The State of Things

I think that one of the most powerful scenes in literature is in The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. Stephen King’s novel is all about a young girl surviving in the woods after being separated from her parents. She goes through an absolutely ridiculous amount of shit, and finally stops in the seventh chapter to throw a tantrum. This particular episode is caused by a swamp, something that she’s already had a nightmarish experience with earlier in the book. She has survived a lot, but she can’t bring herself to wade through another mud-filled mess. She makes up her mind to leave it and go in a different direction. King tells the reader that this is one of her worst ideas; if she had gone through that swamp, she would have found herself safely out of the woods within a few days. Instead, she chose four hundred miles of forest, uninhabited except for bears and mentally-forged monsters.

For most people, this probably sounds horrible. What good thing can you possibly find in this moment of utter hopelessness for a fictional character?

I don’t think it’s this moment that’s powerful, I think that it’s what King has the main character do afterwards. She doesn't stop trying to get out. She might not be able to make it through this situation, but she doesn't stop walking. She goes back into the woods and finds another way back to civilization. I think that this makes all of the difference in the world.

Sometimes we are going to find ourselves in situations that we never anticipated. We fall off the path, and we’re alone. We have to go through swamps that we want no part of, and they change us. And sometimes, whether we want to admit it or not, we come to a swamp that we just can’t cross. Maybe we don’t think that we can physically do it. Maybe we just don’t see how any good can come from our effort. For whatever reason, we just don’t wade out into the mess.

It makes sense to see this as failure. If we just did this unpleasant thing, we’d be safe much sooner. The trouble would be over, and we could go back to normal. That’s not reality, though. Some things hurt too much to go through, and we are perfectly within our rights to react to them. We can cry like the girl who loved Tom Gordon, we can funnel our energy into a hobby, we can let our social media accounts go dark. We can react however our experiences prompt us to react. That is not failure. That is humanity.  The only thing that really matters is that we keep going when the tantrum has passed.

I've been standing at the edge of a swamp for awhile now. I've been looking into that dark water, doing my best to convince myself to go through it. But this is a swamp that I just can’t make it through. I’m tired. There have been too many nights with too little sleep, too many monstrous visions brought on by exposure. I cannot find the will to throw my Chucks over my shoulders and walk out into the mud. I don’t know how deep it runs. I can’t see the other side. All I know for sure is that I’m looking at a catastrophic mess with innumerable dangers. So, I've made my decision. I am not going to drown today. I am going to leave my shoes where they are, and I am going to walk back into the woods. I don’t know where they end either, but I’m going to keep walking until they do. And if those woods are full of monsters, better that I should face them on dry land. There, at least, I have a chance.

I’m not naïve enough to think it’s going to be easy. I know that this has been, and will continue to be, an unpleasant experience. I also know that as long as I keep going, I will eventually start to see sunlight. The trees will thin out and the feelings of betrayal will fade. And If I’m not the same person that I was when I stumbled in - good. Hopefully I’ll have changed for the better.

Either way, it’s time to start walking.  

Surprise! I'm Not Dead!

Not physically, anyway.


Socially? That's another story. Grad school has eaten whatever sad semblance of a social life I had to begin with, and left me with no time to entertain you with my misadventures. I know, I know. It's been a tragic couple of weeks for me too.  The worst part? My Educational Technology class required me to make ANOTHER blog, one for teacher-type musings. Don't be jealous. Its not nearly as much fun as Elyse in Wonderland, and when I'm writing there...well, I'm really pretending that I'm with you.


See, I can be nice when I feel the need to.


Anyway, I have a momentary reprieve from classes and there's nothing like academic writing to make you miss having a soul showcasing your creativity! So I'm back to regale you with tales from the other side of higher education.


To its credit, grad school started with a familiar experience. I was buying a book for my first class, and by the grace of the monetary gods it was only fifteen dollars. Fifteen dollars for the whole class. "Overjoyed" does not even begin to describe it. While I was expressing my elation to the cashier, another student wandered into line behind me and jumped into our conversation. She was probably ten years older than me, and one of those unnecessarily mother-y types of people. She assured me that I was getting a great deal, and that I should enjoy it while I could.


"After all," she gently reminded me. "It'll be a lot more expensive when you finish with your undergrad studies."


I was mistaken for a freshman three more times over the week. I'm seriously considering passing myself off as a child prodigy during my next class. I figure I'll look old enough to be a real grad student about 4 years after I graduate, so at least now I have a timeline.


Aside from the inevitable age confusion, nothing else remotely resembled life at LSU. First off, this school has parking. Free parking. And it's everywhere. I never had to walk more than 3 minutes from my car to my class, which is especially beneficial because this school also has hills. Living below sea level spoiled me, and I couldn't keep up with my mountain-dwelling classmates on our lunch break expeditions. I like to think that by the end of the week I was a little less pathetic in my climbing abilities, and I really like to think that all of this unexpected cardio is going to get me an absolutely fantastic ass before it's all over. (It's all about the silver linings.)


It also helps that the entire academic side of campus could fit in LSU's library. It's easy to find classrooms, but hard to find a good coffee shop. I have to give credit though, all of the people I've met so far have been really nice. Personally, I think it's because they don't have to sprint across two major roads in 97 degree weather to make it to class on time. It's a lot easier to be welcoming when you're not dodging cars and heatstroke.


So there's the quick and dirty version of my life recently. It's not remotely as fun as undergrad, and there's no tiger on campus, but it's not too bad. I will honestly try and blog more as the summer goes on, to keep my sanity if nothing else, but I guess I can't make any promises. After all, Smartboard lesson plans aren't going to blog about themselves.


xoxo
Elyse in Wonderland 

This is why I have to work two jobs.

11:00 p.m. – Go to sleep with high hopes for first day off work in 6 weeks. Expect magical adventures upon reentry into the waking world.

10 a.m. – Wake up. Realize that bedroom is roughly the temperature of the sun. Become instantly annoyed at sun’s existence for causing heat in the first place. Stumble into the spare bedroom in search of fan.

10:30 – Decide that search is futile and return to bed. Attempt sleep until sun-baked discomfort is too much to handle. Drag body to kitchen in attempt to rehydrate.

10:45 – Drink body weight in water. Lose sensation of being landlocked fish. Begin to feel like over-filled water bed with feet. Lie on kitchen floor in an attempt to recover.

11:05 – Try and convince parents that floor-based nap is in no way hangover related. Fail miserably. Apologize for impeding their access to cinnamon rolls.

11:10 – Stare mindlessly at television in living room.

1:00 p.m. – Lose control of the remote to Dad. Become outraged by his ability to find constant reruns of “Two and a Half Men”. Leave living room in desperate attempt to escape subpar sitcom.

1:05 – Stare mindlessly at television in bed room.

4:00 – Wake up. Realize bulk of day off has already been wasted. Subsequently realize that room is STILL TOO EFFING HOT. Hate May 14^th in general.

4:05 – Attempt to be productive. Again, fail miserably.

4:30 – Become enthralled with episode of ‘True Life’ on MTV. Develop emotional investment in college grad with 11 siblings. Try to microwave Marshmallow Peeps from Easter.

5:00 – Hate all 11 siblings. Start speaking with Jersey accent as show of support for aforementioned college grad. Confirm that microwaved Peeps are delicious.

5:45 – Leave home to procure food. Realize day is not going to be as magical as originally anticipated. Immediately hate everyone in grocery store.

6:00 – Hear ‘The Lazy Song’ on the drive home. Become jealous of fictional day off. Want to punch Bruno Mars in the face.

6:05 – Return home. Perform half-ass search for evening plans. Remember majority of friends live in Louisiana. Home sick ensues. Facebook creep in desperate attempt to feel close to BR.

7:00 – Get invited to BBQ on Sunday. Discover it starts the same time as shift at work. Make jump from ‘annoyed’ to ‘homicidal’.

8:30 – Give up on day having any redeeming qualities. Decide that any evening plans not involving unicorns and gold-plated malt liquor are unacceptable. Hate entire county.   

8:45 – Attempt to write conclusion to blog trilogy.

9:00 – Room is too hot to use laptop. Get distracted by Storage Wars.

9:35 – Finally find window fan. Try and resume blogging. Too angry to be nostalgic. Decide to whine instead. Feel like a loser. Ask cat why day has been so awful.

9:50 – Realize that cat-based conversations are not helping feelings of loser-ness. Debate completing and posting whining entry. Worry that readers will be alienated/not entertained by bitter musings.

9:55 – Remember that entire universe is on ‘Hate’ list at the moment. Complete entry out of spite. Practice evil laugh while adjusting html code on blog.

10:00 – Explain laughter to Mom. Agree that yes, it will be a very long summer.

10:05 – Seriously consider deleting entry again. Mom asks why no friends have been made during year in the tundra.  Definitely decide to post entry. Actually hope readers are offended.

10:10 – Check number of Facebook friends on-line. Realize it’s Saturday night – there will be no readers to offend.

10:30 – Officially give up weekend in general.

10:35 – Readers officially give up on blog in general.   

Episode II: Attack of the (student) Loans

So when we left off yesterday, you had just been given a pitiful description of my first year of college. Let’s leave that mess behind, and jump to my senior year. To set the scene, I was kicking ass. By that spring I had finished all but 2 of my difficult classes. I was taking Yoga and Improvisational Acting, and spending a grand total of 45 extra minutes a week on my school work. I fell into a comfortable routine of South Park and Venture Bros. with the same guys I’d been friends with since freshman year, and the New Orleans Saints had won their first Super Bowl in franchise history. My best friend and I had finally scored a 2 person apartment and a margarita maker. Life was great. It seemed that Louisiana had finally accepted me back as its native daughter, and I was looking at a future of crawfish boils and 90% humidity.

In retrospect, I should’ve seen my epic failure coming. Who wants to think about graduation when you and your friends spend every weekend having Nerf sword fights, playing Super Smash Bros., and playing music until 2 in the morning? I had absolutely no plans for post-grad, except that I had no desire to return to the tundra. I wanted to stay in BR and be 21 forever. Then my mom reminded me that the whole point of college was gainful employment, and sent me to the black hole that is internet job postings. I realized that majoring in English and Archaeology may make for a cool introduction (“I’m like Indiana Jones with better grammar”), but they make for a crap job search. Finally, feeling desperate and watching The Mummy on AMC, I decided that I could probably be a library technician.  Yes, dear readers, I was taking job advice from a Brendan Frasier movie. Not my best idea, but I figured it was a start.

That was about the same time that the world as I knew it exploded.

In a matter of days I realized that by the time I could apply for library work, 97% of the apartments is BR would be filled with kids who had planned for their future, and the remaining 3% would require me to buy a bullet proof vest for walking to my car.  I had no marketable skills, student loans looming in the distance, and parents who were just now realizing that they had raised an idiot. The only sensible solution was for me to move back to the tundra until I figured out what I wanted to do/could afford to escape. I felt like I was morphing into an awful, chick flick caricature of myself – the spoiled only child who suddenly had to fend for herself in the scary “real world”, or the small town escapee who finds herself making a not-so-triumphant return to her hometown. It was a nightmare.  

There were two bright spots in the entire incident. The first was my friends, who assured me that I would die without them, made dirty jokes, and fully embraced my new life as a straight-to-DVD sequel of a bad Reese Witherspoon movie. They even spent an evening deciding which celebrity they wanted to play them when my life was (inevitably) made into a movie. The second was literally my last moment as a college student. I was turning in my last final (Shakespeare: Our Contemporary [and a royal pain in the ass]) when a cell phone went off in class. Inexplicably, if not appropriately, it was playing the Star Wars theme song. And somehow, in the haze of my disappointment and imminent extradition to my least favorite place in the world, I remembered that I was capable of laughter. I was actually giggling when I handed the paper over to my teacher, a balding lit snob who had never forgiven me for comparing the Bard to Seasame Street.

“Well,” he said, “you’re graduating right? What do plan to do now?”

“No clue” I answered. “But with a send-off like that, it has to be something pretty epic.”

He was not amused, but to me it was the only way I could’ve ended 16 years of academia. They could take away my friends, but they couldn’t take my snarky attitude.

Despite that last act of defiance, the rest of my time there sucked. My college graduation was an awful experience. My parents were aggravated at me for being an idiot and for wearing hot pink Chuck Taylors to graduation, I was aggravated at them for being realists, and everyone was aggravated by the 3 hour ceremony I had to sit through for my mostly useless diploma. As far as I was concerned, I might as well jump into the Mississippi. I was going into social carbonite, while my BR friends continued to have super cool adventures together. I watched miserably as my last days in Louisiana ticked away, and finally – in one of the cruelest twists in the story – had to pack up my car and drive myself across state lines and back to the tundra. I played "Highway to Hell" on loop for most of the drive, and prepared myself to sink into unfathomable depths of boredom.

Damn, was I wrong.

And on the off chance that you liked yesterday's entry better

Tah-dah!

Episode I: A New Hope (that Episode II is easier to write)

     So, nostalgic entry #1. Definitely harder to write than I thought. In fact, this is one of those entries that makes you want to launch your computer out of a ninth story window and tap dance in its mangled remains. It's almost impossible to condense 4 years of life into one decent sized entry, but without some back story tomorrow's entry won't work. Go figure, yeah? After more revisions than I care to admit to, I decided I'd try to leave you with the bullet points. I was a weird kid, who by some unfathomable stroke of luck tripped into the best collegiate experience possible.

    

     The first thing you should know about college and LSU is that I spent the 18 years prior to my enrollment idolizing it beyond reason. I don’t remember the exact moment that I realized I was not, in fact, a product of the frozen tundra; but I know that it must have been quite the epiphany. If nothing else, it started an 18 year quest to return to my homeland. Over time I decided that all of my worldly problems could be resolved if I could just get back to Louisiana. In fact, by 4^th grade I had decided that I was going to LSU for college and woe be it unto anyone who questioned my devotion. I spent a week sans recess for telling my teacher that it didn’t matter what she thought of my math skills, I was going to LSU and they wouldn’t care about long division.

     That was the first of many misconceptions about college.

     But, despite being a dumb little kid, I did eventually make it to my senior year of high school. When I applied to LSU, I still had the idea that all things right with the world awaited me in Baton Rouge. This idea was supported by a score of relatives and acquaintances who were convinced that I was going to epic fail as soon as I crossed the Mason Dixon line. They all seemed convinced that once the homesickness, academic pressure, and dining hall food converged on me, I would be booking the next flight out of New Orleans and moving back home. It was the general consensus, I think, that out-of-state college would not agree with me. But I’ve always been too dumb to be properly scared, and clearly things couldn't get worse, so the day I turned 18 I packed up a rented van and made my great escape.

     Best. Decision. Ever.

     I loved everything about college. Even my first weeks of classes, during which I had all the grace of a puppy learning to run on a linoleum floor, were beyond great. For one thing, the sports were epic. I was no longer the only New Orleans Saints fan in a 50 mile radius, and my first Saturday night in Death Valley was magical. Even better than the sports was the living situation. While being an only child has its perks, it has nothing on sharing a building with your best friends. It was like having a family that didn't think I was a freak of nature, and for the first time in years I wasn't lonely.

     I'll admit, it wasn’t all perfect. For example, I had some of the craziest roommates known to mankind. One spent the entirety of the school year watching Spongebob DVDs in our dorm room and crunching Special K cereal at an absolutely inhuman volume. Another spent the first three days of our cohabitation giving me a list of the names and majors of all the poor souls she made out with the previous year. And while some of her stories had comedic value, (one night she came home with a bra full of playing cards after a freshman at a frat party tried to impress her with magic tricks – she was beyond irate and hilarity ensued) she was way more annoying that funny. I also had some seriously insane teachers. My personal favorite spent the first week of class explaining how everything bad that EVER happened in the Caribbean was my fault for being a middle class American, and then tried to fail our entire class. Luckily she gave us an “artistic option” for the final, and completely bought my attempt at finger painting as “a symbol of the organic power of literature”.


Can you believe this thing got an A?



     Even with the aforementioned shenanigans, college was definitely agreeing with me. For the first time in years I was actually doing well. I discovered Raising Cane's, yoga, and my love of shoes. I could finally put together an outfit that wouldn't land me on 'What Not to Wear'. Things were finally going my way. So naturally there had to be a failure of epic proportions to bring the universe back into balance. That failure was my graduation. LSU threw me out on my ass and into premature adulthood.

     That happy thought, however, is for tomorrow. In the mean time, please accept my apologies for this abomination of an entry. I promise that the next one will kick all kinds of ass. If not, I will buy each and every one of you ice cream. And a puppy. Until then, May the fourth be with you.

xoxo

Elyse in Wonderland

At least I'm warning you, right?

It’s been a year since my entire world ended.

Overly dramatic? A little.

True? Completely.

And somehow I'm still here, sending musings out into the wide world of the interwebs. Dear readers, I’m as surprised as you are. To commemorate the occasion, I’m making time for a three part entry this week. It’s the mini chronicle of my life as a post-grad, and the sit-com style adventures that brought me to where I am now. It’s also my first attempt at giving myself a deadline, so we’ll have to wait and see how that goes. It’s also an extremely self-indulgent plan. Hopefully you can bear with me until I’m done with my nostalgic phase, and ready to return to social commentary laced with zombie jokes. [shout-out to my lone commenter on the last entry, you made my entire weekend]

In the mean time, get ready to embrace “graduation season” and reminisce with your favorite blogger.  Break out your high school yearbooks, call up your college drinking buddies, and put Vitamin C’s tragically popular “Friends Forever” song on repeat. We're trekking down memory lane this week. Come with?

Welcome to the United States of Bloggerland

     I want more readers.

     Maybe I’m finally embracing the attention-starved role of the only child. Maybe I feel like, at this point anyway, writing here is akin to screaming over a cliff with no one listening. Maybe I just miss the days of Xanga, when I was given (mostly undue) internet praise for the emo poems I wrote in study hall.

     No matter the cause, I’m on a mini-quest to make this blog relevant – or at least comment worthy. Hint hint. Nudge nudge. So I’ve spent the last 45 minutes randomly searching the site for other bloggers who have some manner of success. Here’s what I’ve discovered so far: Blogging is like Zombieland. There are rules you need to follow, or else your blog limps along into brain-craving obscurity.

 Rule 1: You need some kind of theme and/or focus. Ideally this theme is not “Neurosis on Parade”. Strike one against Elyse in Wonderland.

Rule 2: You need to overload your reader with pictures of your children/wedding/arts and crafts obsessions. Yeah, about that…I was emotionally incapable of being in a mature relationship until about 4 months ago, and I have a serious aversion to anyone shorter than me i.e. kids. So forget pictures of that. And as far as being crafty…

...I’ve been working on the same scarf for a year and a half now. And while I do love to make stuff (check out these awesome cupcakes) I’ve lost most of my free time to work and the occasional social interaction. In short, I am not Hobby Lobby. Don’t expect too much. 

Rule 3: You should probably quote whatever holy book is assigned to your religion. Meh. I’m beyond uncomfortable trying to impose beliefs onto other people. It probably has a lot to do with the hell fire groups that used to picket the student union at my beloved alma mater. They would stand outside in the soul crushing (pardon the expression) heat of Louisiana and scream the different reasons that we were all going to hell. This was annoying because it made you late for class on top of being damned, and because I doubt that wearing shorts in 90 degree weather makes me a heathen. So don’t expect me to mention any faith-based preferences, unless you consider Jedi a religion. In which case, can we please be best friends?

Rule 4: You need to scour the interwebs looking for other random bloggers to befriend you. Eh. I’m actually pretty shy in person, and the anonymity of blogspot does nothing to alleviate those fears. Plus it seems cruel to throw my fledgling works under the bus like that. The blog is officially too little to be sent out on its own. I think we’ll be sticking to Facebook friends for the mean time.

     So what have I learned today?

     Well, in the immortal words of Columbus, some rules are made to be broken.

     I may never have a super army of followers, but I refuse to blog like a 35 year old cat lady. I’m going to keep writing about whatever the hell I want, I’m going to keep plastering it shamelessly all over Facebook, and eventually I’ll get it right.

xoxo
Elyse in Wonderland