Trapped

So this morning I woke up to the most awful noise. Something between a cry and a choking noise. Then the cry built up into a wail. Once I realized the noise was coming from outside my dream of aliens born in thunderstorms (don't ask), I opened my eyes.

Instinctively, I knew it was my dog Ginny. She probably just saw a rabbit. My window was open and I walked over and barked out her name. The sound stopped and I sat back down on my bed. High pitched squealing followed. How could a dog that small be so damn loud?

So, I reluctantly, even though it was after 10 am, made my way downstairs and out to the dog pen. My other dog Chelsea was sleeping near the gate. I thought it was lucky she was deaf so she didn't have to be battered with this arsenal of noises.

"Ginny! Ginny!" I began to yell. I checked the doghouse. Not a glimpse of white fur. And then a small moan. I am the most terrible pet owner on the planet. My dog is hurt. Where is she? I begin to panic, running all around the yard. And now, of all times, she has chosen the time to be completely silent. I think I hear a moan again from one yard over and run around the house to check it out. Nothing.

I then hear voices from the other side of the house. I begin to run around again when I look down at my muddy bare feet. I realize I am currently staggering around in the mud with major bedhead, talking to myself, and wearing only a baggy t-shirt and underwear. I have become the character from every scary movie that I yell at my screen to stay away from.

I dart in the door to the house and throw on some pajama pants. I think maybe I should call someone and grab my cell phone, only to drop it right behind the couch where, I know from experience, it will take a team from Ocean's Eleven to get out. I take a deep breath and walk outside again.

After a few laps around the back yard, I finally see a tiny bit of white fur from under the deck. Her nose is covered in thick mud and her chocolate eyes are pleading with me for imminent rescue. She has dug a hole under the deck and trapped herself in. I run over and immediately start digging. My hands turn brown and I speckle my dog with the same color.

After several minutes to no avail, my dog turns her head and nudges a big stone next to our hand/paw dug hole. I stop digging and realize a Jack Russell Terrier has just outsmarted me. I pull out the stone and, alas, there is a gap big enough for her to slip through. Once she is out she starts running around the yard, shaking mud off everywhere she goes.

She then comes over to me and those same brown eyes that showed sheer panic moments earlier look up at me like I'm an angel. She follows at my heels as I head back into the house. I think the whole ordeal wore her out.

Private Emotions

I'm sure if you're as big of an entertainment news buff as I am, you've probably seen and read numerous stories this week about the death of Cory Monteith, a star from the TV show Glee. I obviously did not personally know Cory. I wasn't even watching the show. But something about his death has lingered with me all week. Why would someone who was seemingly living the "American Dream" turn to drugs and alcohol? Why didn't he call his rehab support team, his girlfriend, his family? What causes a 31 year old to have that much pain?

And I'll never know the answers to those questions. And neither will anyone else. I just saw a passage in the book I'm reading today (And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini) that I felt captured this perfectly. "I know now that some people feel unhappiness the way others love: privately, intensely, and without recourse." My mom is always telling me the mind is a powerful thing. And sometimes you become your own worst enemy. I just hope for all the private sorrow or loneliness in the world, there is a counterbalance of public love and understanding. I think that is the thing I hope for most in this world.

Lyrics

So this is a pretty random post. I was listening to music this morning and reflecting on how beautiful a particular verse was. Some songs are very poetic. I remember an assignment in my high school English class in which we took lines from a book and made "found poetry." I thought I'd take a stab at a similar type of thing using some of my favorite lyrics. It was much more difficult than I imagined, and it didn't turn out to have any flow, but I thought I'd post it anyway because I thought it might be fun for you to try to figure out what songs I used. The answers are posted below.


You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.
We can burn brighter than the sun.
I hope some day the world will be as one.
But our scars remind us that the past is real.
And your mind is playing tricks on you my dear. 

Just don't you worry your pretty little mind.
It's not always rainbows and butterflies.
People throw rocks at things that shine.
But we can set the world on fire.

Today is winding road, 
But lights will guide you home.








Answers:
Imagine-John Lennon
We Are Young-fun.
Scars-Papa Roach
Little Talks-Of Monsters and Men
Ours-Taylor Swift
She Will Be Loved-Maroon 5
Thunder-Boys Like Girls
Fix You-Coldplay

Dreaming...

So I was just reading a book (The Elite by Kiera Cass) and during one of the scenes, I was so nervous for the main character that I could literally feel my heart beat speed up and my hands shake. That's how attached I felt to the story. And that's why I love books so much. I don't just read them; I crawl inside them for minutes, hours, or days at a time. This nervous feeling gave me a deja vu moment. It was the exact feeling I've been getting in my dreams lately.

When I was a kid, my grandpa told me I should write my dreams down because maybe someday they'd make a good story. But I never did. For one thing, I've never been disciplined enough to keep a diary. And for another, I always thought my dreams were inconsequential. Most of the time they are about real people, real places, and derive from real events in my life. There is no world of wizards or hidden magic in my subconsciousness. It's just a jumble. My mind is a mess.

Recently, though, I've been waking up in the mornings, or even in the middle of the night, with intense nervousness. It's not nightmares, just real emotion about the events of my dreams. Just like the characters and settings of my dreams, the emotions are real too. I feel love and fear and determination and hopelessness every night as my body rests. And isn't that what readers want to experience in the stories they read?

Even though I read mostly fiction and a lot of fantasy, for me books have never been about the scandalous events or the super powers. I want to protect my sister in the Hunger Games or laugh with Harry Potter and his friends. I want to make a statement to the world in The Help and to fall in love in The Fault in Our Stars. Stories, just like dreams, are about emotions. So, maybe I will try to channel those emotions I feel at night. You never know until you try.