And well, dico italiano! I am going to love myself again.
So for the next two years, arrivedeci ragazzi e ragazze! Well, I'm not going to purposefully ignore new friends, but I want time outside of a relationship, out of romance. I just want time with myself. I want to find who I am now, as a twenty-something who wants to fulfill dreams and see the world. This is what I want, this is my dream now. I never thought I could find a new one. I never thought I would want something as much I once wanted my past relationship to work out. But I have, I have found something immensely better. And this is something I have control over, this is a dream, a goal that I can work for, obtain, and earn.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I am going to graduate school in Italy, and it is going to be the start of a new chapter of my life.
Boom. Wish me luck on this crazy, whirlwind of a life I lead. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Dear Nerd Guys: This is my PSA

Dear fake nerd guys,

I know you've become a bit of a myth, slinking back into your holes where you shun the light of day and the horde of us angry, real nerd girls who are tired of your crap. Because I am tired of it. You don't lurk around comic stores as much (for which I am grateful). But I know you exist. I deal with your stupidity on a regular basis.
First: do not come into my place of work and attempt to tell me how to do a better job. I will ignore you. I may smile politely because it is retail and I am paid to be polite but that is about as much pleasantry you will receive from me. I will not take your suggestions, even if you have 'been in this business for a while'. I don't care. Really. At all. Please keep your policies to yourself. I mean, does it really look like I'm interested in your faux hawk? Dyed some strange orange? With your creepy trench coat? Because trust me, I am not interested. Not one bit.
Second: Do not mention superheroes and comics to illicit a reaction because I mentioned something to my co-worker. You know who was part of that conversation? Not you. Do not lean across the counter top I am using to keep you at bay. Do not tell me how 'you would love to be a home writing about superheroes' and that 'you love Batman'. Do you know who loves Batman?' every-effin'-one. You know who doesn't like Batman? Me. Don't assume my knowledge of comics and heroes begins and ends with him. I prefer Wonder Woman, because you know, I want someone with edge and a story that doesn't involve dead parents. Yes, I went there. But you don't know that because you are a jerk and make assumptions about me and my hobbies.
Third: Here is what gets me. I answered you "oh that's cool. I'm a comic fan too'. And in what strange, alternative reality does "really, you don't really look like someone who would like comics. I mean comics are pretty nerdy thing to like" SOUND LIKE A GOOD REPLY TO YOU? I mean, for real, no really what thought process lead to that conclusion? Did you even regret the words as they came out of your mouth? I know I gave you a polite smile when every thought was an expletive directed at you like a silent hex. Is this your manner of flirting? Here, I'm sure there is a flirting for dummies somewhere around. Or maybe you need a how-to-treat-women-like-human-beings for dummies. Sheesh. So then, brilliant boy you are, you continue. You ask me who I like (I know this ploy, you expect someone generic or boy-toyish hero so you can school me, I've come across this out dated technique before, little do you know). I tell you Captain Marvel. Here, here is your downfall.
Fourth: If you wish to teach me a lesson about comics, know your comics asshole. Captain Marvel is a female Marvel comic hero. And for the record, although you disagree, lady heroes are just as real and strong as their male counterparts. Captain Marvel in the DC universe (and don't give me that look at about DC, only real comic nerds can complain about DC), he is now Shazam. Also Billy Batson. Once Captain Marvel but was constantly confused with the Marvel character, Captain Marvel. Who is now tall, blonde, and awesome. She was once Ms. Marvel, but was given an upgraded name to better suit just how awesome she is. Ms. Marvel is now a Muslim-American, who Wolverine quite admires (spoilers). But you would have known this, if you were actually any sort of a comic fan and the proclaimed Marvel enthusiast. Then do not blurt out some absurd comment about Thor not really being Thor because is never actually a guy is was a frog and now a woman. And women can't be Thor. And he was that doctor guy for a while. And then he was dead. What exactly are you saying? I don't know. I calmly reply that you are confused, that Thor is still Thor, the character is about the actions not the gender.
Sensing your downfall at the hands of this nerd girl, you tell me that female superheroes don't really count, because if they did, there would be a movie about them. Well, gee, you got me there. I know it took me a few moments to consolidate my thoughts into an answer, because I really wanted you to understand something. There are superhero movies because they come a comic. Movies don't validate the comic. Hell if that was the case, Catwoman would have disappeared after that disastrous early 2000s film. Anyway, in your tiny little brain, that would make sense, wouldn't it? Women can only be validated through big budgeted films and objectification through visual media. So I told you that comics were more than the movies made, and female superheroes in the Marvel U had some of the top selling stories. Thankfully, you stopped talking after that.
But you managed to put me in a foul mood. Because I'm so exhausted of having to prove myself as a nerd when I don't actually want to prove myself to anyone. I can't mention a nerdy thing without it being thrown back into my face.
I've been told when I am angry and become sarcastic I lose my point. Well you know what, you don't deserve my niceness. You don't deserve any sort of kindness for automatically assuming me to be ignorant and stupid. So guess what? You get the same treatment. So nerd guys who think its okay to judge a woman because she is a woman and has the audacity to look, feel, think beyond the skimpy outfits poised for you on the covers of a comic book, you need to revaluate the way you think are. I am more than an outfit, I am more than some obsession for you, I am here in this world too and enjoy certain things and want to enjoy them without having to validate my enjoyment of it as real.
This was a very long, sarcastic rant but this is a part of my life constantly put on the defense, constantly interrogated by people I don't even know, that need to attack this part of me for no other reason than I am a woman. Comics are not a domain just for straight men. It's a genre that should be open to all given its history as a recluse for outcasts. So, what's the deal? We nerd girls aren't going away and we certainly won't remain nice to you bullies who badger us.
I will not stop pressing this issue until I can walk, talk, think, laugh comics without the fear I will be badgered by some random nerd stranger. We should bond over this, not attack each other. Captain Marvel wouldn't stand for this type of misogyny, so neither will I. Through the use of some anger and a load of sarcasm (my only defense against this type of thing), I will valiantly remain on the vanguard of this issue, defending the rights of comic loving ladies everywhere.

Dance, Dance Revolution

Last night, I tried something completely new for me, but an activity I've been wanting to try for a long time. Dance. Ballroom dance to be exact. It was my first dance class ever, and even though I was extremely nervous, I really enjoyed myself. Yes, I was one of the youngest students in the class, but it was a good reprieve. The lights and the music and the soft atmosphere was just a wonderful medicine for my addled brain. (addled is the word of the week).
My instructor was very welcoming and friendly, he never scolded and took my intense nerves in turn with him. The instructor was my partner now. He had us switch, and the other partners I had were so reassuring and did their best to make me feel relieved and calm. I think with more practice it'll be okay. I just really liked it. I always love to dance. It's usually just the chicken head bob as I do dishes or clean my apartment. I have very little rhythm.
My lovely instructor (Fred from Seacoast Ballroom) told me I think too much and as the follower, I didn't need to. I just needed to feel the movement, the moment, and follow. He said I needed to calm my tense shoulders and let the stress free itself from my body. He felt the tension in my whole body. He told me not to worry, that for the next forty-five minutes I didn't need to worry about the steps, the music, the movements, the beat. Just follow where his arms directed me. And that was the best thing I ever heard in my life. Sure, it was easier said than done, but for forty-five minutes, I could break from the rigid mold I put myself in so constantly. I didn't need to lead, I didn't to micro-manage or even manage. I just had to move my feet and stop tensing my legs. That was it. Maybe that's why dance has attracted me so much. Or maybe I'm just secretly turning into my mother (which isn't a bad thing, because my mother is damn fine). Anyway, back on track here. Just to have a period each week when I can drop my responsibilities, to just push the worries that inundate me to the back of my mind and follow blindly just put so much relief on my nerves it isn't funny. Seriously. Dance just got a whole lot more exciting. Not that I wasn't excited before. I like the freedom of it. The simple steps (since we only learned basic) are full of nice patterns. The music has a better beat to it, nothing crazy. Dance is just a simpler activity. Unlike running or other intense cardio I've been turning to, I felt really good afterwards but not as sweaty. Here's to sexy legs!
Vedo, ballo. mangio l'uva e te. io ho il panino.
There, that was also my random addative of Italian, just like I promised. Maybe I should start looking up Italian words for dance? Since I hope to continue with this new found hobby of mine. 

Learning the Language: Italian

Ciao!

Come stai? Benevenuto! È il mio blog. Io scrivo qui.

And that concludes my pitiful Italian. I'm attempting to teach myself, but not having anyone to speak to makes the learning process a bit slow. I'm trying, and well, that's more than I could say a few months ago so I guess that's an improvement of sorts. I really like the challenge of teaching myself, and at times I attempt to translate things into my head. At my new place of work (the thrift store) sometimes I look at the new donations and say in my head "la scarpa- shoe' and 'oh, over there la borsa-bag!' and 'wow we have a ton of le camicie, wait is that the correct translation, if its la camicia in the singular, it would be 'le camicie for the plural?' and well there goes that train of thought. The verbs are the worst because I have such an issue with conjugating. And possessives. those such too. I don't know how I can ever learn another language if I barely have a grasp of English. My other issue is my many years of Spanish in middle and high school have permanently marred with Italian accent, not that I had a fantastic Spanish one to begin with. I find myself trying to speak Italian in my head and in return I have some garbled bi-product of Italian and Spanish. It's very disconcerting. I know practice makes perfect, and I try to read Italian articles and practice in my head. A friend told me that once I have a strong enough grasp of the language, I can dream in it. How awesome would that be? To see the world through a different language. My ultimate goal is to speak the language fluently enough that I can blog in it. No one would be able to read it (well except those of you who speak Italian, but I don't think that many of my followers do), but it would just be awesome.
I come from an Italian heritage and for a while, because I was a silly, angsty teenager, I turned my back on my heritage and the language. I regret that a bit. I also regret the trouble it caused in my household because I was determined to be a little rebel and spiteful. That's a whole other story for another day, but I wish I had taken Italian classes when I was in school rather than Spanish. It would make learning the language now easier but I think it would have eased some tension. Maybe. These are merely the Sunday morning thoughts of an errant blogger.
Anyway, teaching myself a language has been quite the challenge. Half the battle is remembering to practice a lesson each day. I'm looking for more productive methods of learning, because as much as I love Duolingo (an awesome starting point, and you can find it here), it doesn't have very good explanations for verb conduction and possessives. My lovely cousin gave me some Italian-English dictionaries and a set of disks to listen to. I wonder if listening to Italian music would help? Possibly? I just have come to really love the language, when I practice and the computer voice sounds out words, I wish that I could sound like that. So smooth with that lyrical accent. I sound choppy and my accent is terrible. I'm surprised anyone can understand me.
My roommate speaks fluent Spanish (and sounds so beautiful when she speaks it, too), and I'm, just like, I sound like Hodor, slow and dumb. I know it takes time, and I've been trying to teach myself for over a year and have made very little practice. It also doesn't help that I frequently gave up due to intense frustration. Well, I guess if I want to reach my goal of being able to write an entire blog post in Italian, I better keep it up. For someone who likes the challenge of this, I sure gave up frequently. But I've always come back to it, and its easier to pick up more quickly. I have one friend who speaks Italian, and he's been a great asset to me. He pushes me to keep at it and literally practice every day. I guess during my little bit of a down period, it was hard to feel excited or motivated to stick with the language. But now that I feel much better, this little side hobby can turn into something I practice with and use to motivate myself. Also, it works great with my new and improved hermit like tendencies. Who needs to go out when I can stay at home and listen to Italian music and attempt to speak it? Right? Right. That goal of being able to walk around my kitchen and speak entirely to myself in Italian is like the best goal ever. My lack of verbs is also a hindrance. I look at the knife and go 'il coltello', but I have no verbs to say I need the knife or I want the knife. io vedo il coltello' (I see the knife) but use is that to me. Maybe I should start littering my blog posts with random, meaningless phrases in Italian.
Vedo la camicia.
How's that for a start?
Arrivederci! 

The View from the Top

Hello folks,

Another Monday has come and is -thankfully - almost gone. Another September without academics to worry about. Another summer fading swiftly away. So much has past me, so much is no longer in my life. I'm still living it up as a single lady, and for the most part (except for the occasional lonely night) I'm really enjoying it. I focus more on my friendships and cooking more than I used to. I've tried new recipes and I bake so much more. I also live with an awesome lady who strongly encourages my baking habits, so that is an influence. I really enjoy being single. I'm starting a ballroom dance class as well, which is something I've always wanted to do but never did because well, I never had a partner who was interested. And I read a ton. A review will be up soon, I promise. The Name of the Rose is just too good to not write about.
This past weekend I went for my first solo hike. Up in Freeport there is this super touristy mountain, Baxter Mountain State Park, which is beautiful and small, but just the right place for me over the weekend to think and ruminate (I know a professor who would be proud I used that). I needed to get away for a little bit, just be alone for a while and succumb to the loneliness and the sadness. Maybe desiring to be alone doesn't make sense, but for a few hours I needed to not have to put on the front and take a deep breath and…chill. It was oddly relieving. Maybe this is why I love hiking so much. I don't need to put on any pretenses, I don't need to talk to anyone, I don't need to make excuses or attempt to look pretty. I just put on my hiking boots and set off for some Thoreau-like sanctuary in the woods. When I reach the top of the mountain, I feel so much closer to happiness. It's like I sweat out the negativity on the way to the top and then the break in the trees with the sunshine is such a cleanse.
Maybe that's why the desire to be close to nature is so strong: it cleanses you in a way. The silence can be a blanket after the harshness of reality, of the busied civilization, where the sounds of cars and people are muted, or not even heard at all. It's pure solitude at its finest, and I can shake off the stress and worry I carry around with me. Its difficult to focus on these stresses when I'm out in the woods. I tend to think of snakes and bugs instead. But when I reach that summit, its a tiny accomplishment. It's not big or anything, just really a small success. It's enough of a boost to alleviate all my stress and worry, its that relief that gets me to the next point, even if that next point is surviving the week.
We all have different ways of washing off the haste and the worry and sadness that comes with life. I think for a while it can be difficult to keep up with, and well life is so overwhelming sometimes. Hiking for me helps keep that balance that is so easy to lose. With the winter approaching rapidly (sheesh, its already September!), I hope to find more time to be out doors. I need to reach more summits, to feel the sunshine even if its somber yellow instead of summer gold, and feel the wind rush against me. It blows away this loneliness, this sadness that still clings to me like moss.
Hiking does so much for me, and I'm really glad I discovered it. I was never much of an outside person, much preferring the books and the inside. But hiking gave me a new outlet, a new way (which also happens to be a healthy way) of dealing with the issues of my life, of giving me a new outlook on things, and a way to find the solitude I crave but in a beautiful, open place.
The view from the top is much better than the one at the bottom. Trust me, I know, I've been there. Haven't you been reading my blog?

Give me Comics! Or give me Death!

I'm not sure if many of you that read this blog know the true depth to which I enjoy a good comic. Yes, I am a bona fide comic nerd. It's true, and I'm proud of it. For one, comics offer a different mental and educational medium. They give me a different way to enjoy a story. As much as I read books, I enjoy a well written and well drawn comic as well. I have several heroes I follow: Captain Marvel (previously, Ms. Marvel), the new Ms. Marvel (Kamala Khan, you rock!), Swamp Thing, Wonder Woman, and soon the new Spider-woman. I'm not sure if you caught the trend, but I love lady superheroes. Why? Well for one, I am a lady myself and I enjoy stories about strong women. It's not that Superman or Batman (ugh, Batman) don't have interesting stories or great artistry. I just don't enjoy the machismo. I genuinely like stories about women, all types of women. One of the reasons Swamp Thing is so appealing to me is the diversity of women (for the most part not sexualized) in the story line. Also, how can you not like Swamp Thing.
Side note: I just really have a liking for plant characters. I adore Groot from the Guardians of the Galaxy, then the Swamp Thing himself, and finally the Ents are the best part of the Lord of the Rings and you cannot convince me otherwise.
Back on topic: Marvel has done a fantastic job at updating their lady heroes, giving them excellent story lines and having a better selection of stories about their women. The Black Widow line is phenomenal and blows some of their other story lines out of the water. Ms. Marvel is a Muslim-American, trying to reconcile her new powers, desire to do good, and curfew. Captain Marvel is fighting against some tyrants. And Wonder Woman (one of the few female centered and well written heroine story lines DC has available) is now a daughter of Zeus and hated by most of the Greek pantheon. There is so much diversity here - in personality, in lives, in experience.
And that I think that is so important. Demographics should be taken into account. For one, as humans we respond to narrative, stories reach into our souls and give us some reprieve from out troublesome lives. Stories validate our experiences - because they prove that our pain, our happiness, our lives connect with something bigger. What we are feeling or experiencing is real and has happened before and well deep down we are not alone. So let's swing back to the idea that there is more than just one type of hero (white, male….).
If you look at a general line up of comic book heroes, there is a striking feature that sort leaps out at you. Batman, Superman, Iron Man, Captain America, the previous Spiderman, the Flash, Green Arrow, Dr. Holland, Dr. Reed Richards, Hawkeye, Thor, three out of four popular Green Lanterns (Guy Gardner, Kyle Rainer, and Hal Jordan), Night Wing, Wolverine, Bruce Banner have a common denominator. They are all white men ( all straight too?). I'm not saying its a problem….but when literally all of the major heroes of the Avengers or Justice League are white men it creates a lack of apathy. It's hard to create relatable stories when so many of the popular titles don't really reflect the diversity of the readers. Hey, Batman is great and all, but I don't like him. I can't relate to a rich, uber genius. Same here Iron Man. It's not that these are not well written or have bad artistry, but I have no interest in their stories. I think its hard for many minorities to really relate to these stories. I'm sure I'm wrong and I am making a sweeping generalization here, but I think it is important to add some diversity here and create good stories around them. Look at Kamala Khan as Ms. Marvel, who's story has exploded. One of Marvel's best titles currently. She's a Muslim-American. DC tried to create a Muslim-American Green Lantern who has all but disappeared from the comic book universe. You can't just create a character and then expect it to be done. Minorities have stories too.
And we need narrative to reflect our own experiences.
This was a bit of a rant and doesn't make too much sense, just a collaboration of thoughts and feelings. But as someone who enjoys reading comics, I like seeing stories that reflect my own. So yes, that's specifically stories about women. But there is such a dearth of stories that reflect the feelings and experiences of black women, latino men and women, gays, bisexuals. All us minorities need those demographic lines if only to get our foot in the door. So let's celebrate those stories in the comic industry that reflect us and clamor for more! Because we will not be silenced!

Summer Days Fading Away

buona sera!

I like my new job. It gives me free days during the week. Which means Laura can venture off to the beach unhindered by tourists! How fun. No seriously, folks, going to the beach on Wednesday is so much better during the summer, less non-Mainers to take up space. Today was perfect for the beach, too. It wasn't too hot, but not so cold the ocean was breeze was unpleasant. I went to someplace new, Crescent Beach with a friend. Oh boy, it was glorious. I know, my life isn't too exciting if a day at the beach is considered new. But I really must recommend it. Sometimes, sitting in the sunshine can be such a healing experience.
Although, I felt tired and drowsy upon leaving my little spot of sunshine, I just generally felt better about life. Beaches tend to be packed with people, but it's not a loud or noisy place. It's easy to absorb into yourself and ignore the rest of the world. The only sounds able to break the reverie are the waves moving onto the beach. The sand was soft underneath, and I could feel myself just soaking in the light. Maybe Vitamin D really is a magical cure, because even through my prevailing sadness, I could almost physically feel myself healing.
Well, maybe that was the sunburn.
I just overall enjoyed my day. I did a little reading (a couple more pages closer to finishing Vikings), took a short nap (man, naps are the best), and chatted merrily with a very good and new friend. I love making new friends. I like discovering the things we have in common and hearing their views on life and society and feminism and books or what they enjoy. I like connecting with them. I am grateful for my new friends. I am grateful for all my friends.
I know it hasn't exactly been a pleasant time for most of them to be around me, but amazingly, many of them have remained by my side and are actively helping me reach a better place. So, thank you to all my readers, friends, and most importantly, the beach. No, no, not really. But today is the day that I encourage all people to just say thank you maybe to all of those friends helping you and loving you and being there.
so thank you :) I send you all my love!

"Flags of our Fathers"

Earlier last week I started a new book, one that is somewhat unusual of a read for me. The book in question has been sitting on my shelf for a while, gathering dust with my apprehension to open it up. Flags of our Fathers by James Bradley is by no means a classic or even an extraordinary piece of art. But it is powerful nonetheless, and tells of a tragic, horror-stricken story of six young men thrown into one of the worst battles of American history. Iwo Jima.
I feel I learned much about World War II, the Pacific theater, and the United States Marines by picking up this book and delving in. Although I can say I am happy to have read this and to have experienced this story, as sad and tragic it is, I can't say I've really enjoyed the book itself.
The basics begin with six separate young men from all across America who are thrown into a bloody war. Now the narrative of these stories are constantly interrupted to explain the mechanics of war, the tragedy, the early assumptions, the devilry of the Japanese and their corrupted samurai code. The segway and flow between narrative and fact tends to be jarring, skipping from one to next in short or long bursts, making it difficult to concentrate on one section before being tossed to the next. Maybe that's part of the point, because in real life there are no simple segways between war and life, living and being dead. Maybe it's to prevent the author from becoming to engrossed and invested in a character who's ultimate fate lies in death.
Spoiler: most of the men in the story die.
Welcome to World War II, friends.
I come from a short and small background of academia, having been a history and anthropology major, there are two fundamental issues I have with this book, that has deteriorated my reading experience with this bundle of pages. For one, I am uneasy with portrayal with the Japanese. The author often calls them beasts, maniacs, bloodthirsty, minions of the Emperor. He does not give the men on the other side of the fight a forgiving picture at all. At times, he paints them as less then human. Not superior, but inferior, so inferior in fact that killing them was a mercy. Please don't take this the wrong way, the Japanese in World War II committed some horrendous atrocities, and the Rape of Nanking is one the most brutal acts of war crimes in the twentieth century. The Japanese did some horrible, terrible, atrocious things during World War II, and there is no way to safely get around them. They did some bad shit, some real bad shit. That being said now, I don't think its right to dehumanize a whole ethnic group and country. It's real convenient that Mr. Bradley forgets to add the concentration camps in America where anyone remotely Asian looking were rounded up and sent to. We can skip over that part. And well, the German death camps weren't exactly a walk in the park (to put it very crudely, I mean no offense to readers and survivors of the Holocaust), but he'll still mention that European warfare was 'polite'. Was it on the same level as some of the acts committed by the Japanese? No. But don't make the Germans into misunderstood teenagers either. There was a reason for Nuremburg trials. It bothers me that he perpetuates the idea that the Japanese are an inherently evil people. He makes them into a group of nobodies who should have surrendered early on, because it is their fault that so many American soldiers died. Yes, it was war. Yes, Americans fought against the Japanese. But, that doesn't make them a race of evil, inhuman people that need to be obliterated. The anthropologist in me is screaming, "this is the 1990s! Stop using such demeaning, biased language!" But I know I need to temper myself, that he grew up thinking this. He read accounts of Iwo Jima and met with veterans of this war, for him they probably were the devil incarnate, no matter what traditional corruptions took place.
The next little nuance I have, doesn't have to do with the book so much as the reactions I receive from others - specifically men - concerning me reading it. War has very much, for hundreds if not thousands of years, been a very male phenomenon. Little boys re-enact wartime scenarios, originally only men were drafted, and for a very long time in American history, war was only for men. I think too often this portion of society remains blockaded from women, the idea that women still need to be shielded from this kind of physical and emotion brutality. And that's why I believe women should read war stories more often. One of my favorite books of all time is All Quiet on the Western Front and there hasn't been an individual I've met who hasn't had received this recommendation from me. I think women need to read these books and one some level - although detached - experience the actions, the emotions, the struggles, and the horrors of war. Books allow anyone to enter this on a very subtle level that shouldn't be overlooked. War isn't naturally the realm of men, violence isn't an inherent masculine trait. Just like strength isn't naturally male either. Or courage. There are uplifting stories of compassion, friendship, and courage littered throughout Flags of our Fathers that can give chills to any reader. I think these are stories that shouldn't be passed around just circles of men looking for a thrill through war. Valor and honor are felt by the whole spectrum of humanity. And this part of our world's history is so often split into two sections - Rosie the Rivetor for women and soldiers for men. Why can't the World War II era be a time period that sets an example for walks of life? I understand that it can be difficult for some groups to relate. As a woman, these soldiers held a certain detachment as there gritty, raw experiences as male soldiers. Just like an African American reading this book might feel jaded that not a single African American soldier is mentioned within the pages. These aspects of our person effect our experiences through reading, media, and all other sorts of visual and mental stimulation. But in some ways, history unites on little levels. and reading this book is one of those small levels.
Well, maybe this isn't much of an argument, but it is what it is. These are my thoughts. I recommend to you this book, although it should be taken with a grain of salt, if nothing else. 

Take a Deep Breath, then Make the Plunge

I am excited for this up-coming year. It's that simple. I have made so many new friends in the past three months, that even when some people have made the choice to walk out of my life, I need not worry about loneliness. I have a new job, that will bring with new possibilities for creativity and new ways of interaction. I have a new apartment with a wonderful woman, and only good things will happen here. I'm hoping that I am finally walking out of the darkness I was in and back into the light. Good things are happening.
I accept your apology universe.
Or maybe, I finally stopped focusing on people and events and things I shouldn't. I'm slowly ridding myself of the negativity in my life. I'm shedding the old skin, the old self. I'm not in college anymore. I am a college grad (how awesome is that?), I just completed a year of AmeriCorps and have volunteered at some other awesome places (Maine Maritime Musuem anyone?), and have met some absolutely life changing people. I have a new job and new friends and new favorite places to eat and drink and hang out. I've discovered hiking, which is probably my new favorite activity. Besides reading. And writing. I just got published folks! Yes, little ole' me! Here, please check it out if you haven't!
Laura's First Published Article

I think its amazing that sometimes just randomly starting a conversation with someone can lead to meeting the most brilliant people. People who end up changing the way you think, showing you different ways of living and thinking. I've met people who really seem interested in me and like me.
New adventures await for me, and I'm heading towards them with my head held high. I can't believe all the amazing opportunities that have opened up for me and I am so grateful to have this chance. This is the start of something new for me, and I need to assuage my fears and jump right in.
I know this may sound a bit like my previous post, and maybe it is. But today, I'm feeling so exuberant over all the wonderful things headed my way. I'm excited for this new start and how completely life changing it is!
I cannot do more than encourage anyone reading this to keep your chin up, because I promise you it gets better. Just as terrible as my life got to be sometimes in the past year, I found myself at a new place. And here I am. I'm not waiting to begin my life anymore, I've grabbed the reins and really propelled myself to something better. Life is here and I'm ready to enjoy every minute of it.

Loving you, Loving me

As I sit watching The Wolverine  on this muggy Monday afternoon, I am also thinking. Well, not that's anything new, I'm always thinking. The last few weeks have been a complete upheaval for me, both emotionally, mentally, and with all these beginnings in my life. Life is crazy, especially mine. My life is never boring, and geez I feel bad for some of those who are along for the ride. Back to the original thought, lots of changes, and for the most part, all of them are good changes. Or leading to better things. I like to think they are. Always be positive, Laura, keep that chin up.
I recently lost someone who played a very keen role in my life, someone who meant very much to me. We've grown apart, had some ups and downs, and now, no matter how painful it is, have gone separate ways. I miss this person very dearly, but after three weeks of intense thinking, I realize this is best for both of us. Our lives are going in vastly different directions and as much as I miss him as a companion, lover, and friend, there are better things awaiting us both.
That doesn't mean there isn't a void where he once was, or that sometimes I don't cry a bit. I miss him, I do. Our time is done, and we've done what we could for each other. I am grateful to have spent the time with him that I did, and happy to have these memories. Sure, they sting a bit. Sure, it sucks. But this type of change, this type of new beginning, although scary, is such a good thing. It opens up the mind, the heart, the soul for new people, new hobbies, new places, and new adventures. The pain is a part of those new adventures; it is a part of the lesson I have learned. I hope to endow you with some of this, all the while realizing that sometimes lessons like these need to be learned first hand, as much I hate to think that others will go through what I have.
For a long while, I used to think the only reason I smiled because he was in my life. I used to believe so ardently my happiness derived from my relationship with him. Happiness and him were one and the same. But when we broke up and with the mistakes afterwards, I worried that I would never smile again. Makes sense, right? Probably not, but just roll with me here. I thought I could never find someone who made me smile like he did. How could they? I was so scared that I lost my happiness along with my relationship. It took me fourteen months and another heart break to realize that, quite frankly, that just ain't so.
I make my own happiness. It cannot come from another person. That it isn't from one person I derive my happiness, but instead my relationships with other people. It comes from the love between me and my grandmother, the laughter shared with my mother, and the debates between me and my roommates. It comes from the new people I've met, like my office mate who listens to me everyday and share life stories with. It comes from meeting new people and families that have irrevocably changed my life. It comes from the experiences and words and shared looks between myself and friends. It comes from the hobbies I love. It comes from the books I read. It is found in my writing. It is here that I find my happiness, my smiles, my contentment. It is not from another person. And I shouldn't make it all one person either.
Because people can hurt. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, people will walk from your life no matter the damage they leave in their wake. And that damage can crack your life into pieces, mar your happiness. And yes, that happens. And yes, life can be really horrible. But that's…that's just life and the universe and the world and society. Shit just happens. Just like that. People change, people stop feeling what they used to feel, people want different things. And I, as a simple person, can do nothing to change that. I can only change myself, adapt myself. I can only rise above that which I have no influence over, and grow instead. I am only a seed, carried with the flood. I can use the rainwater to grow or to drown. I think you can tell which one I choose.
I discovered that I focused on one person. I put so much time and effort into one single individual, I lost myself. I forgot those around me in my ill fated quest to change something I couldn't. And in the end, I lost what I thought I wanted and discovered the new path for me. I need to be honest with everyone, I am an extrovert. If you look up the meaning in a dictionary, I'm sure its my picture you find next to the definition. For real. So for me to constantly to focus only on one individual, I wasn't being true to myself. I need to surround myself with people. I thrive off being social. And that's what I've really learned. My happiness comes from being social with people: talking to, helping, loving, spending time with, laughing with, cooking and eating with, crying with. It's not about the one, but the many.
And it has been the support, love, reassurance, and care of those around me that have helped me so. As I have said, I am grateful to my past relationship. I can honestly say when I met him, I was one Laura who needed what he offered and freely gave me at the time. In our five year stint, I left one me behind and he help mold a better, more confident and self loving person. And that is something I can smile over. Now I leave that version behind and look forward to spending time with this new woman, this new version of me. This version is wiser - don't worry I'm still funny- and knows a little bit more about life than before.
I wish it was that simple to learn. I know its not. I was warned and didn't listen. But I will not stay down for long. I'm pretty resilient for someone so short, not that height really has anything to do with this. I'm looking forward to the new things I have in store: a new job, a new apartment, and a new roommate. I guess that's all I have to offer, folks. I offer you my story. I won't lie to you, sometimes people will hurt you. Sometimes people love you and leave you. But we need to accept that. We need to accept that we just don't have that kind of control, and we only have control over ourselves. We make our choices, bad and good. Don't give up hope, don't give up in general. Life is terrible sometimes, but you're not alone. No matter how alone you feel. Life is life. People are unexpected and weird. No really, people are weird. 
And here is a random shot of the Maine shoreline.

Books: These are a few of my favorite things

Good evening folks, I have a quick thought that I needed to share. I'm texting a fellow reader of mine, and the Russian novel Anna Karenina wiggles its way into our conversation. I laughably mention that I don't enjoy the movie, quickly followed by "book snob" and I try not to seem condescending to her. Well, you know what, to hell with that. I am a book snob. I enjoy books better, and I, for the most part prefer the books to the movie. Now, as you can imagine the barrage of disclaimers, nay sayers, and un-well wishers that quickly follows exclamations such as mine.
Well you know what? When you make a movie as beautiful and endearing and heart wrenching as the book, I will take back my book snobbery. But there is no movie that can compare to the written word with its minute details and tiny connections and refreshing prose. There is no movie that come close to the magnificence of The Bell Jar or can capture the beauty of a poem. and really, you're going to make a video game of Dante's Inferno and want to tell me its better? No way. Not a chance. When you see a film, it takes you in one specific direction, you see what the director wants you to see. But a book? Well, a book is a private experience. The words you read never mean the same thing. No two people read the same book. A book is a unique phenomenon.
I just prefer pages between my fingers.
Just a quick thought.
Yours truly,
Laura Bookworm, Mother of Pages

Dear Running: I Think This is the Start of Something Beautiful

So during my three month or so hiatus I decided the best hobby for me to pick up was running. Yes, you all read that correctly. I, your masterful blog author, run on a regular basis. I put on my sneakers and shorts and chunky sports bra and take off as gracefully as a fat Canadian goose from its fluffy perch on some small pond. What an image, right? Picturesque. I'm a very slow runner and I loose breath fairly quickly. My mile is laughably slow, a total of 12:37 seconds the last I checked. And that my friends is faster than when I first started.
And boy, does that 12:37 make me the happiest, proudest woman ever. I even started to detail my running exploits on twitter. Yes, I have a twitter. Feel free to follow me and catch the latest updates to my running adventures. and my normal everyday geek. There is much geek. Here you are:
Twitter

Yup, anyway, back to the original thought process here. I started running as a method of stress relief. I have had so much craziness in my life, that getting out after work and just going for a run has been done amazing things for my mental and physical health. I didn't start running to loose weight, which is the immediate response I receive from people. As soon as I mention that I started running, the usual follow up is "But why? You look great! You aren't fat at all! You don't need to exercise", "Wow, that's great to see you're finally looking to manage your weight" or something along those lines.
Well, to begin, I don't need your validation about my body. I like my body the way it is. And just because I go out for a run doesn't automatically mean I'm trying to control weight or have a firmer body or whatever it is about slim bodies that our current society deems desirable. Even if I was running for weight loss, that does not give you the right to comment on my weight, body, style, or whatever. It does not matter. Don't comment on my body. I do enough commenting for you, me, and the whole block. Keep your thoughts to yourself. I appreciate your praise, but it's not okay to ever say something about someone else's physical form. It can get messy, especially if you don't really know how that persons feels about it themselves. So the better question to ask is more along the lines of "how fast is your mile?" or "where do you go running?" ta-da, safe topics, and ones the newly inducted runner will probably have a more enjoyable time talking about.
Second, exercise isn't always about controlling the way your body looks. Sometimes its about how it makes you feel. When I run, I feel so much better afterwards. It has this way of clearing my head and as my muscles begin to ache, my energy depletes, so does the anger and sadness and frustration. I feel better internally as well as externally. It makes me feel whole, relaxed, less stressed, and stronger. And sweaty. I do feel very sweaty but that's besides the point.
It comes down to the notion that what I do for myself isn't for the well-being and pleasure for others. I do things because I like them, whether that's to make myself look really pretty or because I need some stress relief. Running gives me that relief. It helps me maintain a healthy physical body as well keeping my mental health in line. It makes me happy and that's all that matters. I may run twice a week or five times a week, it depends. Running is a happy time for me. To some it is a lifestyle, but to me it was a hobby of mine. When I feel that I need it, it's there for me. My smelly running shoes will not walk off on their own. I mean no one can fit into them but me anyway (size 5 does have its perks).
So, I like to run. I don't love to run. But I do love the way it helps me feel, how it helps me feel stronger and feel that I can persevere even if it is only one minute less than last night. I push myself and my limits, and I find more about myself when I run. It's a wonderful feeling to have. It's a simple way to explore my neighborhood and well, I do get some witty Twitter posts from it too. Don't worry, I am not turning into a complete fitness groupie, or even a running one for that matter. It gives me a goal and a better feeling about myself. I say let's keep it, even if does track mud into the apartment.
The lesson today folks: do what makes you feel better. Give yourself some goals. Don't ever do things to make others happy, because in the end, you need to come first. Unless its a turtle. Always stop and help the turtle cross the street.

"Snowpiercer" Review

So finally a new post! I came back! How lucky you all are! I decided that I was going to take myself out on a date tonight.  I needed some cheering up.  it's good to have some alone time, but it doesn't need to be stuck in my gloomy apartment. So I walked through the thunderstorm - absolutely gorgeous lightening - towards the Nickelodeon Cinemas and saw "Snowpiercer", a sci-fi/dark comedy about a dystopian future and doomed humanity. Sounds like nothing new right? Well, I first saw this Buzzfeed article, and I was mildly intrigued. Bong-Joon Ho's little know, controversial movie? Well, I need to check this out. So I clambered over to Rotten Tomatoes to get a check on the ratings for it. Well, lo and behold this is what I found. Really awesome right?
So I decided date night with myself. It's good to treat myself and be comfortable doing things on my own. After the brutal and cynic post I left earlier today, I was feeling raw and angry and unhappy. A pick me up was definitely required. Definitely. This eerie, snowy movie with the hunk Chris Evans was really what I needed to distract me. Well, let me tell you, it worked. The movie lived up to it's expectations. I will try to avoid spoilers but I make no promises.
The premise of the movie is humankind created their own deathly Ice age that supposedly wiped out all living species on the plant and everything plunged into unlivable temperatures surrounded by ice and snow and wind. Wow. If that wasn't bad enough the last dregs of humanity are stuck on this locomotive that circles the world. It has an eternal engine which allows it to keep propelling itself, without breaking down. Well, the worst of the worst are at the back of the train, living in cramped, dirty, impoverished conditions. They are beaten and made to live in hovels, if you could even call them that. Curtis (Chris Evans) wants to lead a revolt to the front of the train (the engine) and take control and spread the wealth they believe is in the front. Well they follow through and in the end Curtis does make it to the front. I can't explain much of the in between bits without giving much away.
I can say that Octavia Spencer's performance was deep and heartfelt, she was excellent. Although the best performance clearly was Tilda Swinton as Mason, a prime minister sort of individual. She's almost unrecognizable, with a Barty Crouch-esque lip lick. So many excellent actors giving mind-blowing performances.
I like the theme that humans look for quick and immediate solutions. One spoiler: the gas released to help repair the ozone and undo the environmental damage causing global warming ended up creating the ice age. It then is mentioned briefly later on that the creator, owner, captain of the train Wilford (Ed Harris) knew that the gas would be defective and not work. Instead of warning or protesting, he went on building his super train. The easiest solution, the one that would work the fastest, ended up causing humanity their earth, their societies, their everything. Instead of making inherent, longer lasting changes, the world attempted to take the easiest way out. In the end, it became their end.
Most of the movie almost seems predictable up until the last half hour or so, when it all just goes crazy and all these revelations are made, and you are left sitting there with your mouth open, wandering what the heck just happened? where the hell is the rewind button? In the end, the predictability of the movie almost seems done purposefully, that in some ways the director wanted you to think that this was all done before, just another remix of a kind, leading to a similar ending. well, that is not what occurs. All I say can is, I recommend this movie. Very, very well done with a great script and outstanding performances. A little bit gory and some very disturbing story lines. Not for the faint of heart.
It made me think I've got a lot going for me. So what if one boy in the thousands of years of mankind doesn't love me? At least I'm not on a train going around and around a frozen world with an arm cut off and a dictator at the engine feeding me jello. For real. I think things could be so much worse for me now.

America: Land of the Poor

So I have discussed the phenomenon once before, but it's just a topic I have difficulty moving away from. Part of that stems from my daily experience with it and the fact I volunteer for a program that helps to put people on it. That is the SNAP program. I am a huge proponent this, and I firmly believe it is a beneficial not only to those who use it directly - impoverished American families - but also the nation at large.
When we live in a county that prides itself on wealth and prosperity, the limitless American dream, and beauty of our natural resources, it mars that American illusion when millions of children go without food and working adults barely make enough wages to feed themselves. When we pride ourselves as being one of the wealthiest nations in world but rank terribly low on educational scores and poverty levels among the nations of world, there is a problem. A huge one. If you think the two aren't link, you're not looking through the right lens.
I volunteer for a program that helps encourage adults and families to apply for SNAP benefits. Althoug it is focused on older adults, especially retirees, we don't turn anyone away who has questions or seeks assistance for applying. So far, I've receive varying responses concerning both my volunteer program and SNAP. For one, many older adults feel that if they apply for SNAP and receive the benefits, they are taking away from younger adults and families. This is not true. The federal government does not take away from one family to give to another; they have the money. Let's use it for something purposeful. That money is meant for any person who applies and is seen to have the need. Period. If you need it, use it. One life is not greater than another. The help is there, utilize it. I cannot stress that enough.
I've heard some other complaints: such as why do I help the lazy poor? Let me clear something up, right now. Most of the poor I meet, are not lazy. Poor is not a synonym of lazy. I know we live in a society that portrays this intangible link between poor and lazy, but we cannot generalize the impoverished of this counrty into something so detrimental. So, why are they poor you ask. Well, that is complicated question. I cannot give you a straight answer. America's system currently creates a huge income disparity. Wealth inequality is a growing issue, remember the 1% movement a few years ago? Yeah, that one. Wealth is distributed at an alarminly unequal rate between the very few, wealthy Americans, we're watching as the middle class slowly disappears from the playing field, and the poor (believing they are middle class) scramble to make ends meet. I'm not even going to touch about the economic disaster that's hitting my generation of Americans, just graduating with no jobs to go to and mountains of debt. So, why are so many Americans poor? There are a slew of answers and not enough time for me to recount them all here. It's all very interconnected, complex, and so desperately in need of reform.
So let me tell you, friends. I do not help the lazy of America. And even if the people I met were, that does not mean they are undeserving of food and the general neccessities to live. I help people receive the help they need to survive in a messed up system. SNAP is nothing to be ashamed of, and frankly it needs more attention, positive attention that is. It needs more support and supporters, and more people to talk about the good things it provides. It only has a 2% fraud rate in the whole country, and you want to tell me its bad?!
There are problems in the United States, and before we go blaming people on who screwed up where. I think we need to focus on what's ahead for us, spend less time blaming and more time fixing, more time giving and less time scowling on those who need help. We can only fix this once we admit our problems. Isn't that the first step? I know I usually harp on the important of individuals, don't generalize. But in this case, we have a group of disadvantaged people, so stop judging them, and hey, instead give them some respect. It's time to fix this image of the poor as lazy and start helping them live the American Dream too.