Monday, January 16, 2012

It's because books take too long.

Dear Patrick,

Joe vs The Volcano. Have you seen it? Do you love it? Can you possibly love it as much as I do? I mean, a movie plot that revolves around one man who leaves behind terrible life to jump into a volcano on an island full of orange soda-crazed aborigines because of a supposed "brain cloud" could never be wrong. And Meg Ryan playing three different women, one of which who writes poetry like, "Long ago, the delicate tangles of his hair covered the emptiness of my hand"? Yes, please. Anyway, amongst the madness of the film, there are parts that rise a little bit above the crazy. One of which is this:

I read a book. Beginning to end. Believe it. I mean, yes, it took the greater part of a year to complete but complete it I did. I'm a sucker for non-fiction. I'm a sucker for anything that gives me facts and observations about my brain. This book was called Moonwalking With Einstein and it was all about memory. I found each time I read it (which, if we're having honesty day, wasn't all that often or for very long) there was something within the text that would shock me to the point where I would think about that thing for the next couple weeks. It could've been just one short sentence or one small idea but the impact was huge. One of the last sentences that has occupied my brain for some time now is,

"it takes knowledge to gain knowledge".

So simple. So direct and seemingly common, but is it? The more I think about it, the more I see that it applies in every part of my life. Do I take for granted each and everyday that I was brought up in a home where thoughtful, healthy meals were cooked daily and so now as an adult, I function in a similar manner? Of course I do. I enjoy finding new and different recipes, reverting back to the tried and true recipes, and dabbling with a bit of both but had I not been exposed to it as a child, would I be doing that now? Probably not, I'm exceptionally lazy when I'm allowed to be. When I first got to Utah State, I didn't know one thing about Printmaking. I didn't know it was a thing. I had heard of etching from my art history class but the actual concept was lost on me. But seeing the prints from the other students in the hall sparked an interest and I found my way into my first class. Still, that first year, most of the concepts were lost on me but I stayed and asked a never-ending stream of idiotic questions until it did make sense. And thank goodness things finally did. But then again, it's the kind of knowledge that can only be delved into further and provide me with a lifetime of exploring.

This idea is like learning a new word. All of a sudden, that word is everywhere even though you've only known of its existence for a short time. You think, "Where have I been? How has this word been around me all this time and I've only just discovered it?" It's probably because we all spend so much time being "asleep". It's those new words and ingrained habits that make me want to do everything in the world. I want to understand politics, I'd love to go to law school. I drive past a violin making school every morning and I think, "Would they let me build violins if they knew how unmusical and rhythm challenged I am?" and still I think I'd like to try. From the time I was small, I spent a lot of time listening to other people and figuring out what made them tick... I don't think I'd be sad investing more time into learning more about psychology. I want to build my furniture. I want to grow my food. I want to do everything and make everything and learn everything and then I start to plan out how I'm going to fit all of this into one life. And then sometimes all I want to do is watch more and more and more tv. And that usually wins. Tina Fey and Amy Pohler have the keys to my heart, what am I supposed to do?

And while I probably won't do many of those things, at least the knowledge of their existence allow me the opportunity to gain more knowledge, and that in itself is pretty incredible. Or it's a bunch of weird nonsense, depending on how much your brain and my brain are in sync right now. I want so much to be one of those people who are considered "awake". Maybe one day I will be.


PS As far as life updates go, the new room in the new house in the familiar city is good. I may or may not live in a hallway, but as I see it, that's a step up for me. A hallway bedroom is greater than a living room bedroom but I think lesser than a reclusive cabin in the woods.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

It's because I'm full nerd.

Dear Patrick,
I just bought tickets to the best thing of my whole life. RadioLab Live. In Salt Lake City. April 5. Go to this. You'll never be sad again.
You don't know what RadioLab is? Okay, here, click this and download the podcast. You can marry me later.

Love, Adrienne

Sunday, January 1, 2012

It's because I can never make my mind up.

Dear Patrick,

Another year over. Another year weird. And as I sit here and procrastinate even pretending to pack up my things that I have lovingly strewn about the house, I am a little anxious for what is next. Anxious in a good way and maybe a little anxious in a bad way. Both ways. Tomorrow I, once again, am starting over. I'm throwing things (seriously throwing because this "packing" idea is just not going to work) into my blue car and driving a few miles north, where I will pull them out again and drag them into a house that will then be called, "home". I don't know anyone who lives there. I don't know their habits. I don't know their style. I don't know their beliefs. I don't know one thing about them except that they are going to be part of my "home" and part of my life. And there is something very unsettling about that.

On the other hand, I am anxious to be there. At home, I am my worst self. On a scale of perfect to Dudley Dursley, I am the female equivalent of Harry's bad cousin. Possibly worse. I have no manners. I have no sense of clean. And everything I see belongs to me. I'm a tornado in the morning because I still haven't learned to get up on time and in the evening, I'm a damsel in distress laying helplessly on the couch with my hand to my forehead, palm facing up. "Yes, mother, fetch my dinner. I just can't bare to ever move again!" Disgusted yet? Yep, so am I. But living anywhere else but home, I'm a functioning human being. I cook. I clean. I have manners. Not great manners, mind you, but some manners still. I show varied levels of responsibility. And on rare occasions, I even talk to people. And overall, I'm happy on my own. Even when it's really hard and I live in the woods entirely cut off from the world and human existence feels a little like a fake idea I've taught myself to believe, I am happy. It is necessary for my health and the health of my mother, that I move.

I've moved a lot of places. I like moving. I like being somewhere entirely new with no past and a clean slate. And somehow, this small move to a city I already know and I already travel to daily is one of the more daunting moves of my life. Does that make any sense? I can tell you that it does not. I've tried to make sense of the knots in my stomach but these knots are more like the kind that your headphones get into when you keep them in your pocket all day (is that a Portlandia reference? yeah, okay), not the boy scout kind. It's just six months with a bunch of strangers, Adrienne, it's not that big of a deal. I can do anything except keep warm for the next six months, right? Right. Everything is fine. Everything is also a little twisty.

If you are reading this sentence, I apologize for all of the nonsense that you just read. But in updating this weird little blog, I can never promise logic. But I can promise you at least a smile from this picture that one of my primary kids drew of Jesus this year. Enjoy.