Trick or Treat, Smell my feet, Give me something good to eat.

Doesn't it feel like we're always compelled to miss something every day of our lives?

We miss old friends, old places, old stories, old bottles of beer. We look around us and we miss old toys, old homes, even old nostalgic moments. We miss things that we weren't even part of and only wish we were. We miss past selves, and what we once wanted to be. We miss old hopes, old dreams, old visions of the future.

We're always missing something, as if we were programmed never to be complete. Funny, how that is.

Every experience leaves an imprint, and every imprint turns into memory, and every memory contains something that we might one day start to miss. As if in forging through life we're always leaving ourselves little markers, leaving little pieces of ourselves along the way. Flesh, blood, tears, smiles.

Silly images. Fleeting thoughts. Little moments.

Yes. Funny, that.

***

Today I carved my first ever pumpkin. Halfway through I discarded all hope of ever making it even remotely scary. I settled for strange, goofy, odd-looking. A veritable doofus. In the realm of jack-o-lanters, it will probably be the sort of fellow who will never get a date, who will never be asked to a scaring party or a fright fest. Who will never, ever, get asked to the halloween ball.

Sad life, but better the pumpkin than me.

***

I finally got my copy of Norton's Anthology of Western Literature, 8th Ed., Vol.2 in the mail. Bought it brand new on ebay for about a quarter of the cost. Still looking for a good deal on Volume 1.

I can't say that I'm excited at the prospect of plowing through ALL of the book's 2725 pages, especially since it contains works of which I am not exactly the biggest fan. However, I can honestly say that I am excited at the thought of finally reading a number of the complete works found in the book. Pope's The Rape of Lock, for instance. And Goethe's Faust (which I've seen as a play and read in parts). And Flaubert's Madame Bovary (yes, I know, my professor's couldn't believe I've never read ANY OF IT either). It's a really good deal. A library that can fit in my bag.

I miss

my (not-so) little girl.



I miss you Kytie.

Cool Idea, wish i thought of it

There's a 21 year old guy in England named Alex who decided to make people give him a million dollars for next to nothing. And the thing is, he might just succeed.

He's doing this through the power of the internet, ofcourse. It's an ingenious idea. One that I totally wish I could rip off, but since it's so based on the novelty factor, a ripoff just won't do as well.

Basically, he just put up a website. And there's really nothing special about the website except for his idea, and his idea was to sell each pixel on the website for a mere $1 (in 10 x 10 pixel increments) with the thought that his page might eventually attract enough attention from curious/bored websurfers as to gain some kind of following that would then attract more advertisers. This means that when you go to the site, you'll see a whole lot of little boxes. If you buy a box, you can put anything you want in it. All the boxes are active links so it's like one huge collage of advertisements. And he's a got a good variety. From CD sellers to soft porn to graphic artists to sellers of absinthe.

And he's already sold over 450,000, which means he's almost earned HALF A MILLION dollars from this crap. And he only started in August. Now that it is truly inspirational.

See it for your self at the Million Dollar Homepage.

Lists, again

1. I have a hard time dealing with too much structure. I find it even harder to deal with structure under a beauracratic system entangled in politics perpetuated by people who seem to have a strange dislike for creative thought. An environment like that makes me claustrophobic and I feel stifled to the point that I get anxiety attacks that lead to my own brand of depression. Desks and cubicles do that to me. Offices and business suits do that to me. And, apaprently, so do the four walls of a middle school classroom.

2. I am in debt. Way too much debt.

3. Dream life: Teach Fiction to intelligient students in a fantastic university located on a small tropical island, preferably just an hour's flight from Manila. In the mornings I can deal with Literature. In the afternoons I can sip a well-made mojito while watching the sunset. In the evenings I can lounge around my Balinese-themed house with a few good friends. During the weekends I can go diving. Oh and I want to have enough money to travel internationally over the summer breaks.

4. I like odd jobs. They make me feel alive.

5. Everytime I tell myself it's time to grow up, I rebel. Perhaps it's time to admit that I'm really just a little girl pretending to be older than she is. I'll never grow up. Because I don't really want to.

one of those quiz things

from Jeline.

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to good manners and elegance. In love, you feel the most alive when everything is uncertain, one moment heaven... the next moment hell. You'd like your lover to think you are stylish and alluring. You would be forced to break up with someone who was arrogant, acting like the dictator of your life. Your ideal relationship is lasting. You want a relationship that looks to the future... one you can grow with. Your risk of cheating is 100%. You are not suited for a monogamous relationship. You think of marriage as something that will confine you. You are afraid of marriage. In this moment, you think of love as a commitment. Love only works when both people are totally devoted.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

I'm going back to work on Wednesday. That thought depresses me more than you would believe. I'm starting to not like my life.

just what I need

And this, which John sent me:

Cat with two tongues

I thought you might want to see.



Story here.

What to do...

AND finally, WARCAR is back on.

The Quest for Happiness starts when you step away from the things that bring you down.

***

I've been reading about the Mongols and Genghis Khan lately. Seems that the "Slavic look" of the Slavs in Eastern Europe might in fact be due to Mongolian ancestors. And the dark gypsies might actually be dark for the same reason. (Perhaps that's where their wanderlust stems from. Papa Genghis' influences.) And, to top it all off, it's estimated that 17 million people from all over the world are DIRECT descendants of Genghis Khan (some of whom might include the British Royal Family, Iranian Royalty, and the family of Dracula). Now that's only one Mongol man out of a massive army. Granted his soldiers might not have the same intense appetite for rape and conquests, but still. You can just imagine the Mongolian seed infiltrating nearly every race that the Mongols invaded. So it's not at all farfetched to think that I'm probably a descendant of that great Mongolian Empire.

I have always been infected with a nagging sort of wanderlust. I have always loved the thought of marching from place to place, transplanting my resilient roots, and forging transient alliances. I have always loved the idea of going to new places and experiencing different cultures and living on free beer and the spoils of the day. I live for vacations and frequent flyer miles and cheap beds, really. (I'm not a luxury hotel/guided tours/limo transfers kind of girl.) And now I know why. I am a child of mighty nomads who once rode their sturdy horses across vast continents. I have the blood of wandering warriors surging through my veins. (No goose down comforters and memory foam pillows for us great conquerors, you know. We tough like that.)

In honor of this (quasi) fact, John has bought me my very own backpacker's backpack.



Introducing the REI Talus 35 Women's pack (a.k.a the MOST EXPENSIVE backpack I have ever owned in my life). It's specifically designed to contour to a woman's body (even petite ones), can take a volume of up to almost 3000 cubic inches, and has a nice-sized hydration sleeve (great way to rehydrate while chasing after trains or looking for secret hostels!). It's got all the pads and support and great design that REI is known for, plus a molded foam backpanel so that my back is protected from any pointy things that I might want to take with me. And get this: aside from being water proof, it also sheds any wayward drops of snow that might make the mistake of landing on it. Cool, huh? Now that's a pack Khan himself wouldn't mind having.

And Upcoming Travel Plans - aka thigs that keep me sane:
John and I are going to try to sneak in a short trip before the year ends. We're thinking of going to Las Vegas for New Year's and maybe a short stopover in LA, if at all possible. Of course, I can't use the pack on that trip so maybe I can convince John to take me on a skiing expedition before Spring. And if finances permit, I might visit a friend in Germany during Spring Recess. Then in the Summer there's my much-awaited long trip to look forward to: Backpacking across the Southeast Asian Peninsula.

Can't wait. The promise of travel is the only thing that keeps me employed.

Completely Forgot

With all the dramatic antics that My Life has made me wade through, I completely forgot to mention that I watched Mirrormask two Fridays ago (Sept 30) at my favorite little cinema downtown. It looked surreal and dreamy and other-wordly, just as expected. It wasn't, however, as brilliant as hoped.

The story was just a bit too trite, a little too contrived, too Disney-esque. It borrowed too much from too many things. I understand, ofcourse, that this was meant to be a family/children's movie, but still. Even children know that lives, especially the really interesting ones, are averse to coming to an end via a brightly and neatly wrapped cosmic package.

If I seem to be talking like another person, I apologize. The last half-days's medley of books is still in my system.

Serendipity

Awhile back I wrote a little rant about the charm being sucked out of my life and the universe forgetting to tend to one of her favorite little children. I think the universe is coming to her senses. I seem to have recieved a peace offering of sorts.

A couple of days ago, I ordered three books from half.com, the bibliophiliac sister of ebay. (Yes, it's true. I'm too poor to buy all the books I want from anything other than a used book shop.) One of those books arrived in my mailbox yesterday. It was Stardust by Neil Gaiman, neatly wrapped in brown manila paper.

Today I relieved my new secondhand book (bought for $1.50!) of its wrappings, plopped myself comfortably on the bed, and readied myself for an evening of dreamy (if geeky) magic. I admired the cover, inspected the surprisingly well-preserved dust jacket, and finally openned the book to the first page. And lo and behold! Just above the stern stamp that said "No Longer a Property of the Easton Area Public Library" was Neil's cute little autograph, staring at me (nonchalantly) from the off-white paper. A very welcome and delicious surprise indeed.

Ah. The Universe has finally honored me with one of her increasingly elusive smiles. Bits of pixie dust creeping back into my life again at last. Happy happy joy joy.

Things

I'm not as good at multi-tasking as I thought. Writing, Reading, and Teaching are not the good bedfellows I orginally imagined they would be. At least not when it is "Writing a Novel", "Reading from a Survey of Western Literature that begins with Sophocles and ends with Wallace Stevens", and "Teaching Eighth Grade Special Ed".

New York City Teachers finally get their contract, which also means I will probably get a raise.

Rosh Hashanah means I'm off until Wednesday.

And yeah, "Dumplings" was about human vanity and cannibalism.

Disturbing

Watched the HK movie "Dumplings" last night. Disturbing. Go watch it.

I'm sick of my own self-made drama.

(So I don't know what I'm doing with my life. So I'm not as happy as I want to be. So I want more than all of this. I already know that. Hell, you guys already know that. The fact is until I figure out the answers or win the lottery, I'm stuck where I am. And that means sucking it up. That means taking it all and not complaining every five seconds. That means accepting my circumstances. For NOW. Until I decide where I want to go from here. I hate my whining sometimes.)

I haven't written anything in five months. Nothing. Not even crap that passes for writing. The world is changing. My world is changing. That's probably why I have so much angst. This, too, shall pass. I hope.