A Myriad (Harbour) of Thoughts

These past couple of weeks have been so stress-filled. The looming nature of papers. The tendency mid-terms have to sneak up on those who have not studied vigorously enough throughout the semester. Needless to say, it's all kind of over with now. The looming has subsided but not particularly gone away. Finals will be just around the bend.

I spent my entire weekend writing and studying. But I did enjoy Sunday. I always love Sundays. When my dad's home anyway. We always go to church together and it always seems to punctuate my week perfectly. It seems like I can feel anything I want to feel and no one can take it from me. Not on Sunday.

 Last Thursday our creative writing class took a field trip to a landmark cemetery. It's miles long and full of history. One of my favorite movies had a scene filmed there, so it made me smile to know I was in a place where Orlando Bloom and Kirsten Dunst had stood. Especially since Kirsten Dunst is one of my two favorite actresses (the other being Nicole Kidman). My friend Julie and I bummed a ride from this girl in our class. She strikes me as one of those carefree, hippie-type girls who is beautiful without really trying and cool by just standing there. She's also one of those girls who can drive with all of her windows down and it doesn't mess her hair up. I will never be one of those girls. She played The Breeders and Jimi Hendrix. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to be her friend but also how incredibly complicated. She's readily able to criticize the world and I am not. I tend to praise things without question just because of tradition. I'm safe. I drive with my windows up. I don't paint in my living room or walk around barefoot at concerts. I don't carry a yoga mat in my backseat. In essence, I'm just not that carefree.

I'm not really sure if that's a fault or not.

 Last night at work, we noticed that in one of the see-through cans that someone was shipping the baskets that attach to hot air balloons. A girl on my crew asked, "Who wants to go for ride?" All I could think was, "I do!" I've created a stupid little Bucket List for myself and one of the things I want to do before I die is ride in a hot air balloon. "Maybe someday..." I thought to myself. Then I returned to my thought. "What am I waiting for?" It always seems like I wait around for things to happen instead of just doing them. Granted a hot air balloon ride costs like $250 but still. What's keeping me from making it happen now? I'd hate to return to my list 20 years from now and say, "I haven't done half of these things." Because surely, I will have a mental breakdown and possibly fill my coat with rocks and drown myself in the Ouse River. Just kidding, but seriously.

(I prefer this allusion to a famous author's death instead of the ever-typical "stick my head in the oven," almost a cliche now amongst the "intellectually elite").

And another thing, I've been thinking about Virginia Woolf a lot lately. And how she didn't publish her first novel until she was 33. And how it took her all into her 20's to prepare it. And how she was on Hitler's "Hit List" for publishing an anti-Fascist manifesto. And how her death wasn't really illogical at all. She wasn't all that crazy. She was just taking preventative action against being physically and mentally enslaved. Death was her relief, just like her character Septimus Smith, in Mrs. Dalloway.

 So, Sunday night, aka Monday morning I turned on my TV to find nothing other than, THE WONDER YEARS! When I was a kid, I always loved that show but my parents didn't like it so they'd always change the channel. It was a real treat when I actually got to watch it. So, there was an episode with Kevin's older sister, Karen, dating this vegetarian hippie guy. And he had long hair, John Lennon-esque glasses and all I could think was, "That kinda looks like John Corbett. Nah, couldn't be. It would be awesome if it were John Corbett though." Well, IT WAS. And I had a dream that night that hippie John Corbett from The Wonder Years and I were a thing. And it got me to thinking about just how attractive he was in Sex and the City. Long hair or short. He's just the archetypically perfect instance of the rugged American boy. He looks good in crisp white shirts and jeans. Even though I do believe Carrie and Big belong together, Aidan definitely does a little bit more for me.

It's kind of weird though, because he's older than my dad.

And to wrap up this little love fest, I think it appropriate to praise the book I've been devouring lately, The Hours. It's easily a new favorite. I watched the movie last night as well and loved it. Of course, it is sort of Virginia Woolf-centered so how could I not? There were just so many poignant scenes and lines. Laura Brown, the sullen housewife from 1951 (1949 in the book) tries to make a birthday cake for her husband and says to her son, "We're baking the cake to show him how much we love him." The boy responds, "Otherwise he won't know we love him?" After a pause Laura says, "That's right." Things like that just pull at your heart. 

Outstanding performances by Julianne Moore, Meryl Streep (even though I dislike her), and of course, Nicole Kidman.

I can't wait for Friday. I need a weekend. One that actually involves going outside once in awhile.

Till then...