We Need More 'Just Because'..

Humans are strange creatures. The simplest act, or an offhand comment can brighten ones entire day.

So often it seems like we work ourselves to death, only to have another get the credit, or find fault in it and pick it apart. So rather than try to put an effort into things, we just assume the worst and skim by, doing only the minimum amount required.

One starts to forget how a small gesture can make so many people smile. It needn't be a grand gesture, or expensive or extravagant. Just a kind comment, a well placed smile, or a thoughtful gesture and you will feel better for having done it and they feel better for having received it. That kindness then tumbles forth from those that received it creating more happiness. I often wonder why we don't get easily addicted to these things. Why most people would rather be rude, or mean or catty out of jealousy or self preservation only to increase the anger and misery in the world.

A simple, silly thought filled my head earlier this evening. A friend got bad news and all I could think was how to make her smile. A few minutes of preparation and a small stuffed pig left on her doorstep left her smiling, and left me and my co-conspirator laughing all the way home.

I am reminded of a friend that used to bring me care packages when I was sick. The most expensive thing in the bag was a can of Alpha-Getti...it wasn't the contents that made my day. It was the fact that she took the time to write me a letter, by hand, on her best paper, and toss a couple items in a bag that I would laugh at and truck herself over to my house (no small feat for a high school kid without a vehicle). I remember so clearly the simple things done for me by those that loved me. Things they did, not because they had to, not because it was Christmas or my birthday....just because they thought of me, because for a brief moment, my happiness was important to someone.

Makes me wish I did it more often....

My Life as a Novel...would suck.

I read a lot...fantasy mostly. I feel, more often than not, that life is irritating, frustrating, maddening, and/or depressing enough without adding someone else's misery to it. That said, I have read non-fiction...just not much.

Ever find a book that sounds good but vaguely familiar and you are sure you haven't read it so, off you go with it, to bed or the bath tub, or toilet or tree or where ever you position yourself to read. After settling down, you get about 30 pages in, only to find that while you can honestly say you are enjoying it, you are POSITIVE that the author has read all the same books you have and liked all the same parts. Better yet, that they have then taken all those parts from all those books and put them into one story, written in the same manner that you talk to yourself in (in your head or otherwise) and made a book that you could have written and sold for whatever the hell they are making from it, but wouldn't because it would bug you to know that you aren't really creative or an author but a pathetic plagiarist. It pisses me off...but at least I got a good book out of the deal. :)

It's kind of like when you come to the sad realization that you wouldn't really want to live in a fantasy novel. That kills a little part of you inside, when you realize that, because, while they have magic and fantastic creatures and heroes and terrible evil, and everyone is beautiful and Irish, you know that your life would be just spectacularly worse than it already is? If you aren't sure what the hell I am talking about, I will give you a little clue.

Think of your most recent fantasy novel...I'll go through some to show you that life would not be all Disney and happiness if you were a character in:

- a George R. R. Martin novel - you would be surrounded by great mysetery and exciting adventures, but you will most certainly end up dead in a horrid way. Either murdered by your enemy out of spite, or killed in some grotesque fashion by some ancient beast that no one has ever heard of but, not before crossing half the earth, starving and in pain to save someone that ends up dead long before you get there. And, lets not forget, that you know that 3/4 of all the people you love will die in some equally horrible way for really no point other than to make you realize how hopeless and pointless everything is....

- a Patricia Briggs novel - you would have moments of serenity and happiness but it would all come to a grinding hault in a single terrible event that shatters your entire soul and is so gut wrenching that most people would never recover from it and you end up a horrid, pathetic broken shell. You carry on, and find you are a completely different person, doing things you would never have done before. And, you have some amazing talent/gift/power that no one has ever had, but is needed to save the world and you only discovered it beause of the afore mentioned horribleness...meaning that you have to now go through your existence running like a fugitive, scrambling from one exausting fight to the next, getting betrayed by friends and being torn between lovers to save a world that is ultimately doomed, and picking up enemies along the way...

- a Piers Anthony novel - what is wrong with this you may ask? Well...you would be a simple average Joe that is indeed something truly special and intrinsic in maintaining the balance of the world, and would embark on a great quest to discover it, but could never tell anyone and so are treated like a joke. You would meet fantastical women/men whom you would inevitably fall madly in love with but are doomed to Sesame Street life, where people are in love and they are beautiful and somehow they procreate, but they never touch or have sex or show any sincere feelings towards each other or have any impure thought other than the occasional glimpse of heaving bosom's and are constantly surrounded by word puzzles and puns. Best of all, you only ever star in that single novel, after which you become a random piece of history from which to build the next character, or get the occasional cameo performance in the next great story.

See what I mean? It's humorous really, and mildly depressing.

Though I would imagine you are beginning to see why I needed a place, to empty my brain. Can't say I didn't warn you. ;)

Guilt Free Holiday

Photo Copyright Protected by ©M. St. Hilaire 2007

Hi. Yep, it's me again...I don't suppose I really need a greeting, as this honestly is, as in the title, just a place to empty my brain. I find I will get an idea, or an image or a song stuck in there somehow and it just rambles around and drives me crazy. I will not be here with any regularity, nor will I have a theme or tag markers so you can find it, or even have a reason, because really...I am not writing it for anyone's enjoyment. I am writing to get the idea out of my head and stuffed into my laptop where I can come back to it and re-read it later and think..."Huh, where the hell did THAT come from?"

So, what is stuck in my head today you, who aren't likely there, ask? Well...

Humans are strange creatures. We do the strangest things to ourselves for completely stupid reasons. Holidays, for example. I am sick of holidays that make people feel guilty. Yup, keep your greeting cards and your over commercialized ridiculous and incessant need to over spend on decorations and scented candles. They don't really hurt anyone, and even I will admit I like the smell of cinnamon in my house at Christmas, or the Hallowe'en window stickers and having the soft scent of vanilla and chocolate from the baskets at Easter. Even the pleasure I get when I buy a well chosen and nicely manufactured greeting card with it's stiff edges and crisp envelope. No, my problem is the holidays that make you feel guilty for stupid things. Things like eating a nice dinner that someone planned and cooked and put a lot of effort and care and energy into, and then you bitch about how good it is but too many calories and it "making you" overeat. Oh, for goodness sake!

YOU are an adult, and regardless of whether or not you idolize Oprah and Dr. Phil, YOU decided to pile your plate and then eat until you feel your skin splitting. You decided that you should never eat a normal meal portion because you might gain 0.8lbs and look fat in those ugly ass skinny jeans and Ugg boots that the supermodel with 0.002% body fat in the magazine sold you. YOU make yourself miserable allllll year long and then make others feel guilty for putting out the effort to feed you. And the BEST part is, half the time, they don't really like you, nor did they want to feed you...THEY felt they had to.

There is another guilt trip these kinds of holidays play. It isn't fair! Why should I feel guilty that I moved to another city that I don't have family in!? Seriously, why is this even in my head? I love my family, as most people do and I miss them when I miss them. Why do I feel GUILTY that I don't live closer to them during a holiday...so I can go to the dinner they didn't want to make but feel guilty if they don't and then watch people feel guilty about eating and then in turn have them make the cook feel guilty for having made it in the first place. Doesn't this seem silly? Why do we do this to ourselves? Why can't I make dinner WHENEVER I want, and feed it to whoever I want, only because I wanted to? Why can't I eat what I feel I might enjoy, because someone made it? Why can't I enjoy being slightly separated from family, and really enjoy the times I do see them, because it has been a while and I missed them? Why can't I leave the hallowe'en sticker in my car window because I thought the goofy bat was cute and liked it there?

I admit I am guilty of some of it as well...and am at a loss to explain it.

Today, I enjoyed my meal, prepared with love by a family member, who I can only hope wanted me there. It was NOT low-fat and I loved every fork full. I ate till I was full (like a grown up - go me) and then stopped, and thanked them for their efforts. I called my Mom and sister and chatted for a bit, sent some friends a note wishing them a happy holiday and then went to home and went to sleep pleasantly contented. Today was a good holiday for me and I hope you took the time to enjoy it, guilt free.

Humans Are Strange Creatures.

Picture Copyright Protected by ©E. St. Hilaire 2008

Humans are strange creatures. We develop odd habits and choose strange memories and events to base our thoughts on and then we wrap them about ourselves like a warm winter scarf until they are buried so deep in our psyche that we can’t remember a time before. We only know we are always cold, but remember the time when we were warm and that we don’t know how to find it again.

My house was broken into long ago. Long enough that I can’t easily recall how long it was, or what year it was. Only that is was warmish outside and I came home to find my space violated and the intruder stole both tangible items and things I didn’t know could be stolen. Memories, my sense of security, my ability to be comfortable in my own home...things I could never get back. Now on random evenings it will grip me like an icy hand, that sense of panic, the feeling of being constantly on edge. I can see myself still laying on the carpet sobbing, beside the 8 inch knife the burglar left me, so long ago.

I remember when I first moved in to my current home. It was filled with warmth and simplicity. I was young and on an adventure into something I couldn’t plan or predict. I loved it. My next memory is of a sense of panic and fear, enough to drive me out of my house and into the wild city streets. I didn’t want to be here. Felt contained, like I was waiting for something, something bad, to come and find me unprepared, so I would walk...walk anywhere. Dreading that I would have to turn around and go back and go to sleep, leaving myself vulnerable.

How did a break in change me? No one shattered me, I wasn’t even there! A stupid patio window somehow re-wrote the internal workings of my brain. I don’t get it. My house is safe. We have good locks, strong doors, and maintain good habits. We reinforced the security around the patio door and put in alarms and hidden security. I still, to this day, jump at every noise and panic to think I didn’t lock the door, on a daily basis. Am I afraid that they will break in again, or am I afraid they will re-write me again and I will have to spend the time again to re-learn myself.

I remember feeling like I was young and owned the world. Nothing could change me or get to me, nothing concerned me, I was secure in the knowledge of who I was and where I belonged. I had personal ideals, I was in for the ride and wherever it took me. Now much like with my home I feel like I am still waiting for something to return. Like I am struggling to crawl out of the dark, and feel comfortable sitting in my own skin again. I don’t even remember the transition.