all i want for christmas is you.

first of all, i would like to say how much i hate standard time. it's a lot. here are reasons why it sucks:

1. it starts getting dark at 4pm. i'm still at work at 4pm. so i miss all daylight except for the 20 minutes i drive to work.

2. it's a dark ride home, and pitch black when i get there. hard to check the mail when you can't see anything.

3. it makes me feel like bedtime is sooner. when it's been so dark for so long, i feel like i should be in bed even though it's only 7 (also that makes me sound way older than i am).

4. when i have an off day, and i choose to spend it shopping, i go to stores that have out christmas decorations and michael buble christmas albums on sale. add in the fact that it is relatively cold outside, and i start having premature festive holiday feelings. so then i go home and put on the aforementioned album and break my personal rule of only listening to christmas music in the appropriate christmas music season (from black friday to boxing day). and then i am ashamed.

5. as much as i love michael buble's voice, it is too early to have christmas carols and other christmas songs stuck in my head. and i definitely have "all i want for christmas is you" running around in my brain.

those last two parts are the reason why i hate standard time most.

tears are sometimes words from the heart.

maybe part of the curse of life is that we'll always long for what we don't have. very few, if any, of us are completely satisfied with what we already have.

is this a bad thing? a thought to distract us, to torment us?

or is it just a way to make us dream bigger? to rise up and accomplish what otherwise might not get done?

can it be both?

like the soundtrack of a july saturday night.

today i roasted marshmallows over half a lifetime of my memories.

in case that sounded too dramatic, let me fill you in on the specifics. when i was younger, i filled page after page of mundane daily activities into pink books with sleeping cats pictured on the front. later, i wrote mostly about boys and anything that could be defined as overly-dramatic teen angst into cutesy spiral notebooks. then it evolved into non-descript spiral notebooks of ramblings, some entries several days together and some spaced months apart. last post, i told of how i ripped out all the pages of them and put them into a cardboard box to wait until burn day. which was today.

i used a ridiculous amount of matches, sat indian-style on the edge of the newer half of the driveway, and burned almost all of my fingers setting random pages on fire before dropping them in the ditch below to turn to ash. i untangled a hanger and roasted three marshmallows while my cat sat a little way away and stared at me, clearly indicating he thought i was insane. half an hour into this process, when i have inhaled more smoke than is healthy and accidently scorched part of my left leg, and i was sweating in my black tshirt due to the august sunshine and fire, my neighbor comes across the street carrying his fat (and adorable) infant grandson. he walks around both assessible sides of the ditch to get a better look at what i was doing, all the while making small talk about how his youngest son (not the one with the baby) finished his master's program online and landed a part-time job at a college about an hour away and was bringing home $20 an hour for the effort. said son and i have maybe spoken a handful of times, even though he lives across the street, because he's about four years older than i am and more than likely went to a different school. shortly after my neighbor left, my elementary school bus driver drove her bus to the end of the driveway, opened the door, and preceeded to ask exactly what i was doing. after telling her i was burning pages in the the ditch, she asked why i didn't just shred them. i explained that if the penguin could tape together old papers, so could someone else, and i wasn't taking chances. oh, and i gave less-than-helpful directions to an old man in a minivan.

then i dumped a giant orange home depot bucket full of water on top of what was left of the ashes, collected the mail and leftover marshmallows, and called it a day. but none of that sounded as poetic or enticing as my first sentence, although it is a better story.

past.

under my bed is a small cardboard box filled to the brim with journals. i've kept every one that i've written in, every single page, since i was 8 years old. however, i keep thinking that i really don't want some future (or present) generation to find them and read how stupid i was growing up. and a lot of it details relationships that i am no longer in and no longer care about, so i never read them, either.

i keep getting random urges to clean out my childhood from my bedroom. hopefully i will be moving on soon (not that i absolutely hate living at home, because i don't, i am just really excited about the prospect of having a larger room, a larger bed, a personal bathroom, and all the decorating possibilities i can dream of). but i don't want to have to carry all of the stuff that is in my room right now with me for the rest of my life.

so, i think i may have a mini-bonfire soon. with the pages of all my old journals. my written history, reduced to ashes in my yard.

between the drinks and subtle things.

so lately i've seen a lot of blogs/tweets/facebook posts condemning (mostly) women about reading 50 shades of grey and watching magic mike.

even though so far, i have done neither, this is my rebuttal.

first and foremost, i think that everyone is entitled to their own opinions. and i respect that. but, having said that, there is a real difference between an opinion and a judgement. i've read blogs where other female writers claim to be stating an opinion - and one that they will claim as being Biblical - before painting themselves as holier-than-thou and stating that reading or watching the aforementioned is absolutely wrong and a huge sin. i'm fine with your opinion. but when you tell me that i am absolutely in the wrong, it really irks me.

sure, watching magic mike and drooling over channing tatum may make you want to point out that lusting in my heart is just as bad as commiting adultry. but how can you justify watching friends with benefits or wedding crashers and still tell me that i'm the one in the wrong?

we all have different things that cause us to sin, friends. does drinking a beer on a friday night qualify as a great big sin? it does to some. but not to others. i would like to share the opinion that maybe watching a movie or reading a book won't affect everyone the same way.

so before you condemn me for planning a girls' night out to watch magic mike, may i suggest that you study your own planks before my splinters?

i'm only good at being young.

college didn't prepare me for this.

television doesn't want me, the nws doesn't want me, and now grad school doesn't want me either. so instead, i have turned into a college graduate who sits at home in her pajamas every day and reads library books she's already read before, and has no idea what to do with her life.

my mom researches jobs on google for me while she is at work, jobs i have already applied for and obviously didn't get since i haven't heard anything. even grocery stores at home won't hire me, so in essense, i am broke and have no fun because there is no money for fun. also there is no one to guide me through my directionless life so i am adrift alone.

and the worst part is that while i'm not great at the weather, i'm not good at anything else, either.