Happy Birthday, Georgia! (Explicit language in this post)

Um, yeah. There's a strange picture of a fish, here.

Someone very dear to me just turned 21, today, and I wish I was spending time with her, right now! Unfortunately, this year, her birthday falls on a Monday - and a rainy, windy Monday at that! Not to mention she had a quiz and a lecture, today.

That is just her luck.

So, I would like to dedicate today’s writing to a charming timeline depicting the life and times of my beautiful, kind, selfless, hard-working, and intelligent friend! Let’s celebrate 21 years of Georgia’s rotten luck!

Age 0

Georgia was born just early enough that she could start Kindergarten in less than 5 years, but not late enough to start in more than five years, making her younger than most of her classmates.

It was therefore not surprising when she ended up being among the shortest in her class for the first few years. However, Georgia eventually had to accept that she was never going to grow as tall as her peers, as she was fortunate enough to inherit the “shortness gene,” while her brother and father tower in height above all others in their vicinity.

Age 1

Georgia’s biological parents abandon her in Mexico, leaving a note saying only “Adios!” Her current parents pick her up and adopt her, thinking she will be an excellent babysitter for their anticipated favourite child.

Age 2

Georgia struggles to adapt to her new environment and to pick up the English language. Due to many misunderstandings and mistranslations, she bites her future best friend, Valerie, forging a grudge that would remain strong until the meet again in 11 years.

Age 3

Georgia holds Lemon Pledge for the first time, discovering her passion for obsessive compulsive cleaning. She is not good at it, yet, but merely sprays copious amounts of Lemon Pledge on the floor, earning her a largely misunderstood and unexplained childhood nickname. Her parents decide to throw newspapers all over the place instead of actually addressing the problem.

Age 4

Georgia meets her most awesome uncle ever and is instantly enthralled by his wickedly awesome sense of humour. However, she fails to socialize with her other family members due to the language barrier. Her uncle sympathizes and spends time with her, helping her develop her adoration of comic geniuses.

Age 5

Georgia’s parents don’t bother to explain to her Kindergarten teacher that English is her second language, so the teacher simply believes that she is a troublesome and inattentive student. This teacher later informs Georgia’s high school math teacher of Georgia’s quietness within the classroom, making her future math teacher hate her for no good reason and act like a total dick.

Age 6

Georgia’s baby brother has been dubbed the “better child,” and she has to put up with his shit all the time. I mean that literally. She has to clean his dirty diapers! Disgusting!

Age 7

Georgia has finally begun to understand English, and manages to read the label on the Lemon Pledge containers. As a result, she hones her cleaning skills. From this day forward, any house that Georgia will live in will be consistently spotless and, I swear to God, Georgia will be the only one responsible for that, and her parents still don’t care about her.

Age 8

Georgia’s brother is now 2 years old, and she dresses him up in girl’s clothes and gives him purses to carry. She calls him “Warrenita” and “Chica.” I swear, nobody I know finds drag funnier than Georgia does, and nobody I know pretends to be effeminate as well as Warren does.

Age 9

Georgia’s origins are finally known, and her mother begins collecting financial support from her biological parents.

Age 10

Georgia joins her local church’s youth group at this age, which causes her to, later, be stuck with me. I am constantly thankful for this, because we never went to the same grade school, and I’m not sure we would have met if we hadn’t attended the same church.

Age 11

Georgia marries Link, Ganondorf, and Lucius Malfoy, none of whom she knows. I have recorded proof of this. She is also recorded to have melted into a pile of candle wax and to have vomited all over her own wedding cake.

Age 12

Georgia attends middle school, where she meets exclusively awesome people. Like, the most awesome people ever. She tells me she walks around the halls, hitting people in the forehead with her pencil case. For some reason, I can never forget that image of short George, walking around with a pencil case in hand, stretching to smack innocent people in the face. It’s fucking hilarious!

Age 13

Georgia joins Pathfinders at my discretion. There, she is confronted with her nearly life-long nemesis, Valerie, who has not yet forgiven Georgia for biting her when they were tiny tots. “From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.” Tension builds between the two until they become loyal BFFs suddenly and inexplicably.

Age 14

The three of us - Georgia, Valerie and I - have been dubbed “the three musketeers,” and I am very touched when I fail my Pathfinders’ Gold Camp and Georgia and Val withhold their graduation - which they had rightfully earned - in order to wait to graduate with me. Also, there was a “Kodiak moment” when our Guider creepily pointed only at Georgia while addressing everybody else except her at a Pathfinder meeting.

Age 15

Georgia attends high school, where she, again, meets only the most awesome people ever.

Age 16

Georgia, along with our local church’s youth group, aids in writing the script for the Christmas Pageant. We find it fucking hilarious due to the fact that we had lines such as “S’up?” and “Bigger lights, bigger party.”

Age 17

Georgia’s grade 12 year… as a 2010 grad, she experiences only the best prom ever with the most endearing prom date anyone could ask for.

Age 18

Georgia’s gets to work with me at the best job EVER and we FINALLY get to go to the same school. As it turns out, we never saw each other EVER and our schedules ONLY opposed each other. And then, our job went out of business so we lost our job. MAYBE if GEORGIA hadn’t brought her AWFUL luck, there, we would STILL have our jobs! THANKS, GEORGIA. (Still worth it to work at the same job as her.)

Age 19

Georgia leaves town to go to a more distant university because I FAIL as a friend and neglect to tell her that I chickened out and planned to stay at our local university. Her parents, who don’t care, give her a note saying “Adios!” just to make sure the message is clear.

Age 20

I have an awesome video of Georgia drunk out of her marbles on the day she turns 20. She hasn’t seen it, yet, but she will, and I will someday play it at her underwater wedding. She claims that she has no desire to get married, but I think her, Val, and I should have a wedding ceremony for the fun of it.

Age 21

This begins today, for Georgia. And I wish her the best of luck - or at least improved luck - especially in the near future, because we have some exciting stuff to look forward to!

Georgia, I love you SO much! Thank you for 21 years of being one of the most awesome people in my life, and I can’t wait until I see you, next!

And remember: only 2 more years until you turn 23!

Author’s note: I did exaggerate some events in the story for a dramatic effect. For example, Georgia’s adoptive parents do care about her, just not as much as they care about Warren.

Take a day off!

I know, I'm being a lazy lion and I promised a surprise... but, like many people, I get very busy every now and then, and I didn't really have any short story on hand that I wanted to post.

I did want to share with you something positive I learned, though.

Ever since the beginning of September, I had thought that I had wasted my summer by being sick and letting myself feel down instead of enjoying the warm season. I blamed myself for it all.

It wasn't until after I stopped putting myself down and telling myself it was my fault (I may have had to use my sickness as a scapegoat) that I began to realize what was productive about my summer!

First off, I was singing all summer. I sung on my way to work, I sung whenever I was by myself, I sung in the shower - hoping that nobody could hear me!

After a few months, I like to believe that I am correct when I think I hear an improvement in my voice. Singing has become so much easier for me and - while, as a musician, I can accurately say that my singing requires ample improvement - my voice just sounds a lot less awkward when I sing.

More importantly, I used writing as a coping method throughout the summer. Even if I wasn't planning to publish or show the work to anyone, I still wrote every day. As a result, I developed a habit and an addiction to writing.

I wouldn't say that my writing skills have improved very much, but since my hand now begins to develop an uncomfortable twitch if I don't write for a long time, I'd say that I will be putting a lot more effort into writing than I ever have in my life.

So, for those of you out there who are considering whether you should take a moment as an opportunity for a break or as an opportunity to do more work, I recommend observing your self-critical thoughts and taking into consideration what many little tasks you have accomplished, rather than what enormous task you haven't.

That, and, do take a break!

The Caw of a Crow

Like a promised, a non-sad entry! Unfortunately, it's not a new story, it's just one I had on hand. I'll have more time to create something new, tomorrow... and I'll add that I have a surprise in mind for tomorrow!

Georgia had left the safety of her apartment that day, not knowing just how much safer a stay in her apartment would have been.

As she walked along - minding her own business, I might add - she heard the familiar caw of a crow.

I should mention that Georgia had been brought up in a family that had a lot of respect for animals - and birds were not excluded. I remember wandering through her childhood home when her father told me to look out the window. There were many bald eagles perched in a tree in their backyard, and her father seemed so proud to be able to share his home and coexist with them.

So, although Georgia may have always been afraid of anything with wings - and it’s not so unreasonable, as these creatures can fly whereas most mammals can’t - she had always been able to live peacefully with them, and never had any intentions of harming them.

Therefore, when Georgia heard the caw of the crow, she felt nothing out of the ordinary - she did not even concern herself with her fear of birds, as she had done nothing to provoke their anger. And on this particular day, she was certain that there would be no reason for her to go near a bird, or for a bird to go near her.

She had no idea that the crow was right above her.

Before she knew it, the bird was diving through the air aggressively and it came dangerously close with each dive. Each time, she could hear the flap of its wings as it flew past her.

Stress and fear now flooded her mind. Why was this bird attacking her? And why her? What had she ever done in her whole life to deserve to be treated this way by a crow? And why a crow?

Knowing that crows were especially clever - and that cleverness made them more dangerous - Georgia quickened her pace. She had no intentions of fighting back because of her kindness towards all animals - even animals that she feared and that attacked her - and because it is hard to fight something that can fly out of your reach - and, being quite short, Georgia’s reach was quite limited already.

But Georgia was not one to panic, not even in the direst of circumstances. She knew from the last time that she had been attacked that crossing the street seemed to put enough distance between her and the crow for it to lose interest. You see, this was not the first time she had been attacked by a crow in this area. I was surprised to hear of this, too.

Unfortunately - or, since this is Georgia, should I say, as usual - events would not unfold in a logical manner for her. Today, crossing the street was not enough for the crow. As a matter of fact, it chased her and swooped down at her in such a violent manner that she was running to keep away.

She had no solid theory as to why the crow kept up with her for so long. Perhaps it was guarding its family? Perhaps it thought she was an intruder or a thief? She had done nothing, as far as she knew, to give off the impression that she would harm the crow. So why? Why was she no longer able to live in peace with these animals?

Finally, though, the crow seemed to think that Georgia had gone far enough. Frightened, shaken, and certainly confused, Georgia realized that she had run to the end of the street. The crow had chased her farther than ever.

But why? Did it chase other people in this way?

And how was she going to get home?

Was she prepared for another encounter with this angry bird?

Still terrified, Georgia told her friend about the incident, but her friend did not seem very sympathizing. Because that friend is me and - while I did take a lot of this very seriously - I laughed a fair amount while writing this. But I did not over-dramatize it or crack jokes at all. I just wrote it how it was.

I should also note that Georgia had to leap over a fence in order to evade the crow. This would not hinder a flying animal, but she could do it with such swiftness and ease that it was sure to temporarily baffle the creature.

Yoyetal

This was going to be a longer project, but I am sick of writing sad stuff. So, short it shall be. And it shall hopefully be the last of sad posts for a while.

Conditions do not improve when hating a fellow human. Given the right circumstances, hating ignorance can provide self-betterment.

It is early February. A man who had been dropping off garbage in a landfill discovers a tragedy. Amongst the papers, plastics, glass, and rot, a small movement barely catches his eye.

A small, frozen puppy, incapable of movement except for the slow opening and closing of his mouth, is sprawled amongst the trash. As the man observes this, he notices that there are other puppies present. They are all difficult to see because their camouflage of dirt and neglect matches their environment perfectly.

The man is frozen, too, but with shock. He’s counted six puppies, but only one of them seems to be breathing, and he’s certain that he has noticed this puppy too late. He waits for an agonizing minute, trying to assess whether or not he can help the last surviving puppy.

He has to try.

Slowly and cautiously, he lifts the stiff puppy from the would-be death bed. He calls him ‘baby’ and holds him close, waiting to see if the puppy will move again. For a heartbreaking minute, he believes that the puppy has died in his arms. Another slow jaw movement provides doubtful, temporary relief for the man, and he brings the filthy puppy into his car to be warmed.

He cradles the dog until his movements begin to quicken and he becomes capable of making low, whining sounds. Then, the man drives to the local veterinarian.

This puppy will live.

It will be broadcast as a heartwarming story. The man will be interviewed and praised for his good deed. Footage of the dog and the man will be played on the news with some generic uplifting music.

But, the five puppies that remain dead in the dump will be ignored.

Reverence to the King

Image from Paprika (2006)

She didn’t like public places if it meant that the people were free to make whatever noises they pleased, but at least these people had good taste.

The parade was fantastically astronomical, and astronomically fantastical. Every person, animal, and object involved marched with grandeur, and when paired with the music, only exhilaration was produced. It was tempting to join in.

But, she was not interested in the parade, but in what it carried. At the very top of the throng was a throne. The rigid King, with perfect posture, dwelled within.

He embodied every reason the masses marched and more, without moving and without expression. His magnificence already established; He needn’t do anything to generate so much vigor.

In this sense, she was there for the same reason everyone else was: to express reverence to the King. However, to revere was not enough for her; she wanted to be with the King, and she didn’t like parades.

She was a witness, standing a few feet away from the frivolity, when she began her ascent. Pushing and climbing was but a small endeavor, and she was rewarded with the King’s eyes. No contact, no smile; there was only so much that was appropriate, at this point.

It required minimal time for her to wonder what this King had done to deserve such glorification. Awe and wonder was now replaced with dissatisfaction, timorousness with vengeful stability, as she drew closer. Her previously unworthy hand violated sacredness when she touched him.

“I like the parade, better.”

She pushed him without force, but he could not oppose her might, nor did he try to, nor did he want to. So, he tumbled downward, plummeting through the horde.

Once on the ground, he stood and looked to the newly occupied throne. He did not assign himself the position of King, and had no desire to venture so high up, and would have liked to share the throne with Her.

But, now, he was but a witness a few feet away from the reverence of the King, and it would be too much effort for him to reach Her, so he turned around.

And left.

And they faded from each other’s lives.

Traits of an Easy Relationship

These are the traits of the easiest relationship I have ever been in.

Starting the relationship was quick and easy. There were no awkward silences or wayward glances, because we just started making out and that was that.

He had no expectations of me, so my job was very easy: to live in the moment and have fun.

To the public, we didn't appear to be dating, if we appeared in public at all.

We never bought each other food.

We didn’t see each other on Valentine’s Day.

I never told him when I was sad, probably because I rarely was. I was in an easy relationship, for crying out loud! How could I be sad?

I never told him I loved him or trusted him, because I did neither. The feeling was mutual.

He worked full time in a pathetic job, but I didn’t give him crap for it. (That is, not until he thought it would be a good idea to tell an aspiring teacher how worthless he found teaching and learning to be.)

I didn’t buy him a birthday present, because he never invited me.

And, as quickly as it started, it ended, with no dramatic goodbye scene.

Fun.

Easy.

Over.

And, after it was over, I often wondered why I was ever in such a meaningless relationship.

Happy or sad? (Or a bit of both?)

In this video, a man saves one puppy from freezing to death after being abandoned in a dump. Sadly, there is a second puppy, and she does not survive.

I am focusing on this video for my next writing project. When choosing a topic to write about, I would recommend finding a concept that doesn't make you feel like you're losing your sense of humanity.

Clearly, the video's creator wanted the video to be more uplifting than depressing.

Wings or Legs?

Spiders that do not spin webs end up carrying their young on their back. Of course, you would not want me to carry anything because you carry nothing. As a result, you have nothing. You weigh nothing.

Spiders spend most of their lives hiding. Why would such a powerful predator have such groundless fears?

Flies, on the other hand, do not hide. They live short lives, they don’t plan far ahead, and they carry nothing. And so, as their name suggests, they can fly.

A spider could join a fly if she carried two wings instead of eight legs. But, she can’t force wings out of her body, even if she believes it’s the right thing to do.

The closest she’s ever come to flying was in her juvenile days as a spiderling. Since then, she’s grown and shed so many skins and has been left vulnerable a countless number of times. Her success and size are proof of the number of times she’s been left alone and defenseless.

But, let’s not worry over worthless scenarios. Everyone knows that spiders would never join flies because they eat them. And, I know that female spiders eat their mates.

And I’ll be damned if I let myself have any less resolve and strength than a spider.

The Cruelty of Next Week

As a writer, I have thoughts that people tell me I shouldn't have. I'm not supposed to think about what if, I'm supposed to focus on what is.

However, it is an artist's job to create. I believe we all struggle with this.

So, I wonder about what I’m not supposed to wonder about. For example, what if I were to die next week? Realistically speaking, I will be alive and well in a week’s time.

(But, what if?)

What if you were going to die, next week?

Maybe you don’t have enough money to travel very far. Maybe, luckily, there are people nearby who you’d like to visit.

Maybe there is someone dear to you with whom you’ve always wanted to spend as much time as possible. Now, your time is limited in a very tangible way.

But, what if they didn’t have time for you? Limited as it may be, it is a waste to invest time in the soon-to-be deceased. Perhaps you are asking too much? Have you considered how difficult it is for that person to have to witness you dying? Are you worth it?

Fortunately, there are others, people who love you unconditionally, and they have time for you. Even if you insist that they needn’t, they find it unquestionable, nonnegotiable, that they see you. They will stay with you until the very end, and you are very grateful.

But it’s cruel that, close to the end, you find yourself missing the person who had no time for you. You won’t contaminate the kindness of those present with your feelings, and you won’t inconvenience the one you miss by requesting their presence.

Instead, you’ll suffer silently, until it no longer matters.