Le fatigue

I ADMIT IT, HANNAH ET RACHEL: I HAVE NOT BLOGGED IN A WHILE.

But, to be fair...I was in Whistler, BC, having an awesome time and wearing my vocal chords thin and raw, and eating graham crackers, and making new best friends. Oh, and let's also comment on the fact I didn't sleep. At all. I blame you, Lisa, for being so gosh darn sexy- it makes it hard for me to sleep in the same bed as you when I would so much rather be doing other things.
...like pretending to be cowboys and indians.
...or tigers?


No, but seriously. Whistler was just a blast and a half. I made friends out of acquaintances, and spent too much time with my boyfriend* (now I'm acting silly like him and he's sick of me) and too much time with a paper stuck to my forehead. Also, that whole singing until your lungs burst thing? Not a good plan when you have a musical theatre show coming up- ie, Monday, Tuesday** - but hey, when was planning ever my strong suit. Never. Exact-a-mungo. ***
I guess I'm just really likin' the footnotes tonight. What can I say.

I feel content with the world, right now, surprisingly. I can't imagine why, because my day was not successful. In fact, you could say my day was 'the anti-successful.' First off, I didn't get much sleep, on account of over-long band concerts and early morning dentist appointments. Then there was a hiatus from the anti-success in the form of a Chai latte- but it was just not my day, because with half of my mouth frozen it was almost impossible to ingest said Chai latte without it spilling all over my beautiful scarf, and so by the time I could drink it it was lukewarm. Ick. But I still drank it, because I needed to calm my math-test nerves.
Unfortunately, math test was just as bad as Kaylie promised.
And then there was musical theatre for most of my day. Which would have been fun. Except I can't sing. Tired vocal chords. 'Nuff said.
Yeah, I'm getting tired of recounting my day.
At the moment, I am drinking orange pomegranate tea and watching Supernatural. Perhaps this accounts for my good mood.

(I salute Rachel Schneider's idea...and seems how Hannah answered your question already, Rachel, I will answer Hannah's to the best of my ability and then perhaps concoct one up myself, so long as my tea doesn't get cold in the meantime.)

Question: How do you know that what you feel is actually what you feel? 
Response: What you feel is completely your own. Other people may try to describe it through poetry, songs, and sacred rites on bathroom stall walls- but this is just how they feel about the feeling, and we mustn't confuse this with how we, truly, are feeling. This is why art and personal expression are so vital, are the life force that brings us all together, and yet, sets us apart. Without a form of personal expression completely available to us, we would fall in danger of exactly what you ponder, Hannah; to feel as someone else feels, and not as we, ourselves feel. Ie: Cliches are bad news; they try to define our feelings from someone else's heart.
So that is how I feel about that, I think- it actually does take effort to really and truly feel how you, yourself, feels- you have to make sure you aren't imitating a feeling or personality that will always be different than your own. As long as you take the time to realise exactly what the enzyme that stemmed your feeling is- to understand it, and embrace it...you should feel as you truly feel.
Does that make sense?
I think it makes sense to me. It doesn't have to make sense to you. That's the point. 


My question for you participating bloggers: Life is like a bowl of cranberries....why?

*Boyfriend. Neener. Tomorrow is out two-year anniversary type deal. *Insert lovey-dovey feeling here.* Probably I will blog about this tomorrow. After our musical theatre thingie. Fuckthat.
**Starlight, Starbright. I may not be able to sing yet. I hope I will be able to. But because I feel bad that I've been dissuading possible victims (*cough cough* audience members*), I'm now inciting you all to come. Yes. Tickets are on sale in the caf at lunch, I think.
***This phrase is from my childhood. I believe some sort of cheetah said it on a Magic Schoolbus: Rainforest Edition computer game.