Balloons of Expectation

Please stop wanting, wishing and hoping for things that you know cannot and will not come true. Hope is such a fragile thing, yet it has the endurance to keep you holding your breath for days and days. I do not want the inevitable disappointment that comes with breathing in. I never start it. They always entice me with things too real to be resisted, and then back away. I take the small reality and turn it  into a colossal dream that no man could ever hope to support on his shoulders, no matter how broad. But I hold on to it, by the thin strings that I attach to all of these gigantic balloons of possibility. I am left with a hand full of strings and a sky clouded over with voluminous dreams and expectations that shroud my ability to enjoy the reality. Nothing can live up to my hopes. Nothing can measure up to my reality. Yes, have standards. Yes, have ideals. But don’t think you can have your cake and eat it too.

Cough Syrup - Young the Giant

I don't like rock. At least I didn't think I did. But having been forcibly introduced to "Indie-Rock," I'm surprised to find that I actually do like it.

Pay attention to the lyrics of this one...  Life's too short to even care at all...

Colds.

You know the way you feel before a cold?

Tired...
           Achey...
                       Sleepy...
                                      Foggy...
                                                    Fading....

When you finally accept that maybe, just maybe, you're getting sick?

Sore...
          Stiff...
                    Gross...
                                  Miserable...
                                                    Cold...


Maybe its just allergies? (Oh, I hope so...)

Maybe I'm just tired? (Well, yeah, duh. But that's not all.)

Nope.

I'm sick.              

Style Vow I

I, Anna, being of sound mind and body, solemnly swear never to inflict bangs upon myself again. It has been shown repeatedly in the epochs of time that I look quite dreadful with bangs, with evidence given in a vast quantity of mirrors and an impressive collection of childhood photographs. I vow to resist the urges of the times and trends, which shall adopt bangs as "cute" and "trendy", and shall promise me that I too can wear them. I vow to remember in times of temptation or tribulation, how what can be snipped into being in a minute will later take many difficult months of annoyance and Snookie-like poofs to grow out, pulling our some of the aforementioned childhood photographs if necessary to strengthen my resolve. With my forehead as my witness, I make this promise for the greater good of my hair, general appearance and sanity for as long as I shall live.

Amen.

Reasons I Hate This Time of Year

1. Holidays. Why are they all in the winter? Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentines Day, St. Patrick's Day... it's just too much. I've expressed my rather dire feelings about holidays in general before, so it should come as no surprise that I feel clusters of them are uncalled for. Lucky, the worst is already behind us.

2. Forms. FAFSA, W-4, W-2, Taxes... federal shenanaganizing. Askeroscarooscarfug. (Congrats if you came up with some way to pronounce that.)

3. Snow. *sighs* Alright. I confess. I hate snow, but not really. It's complicated. Just when I think it's bearable and maybe even kind of pretty, it proves me wrong and gets in my boot or tries to trip me up or just generally interferes with the delicate task of living my life.

4. Darkness. I like the dark. It's fine. But the long dark mornings and nights make me want to sleep in and go to bed earlier, and me wanting to go to bed at 5 P.M. is rather annoying and counter-productive.

5. Cold. I loathe being cold. More than being hot, more than being sweaty, more than losing a toe to a shark. Okay, maybe not the last one. Being cold makes me feel like I'm about 100 years old and lacking the appropriate medication for my various conditions that are causing me this aching pain. Dire? Yes. They aren't your joints, so deal with it. (For the record, if they are your joints too, I express my sincerest sympathy and the offer to get together to have a warm beverage and discuss our unnamed condition.)

I know I complain rather a lot. I guess it's because it's the one thing I can do about the things I can do nothing about. And for some reason, complaining about things in a vaguely amusing thing somehow helps me to feel better about them. Go figure, eh?

Pawned Off

It’s like a giant’s game of chess

Where pawns go out to play

And rooks meet knights of many types

On squares of black and white

Snow, Snow, Snow