Twilight

Something about the Twilight Saga hits me in an emotional softspot, and brings around a reaction so unexpected that I almost can not comprehend it. 

I think I can pinpoint it to Bella. I can't understand her blatant misunderstanding of her relationship with Edward nor can I comprehend her constant self depreciation. I was under the impression only real people can act or feel so unworthy.

I felt so disheartend while I was reading through all 4 books in the saga. I tore through them as fast as I could, trying to reach the end of the story like I do with most book series I read. But I found myself irritable and unsociable. I reflected on these feelings I had on nearly a daily basis. I have been know to throw a temper and loose my cool under stress, but I found myself in bad mood the whole while I was reading the books.

In most books the heroine has some selfworth installed into her programing and she uses her strength, wits and love to help her overcome all obstacales in her way. Bella has this ability to to defeat herself before she even leaves her bedroom. Her lack of confidence in her appearance and personality makes me want to shake some sense into her.

I do not think I was really mad at Bella, but I think I was relating to her. Oddly I was not fearful while she was fearing, nor was I sad while she was at the depths of dispair. I was sitting with her in class when she first moved to Forks, thinking how plain and ordinary she is. How unremarkable her personality is.

As I got further into the books and the relationship with Edward started her faults progressed. Unlike other leading women in a story, she felt unworthy of his love and attention, and nearly seemed to wait on a daily basis for him to say 'I am tired of you'.

I am the worlds biggest cheerleader for the underdogs and I was cheering for her from the beginging but it started to become a chore to think of the positivisms to help her become more confident in her relationship with Edward. I know, I sound weird cheering for a character that does not exisit to change her actions and feelings that have been penned in stone; but hey if you know me, you understand.

This is one of the more unique characters I have ever delved into, and I find watching the movies brings out the same feelings I had while reading the books. I believe I will be able to watch all the movies, but I highly doubt I will be able to watch them all in successive order nor will I be able to read all 4 books altogether again.

No More Dr. Pepper...

You have to know me well to understand the sadness associated with this narrative. It all goes back when I was small, sweet child.  My parents being the thrifty and conscientious types never lets their children have steady meals of McDonald's or other local fast food joints. The one indulgence was a pizza dinner from Shakey's once ever month or so. What came with this fabulous dinner was the universal greasy pizza chaser, 7-Up. "Pop" as my parents called it. I called it gold. I loved to savor the bubbly clearness as it washed over my tongue and tickled my throat on its final journey. If you are thinking I never really had much soda in my young life, and you are quite right.

It was not until I hit high school and had to wander the halls of East High with my little group of wanderers that I found my true love. The story of what and why we wandered is fodder for another tale, but sufficed to say, I had to keep hydrated on these 40-minute jaunts. The popular beverage of choice was of course Coke Classic. Most of you can remember when Coke made the mistake of making a NEW Coke for the NEW generation to compete with Pepsi, however in their misguided attempts to win the youth over, they eventually realized they needed to cater to their existing client base. They brought back the "classic" flavor, or so they said. Everyone knew by then that the original recipe had been lost in European back packing tour and had to be reinvented. With this new invention came the throng of people who decided they hated Coke, and I would be one of them. I found a more wondrous and glorious bubbly flavor to dance on my tastes buds; Dr Pepper. It was the nectar of the gods, the water of life, the best damn carbonated beverage ever available! Thus began my love affair with the beverage established in 1885 as "King of Beverages"…

I left high school and started a family, and found that with every Taco Bell craving my pregnancies could muster seemed to involve my very own large cup of Dr Pepper! Imagine my happiness as I lay in bed at night after a filling burrito meal and having an in-utero child play a one-person soccer game with my liver as a goal post. I suppose the burst of caffeine may have affected a child or two, but most of the time the weirdness is associated with the maternal side of the family.

As you can picture, by the time I truly became addicted I was downing cans of the "good stuff" like it was going out of style. I would often find a can sitting on my computer desk where I was just sitting with nearly ¼ of soda left, and a new can in my hand. To my defense I have never been much of a coffee drinker and everyone knows you need caffeine to function in any sense nowadays.

Knowing that I was consuming copious amounts of calories every day, I had decided to switch to diet drinks, and anyone who has done the same thing knows that once you go diet, you can't go back.

For those of you wondering where the sadness of my story comes from, it is the simple fact that I had decided to stop drinking any and all soda on Friday, January 12^th I just wanted to see if I could do it really, it was more of a trifle than anything. I did extremely well until the night of January 15^th. On that fateful night, I decided I was behaving extremely well and had not had one soda for 3 whole days! Hearing the air rush out of my cold can of Diet Dr Pepper, I began to salivate. I lifted the lip of the chilled aluminum to my mouth and savored the artificially sweet, peppery goodness as it washed over my parched mouth. Surprisingly I drank this can with slow deliberation, trying to relish it's bubbly goodness. Then, much to my chagrin my stomach began to feel rather perturb. It took 2 more sips of my life's blood to realize, it was my favored soda, my dearest Dr Pepper. My stomach could not handle the phosphoric acid, natural and artificial flavors, sodium benzoate or phenylketonurics! I was understandably worried. I had but one small hope this might be a small set back or just a fluke, so the next night, I tried another can. You can only imagine the screams that came from my home that night, I am sure that is why the neighborhood was cased by cops for the better part of the evening.

Do you think I would let just 2 nights of testing my theory be the defining proof I needed to tell myself I could not plan on drinking anymore of my beloved soda without suffering dire consequence? See, you all who said no, know me just a little too well. I'm scared of you now and please leave my page and quit stalking me, m'kay? Back to my narrative; I have since tried ONE more can, but sadly I believe my body has won and will not let me put such unnatural substances in it. It is a shame, but I am sure that the Nestle Instant Iced Tea guys are waiting for the stocks to jump. I plan on spending the rest of my life drinking iced tea… take this as insider trading information and make yourself a few million bucks at my expense.

This was originally written January 17, 2007

Writing

Written originally May 16, 2008:

Writing; a form of communication. The act of a person or thing that writes. Characters or matter written with a pen or the like. A way of expressing thought and ideas.

I love writing, and I didn't realize it until, of course, writing was no longer one of those things I *had* to do. That last year I had in high school was the year I felt that pull of wanting to show off my literary sense. Sadly it was the shortest year I had ever experienced in high school, as I was a new mom and started to feel the pull of taking care of my kid over trying to finish an education I didn't think I would need or want.

I was elated when I entered a small vocational college and had to take a Compsition class. I hated a couple of the books I was required to read, but loved to write the reviews and reports on the various genre of assignments my teacher assigned.

Move a few years later and you have the world wide web, and the ever popular invention of blogs. I never thought I would find a place where I could just write to my hearts content. It didn't matter who read them or what people said about them; just the enjoyment of pumping out some "matter written with a pen or the like", the like being my trusty keyboard.

I really enjoyed finding ways to put my thoughts down in black and white. I don't care if people loved my work or not. I got a kick out of remembering proper writing rules and breaking nearly every one of them. If I could take a red pen to my screen while writing I would. And proof reading and correcting, who could hate that, right?

Maybe as I continue to mature (read *age*) I will even find some love for mathmatics, but I think that should be a different blog...

Darkness

She sat. Her white shift draped over her as she waited. Her surroundings enveloped her. The walls were indistinguishable from the floor, built with darkness. Her cell would be called black, if not for the total lack of color that settled about her. The rough hewn rocks had a way of draining away anything that called itself life from a body. The surface of the walls and floor were hard, but not cold. The heavy stone bench dispassionately supported her little body as she sat numbly losing track of time. It offered no comfort, no hope of solace.

The Voice waited. It knew her inner turmoil, boiling inside her. It knew her own thoughts would gnaw at her very foundation of sanity. Still it waited

She had let her head hang, letting her hair fall with gravity, not one dark hair moved. She tried to listen to her heartbeat, some little ray of hope, but she could not hear it. The only noise was her short gasps, but she could not hear that either. The sounds in her mind were the only thing she could hear. Her mind was slowly churning with thoughts. Dark thoughts, ones that stabbed fear into her very core.

The voice was waiting for her to move, show some indication she was on the verge of breaking. It's patience was eternal, it had no need for metering time, it just waited. Knowing it's time would come.

Her thoughts never stopped. They kept playing over and over in her mind, taking different shapes trying to pursuade her she can find a solution, find a way to wander out of this labyrinth. Distant hums of conversation eerily begged her to hear them, to understand what they wanted from her. The first drip of sweat crossed her brow and ran the length of her nose waiting to drip.

The Voice sees it starting, oh the anticipated moment was nearly here. Her hair was damp from perspiration. The first little shakes made her hair do a jerky dance. Just a little more time to wait, oh it's nearly here.

The shift was clinging to her shaking shoulders. Her hands in balled up fists, her nails dug into the palm of her hands. She couldn't keep what was suppose to be real, what was her life and the images she did not understand from intertwining. The thoughts danced in chaos with no order. A small whimper escaped her lips.

The room was quiet again. The stone bench was empty. Her frail body lay on the floor, her pale lifeless face pointed into nothingness. Her matted hair clung around her porcelain features, her eyes mercifully closed. The room became more dark, more horrible. The Voice knew it was the only way to survive.