"So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish!"

Well, I thought I could juggle two blogs at once, but it seems writing for someone else takes a little more precedence over writing for myself. I am going to stop writing on this blog for a time indefinitely...maybe for good. But it this has helped me a lot, exploring myself through my writings. And I hope maybe, in the time I've done this, I've also helped someone else out there. Nothing is as important to the human experience as emotion and feeling. Emotional intellect is what makes our species so unique, for ours is the most emotionally complex.

I'd like to thank anyone out there who did take the time to read this, and I do appreciate anything you've taken away from it. For now, I will leave you with my most recent piece, one that I am very certain is one of my better poems. Please enjoy it for what it is. I hope I will return to this soon, but if not, it's been fun!


Darkness Fades

There is a life in these bones, these hollowed tubers, that sings,
And where sorrow followed me like a black nightmare, I feel the stretching, reeling presence of a smile again.
This has been your gift to me.

My few years in bitter knowing, burnt gardens, and twisted promises, made most of what they could of my fawning heart,
And while I cannot claim to be less of an aging cynic, I know from the glint in your sky streaked eyes that perhaps there is a way -
To live and let live -
Without all these shadows and deep, marring trenches formed in good company.

The irony is that you have seen more of life than I,
I, the sweet Daphne that covets the veil of mystery and prudence,
And you, the child within the warrior, the laugher with his sword held high. It seems life has not brought down a heavy hand on you as it did my soul, or perhaps
You have learned to rise above the devouring seas that have drowned weaker men, waters that leave me stranded with my echoing ideals.

O errant knight, I am sure you would not falter, if the day comes when I need saving, though arrogant and impatient you are in your brazen manner.
Of course, I ever seek to safeguard your boyish expressions and imp-like intentions; the world is cruel and never stops searching for pure hearts to blacken and taint.
Mine is close to irreparable, but you,
You are strong.
You are my calm harbor, my sanctuary.
You hold me tight in nights uncertain through the ether of misty reveries.

How can I do anything but bind my heart to your name?
How can I be expected to walk away from this?

Dickinson Again...with a Little Monroe

If I haven't already made this clear, it is becoming more and more apparent to me that I have no skill at putting myself out there. I am completely and utterly socially inept for this reason. On paper, I am a strong, confident, beautiful young woman. In practice, I'm meek and timid and very, very unsure of myself. I am in my early twenties, trying to carve an image for myself, and I can't even pluck up the courage to ask out a guy that I like, who I am almost certain likes me back. I am so afraid that I'm going to screw up. It's killing me.

And it isn't as if I have a reason to believe I won't do well. True, most of my high school infatuations were completely and totally unrequited, and it is also true that the only two boys who I ever was intimate with emotionally shredded my heart to bits, but that was their mistake, not mine, and I recovered well, for what it's worth. What is also true is that, since I've turned twenty, I've also been turning heads. I blossomed when I turned twenty. I grew out of my awkward clothes, my glasses, my nerdy hobbies (D&D should definitely be left to pubescent adolescents), and my inability to talk to people. For God's sake, I work retail. I practically had to force myself to put on a huge smile and be obscenely outgoing to connect with my customers. I used to be such a shut-in tomboy, until I got my pixie cut, and then I couldn't pull off looking like a boy anymore. Let's just face it, if I hadn't started trying to look nice, I'd have looked like I was batting for the other team, and while it works for some people, it's not exactly a look I'd like to have. So I started wearing dresses and skirts and mascara, and all of a sudden, people started noticing me. I was beautiful. I was darling. This period in time is what I silently refer to as my coming out: coming out of my small girlish shell and becoming a full-fledged woman.

But full-fledged women, in my opinion, should not let themselves be limited like I limit myself. I preach courage, faith in one's self, but I am so doubtful on how to make my way boldly. It's times like these when I feel I should be able to channel Marilyn Monroe. All of you might think, nah, not that dumb floozy from the fifties. But actually, the lady was fairly bright and despite the fact that she was always cast as the dumb blonde, she was smart enough to catch playwright Arthur Miller, who wrote plays like Death of a Traveling Salesman. Needless to say, she was a tad unstable, but she was sharp as a tack. One of her most memorable quotes is "A wise girl knows her limits. A smart girl knows that she has none." I'm not sure where I saw this quote, but it is a source of inspiration for me, daring me to be more.

Yet there's always this stigma that women have to let the men lead the chase, that people have to be pushy in order to get what they want, blah blah blah - for some reason, there has to be a set way of doing everything, and if you fall out of line, there's always someone there telling you you are doing things wrong. Emily Dickinson was an asocial shut-in, never wandered out of her house past the age of twenty, but now she's hailed as a genius, both in literature and philosophy.

But, as it stands, I have not tried the normal ways of doing things, thinking I am better, believing myself to be above these mentalities and expectations. Who knows? Maybe it's time I walked the more usual path...and that's where the scientist in me starts kicking in. Oh dear. Let's hope I figure this out sooner than later...

In all seriousness, I am who I am. I cannot be the girl who is manipulative and passive aggressive. My tolerance for immaturity is appallingly low. And I find no desire ever to lie to the people in my life. I could possibly pretend I am not this person, and turn things around, but then I am no longer Ellie. I am some chick who looks like her who is just like everyone else. Perhaps there is doubt there for a reason. Perhaps it is my instinct. But I would just like to say that I don't want to change for the benefit of someone else. So why let the status quo and the social politesse rule me? Someday, I will find the courage to let myself go, to let my hair down and free my inhibitions. For now, it is only a matter of being who I am and accepting that not everyone is going to accept me. For the people who do, they will be cherished in my life for a long time to come. For those who don't, well, they were never really worth my time anyways. And as for myself...well, I'm just going to enjoy the coming spring sunshine...and maybe channel some Norma Jean while I'm at it.

The Jiminy Cricket Effect (More to the Point, How Robert Frost Became My Conscience)

I do truly believe that Robert Frost was a genius, especially when he wrote such deep and defining poems, such as "Fire and Ice", "My November Guest", and "Design": poems that speak on the nature of us and of the world around us. Yet, and though it is very cliche, I do believe that his best work to define the human experience is "The Road Not Taken". We go through life by making choices - at every turn, we are making choices. Should I go out tonight, or stay in? If I stay in, do I eat something and go to bed, or do I stay up and watch TV, or perhaps do I open that bottle of chardonnay and mourn not going out? Do I text the man I've been thinking about and ask him to dinner, or do I watch my phone in hopes that maybe he texts me? And what about that time he drove me home, and I didn't kiss him before leaving, even though I wanted to?Do I sleep in this morning (the answer is often yes), or do I rise early and make the most out of my day? We take certain turns in our paths in life, and that is what "The Road Not Taken" discusses.

Robert Frost not only ponders the concept that we live by our decisions and that perhaps taking the less obvious choice or the less popular choice is fairer, but he also, in an almost despairing tone, remarks on the phenomenon that once a choice is made, it cannot be undone and cannot be returned to. There are few things in my life that make more sense to me than this. One does have to live with the consequences of one's actions, thus dictating how one is obligated to live: reaping what one wishes to sow. It is almost the Golden Rule. Not quite, though - there are times when we must be cruel in order to be kind, even though no one really likes being the reciprocate of that treatment, for better or for worse.

At any rate, after having read this poem, it has become quite clear to me: when I come to a fork in the road, choose the road I will not regret having taken, the one that suits me best, the one that will benefit my world more. In doing so, I do believe I will become a happier person for it.


The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads onto way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I Say I Don't Like Cowards, But...

I really, really cannot stress enough how important it is to be up front about your feelings. That being said, I am the biggest offender when it comes to shoving my feelings in the back of the closet. No joke. If I like a guy, and instead of finding ways of slipping my hand in his or something romantic like that, I instead try to take the long way around and try every single way of beating around the bush possible. I make a point of caring and being there for him, but as soon as we get down to raw emotion, I bolt. If I'm angry at someone, I don't let them see how hurt I am, and I never yell, unless I'm pushed into it. I just cool off, and then if it's still vexing me, whatever, it is that irritated me in the first place, I sit down and I talk it out. I'm afraid of letting people see that I am as sensitive and as fragile as the rest of the human race.

It has come to the point in my life where I need to turn around and evaluate why this is and how can I make a change for the better. Why am I so afraid of letting someone see my vulnerabilities? I never had issues with trust, though I've had my share of disappointments. I have never been abandoned. I've never had to deal with any major hardships. I've been strangely fortunate in my life as far as my interactions with people have gone. Yet, still, I'm so gun-shy, so leery of what might happen if I open up. Is it instinct? Is it fear? Why have I built these walls, keeping people out? Why am I such a shut-in?

I am well practiced at giving my opinion and letting people know what I like and what I don't like. And I've grown confident enough that no one is allowed to truly dictate to me what I should or should not do. But I still can't find the strength to be the person to take charge, to truly be a leader, an example. I never step up, afraid to make mistakes. So maybe it is fear. So then perhaps I need to remember how to be brave.

Beta

Slinking through the night, dark fur harvests the moonlight,
taking in, never giving back.
Shining eyes watch her leader, then watch as her and her alpha's followers
fall in line. The hunt has begun.
I watch them through the grasses as they traipse out of thick groves,
and I know she has caught my scent. Her ears prick in my direction,
attentive, but silent.
She will not risk rebellion if she does not need to,
and it seems my musk is not one of nefarious overtones.

Prey lingers near, smell of food and adrenaline, and she forgets me
for a brief, pulsating moment. Instinct kicks like a hoof to the rear,
and she takes off, a whip snapping on the open plain.
Her questioning is seldom, her knowledge vast.
I wonder how something so exacting could be so submitting,
and my question cuts quicker when she receives a blow to the jaw from a silvered female -
the alpha as well as her mate - and instead of fighting for herself,
instead of biting back, for her teeth look deathly pearlescent,
she shrinks back, tongue held and bitter knowing rescinded.
She remembers her place.
She will not fight for higher goals, for the pack is a teetering boat not to be rocked.

Suddenly, the big male spies me lurking near.
A quick bark to the others, and suddenly, like shadows, they drag away
a few small carcasses, fit for a baron's feast.
She looks at me, my little beta female,
and I cannot help but shed a tear.
One tear for the little wolf
with the world on her shoulders,
without complaint.

Yes, I Am, In Fact, a Closet Wino

It is hard to believe that, once, I had considered myself to be an ice queen. Perhaps I was young and melodramatic, and endeavored to be something more than just myself. Perhaps. However, I have always been extremely self aware, and the likelihood of that is small. I think it was because, not long ago, I had shut the world out, in order to purge my world of the people and things that no longer seemed to benefit my life. I think I found that in order to do so, I had to be cold to the pleas of others who wished to remain friends. It has been a long time since I had a functioning social circle.

Now, it seems I am replenishing that number. The crown of snow I once wore has now diminished, and I feel freer to let people in. Why that is, I'm not sure. But I have been very lonely for a long time, and as a human, loneliness is something that can only be tolerated for so long. I have finished dwelling in the dark. (Side note: did you know that there are only three words in the dictionary that start with the letters, "dw"? I have named one; can you name the other two?)

I spent an evening with a woman a few years my senior, and already I can feel the cords of friendship binding us together. I had not realized what I'd been missing until we sat down on her couch and talked for what must have been three hours at least. We laughed hysterically. We sat there, somberly recounting our misgivings and mistakes. We even ranted a bit, about the travesties of the world around us, and how such a poor state of affairs could befall it. Most of all, we bonded, strongly and surely, with no secrets, no judgments, and no fear of each other. I have missed that feeling: I cannot name the amount of time that has passed since I knew such compassion.

In time, I hope that this friendship grows strong and bountiful, and I will do my best to uphold any kind of loyalties I can to her. In the meanwhile, this is for my new friend.


Vino's Delight

A large cellar, I once catered to, full of port and merlot and cabernet,
and all of them I believed would serve me well, when supper rang for me.
Yet, the chardonnay and the pinot were both done for,
no bouquet to speak of, and hardly any nose save for a terrible odor
that would not suit even the most abominable repast.
After all that gathering and waiting for good fortune and happy result,
I was bidden to cast them out, to pour the vinegars,
to wash them away with soap and salt
and once it was done, I wept, for no great gifts such as these should ever be wasted.
Yet, as I drudged my way back down to dump the rest, a gleaming glass bottle
caught my eye as only the brightest of jewels will do.
Muscato was its name, sweet and shining, tart and twinkling,
and with one sip, I was honor-bound to savor it.
You, my dear friend, such a meager donation you were in my dark hour.
And now you are the candle of hope in my window.
I may yet have opportunity, with you in hand,
to finally savor the feast.

I Wish I Had Julianne Hough's Dancing Skills

I most certainly adore the new version of the movie, Footloose. It is incredibly sappy of me, and I normally can't stand chick flicks. Come on. We're following the story lines of one guy and one girl, who happen to either hate each other, who adore each other but can't get over some obstacle (whether physical or emotional), or they think they love someone else, despite some freakish magnetism to each other. We get it. It's well played and extremely cliche. Let's find some Whedon work and move on.

But, for some reason, Footloose hits me as something better than just a boy-meets-girl scenario. Every time I watch it, I get this insatiable urge to dance my toes off. (It didn't help that one of my friends went line dancing the day I watched this movie.) The scene where they go to the city and go line dancing drives me crazy. I want to be there moving and twisting with the characters, letting loose. Being the type of person I am, I almost never seem to let loose, and I am well aware that I am holding myself back.

The movie is about celebrating the gift of life. It is about grasping the moment and living large while we still can, while we're still kicking and screaming. And I think it calls to me because I was always the one who had to be the responsible one. I always had to stay within the lines of propriety. That has shaped me for as long as I can remember, and, until lately, I had no idea how much it was killing me. I'm the first to volunteer for designated driving. I'm the person people ask to take shifts for them so they can go out and have fun. And I do it gladly. I'm the eldest of four. Someone has to take the brunt of life.

I'm not at all saying I sympathize with the stuffy, rigid adults who can't be bothered to use their ears for more than head ornaments. But I find myself asking why I, young and full of ambition, have stuck to being the prudent mother figure of her friends.

If I were to ask my best friend, a free soul living with her goofball of a husband in the tropical paradise of Hawai'i, she'd take me back to one of my first posts on this blog: I am a Virgo and relish my delicious rank as the organizer, the diligent know-it-all, and the school marm. Of course, she's the one who believes that Cancers are perfect mates for me, when the Aries moon in me cannot tolerate the sappy, sensitive softies that come with being Cancerian (it would explain my penchant for Aries men, who are as hardheaded as all get-out). So then I come full circle, back to square one and wondering why I can't be more free-spirited and brash.

Suffice it to say, it's been a crazy few weeks. So I'll leave you with one of the madder of my beloved poets, Emily Dickinson. She should sum up how I'm feeling.

Much Madness is divinest Sense -

Much Madness is divinest sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness-
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you're straightaway dangerous -
And handled with a Chain -

P.S. I definitely credit my love of this poem to one of my two favorite English teachers ever, Dr. Richard Wakefield, poet extraordinaire and lover of good prose.

For the Damned Times I Have to be Self-Righteous

It strikes me that, though I often take the moral high ground when it comes to my interactions with other people, sometimes it is not within my rights to do so. In fact, it struck me harder than I had expected it would. So when my temper flared up, and my baser female need to smear a name in mud took over, I forgot that there was more involved than just me and an adversary. Fortunately, I never truly ever seek to ruin anyone, and I always rescind my flare-ups at some point - I am not quick to form grudges. But it's nice to have someone there to tell me off before I do any real damage, and there really has never been anyone that brave.

Yet I woke up this morning, blissfully unaware of what damage I might be causing, and that was when I received a reality check. My first response, of course, was indignation. How could it possibly be that I was in the wrong? It was all just so plainly black and white: I felt the impulse to stamp my foot and demand that I am always right. For me, however, rationale never takes long to follow, and within moments, I wretchedly had realized the error of my ways, and not without some fussing over. There is no doubt that I tearfully wracked my brain over how I had let myself get that far. I stuck my nose in someone else's business, and despite having been insulted myself, I needed to be the bigger person and let it go.

Patience has never been my strong suit, and I yearn to do justice on the world when those I love are wronged. Yet, some battles are not for me to fight, and I have a hard time accepting that because of my lacking patience and desire for results. I claim to believe in karma and that time will deliver the final judgement, but it's so hard for me to wait for it to happen. And as I act out of my impatience, I risk damaging not only myself but those I care for. And pride would demand that I not make reparations for my injuries, only allow for time to make up for what damage I'd done, the same time that I would have inflict penances on those who've wronged me and mine. I will admit, I am an extremely proud creature - I am Scottish by blood, for what that's worth. The concept of letting time heal is alluring, if only for the sake of keeping my vulnerable side safe from prying eyes.

Know this: no one ever hurt anyone by being humble. And that is my intent, to scrape away years of walls and fortitude to allow myself to be better, to be more deserving of the gifts I'm given, for there are so many. Time may allow me to see over these walls keeping me from being a normal human being. Be that as it may, time could probably use a little push.