Wednesday, February 9, 2011

To Russia, With Love

Ever since I found the feature that lets you track your blog and see how many readers come to your page, the countries that visit and the traffic sources, I've noticed that there is always at least one reader from Russia. I'm not sure if it's the same person, or if it was just a one time "oopsy" and they've never been back but the tracker just keeps it on there, or what. But I like to think that there is one person very far away who inadvertently stumbled on this blog is amused by my bitter ramblings (for bitter they are). He/She was probably googling something like an image of a harpy or something else totally non-related.

So to that person, I say Hello! Welcome! Привет! Добро пожаловать! (Oh gosh, I hope I didn't just swear at you. The translation site made me do it!)

On to other things now-

It's amazing how music can soothe the savage beast. I am the savage beast. I had the most angry dream last night. I don't even want to go there. I'm sure it was a dreamed representation of what I would really like to say to someone- but nothing good would come of it so I suppose I'll just have to keep it to myself forever. Anyway, I woke up this morning anticipating the worst day ever- not only the dream, but life itself is looming ominously. Upon my arrival to work at 5 am I turned on my Pandora station. I try to choose music that whomever I am working with would enjoy too. So today we are listening to my Air Supply station. Love songs. I am so anti-love right now that I thought I would spend my whole day totally nauseated. But so far it's been really nice to listen to. Seriously, this music is making me so happy. Journey, Toto, Wham! It's just good stuff. :-)

This last week or so I've been harboring some regret. I learned from watching The Last Unicorn that regret is part of being human. So I guess that means I'm not a mythical creature in disguise. Dang it.  A girl I've known since I was a kid passed away. She lived such an awful, hard life. And I can't help but feel partially at fault. I was never mean to her or anything. I was just not a good friend. It's incredibly arrogant of me to presume that insignificant ol' me could have had any effect on the outcome of her life, but could I have? Had I not just ignored her need for a friend, a real genuine friend, would things have been different for her. I've always thought this every time I've seen her over the years. I thought it when I saw her last a few months ago, but I never did anything about it. My road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Speaking of roads. I've signed up for Netflix. My own account and not mooching off my sister. I did it because I wanted to- but also because I got 30 free games of Family Feud on Facebook. I'm not sure which was the deciding factor. Anyway, the reason I wanted to get an account was so that I could watch the old episodes of Road to Avonlea. I remember loving that show so much and I wanted to watch them again. I'm part way through the second season. They're even better than I remember. And now that I'm in a much different position in life I find that I sympathize more with certain characters than I did before. It's strange how circumstances in life do that to your perspective. People you used to think had a valid point, now only seem insensitive and jerk-ish.

I want to end on a happy note... but I'm so tired I can't think of one. Everything that I start typing sounds like I'm whining. Even this paragraph sounds whiny. So I'll leave you with my favorite sonnet. 

Shakespeare Sonnet 116:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


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