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

This looks so much easier in movies

     So, I’ve been pretty neglectful of my little corner of cyberspace lately. I feel awful about it, I really do. However, the rough and tumble world of substitute teaching has been taking its toll on me.  I’ve only had three days off this month, and my stint feigning knowledge of Algebra II on Monday almost killed me. And while I’m not complaining about the cash flow, I’m starting to see why so many people start blogging while they’re unemployed. It’s hard to think of entertaining things to write about when my main focus is nap time. Plus most of my work experiences are off-limits for blogging, and I feel almost guilty writing about anything that involves anyone I know, so I end up with about a paragraph of usable material per week.

     That’s the hardest part of this internet thing so far, trying to protect the anonymity/feelings of the people around me. I almost want to make up aliases for my friends and relations and hope that none of you are clever enough to figure out their true identities. It’s tricky. It’s the kind of uncomfortable feeling you get when you’re in the middle of a fantastical story, probably about some idiot that made you question the supremacy of human kind, and then you realize that the moron you’re discussing is your listener’s uncle/best fried/Yoda-esque mentor. Except on the internet I can’t change my story and convince you that it must’ve been some other guy named Chet with hobbit feet and purple hair, and I’m sure your nephew isn’t stupid enough to get stuck in the freezer at Mako’s.

     So now I have to be careful with my words, and frankly I find it exhausting. I can’t wait until football starts again and I have something non-threatening to ponder. I’m also tempted to revert to my freshman year of college and free write until I feel like I suck less. If you were spared academic gems like “Intro to Poetry Writing”, you’ve never had the joyful experience of free writing. They make you write for 2-3 minutes straight, and then look for meaningful revelations in your work.  And while I actually enjoyed it (something about seeing my thoughts on paper makes me feel less neurotic) I doubt that you would really appreciate my ramblings on shoes (ShapeUps are the devil), elephants (how much gas money would I save if I rode one to work?), and the existential crisis I suffer every time I’m mistaken for a high school student (it happens at least once a week).

Maybe I’ll temporarily give up on personal stories and start taking random requests for post themes.

Free Bird anyone?

Spring thaw in all its...err...glory?

    Finally, some semblance of Spring has arrived here in the tundra. And while I love being able to wear shorts again, I can’t help but feel homesick. I used to love when the three whole weeks of winter ended in the South. Sandal season was upon us, and the frat boys started playing shirtless Frisbee again on the parade grounds. Screw Christmas: that is the most wonderful time of the year.

      Totally different here though. Once you get past the bipolar temperature changes (how did I ever survive 18 years of this?) and the fact that it still snows in April, you have to adjust to the locals. I’ve traded my ripped twenty-somethings for my idiot neighbors who, despite being decidedly less attractive, are sadly also shirtless. Currently there are no less than 11 of them outside trying to assemble a tent in their front yard. I’m getting some entertainment out of watching them get outsmarted by the canvas, but I know it’s the beginning of a long and annoying warm spell. I’ve tried in the past to be accepting/understanding/tolerant of their lifestyle, but I think we’re past that point. They swarm around the neighborhood like its some kind of redneck Calcutta, and frankly I find them exhausting. Plus I don’t like that they swear more than I do. That’s an impressive feat in itself, and leads me to believe they’re capable of all kinds of shenanigans. Ex: one of them just rode by on his bike making what I can only assume were dog noises while doing wheelies. Tell me my concerns are unfounded.

     There is a bright side though: today was my first outdoor run since my not-so-triumphant return to the tundra. It was just a mile and it totes almost killed me, but it was worth it. With any luck I’ll be back to a normal speed before August. Then I can start actually running entire 5Ks without having to take walk breaks. I hate those. I always feel so lame when I have to shuffle off to the side and let the real runners go, while I hang out with the old ladies who are only there for the tee shirts. Granted most of the time I’m only there for the tee shirt too, but this year I’m determined to be legit. I have an iPod shuffle and everything. Bring. It.

     No serious musings today, too many work- out endorphins to think about anything depressing. I do feel better though…like my inner writer isn’t in too deep of a coma. Maybe I’ll get around to that great American novel after all. For tonight though, I am all about finishing “Water for Elephants”. Don’t let the fact that a sparkly tool box is playing the main character in the movie turn you away; it is a ridiculously good book. In fact, go read it now before they ruin the original. Just buy the cover without aforementioned sparkler on it. Kthanks.

     Anyway, good night non-existent readers! Go enjoy the nice weather! And if you happen to be in my beloved home state, eat a watermelon snow ball for me.    

Xoxo

Elyse

Yeah, we're trying this again.

     This is my sixth or seventh attempt at blogging. If you suffered through my previous tries, you know they were absolute crap. Sorry about that.

     This blog, however, is going to be different. This one actually has a purpose. See, despite being really ridiculously excited to start grad school and get into life as an actual teacher, I know that going back to class is going to mess with my writing. My four years of undergrad were beyond fantastic, but aside from some mediocre poems from freshman year I didn't write anything worth keeping. And now that I want to write again, I can barely remember how to start. So now I've got this. My own personal corner of the interwebs to try and suck less at being an author. Here I can hone my craft and you can laugh at the sitcom that my life has become. Everybody wins!

     On a more serious note, I feel like I should warn you that this blog might take on a more somber tone on occasion. If you've been around me for more than 10 minutes, you probably noticed that I'm not always the nicest person in the world. That bothers me. Actually, it always has. I've always tried to change that and be a better person, but nothing ever worked for more than a few days. Now, though, I think I have a real chance to exorcise my demons. For one thing, I finally have a purpose. It was always great to hear "Oh yeah, you'll be a great author some day!", but nobody really graduates college and faceplants into a book deal. And despite being one of the laziest human beings on the planets, I really like having something to do during the day besides watch MADE marathons on MTV. Along with the new career prospects, I've gotten better at emoting. Prior to May 2010 I wasn't even aware that I had the full range of human feelings, and then I pretty much had my soul crushed by a move to the northern tundra. Lo and behold, I could finally emote. I could emote a lot. But, in an extremely chick flick-y turn of events, it sort of helped me figure myself out. And after surviving almost a year away from my urban college family, I feel like I might have a real chance to get better. But I need to have something that holds me accountable for my mental well being. So that's why occasionally yall may have to deal with a semi-serious musing or two. It's always been hard for me to admit when something is wrong, but I think that's why I have to do it now. I need to learn that emotions and weakness are not synonymous.

     Mostly though, I want to be a writer again. And I'm a big fan of attention/praise and adoration, so I like to let people read my stuff.  So stay around, read and comment, and maybe when I write the great American novel I'll give you a shout-out in the dedication.

Or not.
Probably not.