croc talk

Why do people insist on opening the mouths of crocodiles, only to shut them again? No food goes in, nothing comes out - and I can't really figure out why they do it in the first place. Sometimes they hover their heads "dangerously" close to the teeth, which usually results in a gaggle of oohs and ahhs, and another point is scored for team man.

love

I love love love love love love love how animals reach for the doorknob when trying to get through a door.

this is some old school jessie

I was thinking the other day.. and I got this thought in my head that life is short.. but it's a lot longer than we think. I suddenly felt like my entire life would only last two days, and I had just finished the first one. There was so much that I wished I had done, but didn't.. and it hurt... physically.. to know that I was in any way unsatisfied with my life so far. In the same split-second that I felt that, I also felt an intense fear of not making the most of my second day. Like having this realization that the first half was wasted.. STILL wasn't enough to get me to take risks in the second half. I was absolutely ... rattled. I essentially "woke" from that thought and considered it on a larger scale.

What if we only had one more year to live? How different would things be? What would be important to us? Would we still sweat over the bullshit.. and create drama out of boredom? Would we waste any time? Would we get anything done? Would we give up on the people we knew and find others less difficult? Would we try harder, or simply give up - when we faced the impossible? Would we even face the impossible? Would things seem more or less so? How many of us would wake up each morning, with one less day to greet, smiling.. hopeful that this one would bring a new chance to make the most of our short span? And how many would sleep in.. letting time do her handiwork, while inevitability creeping in.. silent, murderous and terrifyingly bold? How many times would we ask for one more day when we found something worth holding onto, and how many faces would stand on the edge of "the end" and fall regret-less into whatever-comes-next? Would any of us be the same? Could we be the same?

vintage jessie

from livejournal, circa 2004

"You know how people come into your life, and even from the beginning - you can tell they won't be there long? And they never are, but the time they're around is so intense, and so bizarre that you never forget it.. and in a way it changes you - because everyone you meet will change you in some way, whether you need it or not. And sometimes you meet people, and you really don't know how long they'll be around, and the thought of them being one of the "transitional" people scares you to death.. and you just want to hold on to the five minutes you like the best, and stretch them out forever. The saddest thing I can think of is when I feel like, to other people, I'm a transitional person, moving quickly in and out of their lives, making minor adjustments, and then disappearing without a trace. You never think that you can be anyone but the main character, but to most people, you are nothing. And to others, you're minor. Thinking like this makes me feel like the loneliest person in the world.. even though everyone goes through it. Realizing that half of what you say doesn't even register with other people is one of the most depressing things to think about, but it really puts things into perspective. Some day you'll meet a girl you'll memorize; who's every mindless word you'll revisit when she's not around. And some day I'll write a book of everything you forget, and keep it to myself, and make sure that at least I remember. But not today, because today... We dance!!! Haha."

Popping in, popping out, popping corn

WHAT is this thing still doing here??

I should have known that ignoring a blog for a year wouldn't make it automatically disappear. Diaryland, circa 2002, anyone? Yeesh, why won't that thing die already.

Well it looks like 2011 is off to a roaring start... she safely said midway through the year. We went to England a few months ago, so that was fun. It was a wonderful trip that ended too soon. That is really all I can say about it without boring myself to sleep. Not that it was a boring trip - because it wasn't - but I just know that my retelling will omit all of the exciting bits and replace them with the forty minute conversations we had about what to eat or what was causing our black boogers. Not that those bits aren't exciting as well.... it's just... ugh I'm doing itttttttt.

I turned 28 last month, which was gross. When I turned 27, I accepted my "late twenties" status, but someone convinced me that I could still claim "mid twenties" so I did. Then when 28 happened and "late twenties" could no longer be delayed, I had no choice but to embrace my new age bracket with the same enthusiasm that a spoiled child might employ with a new and unwanted younger step-sibling. Only in the presence of others. In private... we do not get along. I don't really mind getting older, since it's a sign that I haven't died yet (which is helpful, because how else can you be sure?) but I start getting mopey when I think about my life and what I have/haven't accomplished. Sure, I published all those beloved children's books that are currently being turned into movies, I looked into the heart of the universe and I ran that weird marathon that somehow cured all those diseases, but what have I really DONE? I haven't done the backstroke in a shallow pool of snuggly puppies, is what. I haven't LIVED.

I had planned to write more but I want popcorn. Goodnight!