Just thought I should tell you

I like tangible progress.

-D*sire

Okay. On a bit more serious note. I've been debating about whether or not (and how) to mention this...
I found out last Monday that my grandma has ovarian cancer... and it's not a good one to have (if there is such a thing as a 'good' cancer). She goes to see the oncologist Thursday so we'll know more then, but from what they know so far, if the treatment/surgery/chemo all work the best possible she still only has more or less three years left. And there's not even a good chance that the treatment will work that well...

So, needless to say Monday was not a good night.

But, since then, I'm kinda in the limbo state of "I don't know what to do." I can't just go see her, but then again, those times are so numbered now that I'm wondering if I shouldn't being trying to somehow get up there the most I can. How can I keep living as normal when I know she's dying with every day? It has definitely put a bit of perspective in my life, but this is the first time I've ever really had to deal with something like this... so I still have this surreal feeling, infused with waves of sadness.

-D*sire

a little bit too honest I think

I want to show anybody who reads this a wonderful passage from James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

"He drew forth a phrase from his treasure and spoke it softly to himself:
-A day of dappled seaborne clouds.-
The phrase and the day and the scene harmonised in a chord. Words. Was it their colours? He allowed them to glow and fade, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and green of apple orchards, azure of waves, the greyfringed fleece of clouds. No, it was not their colours: it was the poise and balance of the period itself. Did he then love the rhythmic rise and fall of the words better than their associations of legend and colour? Or was it that, being weak of sight as he was shy of mind, he drew less pleasure from the reflection of the glowing sensible world through the prism of a language many-coloured and richly storied than from the contemplation of an inner world of individual emotions mirrored perfectly in a lucid supple periodic prose."

So beautiful. I think Joyce is going to be my new best friend.
But, we can't be best friends because we live in two different times and come from two different backgrounds. He can wander the countryside and write prose, but I have to study and work and compete. If there was some way I could just tell you how much Joyce means to me I would. I would ramble on about how each passage was beautiful and written from a mind that decided to be free from all that whatever stuff that proves one is normal. Normal. Interesting word. An adjective that pretty much describes what the majority of everyone is doing. That's normal. Anything else is weird. Not popular. Not normal. Like Easterbrook lectured, ideas that have meshed into what is called "common sense". Get it?
While thinking about writing this out, I listened to Snow Patrol's Make This Go on Forever, and at the end, he sings, "please just save me from this darkness" Man, I am so depressing. And strangely honest at 1:30 in the morning. Eh whatever. I'm done. Joyce is pretty awesome and I want to read more of his works. I told a certain friend to mine to read the short story "The Dead" from his Dubliners. (haha yes, I still want you to read it!)
Okay. I'm being melodramatic and my self-consciousness is finally kicking in. I'm done.

-Jchoc, yo

Yeah, I don't know what to call this so we'll just call it this

So I have hung out with all the people I still keep up with from high school--all three of them (lame I know, but c'est la vie). All in the past week or so. And it's kind of been a collision of worlds. Parts of me and our memories and our...zeitgeist (not sure if it works, but it's what I came up with at the moment) when we're together are all the same; the same now as in high school as in middle school and on back (as applicable). But there are other things about them and me and our lives that are worlds apart from who we were and that connection that we had previously had. It's a very odd mixture--almost an emulsion of sorts--of old and new, sometimes comfortable like a favorite sneaker and sometimes strained like an awkward situation. Still not sure what to do with it yet.

So finnnnnnaaalllly the other half decided to resurface! Nice to hear from you Big Sis. ^__^

BIG sister moment!

Two big firsts today!
1. I rode in the car with my younger brother driving for the first time! Admittedly, it was a bit scary. He's a pretty fresh driver, but we didn't crash (obviously, well actually, no, I could be typing this in a hospital, but thank goodness I'm not. ok sorry)and we're all okay! He was a bit shaky, but I bet it was because he was nervous with all of us in there. It made me smile because I remember when I first started driving and the stuff I ALWAYS did wrong. It was kind of nice in a hey-i'm proud-of-you-little-bro kind of way.
2. My other bro had a wrestling tourney today and he did so well! We're going to watch him in the semifinals tomorrow! pre-tty pimp-in! haha He looked great, all focused and intense. He handled himself well on and off the mat. Even watching him hang out with his fellow teammates made me proud. I can see him in college. That makes me proud. He's been growing up since I've been gone. =)

Overall, pretty happy about them--not so much about myself. I hope that gets better. Where I am relative to being an autonomous working adult is changing monthy, daily, hourly, minutely and secondly! (the last two aren't words, I know. But I really wanted to emphasize the point)

Perhaps I have my own growing up to do.

-Jchoc, yo

Sometimes I get this yearning to be great at something--to be the best _________ (fill in the blank). Or if not THE best, at least up there to where people recognize me.

But then the practical side kicks in asking me WHAT exactly I would be the best in, and I have no answer. I'm not great at anything--average Jo, okay at a few things but renowned at nothing.

So the idealist part retorts with, I'll just devote all my free time to developing one of those 'okay' things.

But what extra time? And really I don't have that kinda determination--hence the numerous half-assed hobbies.

So I sit back with this perpetual feeling of discontent and bury it in the back corner in my head until it decides to resurface at a future time.

-D*sire

the little things

I really like the smell of blown out candles

-D*sire

A gem I found on my friend's facebook page:
One day I shall burst my buds of calm and blossom into hysteria.

HAHAHAHA.. it might happen sooner than you think :)

-D*sire