On Being A Reader and a Traveler

I just got home. Awesome, right?

Then why am I crying buckets down in my basement bedroom?

Maybe it's because the car ride was more of an emotional roller coaster.
Maybe it's because I didn't really have dinner.
Maybe it's because I have no friends down here.
Maybe it's because I am really, really, really tired.
Maybe it's because I feel so hugely overwhelmed.
Maybe it's because the weather sucked all day and looked miserable.
Maybe it's because I don't want to deal with anything.

While I was sitting here, wallowing, and freaking out at my lonely room which has really bare, creepy walls, which has been used and abused, which looks nothing like the room I left... I had this thought. And I think it's pretty valid, so I'm going to have to write it down. Here it is.

So I'm really good at adapting. When I have to move, or leave people behind, or go through a major change in my life, I can totally handle it. What I can't handle is coming back to places and realizing that they're totally different from when I left, realizing life has gone by without me. That's probably why I like Missouri so much. Nothing ever changes here, at least, nothing that has ever been important to me has ever changed here. My grandparents' house has pretty much stayed the same, their town has stayed the same, their ward is just like it was when I was eight, everything on the lake has stayed the same, and if it's changed, it's been unquestionably for the better, or it's been something that I've got no attachment to. That's not so much the case here at home, which is probably why, for the second time around, I've come home and been overwhelmed to the point of tears. Because I definitely cried when I got home in December. Big time. I mean, the way I feel right now, I would probably rather drive around forever and never come home.

Granted, all those maybe's up there probably have a lot to do with why I'm feeling this way, why I am such a ball of tears and frustration right now, because dealing with the future really freaks me out sometimes. Especially when I am tired. But anyways, back to the theory, and on to the title of this blog post: the reason I want to spend the rest of my life travelling and reading.

If you keep on travelling, you can't ever be attached to anything. So when you come back to a place and it's radically different from what it was like before, it can't phase you because hey, you don't really care, honestly and truly. As for reading, well, those worlds are always the same, no matter what. You might perceive them differently, but they're always going to be the same words, they're always going to create the same images that you initially created in your mind the first time you read, the characters are always going to be the same and they will never disappoint you because you always know what to expect.

This is why, while I'm so upset, I have grabbed Fablehaven off of my shelf. Hooray Fablehaven. Thanks for being consistent for me.

I'll probably read that until my eyes want to shut because I don't really want to lay awake in this freaky basement room all by myself before I fall asleep.

I hate being morose like this. It's not fun to think about, it's not fun to feel, and it's not fun for anybody else involved. Like, I don't even want to see people because I don't want to explain to them why I feel like such a ball of crap. I wish I had some freaking control over my stupid emotions. This isn't fun. Bleh.

This post is probably going to seem really dramatic and stupid in a couple of days, most likely. At least, I hope it's only a couple of days, because I can't handle much more of this. Bleh. I hate myself when I'm like this. And now I'm being a complainer. Gosh. I think I'll just go put on a diaper and suck a bottle of milk or something. This sucks. But I will admit I feel a little better now than I did when I started writing this. Hallelujah for the therapeutic nature of writing for pleasure.

Seriously. Hallelujah.

Dr. Cardon

Sometimes your roommate gets on Skype, and you don't feel like doing homework or looking at lame pictures on the internet ... and since you're simultaneously very hungry, and in possession of some pizza ... well, things get interesting. (Yes, Rachel. This all happened while you were sitting 5 feet away from me, talking to Ginger.)



Answers to Potential Questions:

- Are those your tweezers? Why, yes, those are my tweezers. Which I use to pluck my eyebrows when my good ones get misplaced.
- Are they clean? Better question: If they aren't, is it really that big of a deal? No.
- Where did you get that surgical mask? I got it from my R.A. when I had swine flu.
- Did you touch that surgical mask when you had swine flu? Yes. Yes I did. Here in room 3208, we frequently like to try to cheat death. I'm still breathing, all is well.
- Does your pinky always look freaky like that? Yep.
- Do you do that on purpose? No. It's probably some sort of latent, pinky-stick-out-ing gene that got handed down to me from some super proper ancestors. It could be a sign that I'm a descendant of royalty. No big deal.
- Why are you such a picky eater? Mushrooms and artichokes have freaky textures. Notice that I left the spinach and tomatoes and red onions and freaky cheese on the pizza. Let's focus on my good qualities and not my sucky ones, mmk, hater?
- Does your mouth taste super weird right now? You betcha. "I already ate that!" Thank goodness I haven't yet experienced that frequent post-meal joy.
- Why are you such a freak? Good question. I was hiding in Fezzik's backpack when he was pulling Buttercup, Inigo Montoya, and the guy who is the voice of Rex in Toy Story up the Cliffs of Insanity. Alas, I fell from the backpack, into the sea, and down, down, down until I reached an underwater cave. As I traveled through the underwater cave, I came to an ancient, natural tubeslide. I picked up a tube from the dilapidated hut'o'tubes at the advent of the slide, and since then, have been floating down that slide, which is, coincidentally, being a natural tubeslide, much like a river. The river is, in fact, called The River of Insanity, being hidden beneath the cliffs of insanity. (Catchy, ain't it?) Hasn't the ride ended? you ask. No. Which is probably why this little natural tubeslide business was highly unsuccessful... the few tourists who could make it to the slide never came back, and so instead of reusing their tubes, the owners had to replace them. Also, the tourists never made it home, which probably wasn't so good for business either. I guess the point I'm trying to get at is ... Don't put artichokes on pizza. It makes people weird.