Undone

I don’t aspire to much now days, I work 40 hours a week, have a loving husband and a beautiful daughter– and a new baby on the way!

But I dream of a day that I can review video games for parents. I realize that this seems silly, there are lots of game review sites out there, I would say A LOT. But once upon a time i wrote a feminist review of Legend of Zelda Wind Waker, and have loved writing introspective pieces about video games as a woman ever since. Now as a mom, and as a former gaming associate I am aware of how blissfully unaware most parents are. Some parents just don’t care about what their kids play and others really read and review and scrutinize games.

I want to help those parents. If I were to “dream big” i would quit my job, mommy full time and play video games all the time to support us by selling my reviews to a magazine. HAHAHA! yeah, that’s dreaming big. Once upon a time it was my goal to work at GS for 7 years and intern at GI as a writer. HAHAHAHA! To be honest, I did work for GS for about 6 years and really while it’d be awesome to write for a magazine and work from a cozy office in my house with slippers on– I realize it’s MUCH more of a pipe dream than I know. I need to play more games. However the circle of life is this:

fun stuff takes money
serious stuff takes money
serious stuff is more important than fun stuff.
there is no money for fun stuff

which is sad, I remember the days of playing games on my Xbox and having a really GREAT time with it, and on my game cube, and even more recently my Wii and 360 (ahh I miss you 360, at least I know you have a good home!) I wish that we were rich and could have all the awesome stuff in the world… but instead– I have an awesome house, an awesome husband, and a super sweet and awesome daughter. I wouldn’t give them up for any amount of 360’s and I have to say I certainly wouldn’t get myself into debt for one. Sorry, but no.

that’s my dream though. I imagine days of waking up and fixing breakfast, playing a few hours of games, taking notes, playing with  my kids, gardening, cooking lunch, doing dishes, more games, more notes, playing some with my kids, discussing the game and it’s aspects, letting them play for a bit to watch how they handle it… whoo. Dinner, hang out, bed for kidlets and typing up my notes and writing a witty and insightful article for a gaming magazine. Or a parent’s magazine! Either one!

In all of that all I would change about my life (not my house not my kids, not my husband, nada) I would only change my life to  my dream job. I miss writing. I miss gaming. 🙁

Derringer Meryl [le sigh] Out

Sure this is a day early, but tomorrow I will be so busy de-catifying and cleaning and fixing and bustling and hustling– that I won’t have time to write an entry.

But shouldn’t you be thankful you’re getting one at all? That’s right you should be 😉

I’m thankful for my family. Both near and far. 🙂 I’m grateful for the view I have from my window (even if it is just for one more week) I’m happy and thankful for my house, it’s nice to say that we’re having thanksgiving with the H family in my house 🙂 Yay! I’m grateful for my husband who doesn’t get upset at my whining, listens and respects me, loves me, supports me. He does such an amazing job with Katie who— BTW is the sweetest girl and we love her so much. I’m grateful that our family is expanding (in more ways than one 😉 Which is to say marriage in addition to pregnancy!) I’m grateful for the awesome past I have, and the totally wonderful sibs I have too.  I am thankful for my new ward. They are welcoming and sweet. They are nice but not overbearing. It makes me feel good. I’m thankful for our jobs (both Scott and i’s) that they are able to provide for us, and our family. I feel very fortunate that in this time of uncertainty that we are able to continue to have our jobs and the income they provide for us. I’m very happy and appreciative of the time and place that we live. Things are hard, but in perspective, things are often hard  and in reality — will not magically get better by wishing things were different, or blaming someone else for the problem. That won’t solve anything– So work in the now.

I was thinking earlier about my writing. it’s not… common that i write. I write when I feel something and then I try my best to express the feeling that I have.  The image in my head. I don’t often successfully paint a picture with words. I feel like i have all these awesome images in my head that If I could just find a way I could express them and show them to someone. it’s very frustrating to have something like that trapped in your head. Smeyer said that Bella and Edward were there until she wrote and wrote and got rid of them. For me, it’s like the pictures, are never satisfied with what I write. They just want more and more. There isn’t ever a story, just vivid images. I suppose that’s where the problem is, that the images don’t translate into the story. it’s like knowing what you want to say, but feeling absolutely too tongue tied to say it. have you ever had the experience where someone wakes you up and asks you a question and you know the answer, so you tell them what you think is the right answer, and they just stare at you like you’re insane (because you’re telling them gibberish) and then you get angrier and angrier because they don’t understand what you’re telling them? (Scott know’s what I’m talking about.) I feel like that sometimes fully awake. I try and try to show people. I feel like inside my head are some of the most heartbreaking, earth shattering, heart melting stories– and I just can’t– I can’t tell anyone. I can’t get them out. It’s unnerving.

—-

A young woman sits in a rocking chair next to a window. She wears a long dressing gown, her hair braided loosely draped over her shoulder. She’s waiting.

The chair squeaks as she lolls back. It seems to protest.  Her slippers scuff against the floor, making a muted noise.  She lets a heavy sigh escape her lips. Her hands worry the wooden armrests on the chair. She’s waiting for him.

She pulls an afghan over her legs. She’s not sure what time it is. She curls into the chair, trying to remember when she was young. The chair seems to pull her in as she pulls her knees to her chest. A deep breath. The smell of cedar reminds her of her grandmother. The chair groans in protest. Almost seeming to say “Sit properly” like her grandmother would. She ignores it all the same. She doesn’t want to sit like a proper lady. She doesn’t want to be an adult.

She just wants him to come home.

Time seems to stop. With No light outside, it’s hard to tell if much is changing at all. The sun had set hours ago. At least it seemed like hours. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and hummed. “Soon.” She said, “He’ll be home Soon.”

—-

Derringer Meryl [Vignette] Out

I think about wrting into postsecret

I never do. I wonder on occasion if each person I interact with each day is carrying a secret not unlike myself.

I know for a fact that many people have secrets that are deep and dark that make their smiles during the day hollow and fake. That the secret they keep makes them wake up each day and have to reconcile who they are and their place in this world.

Some people’s secrets make them feel like they have a badge of honor, invisible as it is. When really they just can’t see that everyone else is wearing one too.

Some people are those who are the creator of the secret– some people are the secret keeper, or even a victim of the secret.  Some people read too much into their secret, sometimes people take their secret too lightly.  Some people feel bound by their secret, and some people are so freed and satisfied by their secret, that telling anyone– is insanity. Selfish.

I think the main reason I will never write into post secret is that I cannot bear for anyone to know. Even annonymously, I fear telling might shake the universe in such a way that God might turn his head away in shame.

So i”m being dramatic. I’m trying to flex my literary muscles.  I haven’t written seriously, since before I met Scott. I find little or no motivation.  I wish I could find it again. I feel like I’m searching in a pitch black cave for a diamond. While my writing is no where near as valuable to the world, it is even more so valuable than  that to me.  Some days I feel so inspired I Might burst from holding it in. But there is this dam holding all of my creativity back. At it’s root I would call it fear. I wouldn’t call myself in High School any where near fearless, but my writing was. I wrote my passion, I was inspired and introspective. Now any spare time is not spent self reflecting, but cleaning, cooking, and care-taking. Life marches on. I don’t regret a minute of it, but i miss it.

On my way back to work this afternoon I saw a cyclist not obeying stop signs. I have to say I… people like that don’t necissarily DESERVE to be hit by a car (by no means)  But if you’re going to break the rules don’t bitch when it happens!

I’m waiting for a ebay bid to end. C’mon 8PM!  I’m really excited.

off to finish work!

Derringer Meryl [thursday is one of the best days] Out

So, i’ve been working on my cover letter/ artists letter for my Creative writing class. It’s really odd. I can’t think clearly enough to write something very coherent.

So you get to read it, and tell me, is it coherent enough to give to my teacher?

Oh, Btw…. if you’ve never read my writing. I’m sorry. Go here and then you’ll know what i’m talking about. Hee.

“Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for money.” Virginia Woolfe

“Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we’d know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank… Without passion, we’d be truly dead.” –Angel, Passion

I write. It is my passion and my pride. I don’t do it for anyone else but me, so I guess that’s what made this class challenging. It was easy to please my audience before, because my audience was me, and I felt the sheer relief of just writing, and I was happy. I admit, most of my writing is no where near worth publishing. That’s okay. I write for love. I’ve tried writing for others, being commissioned, but it just doesn’t work that way. Not for me. Not yet. I write free and open, and I don’t care what I say or how I say it. I feel power in the obscene images I present. I love being honest and bare.

When it comes to writing, I suppose I’m a nudist. I love the bare bones of writing. I love to dissect sentences. I love to be candid and honest. I love broken images. I love hearing someone who has just read my piece say “What was that about?” Maybe it’s some sort of power kick. I like how I can make someone think; how each piece is something entirely different to each person. I know what each piece means, what it’s about, but I get a high off of hearing what people interpret it into. I feel power in writing vague. I love it. I love writing. I love pressing the pen down to the paper until it bleeds ink. Why I do it, the way I do it. Passion rules me… Rules my writing. Without it — it would be empty and lifeless.

Derringer Meryl [Discovering the Joy of waiting] Out

“Any romantic feelings that were there, aren’t anymore. But still i’m driven insane. What does she have that I don’t? Is it her attitude? Is it her hair? Her body? I admit freely she’s much trimmer than me…. God. What is it about brown hair that makes someone stare right through you? And I wonder still now if we ever had anything. If it was anything. I shouldn’t. I know it. It’s stupid TO wonder. because the past doesn’t matter anymore. Especially not to you. You’ve already moved on….. It’s her eyes. I’m sure. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just a whole… package. And God, could she be more of a stark contrast to me. Not like black and white, cause someone might insinuate that one is better than the other… no. That’s not it. it’s like…. comparing yellow to blue. Both equally good colors, but… sometimes people just favor yellow over blue. How could you not? and there are so many people yelling at me to budge. To move. To go on. I’m not stopped. I’m moving… and contemplating what i’ve passed. Nothing is as simple as a date. I’ve spent too much time being hurt over stupid things to let the sweet things in life slip so quickly away from me. And you were the only thing that made me feel right…. in the longest time. Still…. if i could go … back. I would. I’d change things– but– not the outcome. I don’t regret that….

I regret telling you.”

*Claps for herself* That’s just a taste of my free thought writing. Isn’t it great? I enjoy writing it. It’s rather fun. *coughs* Oh. Right. You’re realizing that i’m not supposed to be at home RIGHT now, right? Well. I’m not feeling well… and so… yeah. I’m …. just…here. 🙂 At home. Writing free thought prose.

And I have a lyric spew, now, for once I do it on a Sunday. 🙂

Rapid Hope Loss, Dashboard Confessional

You’ve come to say you want it all,

but I can’t say I blame you now.

Sometimes you got to fall before you’re found out.

Thanks for waiting this long to show yourself,

Because now that I can see you,

I don’t think you’re worth a second glance.

So much for all the promises you’ve made.

It served well and now you’re gone

And they’re wasted on me.

So much for your enduring sense of charm.

It served well and now you’re gone

And it’s wasted on me.

You’ve come to say you want it all,

but I can’t say I blame you now.

Sometimes you got to fall before you’re found out.

Well thanks, thanks for waiting this long to show yourself, to show yourself

Because now that I can see you,

I don’t think you’re worth a second glance.

So much for all the promises you’ve made.

It served well and now you’re gone

And they’re wasted on me.

So much for your enduring sense of charm.

It served well and now you’re gone

And it’s wasted on me.

I guess that all you got is all you’re gonna get.

So much for, so much for…..

I guess that all you got is all you’re gonna get.

So much for, so much for…..

Do what you want, if that’s what you wish.

I can’t see…

You’ve got a sense…

You’ll find a way to make things right.

I guess that all you got is all you’re gonna get.

So much for, so much for….

I guess that all you got is all you’re gonna get.

So much for, so much for….

Derringer Meryl [Nothing is as it seems] Out