Some other beginning's end.

Lost a beautiful woman this morning.

A Deafening Quiet.

We spend every day of our lives trying to become something significant.
We work harder to get raises and promotions.
We get more money, we buy better things. 
Better educations for our children.
Better technology.
Better futures.

We hold rallies for equal rights, raise money to help those in need.
We protest against evil-doers and we battle constantly for the political affiliation
of our choosing.

We stop speaking to family members over single arguments.
 We leave loved ones behind, in search of something greater.

And in those quiet moments, when the entire world is watching as the Earth rebels against it's helpless inhabitants, we become eerily aware of how insignificant it all is.

Tonight that feeling is heavy on my heart.

Fuck Cancer.

There aren't a lot of unifying themes in this country - not many things you could say that everyone really stands behind, but I feel like a rally cry of "Fuck Cancer" is something we can all support.

Except maybe, those assholes who say things like, "God has a plan for everything. "
Really?  Because I don't want anything to do with a God who couldn't figure out a way to make his "divine plan" magic happen without giving someone a crippling, painful disease first.

Anyway, so, in a little more than two weeks, a suspicious dark spot on a chest x-ray turned into stage four cancer for my grandmother, in pretty much every part of her body from the neck down.

I was raised Assembly of God, and left the church about the same time I left high school, opting for logic over faith.  I still find myself getting bitter towards any possible deities, though, when tragedy strikes.  What if there really is something in charge of this whole place?  What kind of asshole...?

My grandma is the gorgeous one in the top right corner.  Those eight kids are hers.

  They produced 23 grandkids, who have so far produced 16 

great-grandkids (and growing bi-weekly).  This is not a family ready to lose 

their Monna yet.

Poetry is Bubbles.

My senior year in high school, I decided I was just so over things like "AP Courses" and "Having a Future," and this caused my already laughable academic career to become somewhat ridiculous.  So, the second semester of that year, having dropped my AP English course, I landed in Mr. Graham's class, where we mostly watched episodes of Lost and had spelling and grammar tests (no, really).  Once, though, he put us in pairs and gave us an assignment to write a methaphorical poem about out lives that we would present to the class in a powerpoint presentation.

Naturally, our first step was to find a really killer theme for the powerpoint.  We decided on this background that featured a small child blowing bubbles into a perfect sunset scene, because we thought it would highlight our angsty, sarcastic personalities.  We named the poem, Poetry is Bubbles. 

I remember nothing about the poem itself, except that it had nothing to do with bubbles.  What I do remember, though, is that we had downloaded our special theme from the Microsoft website, and so when we plugged our flash drive into the projector, it didnt copy over and we lost our killer background and our title ended up being less funny and more confusing to the rest of our classmates.  It was quite disappointing.

That just sort of sums up my whole existence.  Awkward stares and failed jokes.

....right.

So, I'm back in Arkansas for a few more weeks, and then making the big, permanent move to Maui.  It's going to be a terrifying adventure, but I think I'm finally ready for it.

A shot in the ass is worth... two in the hand? That didn't really work.

So I've been having these headaches.  Tension headaches, the doctor called them, before shooting me in the butt with painkillers and trying to put me on muscle relaxers.  No thanks, medicine man.  I'll figure out my own thing.

In other news, I took my first ferry ride yesterday, over to the island of Lena'i.  The trip there was super fun and I felt like a fear conquering conquerer of fears.  We played on the beach and watched the sunset and I have seen four whales do great big impressive whale jumps in the past 24 hours.  Very exciting.  Then, the rain started.  And it was likely never to stop, I decided.  The ferry ride back was like something out of the Titanic, if Rose were a panicky, sweaty, nauseous mess of a woman and Jack just stood by rubbing her shoulders and kissing her head and probably, if I had to guess, rolling his eyes.  It was very dramatic.  As you can tell, though, we lived, and for that I am thankful.

I'm going home Saturday, for a little while, and that's all I can really say about it right now. 
So, pictures, I've got some for you.

2011: Year of more Lackluster Blog Posts!

Here's the thing about Hawaii -
(and about moving to places where you only know one person and you don't have your car and you don't know your way around so when you do have a car you don't know where you're going, and even if you did, you only know the one person so WHO ARE YOU GOING TO GO SEE!)
There just isn't much to blog about, I'm afraid.  Vacation blog posts are just never very comprehensive and are usually filled with pictures of sand and other things that are only pretty if you're standing right in front of them (or if you happen to be a golden god with a camera).  So here I am, on this sort of extended vacation, and I don't really know what to do with myself.  Don't get me wrong, this place is amazing.  Everything looks like something out of a travel guide - the beaches, the shops, the little towns, the people (hello, eating disorder).  It still sort of feels like a dream.  I just don't know how to put it all here.

What I am saying is this: I need a job.  In a bad way.  I was certainly not cut out for a life of leisure.
Also, maybe some friends would help.  I would prefer to import my own, but I am open to making some new ones, though I'm beginning to wonder if I remember how to do it.  I lived in the same town for 22 years.  Spending that long in a place that small means that you are basically established by the time you are six years old and relationships no longer require effort.  Now I'm in a surprisingly similar setting, only on the outside.  I'm surrounded by surfers and hippies and people with good tans, and I'm just having a hard time feeling like anything but a tourist.  A squatty, pale, awkward tourist (I seriously cannot get over how hot everyone is here.  It is truly damaging.)

Please, someone pity me.  Such a hard life in paradise.  I know.  Even I want to punch me.

Lets take a minute to relish in some accomplishments, because I could go for an ego boost right now:
-  Made it through three airports (including DFW and LAX, thankyouverymuch) by myself, which of course includes getting on three airplanes (one of my many paralyzing phobias).
-  Made it through my first Christmas without my family (but did get to spend it with a very nice stand-in family and of course E, who I'm growing quite attached to.)
-  By tomorrow I will have finished two books in less than a week.  Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've read a book from start to finish?  Because I don't.  Too long.
-  Also on the agenda for tomorrow (Yes, I'm bragging prematurely.  Let me have this.):  Ocean!  Something else on my ever-expanding list of fears is large open spaces, especially if those spaces are filled with water.  It's definitely been an adjustment, seeing the ocean pretty much constantly.  So tomorrow I'm finally going to brave it and stick my toes in a little. 

and a Happy New Year!

Happy Christmas, Y'all.

From all of us at Eric and Annie's Home for Dysfunctional Christmas Cookies.