Drama! – said she

In the life of – the teenager? the adult? the parent? the infant? the worker? the student? the rich? the poor? the celebrity? the American? the French? the Korean? the South African? – anybody there is always the touch of drama, be it tragedy or miracles or anything else in bewteen. To students especially, the connotation is negative – boyfriend stealing sluts, guys starting shit over some dignity bullshit or other, cat fights, the general rumormill things. But in the already depressing life of the lower members of the global society, drama riddles everything – namely tragedy. To them, the brighter end of the specturm requires more consideration.

Miracles can range from big to small – and many small miracles happen all the time. It’s funny though, how many there really are, seemingly balancing out all the darker aspects of the daily drama everyone encounters. Scandals, in fact, are usually two faced in that they can swing both ways. That’s why everyone likes a scandal – you never know how it’s impression will last through history. Dark humour seems to be a favourite “compromise” though, not that I have any complaints.

I thrive on drama. Stability is a bare essential, not critical to my life. It easily shows in the state of my room – an ever spinning vortex of clothes, books, papers, art supplies, food containers, and memorabilia; me. I’ll admit that it makes me a bit of a gossip hound, to figure out what’s happening. But can you really blame me? Drama is the spice of life, and nothing quite compares to a dash or five of spice. I appreciate the small bouts of calm only because then the drama would be to constant to be worth it, and the intensity would have to increase.

That would only cause even more problems – that’s how wars start. Did the Iliad teach you people nothing? Geez. Still, I thrive on it. “Everything in moderation” they say, which is wise, since anymore is usually detrimental.

And despite all of this, I refuse to let that woman call me Drama. It’s just not appropriate. Then, I’d have to be a source of drama – much too tedious a job.

Pain? Puh-lease.

People say all the time that they’re in pain. A cut, a bruise, a pinch, a punch, slap, kick or anything else you can probably think of. It’s true enough, nerve endings are flaring with distress and you’re probably wincing internally at the least. I’m not sure how I’d go about describing what is deemed “true pain” though.

But one thing’s for sure: it hurts, devastatingly and cruelly. Crippling – that’s what it is. It’s a moment in time when everything violently shatters, the pieces falling as they please. Some fall back in place and others seemingly fly away, with plenty falling anywhere inbetween. And in that moment when all the shards are more or less scattered, the pain is in the void between all the pieces.

Only the best of actors could hope to hide something that stretches and encompasses so much. Very few of us could ever hope to be anywhere near that level, and in that aftermath when the last piece has fallen among the other scattered shards, nothing – nothing could possibly hurt worse than being unnoticed. It’s extremely difficult to not be accutely aware of such a sudden concentration of anguish, or to not show an awareness of it.

Yet seemingly, no one notices. Then it’s just a dark, lonesome place. And that’s what makes it the worst; no one notices, or bothers to do more than notice and just observes – doing nothing. That feeling of abondonment when in the aftermath of a complete shatter – that is what cripples and lets out the anguished cry [even if nobody hears].

That is where true pain lies, in the culmination of all the pains in the sequence from shatter to scatter to watching it all come crashing down. Whether or not the pieces can be put back together as a whole I cannot answer – I’m still missing shards. Hopefully the cracks will seal themselves with the last pieces too.

I have CDO

It’s like OCD, but the letters are in alphabetical order like they should be.

I say this because I have an extremely anal tendency to make sure things are as they should be [when I can be bothered to pay attention]. This week, I was so bothered because of a small lecture concerning my activites or apparent lack thereof. In my defense, I had already begun to be more physically active, tend to more housekeeping without being asked, and willingly entertained brats not asking for gratitude of any kind the week before. And what do I get at the end of it? A dressing down of all my lack of participation at home and in life in general.

Pissed would not even begin to describe me. I usually let things like this go in one ear and out the other – I’m defiantly an individual like that, but this time, I really snapped. I do understand where people are coming from, but seriously, of all the times, when I finally decided to actually do it all on my own without prompting, it was ridiculous. So being me in all my vindictive glory, I went completely neat-freak anal.

Monday was superficial cleaning: toys picked up, beds made, floors swept, quick vacuum job, things dusted. I kept it that way too – was very pissy over anyone that messed anything up unnecessarily, espeically the dining area. Tuesday was a bit more in-depth; more thorough vacuuming, bathrooms get a superficial touch, beddings and the like neatly set – not just clean. Then I went along with the plans I had made for the day. It was good enough touch up. Wednesday was complete dress down. Besides the regular things – sweep the floor, wipe the table down, clean the dishes – I also scrubbed down the bathroom. And I do mean scrub, sponges, brushes and several differnt brands of cleaners and stain removers.

On top of it all, I’m still being borderline rude over all of it. Crumbs will be eradicated, dust wiped away, and messiness untolerated. I’d rather not be ignorant and say it was very feng-shui, but all I’m really missing at this point is furniture rearrangement. Could I always have just been this clean? Sure. Would it have made my parents happy? Probably for the first few weeks, then they would go insane; that “D” does stand for disorder afterall. The point of this? Get so intensely anal, they’ll ask me to stop or at the very least tone it down.

Am I really that vindictive? Hell yes. Do my parents realize? They haven’t had a chance to before. Should other people be worried about my retaliation? If it’s deserved, yes they should. I’m CDO about torture too. =D

Memorabilia

It’s bright, more so than usual, and I realize I’ve woken up at half past eleven. Still, despite the luncheon hour and late start, I begin my day as per usual. Then, whilst deleting my last email, I remember that my cousins from Austin are her for the day – from dawn `til dusk. Keeping this happy thought in mind, I complete my morning ritual, Pandora Radio playing and keeping my need for music satiated. Then comes the call, right after finishing my cereal, to come and eat lunch.

I throw on my favourite Anchor Blue jeans, grab my beige/burgundy shirt and head out. I discover my little cousins all swarming about and not eating – the adults leaving them be for now. One tween and four brats, it’s a sweet combination of noise, fun, and snot. I eat, and then engage in a series of games of connect four – winning more often than not and having laughs over all the silly mistakes on both sides. The rest of the afternoon is filled with the five youngsters, some karaoke on the part of my mother and aunts, and then a small shopping trip.

And what else but music fills my purchases. Music is my life, and the happy notes of the afternoon bubble between my aunts and I – my mother indulgently smiling and just enjoying the ride with the rest of us. It’s an amazing wave of laughs, pleasant quiet moments, and the joy of some self-indulgence just because. It’s the days like this that I live for – people close to me having just living their day and relishing in the clean sunlight, fresh air, and each others company. And for each I have at least one piece of memorabilia – the off white shirt I bought with the solid-color image of a video cassette with the tape pulled out and the caption “let the music flow”; the picture of the family from Christmas, specifically the one of all the cousins and our grandparents; the movie-ticket from one the awesomest movie nights ever. After all, who are we but the sum of our memories?

THIS is how I Wake

I slowly return to consciousness, the quiet brilliance of 10AM daylight shining in through my blinds to help wake me. Blinking slowly I stretch, my feet encountering something solid at the foot of my bed – the cereal box. Still taking my leisurely time I sit up and take in the sight of my eclectic bed as I do every other morning I have nothing immediately pressing to do. The Reece’s Puffs my feet have just encountered sits nestled between one of the posts of my bed and the desk light I’ve placed down there for late nights, bright orange glaring back at me to wake up and eat breakfast already. To my left are various objects, from papers to my iPod, even the remote to my tv and another small packet of food half hidden by the book I bought yesterday.

Beside my left hand, is my sleek black Vostro 1400 waiting to be turned on so I can check my email, write something for expression’s sake, and update my ever increasing music library. My wallet, charging phone, and other daily accessories lay waiting. All of them sit on a small extra cushion of padding known as the spare blanket – neatly folded of course. Splayed around me all my necessities of occupation are seemingly frozen, ready to be put right back into my flurry of mutlitasking.

So I turn on my laptop and climb over the miscellany occupying the other half of my bed to go freshen up. I come back with a bowl, spoon, and some milk for breakfast in bed. Settling in, my email pops up just as I’m taking my first bite, and I began the simple task of opening, sorting, and deleting. Fanfics to read, Avaaz and PETA updates, and a note from my mom to take out the trash. And sitting there like that still partially curled up in my mismatched bright red comforter and grey-green pillows, I knew it was going to be a good day.