dianaschnuth

Hey. If enough people click through my site to Bob’s site, I might show up on his SiteMeter stats, and not have to beg him for a link. After all, I already begged him for a new album and a trip to Detroit.

later…
I was going to go to bed early, for once. Instead, I got it in my head to try to write what I’ve been thinking for the past week or so.

I’m not usually one to go on "life’s not fair" rants, but I’ve really been feeling cheated. Not by what you might think. I’m not upset that I’m not using my degree in my job, or any of the other myriad of things I’ve bitched about in the past. No, this is deeper than that.

I feel cheated out of time I should have had with people who are now dead. Not so much Memaw, because she was older — 70 isn’t exactly ripe old age, but not so young that I feel cheated out of quality years. Although I do wish she could have lived to see her great-grandbabies (though heaven knows when that will ever happen, anyway. I’m in no hurry).

No, I feel cheated that my stepdad, Tom, never got to meet Aaron. I feel cheated that I never got to meet Aaron’s Mom, especially since it really sounds like we would have gotten along. Plus, we share a birthday. How cool is that?

But, on top of all of this, I feel cheated by my lack of faith. After watching Memaw deteriorate like she did, I’ve come to realize how connected the mind and body are. I used to think that once the body died, the soul/consciousness would ooze out into whatever Tao or Force or Heaven or Collective Consciousness that exists, and perhaps retain some of the personality that person had developed during their life, depending upon how strong that personality was. But now… I don’t know. Memaw just wasn’t there. It was some fragmented, decrepit bastardization of who she used to be. The person she was, wasn’t really there anymore — only in brief sparks and flashes of wit and that occasional look in her eyes.

My step-Gary believes that, when you die, your soul simply sleeps until the Resurrection. You don’t know anything until you rise again, and it will be like no time has passed. While I don’t believe in the Second Coming or the Resurrection or any of that anymore, I do wonder if death is like sleep. Except… if you never wake, what do you have to compare your sleep against? If your consciousness never manifests again after your body dies… then how do you know you’re dead?

Weird stuff. At any rate, I’ve been having what Mom would call "Memaw moments," where I just sit at work and faze out for a few seconds, just thinking about her—except I think about Memaw, and Granny, and Tom, and Aaron’s Mom, who I never met. And I reflect on how unfair it is that all they were, and all they knew, is gone.

Hey, guys? Um… I don’t know if this blog phenomenon may have
peaked or something, but Beth
is the only one besides me still aggressively updating her blog. I either
need to find more friends with blogs, or beat you all about the head until
you update. Hell, Colvey’s page doesn’t even come up anymore. Maybe I need
to go spelunking for more blogs to check…

My new fragrance oils are wonderful. Hershey’s Chocolate, Drakkar,
and — oops, I can’t tell you that one. Mom might be reading. I’ll tell
you later. Wonderful fragrances all. I now have quite the fragrance arsenal.

After work today, I went out to finish Christmas shopping for
Aaron. Got a couple things, one of which he’s sure to recognize under the
ttree if he gives it a little thought. Ah, well. He should have known he was
getting it, anyway. I feel like we’re a little more even now, present-wise.
🙂 Also headed to Goodwill, hoping that the other two of the diamond-pattern
glass mugs I bought this weekend would still be there. Alas, they were not,
but I got some other glassware instead.

And holy cow, do I have an inventory of glassware now. I’ve got
a total of… *opening cupboard and counting* …19 containers, each holding
from four to six ounces. Four sundae cups (I have big plans for those), four
smoky-colored squarish goblets (intended for amaretto-and-coke), two diamond-pattern
glass cups, two glass jars with lids, one brown lidded jar, and miscellaneous
small votive holders, including a ceramic watering can (obviously being saved
for a floral scent, when I get one).

I’d been having a hankering for hot chocolate, so I found a recipe
on the Atkins Diet Bulletin Board last week. Aaron bought me some unsweetened
powdered cocoa with the groceries on Sunday, and I just made myself some
hot chocolate this evening. This here hot chocolate makes Swiss Miss taste
like a sugar cube sprinkled with cocoa. Never before I started Atkins had
I truly appreciated the less sweet side of chocolate — I hesitate to
say "bitter," since that has such negative connotations, but I
think "darker" is the more apt description. I mean, I liked Hershey’s
Dark Miniatures and all, but I didn’t realize how insanely sweet your standard
chocolate bar really is. I think I now prefer tasting all the spectrum of
flavors, rather than just sweetness. Who knew? [Note: a while later,
the hot chocolate made me a little queasy. Don’t know why. Maybe I’m just
getting sick.]

Hmm, what else was I going to say…?

Oh, yeah. Kris, if you’re reading my blog (as you sometimes do),
your Jack White comments are ticking me off. (Yes, Aaron shared them with
me.) You don’t know the full story, and neither do I. Neither does the
media. All I’ve got to say for now is, if you were really pissed
at someone, would you have a.) the balls to punch him in the face, and/or
b.) the physical strength to bloody his nose and drag him to the ground?
Not me. Although I disapprove of his lack of restraint, I’m impressed with
his… what’s the word I’m looking for? Strength? Sense of purpose? Presence?
Drive? I’m not quite finding it, but I hope you know what I mean. In summary,
I may not agree with what he did, but damn, he did it well.

And, on a lighter note… I’ve been surfing around, looking for
new blogs to hit, old people to catch up with… and found that the typical
high school jock I went to high school with, Scott Marcum, is a now police
officer in my hometown. (Check
him out — he’s the one on the right. Do you see the football player
in him?)

OK, I gotta go to bed now.

I was all set to write an entry about how my neck had a crick in it all day (and still does) from how I slept last night, and how glad I was that today was only a 9-hour Monday instead of the normal twelve, yadda-yadda-yadda…

Then, from the Saginaires Alumni Yahoo! Group, the one that I started as a base for alumni of the drumcorps I used to march, I got this message:

Dear Friends,
It’s noon on Monday and I just got word that Steve Yoder is seriously ill in the hospital and in a coma. Everyone say a little prayer for Steve. Will update as possible.

Of course, several people (including me) chimed in and gave our best wishes to Steve and his family or friends or whoever he has with him. I went to the website of the indoor drumline he directs, which is under the same umbrella organization as our old drumcorps, and discovered that he’s been hospitalized for the past week and a half. He’s a relatively young guy, in his 40’s, so while I was concerned about him, I wasn’t worried, despite the fact that he was comatose.

Then, around 9pm, the same individual posted this message, which read in part:

I spoke to Danny Trepiak a couple of hours ago and understand that Steve is gravely ill and not expected to live. It could happen within "hours."

Whoa. I mean, I’m not personally close with Steve, but he directs the closest thing to my old drumcorps that there is: a kick-ass World Champion indoor drumline. I’ve worked with him before in alumni happenings, and have corresponded with him about alumni involvement and the aim of the drumline (and winterguard, when we had one). In that respect, he’s kind of like "Uncle Steve." He’s been a big part of why the umbrella organization up in Saginaw hasn’t completely folded, as the CEO is ready to retire from the Saginaires Youth Organization and step down eventually.

But I’m really concerned for the kids in his drumline. Last year, they were World Champions in their class, and this year they intend to move up a class from Independent Open to Independent World. After reading the posts from these kids (ages 16 to 20), I don’t think they realize what dire straits Steve is in. They fully expect Steve to be back and read their message board posts to him, and no one has posted there for the past week or so. I think they’re going to be shocked out of their wits if and when he passes, and in my opinion, it’s equal odds whether they’ll mourn and quit or choose to dedicate this season to Steve. …OK, maybe not equal odds — these kids are fighters, and they had a taste of greatness last year.

Anyway, the whole thing does give you something to think about.

Not sure how to start. Not that it was so earth-shattering that I’m at a complete loss — I just simply don’t know where to start. At the beginning, I guess.

Amy came to visit for the Black Swamp Arts Festival this weekend. She ended up being a few hours behind schedule, due to every little errand blowing up into a gigantic WTF sort of fiasco. Stopping by work, taking a "shortcut" suggested by Grampa… Anyway, when she arrived at 11pm, we went to get some pizza at Myles, and were constantly accosted en route by the drunks from campus. I got a high five from a dude that looked just like Nick Lawson, we got offered a piece of pizza from some random guys (who then claimed to have "nutted" on the pizza), and we had one particularly bookish-looking fellow tell us, "the bars are that way!"

Ate pizza, talked, came home, walked some more, and talked some more. Stayed up till Aaron got home, then talked some more. Basically, that’s what the weekend was all about: talking with Amy.

On Saturday, we checked out the artists’ booths. We were underwhelmed this year, and were particularly disappointed that some of our longtime favorites weren’t at the Festival this year. We did end up buying at least one token "I Was Here" item apiece, but we weren’t terribly geeked about them this year.

Things I discovered while talking to Amy this weekend:

• I miss having someone to talk to like that. I talk to Aaron, yes, but it’s different. We still talk about important stuff, but Amy has a different perspective on things.
• If I want a new job, I need to work toward getting one. If I can live with my job for now, I need to do the things that make me happy (photography, web design) in my time away from work, to make the mediocre work worth it.
• I have more of a social life than I give myself credit for, even if it is just on the weekends and with Aaron’s and my mutual friends instead of alone with my own friends. It’s still social, and it’s still fun.
• I need to stop belittling myself and beating myself up for my shortcomings. I also need to stop feeling like others are focusing on said shortcomings, and instead be thankful that others (especially Aaron) are patient enough to deal with my faults and still like me for who I am.

Downloaded BBEdit to my Mac. I’m a much happier coder now.

I feel so crappy. Just generally mentally worn-out and physically blah. I should be happy — Mom’s coming to visit tomorrow, and I got my camera back from Blue Ribbon today (just in time for the Mom Weekend). I also got 5 hours overtime this week, which could be considered good or bad. I also got paid today, which is definitely good. I borrowed Donna’s Windows CD last night, and am about to use it today, and that’s good, too.

I don’t know… I guess I’m just bored and lonely. I called Sheryl about my cranky computer, and she was hanging out with friends. I thanked her a lot for helping me out with my problems, and she wasn’t bitchy or anything, but I’d already agonized over calling "my personal tech support." But the internet wasn’t helping, and there was no one else to call, and I wanted to get this fucker working, so I called and interrupted her social time. *pouty self-deprecating sneer*

I think that just drove home the fact that I have absolutely no fucking social life. Not during the week, not on Friday nights, and only with Aaron and our mutual friends on the weekends. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with all of our friends… but sometimes, on Friday nights or weeknights, I feel isolated. Unloved. Everyone else has a group of friends to hang out with. Either that, or they live two or three (or more) hours away. I find I’m missing the days of the dorm, when I could call up Beth and go to the Founders snack bar, or go up and see if Donna was in her room, or IM Timmay and ask what he was up to. Or before that dorm experience, how about with Amy? She was almost always there, either playing PlayStation or studying or reading, and we could go on spontaneous walks around campus or to Grounds or Hatter, and talk about important things like God/Tao/Force or where we were going with our lives or our Tarot or a smattering of other mind-expending concepts. Or we could just hang out in the room with the door open, and Sheryl or the RA or someone would wander by and say hello. Or we could head down to the computer lab and play on the internet side-by-side and wait for someone to think we were on duty. None of you except Aaron know my roommate and friends before Amy, so I won’t even go into what we used to do… suffice to say it involved holding drumsticks for ransom and listening to Dream Theater with Asshole Steve.

Now what do I do? Play on the computer. Read. Nap. Watch HGTV and TLC. Avoid eating. (I’m hungry right now, but I really don’t give a shit.) I actually just played PS2 for the first time in months today. SSX Tricky. Anyway, sometimes find something to clean (but not often), and I sometimes lay on the couch with a potential new design for my genealogy website that can’t seem to get off the ground. Lately I’ve been leaving Instant Messenger launched, in the hopes that someone might want to talk to me, but no dice. Amy never even calls on Tuesdays like we’d agreed.

Excuse me, please. I have to dig myself out of my hole of self-pity before my Mom shows up tomorrow at 11:00am.