I'll Stop The World And Melt With You, You've Seen The Difference And It's Getting Better All The Time

--"I Melt With You", Modern English

Blizzard recently made the announcement that they're putting out Diablo III, extending their award-winning Diablo series by another installment. From all the previews and buzz surrounding the project it looks to be another exquisite product from one of my favorite software companies. Of any video game of any time, Diablo was the one I loved the best and the one that I feel a person pride in being one of its many players.

And yet I feel a little torn between being happy and sad about the announcement. On one hand, it provided me countless hours of fun and even led to some friendships that I would have never had before. But, on the other hand, it probably led to the demise of my last serious relationship as DeAnn can attest to.

----

I've always been a compulsive type of personality. I've always fixated on certain things and pushed everything else aside. Whether it be Jenny Lewis, or Magic, or Avonlea, it seems like I always need something specific to occupy my time. Brandy thinks I use it as a substitute for religion in that I need something larger than myself to believe in and it might be true. Usually what I choose to fixate on is so much more gigantic than me, something that's globally large, and whose vastness I can never fully explore. That's what Diablo II was to me; it was an entire world that seemed boundless. Night after night I would obsess about trying to get through as much of it as possible, try to build my character as complete as possible, try to become as totally immersed in that culture because it made me happy. At the time, at that stage in my life, a fucking game was the best thing about my day-to-day existence.

Of course, this came at the expense of DeAnn, my live-in girlfriend. It wasn't that she didn't make me happy because there were days she made me unbelievably happy. It was just that, like any relationship, my happiness with her wasn't constant. It was on a let's-see-what-happens-today basis. True, the pleasures I had with her had a higher ceiling they could reach, but it's also true that the lows that I experienced with her were probably some of the lowest times I've ever felt as well. It was this inconstancy that cause me to seek out something more teneable, more predictable, more firm. That's why I played Diablo so much, because day after day, I had fun with it which is more than could be said about DeAnn.

Yet the more I reflect on it, the more I realize were my priorities were all screwed up. Maybe it was this whole vicious cycle whereby I wasn't interested in spending more time with her because she always seemed to drag me down, but the reason she was so down was because I was spending so little time with her. Who knows? Perhaps they fed off each other and did not possess a cause-and-effect quality to their dynamic. All I know is, by the end, of our living together I was being constantly bombarded by the question which I wanted to do more, spend time with her or spend time at the computer. Most days it wasn't an easy answer.

But now I've all but stopped wasting time on video games. I've got my priorities a little bit more straightened out. I think I've come to the decision that my life's not going to resolve around pretending I'm somewhere else. Because pretending I'm somewhere has only led to me pretending by myself. I'm not saying that DeAnn were destined to be together forever, but I know I could have made the time that we did have together a little more easier had I truly put her before the game. I could have saved some really stupid fights had I seen through her words that she really loved me and wanted to be with me rather than being a petulant child and thinking she was trying to spoil my fun.

The truth is games can be bought and played everyday.

Having someone who wants to spend time with you and wants you to spend time with her doesn't come around as often as one might believe.

Diablo and all its spawn might alleviate some of the tedium of a stressful day and might even put a smile on your face. But at the end of the day all the guys and gals you might be playing with shut off their computers too, then you're alone again to face the rest of the life by yourself.


dropped in the state of imaginary grace

That, by far, is a far scarier thought than any beasties that cross your path in some computer game.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

All Our Lives, Anywhere We Are, Just Reach Out, I'll Never Be Too Far, Come What May, There I'll Stay, Anytime You Need A Friend

--"Anytime You Need A Friend", The Beu Sisters

I have to say that Definitely, Maybe is turning into one of my favorite movies of all-time. Not only is it a good love story (three love stories, actually), but it's also a testament to my theory that certain people are going to fall in and out of your lives with regularity. Yes, I've always know I am a romantic idealist, but the way the story plays out appears to be very realistic to me. No one's ever one hundred percent at any stage in the movie (well, maybe at the end), no one's in the ideal relationship, and no one seems to have the faintest clue as to what exactly they're looking for.

I don't know about you, but I tend to enjoy stories where people don't fall madly in love with one another, especially when they are the true stories of how couples met. Nothing ruins a story faster for me than when both people are just perfect for one another, when everything comes easy because you know these two people were just made for each other. Where's the fun in that? Where's the challenge? Where's the work necessary to keep the relationship rolling? That's why one of my favorite segments from the film is when April is talking about how sometimes it isn't meeting the perfect someone as being in the perfect moment in your life to meet someone--not so much who you fall in love with but when you're finally capable of falling in love. I never thought of friendships and relationships in such a fashion, but now it's starting to make a little sense. All those times when I thought I would hit it off with someone might now be easily explained away by my not being able to meet anyone new. And all those times where I wasn't even looking to meet anyone new, it may have just been a point in my life when I really needed someone. Maybe your life is one big road trip, where you fill up with friends and lovers as needed. You don't get to decide when you're out and need a refill; it's all on a predetermined schedule.


now until the very end

It's comforting to think that it's not who you know but when you get to know them that matters. I used to worry about the fact people change as being a leading cause why so many of my relationships and/or friendships end. It's a much different matter to put my faith in the notion that it's all fated. For instance, it doesn't even matter that Breanne are somewhat opposites. Because I needed her and she needed me at the time we were introduced, we're set for life. She filled this niche and molded the spacing around her till it would be impossible to pry her out. Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, it's intriguing to puzzle over why certain dates don't work out. It just wasn't time.

Maybe that's all relationships and friendships are, the desire to make some sort of human contact fulfilled. Maybe it's not precisely about who you want and need, but having your wants and needs fulfilled at the right time.

I love a lot of the people in my life to bits and pieces, but sometimes I wonder why any of us get along. I mean--I'm not the easiest person to get along with. I admit that. I'm also usually very picky when it comes to who I befriend from the outset. Yet for some unknown reason I click with some people very well and some people click very well with me. All that leads me to this conclusion, you can't predict who you're going to be stuck with. Sure, you can try and pick your friends. Sure, you can try and pick your relationships. But, in the end, the concept of fate intercedes.

You'll be with the right person when you need that person, that's what I'm beginning to think.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Listened When They Told Me, If He Burns You, Let Him Go, Change Is Hard, I Should Know

--"Change Is Hard", She & Him

I came back from the gym to find this as a response to the post (" She's Just One Of Those Corners In My Mind, And I Just Put Her Right Back With The Rest, That's The Way It Goes, I Guess") above. She even had the nerve to leave it as an IM response rather than calling me so we could talk or at least wait for me to be home to talk.

Whatever. I'm done with it all. She's an idiot.

Icc (9:57:57 PM): all that was probably in your head, y

Icc (9:59:14 PM):no pretend i didn't write this to you... nvm i still hate you

Icc (10:04:44 PM): ps: dont hate you because of some drama reason, i hate you because you couldn't treat me like a real friend--- you could have waited to tell me, or just never said anything and it would have gone back to the way it was before.... but you had to justify yourself, explain it all like I was kid and do it at a time when all i needed truly was a friend. i take it back i dont hate you... i'm just disappointed in you. I'm disappointed you wouldn't

Icc (10:09:08 PM): give me a small mercy. i know i'm weird... but man... your not the picture of normalcy either. You get on your high horse and look down... not just now---all the time. I can't help being what i am, i'm one of a kind that's for sure.... and i can't be friends with anyone who doesn't appreciate that for what it is. its not the sex, i can say goodbye to that at anytime, its that i was never your friend, not really, not like them two or whatever....

Icc (10:12:57 PM): Were we ven friends at all? Or couldn't you find anyone else... you're treating me like partime person... out of sight out of mind... i don't exist because I didn't do what you want... fit into your idea of wat would happen... Im done with that now... You can't make me feel bad anymore... yu can't make me feel stupid for getting todo what I want to do... not anymore...

Icc (10:20:18 PM):I think you were mad at me for something, for leaving or not being wat you want... or maybe you really are just a vengeful person... Or maybe you were usng me the entire time... I never wanted to believe I was just another harbour in the night to you, and... well whatever i am i refuse to be that, not to you or anyone. I'm just sorry you thought I'd want to be around you ever again... I can't be friends with the faithless... i need all the help i can get.

Icc (10:22:28 PM): Good Luck in everything Patrick, i know you'll do well if you don't crush everything that actually sees you for what you really are.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

She's Just One Of Those Corners In My Mind, And I Just Put Her Right Back With The Rest, That's The Way It Goes, I Guess

--Set Adrift On Memory Bliss, PM Dawn

I think Philadelphia is a great city with lots to offer--cheesesteaks, Phillies, and The Philadelphia Museum of Art to name a few. The one time I was there I enjoyed my visit enough to want to come back someday. I remember walking around the city early in the morning, the neighborhood not quite awake yet, and saying to myself this is what morning in the city should look like. I remember setting out from the dock on a short tour of the waterside and feeling that wind whip against my face. I remember the last night I was there before I had to take a train up to New York and wishing that I could stay another two or three days. It's been ten years since I was there, but I still have great memories of it. No, I wouldn't be averse to going back to Philly one more time.

For the last few weeks Miss Nancy Drew has been hinting that I should move out to Philadelphia. She's been using all of her usual tricks--passive aggressiveness, cajoling, bribery, and the like. My favorite tactic and one she's been using the most lately is to point out how pointless my life out here in Los Angeles. She's been saying that moving out of California would get me out of my comfort zone and afford me a much-needed fresh start. She's making it out that my life is a few small steps removed from being hellish and unbearable, but, not to worry, she knows the cure for all that ails me. Philadelphia. She's selling the city as if it's some mecca for all the disheartened and disenfranchised of the country. I can't argue with the logic that I do seem like I'm in a rut, but I'm also aware that she has an ulterior motive for her persuasiveness. She's attempting to break me down to sell me on her way of thinking. It's classic avoidance, as Brandy would say.

The real issue is that she's out there alone and she wants to bring a piece of her former home with her in the guise of me. And it's not even me she wants; she's merely figuring that I'm the easiest of her friends to uproot and cajole into joining her.

The thing is I've assigned her to being a friend I'll visit occasionally. She's no longer going to be someone I'm on quasi-friendly terms with but never really close. No, I don't look on her moving as a form of betrayal. The simple truth is knowing someone two years is not long enough to form a strong enough bond to want to move out to be with them as a friend. There has to be something more to take step. At the very least, there has to be more years stored up to even contemplate it. The way I see it, certain people are only supposed to be in your life for so long. If they're in your life they lose that certain quality that made them special. Ill's always been like that. She's like Miss Flib in that regard; a little of them goes a long way. Too much of them starts to taint their image. I'm certain that if I were to be her only long-standing friend out there, I'd get sick of her in the same way I was certain that I could only take her in small doses of one or two outings a month while she was living here.

With certain individuals it's not the quality of the time you spent with them, it's the brevity of time it took to get to know them. Sometimes the smallest of morsels of that individual's spirit can be chewed upon for the rest of your life.

----


I told her whispers in my heart were fine

"It's like a piece of a gum you can chew forever," Sniffler told me in the back of St. Rita's Church one day. We were supposed to be inside the service, but we'd both snuck out to the "bathroom" at the same time like we sometimes did when the monsignor was particularly boring or we just had had enough of sitting next to our families. We were both sitting on the steps, watching without much interest of how far the mass had progressed. Normally, we couldn't stay much longer than ten or fifteen minutes before we were just pushing our luck. We'd decided before we sat down that we'd go back after Intermission, which was our code for the sermon/ramblings/free association that came almost exactly at halftime.

"It never goes away," she continued. "You can just leave it in your mouth and it'll still be there in an hour."

"I'm sure your sister didn't cook that badly," I offered.

"Oh, she muffed it. She muffed it royally."

I laughed like a fool. I don't know if it was more because she was so adamant that her sister's culinary skills were that poor or because I was hopelessly mired in those auburn strands of hers.

I'm more inclined to believe it was due to the latter more than the former. Her red hair was the definition of entrancing. I would have probably laughed if she was spelling her name at the moment.

"So what'd you do, little lady?"

"What could I do? I excused myself from the table and jumped out of my second-story bedroom window."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

I felt bad laughing in the back of church since I'd been informed that laughter had been discontinued in the house of god, but I couldn't stop. Sniffler was on a roll that and it felt good to let loose with a good guffaw after being bored almost to tears next to my parents and my brother in that pew. If it weren't for these brief respites from the numbingly uninteresting masses, I might have stopped going to church a long time before I actually did. Who knows if I would have made it to Confirmation without her? She was the one reason I tolerated any of it in those last eighteen months. She was the one good thing about being religious at all. After all, any superstition that could bring me and her together definitely had its selling points.

I also felt bad laughing because she always seemed to do most of the entertaining. I would sit there stupefied because of her goddamn hair and not offer much in the way of a response. I had my moments, but the dynamic between me and her consisted of her giving of herself and me taking. Yet she kept talking each Sunday so I must have been doing something right.

"There are days when I know she has it in for me. Bad cooking is only one sign of the apocalypse she's planning."

I turned my gaze through the window which separated the entrance of the church to the inner sanctum where mass was being heard. I quickly found Sniffler's sister in the crowd. I decided from her plaintive face and soft features that she didn't look like a harbinger of the end days.

"She doesn't look that malicious from here."

"If you only knew her like I know her, you'd be cringing in fear like I do every night. Mark my words, it's only a matter of time before you're coming here for my funeral."

"Well, that would suck."

She took my hand in hers and placed it on my heart.

"You've got to promise me something before we have to go back."

"What's that?"

"Promise me if I'm still living with my sister in five years' time you'll come rescue me. If I'm there that long, it's because she's holding me prisoner. I can't live my whole life like that. You've got to take me out of there. You've got to swear that."

I know she was being facetious and it was just her way of furthering the story she'd concocted earlier. Yet there was a part of me that was quite proud to be asked to be her champion on such a noble quest. The mere fact of her asking was sufficient enough to stir my sense of gratitude. I wanted to get down on bended knee, tip my head down, and craft such a flattering speech of acceptance as to silence her with my mere words. I wanted to haul her off on the nearest pogo stick I could find. I wanted her question to be real and her to know my answer was just as real. To me it was like she picked me out of the entire congregation personally when it was more like a request of convenience. I just happened to be the nearest warm body at hand. She might have asked the Smoking Father Posse who were always outside waiting for their wives just as readily as she asked me. Of course, she may have gotten a different answer if she had.

"We've got to go back, little lady. Your sister's going to be pissed that you stayed out here with me this long."

"Fine, fine," she answered as I pulled her up off the stair she was sitting on. We'd almost reached the doors to go back in, when she stopped both of us in our tracks.

"Well?" she asked.

It took me all of five seconds to sigh, "Okay, if you're still being held prisoner in five years, I'll look you up and break you out."

"Thank you."

Then we went inside.

----

As you might have guessed, I never rescued her five years from then. I never even saw her again after a few more months. In truth, I stopped thinking about her for a couple of years. I became busy with going to college, with working, with falling in and out of love that I lost all track of the days I spent in the pew next to her or in the back of the church of her. She stopped being important to me. It wasn't a conscious effort and it certainly wasn't planned out to hurt her. She probably forgot me as quickly as I forgot about her. That's the way things go.

Sometimes I think that there might have been a chance that the question of why I never showed up when I swore I would crossed her mind. I'd envision her in some high tower of some old house/castle. She'd be up there, sighing to herself, wondering why I hadn't kept my promise. Then she'd die in the next few moments from the subsequent shattering of her heart. After each time, I quickly dismiss the ideas as being fallacy. There isn't a hope in the world that she thought I'd actually follow through. That promise was made by two--let's face it--kids who had dreams of staying in touch with one another but through the natural progression of, well, life never did. It isn't anyone's fault and there's no one to blame. It was a promise pinned to the back of a ship we both hoped to sail on. Instead, we went our separate ways and never looked back.

Yet I still think of her. I still think of the day I made the promise and the dozens of other days I made similar promises. A part of me still wonders what it would have been like to have continued going to church. I imagine that we might have gotten closer. Who knows? I might have actually learned her blasted real name.

What I do know now is, even if I were to learn what she is up to now, I don't think I'd take that opportunity to get back in touch with her. That part of my life ended many years ago. To resurrect that particular ghost couldn't end in anything but awkwardness. The only reason I would even attempt such a feat would be to satisfy my own curiosity. That's not a good enough reason to intrude into her life at this moment in time.

With some people it's easy to transition in and out of their lives. Whether it's because that's always been the relationship you've had with them or because your relationship was built on such a firm and tenable foundation that any time aways isn't thought of as "the end," with some people the book never closes on your friendship. With other people, it's like your friendship is the stuff of short stories--short, succinct, yet still deeply satisfying. There isn't a clamoring for a sequel because everything that needed to happen to the main characters happened, everything they needed to say was said, and every quest that needed championing was completed.

And the quests that never really needed championing? Well, those are reserved for other stories (perhaps jotted in a blog or something).

----

Yes, there's a part of me that would be interested in moving to Philadelphia, but it wouldn't be to further my dealings with Ilessa. She is a fun person and I enjoy her company to pieces. However, ours was never going to be an epic tale full of the reversals of fortunes associated with such missives. Our was always the stuff of amusing anecdotes and good chatter, the kind of stories you swap every couple of years couched in phrases, "remember the time when..." or "Well, how about the one day you..."

I've got enough stories with her and a change of scenery doesn't imply there will be any more to tell.

That doesn't diminish what we've shared. That doesn't take away from the fact she's been an integral part of my life for the last year. The story we've lived is quite compelling and worthy of repetition.

It's just that I know we've had our story already and, as they say, here's where the story ends.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Vivian, Your Life Is Told Through Nineteen Thousand Pages, In A World Too Unreal To Behold, Your Innoncence Has Faded, Faded All Your Blues To Gray

--"Lost Girls", Tilly and the Wall

It came up in conversation today that there aren't a lot of alcohol-related names for people. Now, while I don't have a particular need for there to be more Vodkas and Champagne's out there, I've always thought that a pretty name can come from any milieu or facet of life. I like original names. Names that I haven't heard before I almost always ask the story where they originated from. Also, I've always been intent on coming up with a suitably unique for my kids, if I ever get around to having some. Why not something drink-related? I mean--I always thought my friend Brandy's name was quite pretty and that's from the world of spirits and other intoxicating liquids, so why shouldn't there be more?

In short, the last hour of my workday was spent in the pursuit of a name that was both whimsical and had something to do with drinking or drink name. We ran the whole gamut--from my Bourbon to just plain Rum--but nothing sounded suitable. I didn't want something silly. I wanted a name that I might actually think about using someday. That's when I hit upon a girl called Whiskey. It sounded ridiculous at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. It has that "nickname" ring to it, which is always a good sign that one has hit upon something usable. Not only that, but it has that effeminate "-y" sound to it that distinguishes it from being a boy's name. None of that matters much anyways since most people aren't going to like the name at first since it is so out of the ordinary. Nope, when it really comes down to it, the name Whiskey just amuses me as an idea for somebody's name. I can totally picture a girl named Whiskey somewhere as being a person of substance and character without knowing much else about her. The name has a legacy all its own.

That's where my colleague said I may run into a problem with giving that name to a daughter. The fact it does have connotations, the fact that upon first mention it is rather odd, and the fact kids have a desire to fit in (well, most kids at least). I've always had it that the more unique a person is, the more assured they are of who they are. Then again, that's looking back from an adult perspective so I can totally see her point. I imagine it would be hard going to class each day surround by the Toms, Sallys, and Janes of the world and having to announce with a straight face that your name is Whiskey. Nobody likes to be ostracized and it's an awful burden to place on somebody just starting out in the world, I suppose.

But I've always thought that a name is more than what you're called. It's your signature in your life. It's one of the first things that distinguishes you when you're trying to create a legacy. I know for myself that I made a choice to go by my middle name rather than go by my first name. My dad is Ernest(o), I've always been Patrick. As far back as eight-years-old I knew it would be important to me that nobody ever mistake me for my dad. I can only guess that it would have bothered me silly as well if there had been another Patrick in my first few years of school. I was that intent that nobody in my sphere be anything like me. Even later on, most of the people I meet now call me Mojo or, at least, use that name the majority of the time over Patrick. There are a lot of Patricks in the world; not so many of the mojos.

That's why I like the name Whiskey so much and that's why I'd hope any kid of mine would come to relish the name. You won't find Whiskey in any baby books. You won't find Whiskey pre-printed on any keychains or name plates found at any gift store. You won't even find Whiskey listed in the phone book (yet). Yes, I'd be saddling her with a name to defend, much in the same vein as the guy in the song "A Boy Named Sue." My co-worker doesn't think it'd be very fair to do that to anyone. She was even suggesting that I use Whiskey as the middle name and choose a more "appropriate" first name, that way the poor hypothetical girl would have the option to fit in or be more unique.

I say that's no choice at all.

If there is to be expectations placed on any child of mine, if they are going to walk through this world with the baggage of having a name chosen for them, I'd rather they have the expectations of a name that has never been heard before--being the oddball, being the weird one, being the independently-minded one--than being someone whose name has been used hundreds of years already. I'd rather have her deal with carving our her own niche as a Whiskey than being saddled with a name like Victoria or Helen or even the requisite Brittany or Tiffany. To me that'd make all the difference. If names are the covers we're judged by of the books we are, then a name like Whiskey would be the title you're not sure of, you have no ideas what it's about, and you don't know if you want to give your time getting curled up with while a name like Victoria would be like the classic piece of literature that you've read in class dozens and know what you're getting into.

Whatever she turned out to be, she couldn't be boring with a name like that. She'd practically be forced to stand out and be her own person. She couldn't rely on the luxury of blending into the crowd; she'd have to be unique. She might not have to fight her way through the world because of the name, but she'd definitely be a person with a fighting chance to be recognized in a good portion of the world because of the name. The world's a scary enough place without the courage to believe you can make a difference, without the idea that you have a special place in it.


girl, I know the hall looks dark
& the storm it seems so scary


Whiskey will be a girl to be reckoned with, one way or another.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And I Was Your Silver Lining, As The Story Goes, I Was Your Silver Lining, But Now I'm Gold

--"Silver Lining", Rilo Kiley

today...

she - Hello?

him - Can I help you?

she - Eeyore. Good, I caught you. Ask me what kind of fool you have for a friend.

him - What kind is that?

she - Hold on, sugar. Let me get this close to the car. There. Can you hear that? Do you know what that is?

him - It sounds like a some kind of muffled sound. You said that's your car?

she - That is the sound of an engine purring like a content kitten in the pouring rain. That is also the sound of little 'ole me trying hard not to laugh in the rain. Now, back to your question. What kind of of fool do you have for a friend?

him - Let me guess. The kind that locks her keys in the car while leaving the engine running?

she - Oh, much worse by far. If that were only the extent of my foolhardiness.

him - How much worse can it be?

she - Hell's bells, as bad as the crashing into the telephone pole fiasco.

him - Wow. Really that bad. I have to hear this one.

she - Well, I figure I'd go and get some of the grocery shopping done even though there was a horrendous downpour fixing to drown us all and even though there's lightning flashing all over the place. I thought I'd be nice and make Greg a good dinner, seeing as we've been doing so well and all.

him - Yeah. And?

she - I really do feel like the fool here. Soaked. Embarrassed. You name it.

him - Come on. You called me for a reason.

she - Well, I come out to my car, two bags in hand, and what do I find? My poor Audi's been running for some while now.

him - You left it running the whole time you were in the store.

she - A good forty-five minutes, I reckon.

him - That's fucking hilarious. I swear, only you can have such awfulness happen to you in such a funny manner.

she - Shush up. It's bad enough I'm stuck here until Greg comes to pick me up. You're the one supposed to make me feel better.

him - Is that why you called?

she - That and I thought you'd get a kick out of my woeful predicament.

him - Oh, I am.

she - Hang on. I'm heading back for the safety of the store. Them flashes are getting awfully close. I don't want to be the next crispy critter found in the parking lot.

Done.

him - Is there anything specific you wanted me to say to make you feel better?

she - Nah. This is the non-specific, let-me-hear-the-sound-of-your-voice oh-woe-is-me kind of call, darling. When Greg gets here he's going to awfully riled up.

him - Yeah, I wouldn't want to be you right now.

she - You and me both.

him - So aside from the senility, how have you been doing? It's been some time since we talked.

she - Alright and alright. You know me, as long as I'm somewhat in control I do just fine.

him - The sabbatical's working well then?

she - As well as any time off can do for a workaholic like me? It's like I've been running a marathon these last few years and now's my time to just sit like a lump on a log for awhile. It's nice, really.

him - I'm glad. So no plans to come back yet?

she - Hell's bells, sugar. You'll know when I know.

him - Just as long as it's not forever.

she - I wouldn't abandon you like that. Who do you think I am? You?

him - Oh, funny. Actually, right now you could call me The Titanic.

she - You forget I've seen the goods. I reckon it'd be more like the S.S. Minnow.

him - Ouch.

she - Like my daddy always says, "when you feel a breeze, you shouldn't go around and call it a hurricane."

him - Split the difference? How about a nice zephyr? I've always liked that word.

she - I'm good with that.


but we will never fold

him - I'm glad to hear you and Greg are doing better.

she - Yeah, I was worried too.

him - You? Worry? Never.

she - I was. I didn't tell you because we both know how much you enjoy me talking about him, but I was scared for some time there.

him - Actually, I could tell. You wouldn't have done what you did if it hadn't been important.

she - Exactly.

him - But things are going smoothly now?

she - As smooth as Rocky Road. Nah, it's a bit better than that. We've gotten to a place where we're talking like we used to again. That's something, you know?

him - It is. Without talking you're pretty much dead in the water.

she - Exactly. Can I tell you something?

him - Shoot, Breannie.

she - I thought we were going to be one of those things.

him - One of those things?

she - You know, sugar, one of those things that you break and you can't ever fix again. It was getting to that point.

him - I know. I was worried about you too.

she - Now I'm starting to turn my mind around on the whole matter.

him - How's that?

she - Well, you should know.

him - I don't get what you're getting at.

she - It's silly. Forget I said anything, darling. Let's just talk about something else why I wait out this godawful rain.

him - No, I want to hear this. I want to know what I'm supposed to know.

she - Hell's bells. You know how I was mentioning thing about the other thing, about there being some things broken that can't ever be fixed?

him - Yes.

she - Well, I also believe there are some things that, once made, can't ever be broken, you know? Of course you know?

him - What? Wait. Oh, yeah, I get you. There are some things like that.

she - I know. All I'm saying is that I'm starting to really believe Greg and I are one of those things too. It's a nice feeling.

him - Well, we all need something to count on our lives.

she - Yeah.

him - Like how I can count on you getting yourself into all sorts of scrapes every couple of months...

she - Or how I can count on you taking everything I say the wrong you every couple of weeks...

him - Some things never change.

she - Some things you can always count on.

Listen. I've got some time before Greg gets here. Do you want to keep me company on the phone until he does?

him - Hmmm. Why would I ever want to do a thing like that?

she - I'll be your best friend, please, thank you.

him - I guess...

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Imagine There's No Heaven, It's Easy If You Try, No Hell Below Us, Above Us Only Sky, Imagine All The People, Living For Today

--"Imagine", John Lennon

I was having a discussion the other day about why I'm so fascinated with Rachel's story. What we came up with was the idea that she was so good and benevolent towards people in life. She had this hope that you rarely see in people. All her writings spoke of this insistence that, like Anne Frank before her, "despite everything, I still believe people are good at heart."

Then she died, which among other things, preserved her memory as such. She didn't have time to grow cynical. She didn't have time to come back to reality, as it were. Her views, her ideas, her spirit remain intact to this day.

Re-reading all her books fills me with a sense of inner peace all the more because I know she wasn't just saying it. She lived her whole life by these central precepts and was killed partially because of them.

It's that idea, that she died as close to being morally grounded as anyone could ever be that still fascinates me. There's no further years to tarnish that image and there never will be. She'll always remain as close to my idea of spiritual perfection as anyone because she never gave up those ideals and never lost her way like most of us do eventually.



In a world where people lose hope everyday, she can't. In a world where people become more jaded and disinterested, she can't. The idea that someone can live their whole life in some heightened sense of enlightenment is very fascinating for me. You need only look to see that very idea expressed in The Carisa Meridian to see that. The idea that someone can be perfect forever in memory in a way that they couldn't be in real life has been a running theme in my stories ever since I heard about Rachel's story.

The harsh reality of life is the longer you live, the more you change. It's all an eventual slide to normalcy, especially if you start out special. If you're superbly intelligent, eventually some people will catch up to you. If you possess some prodigious talent, eventually some people will be able to do it as well if not better than you. The younger you are when you peak, the harder it is to reconcile the fact that what made you unique can't be retained forever. Whatever you had, you'll lose sometime.

That's why I like Rachel. She never loses anything. Her appeal lies in the fact that unlike me, unlike you, she got to keep her beliefs. She stayed who she was. It's what makes me idolize her and jealous of her at the same time. She never had to worry about how she had changed or how far she had strayed from her notions of the future. She never had to contend with disappointment her life hadn't turned out like she expected. She never had to feel like she wasted any of her time here on Earth.

She's one of a lucky few that could have lived for today and been all the better for it. Who she was at the time of her death was completely sublime, and that perfect moment can't ever be dispelled. Her moment in the sun will never pass.

Unlike me, whose moment passed long ago.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Know I Am The Lucky One, On The Wheels, On The Tabletop, On The Handles Where The 7's Stop, On The Floor, On My Heels Again, I Know I'm The One

--"The Lucky One", Mary Lou Lord

When I was a kid I used to collect chains. Moreover, I used to connect them all together in a giant, snake-like chain that served as both my house keys and my car keys. My keychain was so large it no longer fit in my jeans packets. By the time I was done stringing it together, it comprised some thirty odd keychains from all over the country. Looking back, it was pretty ridiculous. I don't even know why I started collecting them other than I've always had a somewhat obsessive personality. At the time, it felt more convenient to hook the first couple of together rather than try to decide which one to get rid of. Of course, Brandy tells me it was just part of the larger trend to call attention to myself. I grant her that because I was always showing off my handiwork; the larger it got, the more of a production I made of hauling it out of wherever I was keeping it at the time and the more I pretended it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

Of course, everyone should be making large keychains. It's the smart thing to do, I would say. Inside, I was beaming at the amount of spectacle people bestowed on it.

I can't tell you exactly how many years it remained in that condition. I remembered starting it in the late 80's with my set of house keys, then it continuing well past driving age. I can even remember lugging my set of keys to West Virginia to visit Jina for the first time. Yes, I was that much of a dork. I thought it would be a neat thing to show her so, even though there was nary a door or car in sight that my keys would work, I proceeded to pack them away in my suitcase in order to parade them in front of her. Probably the monster keychain came to an end soon after that visit because it become increasingly apparent that having a dangling rope of keys was a hazard to driving and was impractical when it came to carrying my keys with me. Undoubtedly, I probably should have dismantled it when I was done, but it seemed too much of an entity to take it apart piece by piece. It would have almost seemed like I was killing it. Instead, I just transferred all my keys to a nondescript Red "T" (for Taroc) keychain my mom had given me and that was the end of the reign of the large keychain.

I handled my keys in such a fashion for a few more years, never once thinking it'd be worth it to get a more personalized token. To me having a keychain as an object which symbolized me died the moment I put my first keychain into storage. After that I was just thinking practically. All I wanted was something that wasn't too large and was able to fit all my keys comfortably. I kept the "T" working for two or three years without giving much thought to replacing it.

Then one day while I was still at USC I decided to get a Boston Red Sox keychain. It wasn't any momentous decision. Nothing happened to make me think of it. The way I recall it is I was at the USC bookstore and saw they were giving away Trojan keychains. One of the volunteers asked me if I had one already. I told her no. Right then and there I thought I really should have something that denoted I was going to USC... or denoted at least something about me. A red "T" is far too broad of a message to be spreading about myself. I decided in that instant I needed something that spoke about me or, at the very least, symbolized something that was important to me.

I went ahead and ordered the Red Sox keychain the very next day.

When I got it I immediately started using it, but it didn't provide me with any kind of great satisfaction. I wasn't beaming when I received. I wasn't beaming knowing it was in my pocket. I wasn't beaming every time I took it out of my pocket. In short, yes, it said something more about what was important to me but it didn't hold any special qualities for me. It was just a keychain. It just happened to be a keychain featuring my favorite sports team in the whole world. Yet it didn't feel important. It didn't feel revered.

It didn't feel lucky.

Then one day I received a gift in the mail. Lucy had just started at UGA and she was going tchotchke-crazy. I had had the discussion with her that she didn't need to send me anything because what was I going do with some Georgia stuff. I just didn't see the point of having something that was from somewhere that wasn't special to me. I thought it would be like when my aunts would give me sweaters and shirts that they thought looked good (or were on sale) without any real consideration for me or what I liked. I mean--yeah, I was glad she was proud of her school. I knew what it was like to want to tell the whole world how awesome the institution of higher learning you are fortunate enough to be attending is, but very few people outside of your parents share your enthusiasm I've found. It's one thing if they happen to be visiting you on campus. The new experience and your depth of knowledge of the nooks and crannies of the grounds are enough to impress anyone, but sending random swag really isn't all that impressive most of the time. I thought it would be one of those situations where I'd thank her profusely and then hide away whatever she gave me in the back of my closet, never to see the light of day again.

What I received was a t-shirt with the Georgia block letter logo on it. Pretty cool, but it wasn't in grey like most of the t-shirts I wear and it was kind of thick. I knew I'd have problems with overheating like I do with most thick cotton shirts I have. I put the shirt aside to see what else she had bought me. That's when I found a UGA keychain. I picked it up. It wasn't some cheap, plastic item. It was made out of some metal, possibly pewter or other heavier metal, but it looked to be made out of brass. Not only that, but it had the University seal etched on one side and their mascot, UGA, on the other side. I'm not kidding you when I saw the construction was fine enough that I could probably have made the keychain my official seal and pressed it into hot wax like they used to in the middle ages. It was pretty cool.

But what put it over the top was the short note at the bottom of the box:

I know you said the somewhere isn't special to you, sugar, but I'm betting the someone is. Don't think of these as supporting a university that doesn't mean anything to you. Think of it as supporting someone who does.

I never believed in lucky charms before. I have a lot of superstitions, but I never put much faith into an object or objects to fill me with a sense of security or good luck. Yet every time I place that keychain in my pocket, I do feel like I have someone out there watching out for me if only because it was a gift and because it wasn't sent out of any pretense of obligation. It wasn't my birthday. It wasn't Christmas. It was just sent because she wanted to share her joy. That idea behind the gift of the keychain makes it more cherished than any of the forty of its kind I've collected over the years.

Yeah, I take it with me as kind of a good luck charm. You could say it's the closest thing I'll ever have to one. But it's more than that. It represents a change of focus for me. Before, I used to haul out that big keychain to get people to notice me.


I'm the one, I'm the one, I'm the one

Now I'm happy with just that keychain because it represents the one person who I wanted to notice me. Even if no one else ever sees the keychain, I see it and I know. I no longer need the attention of everyone in the entire world as long as I've got the attention of one person in particular.

That makes me feel like the luckiest guy on Earth.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And Just So You Know, The Shameless Lengths I'll Go, My Motives Start Core Changes, I Try Lyrical Tact To Boot, Of Unrequited Lust

--"Small Town Crew", The Brunettes

I was watching Cold Case the other night and was presented with a face that seemed familiar. I've always been really good at remembering seeing a particular person before, even if the last thing I saw them was years before. However, the name of this actress for almost the entire episode. Normally I wouldn't resort to looking her up on the internet, but it was driving me crazy that I couldn't recall where I saw her before. That's when I found out that "Jenny" as she as called on Cold Case was good 'ole Hannah from one of my favorite shows Everwood.

What threw me was the dichotomy between mousy brown Hannah and the done-up Jenny. Not only was she more confident and stunning as Jenny, but there was a purpose to her life that wasn't there as Hannah. I know it's acting. I know that's what they get paid to do, but it's about as close to a one-hundred-eighty degree personality change as you can get.

I was talking over this with Epcot yesterday and it hit me that's the way some people are in real life. You lose touch with them. You stop talking to them for a couple of months or a couple of years so when they come back into your life all you notice is how different they seem. They look like the same person, but it's almost as if they're playing a different role. At least for me, you want to treat them the same as you used to treat them because you only have the one manner in which you dealt with them. Yet, the more you speak to them and the more you get to know the "new" them, the more you realize that you can't. The person they've become no longer responds to the same stimuli. They might not even be aware of the change themselves. To them you seem like the same old friend they knew and they may even think that everything is the same as it ever was. When you talk to them, though, everything screams that this is not the same person you knew.

A part of me knows it's always been true. Maybe it's like Shakespeare said, that we each play many roles. We can look much the same as we did a few years back, perhaps a little rougher around the ages, perhaps we've gained or lost a few pounds, but much the same. The trouble starts when we don't allow for growth to happen. Whether it's parents still clinging to their baby girl or friends hanging on tightly to days gone by, it's this idea of seeing one role for one person that bites us in the end. I know I've been guilty of it. I have a lot of friends that I only know in a certain capacity. It doesn't matter if I've seen them last week or last decade; I always pick out the best memory of them, how we got along best, and that's how I continue to see them. Granted, it's not as bad as seeing Hannah where there's only Jenny. It as bad as telling someone you liked them better ten years ago. I've done that way too often and when I haven't gone so far as that, I've thought it.

It's my hang-up and not anyone else's. Most people can recognize and roll with the punches when it comes to people. Me? I've never been good at patience. I've never been good at adjusting. I learn one way to deal with someone and I deal with them like that until something catastrophic happens to change that. Barring that, I change nothing.

It still bothers me that people change so much on the inside when they change so little on the outside. It confuses me. It'd be easier if there was a better correlation between the two, if every epoch in that person's life was marked with a cosmetic change. Because some people, I see them and it's like 1995 again and all I know how to do is treat them the way I did in 1995. Because some people, I talk to them and it's like I'm talking to them for the first time. Because some people, I got to trust them when they were younger and lost that trust in them when they got older.

Going back in my head is far easier than moving forward with my heart.

I don't know this Jenny. Hannah is always going to be Hannah to me.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And If, You Don't Love Me Now, You Will Never Love Me Again, I Can Still Hear You Saying, You Would Never Break The Chain

--"The Chain (cover)", Scarlett Pomers w/ Jak Paris

She'd been trying to get me to watch that show for ages. "Hell's bells, sugar, it's way funnier than anything you're watching now. I guarantee it," she'd say, but I would never listen to her. When it comes to viewing habits, I'm even more selective than my music taste. After all, I concede it's impossible to listen to everything under the sun out there. Yet, even with hundreds of channels, I thought I had built up a pretty good radar for quality entertainment on television. I thought I simply didn't have any more room to add one more program to the list of programs I had to watch every week. I was too stubborn to even give it a chance.

And that was my loss.

I think Reba was one of the funniest shows I have ever seen.

It finally took manipulation of the lowest sort to cajole me into watching that first episode ("There's a cute redhead on the show..."). And, yes, Scarlett Pomers is rather cute, but I've seen dozens of cute redheads on various shows throughout the years. Many of them I stop to watch the one episode and that was it. Yet the comedic timing, chemistry, and compassion on the show kept drawing me back into watching day after day. Admittedly, I didn't even want to take it that far. I had a bias about the show. I thought that because ostensibly it was about a Southern family that I wouldn't relate to the humor, that I just wouldn't get what they were going through, and that, because of all that, I wouldn't think it funny at all. Yet I found myself laughing loud enough to wake my neighbors and my roommate. If that isn't the true test of a good sit-com then I don't know what is.

I found myself coming into work the next morning and quoting lines from the show. Jokes, bits, and schticks would emblazon themselves in my memory. That's when I knew that this show would be right up there with classics like Friends or Cheers. It was literally a joke machine far exceeding the two good laughs a minute rule. That's initially what kept me coming back for those first few weeks.


watch the sun rise

However, as with most things, I started to analyze what was going on deeper in the show. I started to take a look at where the humor was being drawn. What I discovered is that it was tackling a subject I had never dealt with personally and presenting it in a way, on one hand, easy to digest and, on the other hand, very illuminating.

I've never had anyone in my extended family get a divorce. Filipinos just are built to divorce. Moreover, nobody I knew in school all the way up to high school had parents who had gotten a divorce. I'm not saying there wasn't anybody in my school who fell under that category; there just wasn't anybody I was close with who had been raised under those conditions. In fact, the earliest education I received on the subject matter, aside from novels and other pieces of fiction, were the Jenny Lewis (the first notorious redhead) movies Troop Beverly Hills, The Wizard, and Big Girls Don't Cry, They Get Even. Hell, even Trading Hearts involved a broken family. I always thought it was fascinating to hear and see what it was like to have parents who didn't see each other all that often, to have to split time between them, and all the other realities of that lifestyle. However, I never took it as anything more than the characterization of the people in the story. I never felt what it was like to be in that situation.

The people on Reba were a different beast altogether. Since it was a show that lasted multiple seasons I was privileged to see the different levels that having multiple parents has on kids. I got to see how it isn't a cut-and-dry set of rules that families have to live by. Most importantly I became aware of something I always took for granted in families like that. I'd always been shown families who are devastated once the parents break up--acrimonious fights, using the kids as spies, the ripping apart of the institution of marriage--or I'd been shown the other ideal, where the parents became jolly good friends for the sake of the kids and where everybody came to some sort of lasting peace despite the situation.

On Reba, it always fell somewhere in the more believable middle. They split the difference. Yes, Reba and Brock managed to keep things civil. Yes, Reba and Brock's new wife Barbara Jean managed to forge some sort of friendship. And, yes, the kids came to see that they had three parents who cared about them. Yet there were constant reminders of Brock's infidelity, Barbara Jean being the "other woman," and Reba's inability to come to grips that she had been discarded. The show also delved a lot into Kyra's feeling like she was the reason her parents split up. It touched on Cheyenne being worried that her marriage would end up like her mother's. It even shone a spotlight on the idea that Brock's infidelity could even spill over into his new marriage.

In short, the dynamic of the show reflected the idea that a family, any type of family, is always in flux. That's why I think this show resonates with me so much. I've always had a theory that it is impossible to love somebody the same amount and in the same way over any extended period of time. It is impossible to predict how you're going to feel about someone in the next five or ten years. You could safely guess that as you get to know them you'll fall even more in sync with them, but you can never be sure. People's interests change, people mature, their personalities deepen, &c... which leads to the inevitable conclusion that the person you fall in love with today might not be someone you can love in the future. You hope. You pray. You worry. Yet you can't do anything to stop someone from becoming who they are.

I balk when people make proclamations that they're going to love someone for the rest of their lives. I know it can happen. I mean I've loved Breannie for a long time now, but I even hesitate to stamp the word forever when I talk to her. You just don't know.

I think the idea expressed on the show that I really latched onto is the idea that even if you can't love someone forever, even if you can't love someone as strongly as you did before, you can still manage to hold onto the idea of them as being a part of you. It speaks to the romantic in me that there can be this separation of love from caring because I know all too well how fragile true love is. I've seen firsthand how it can all go wrong so quickly. Yet in everyone of my relationships, after that initial period of adjustment, I've always made that effort to stay friends with the young woman in question. I've always taken it to heart that just because you've stopped loving a person doesn't mean they're no longer in your heart.

Reba was an entire show built around that principle. Marriages and relationships may come and go, but sometimes there's a bond between families and some friendships that endure forever. It showed that if a person was willing to make adjustments to the view of how their world should be that everything can turn out pretty okay in one's personal life in the end. Not great. Not the best, but enough to get by on and sometimes good enough to make all the hardships worthwhile in the end.

Yeah, that's my history with the show: came for the redhead, but stayed for the life-affirming message of hope and love. LOL

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Blue Canary In The Outlet By The Light Switch, Who Watches Over You, Make A Little Birdhouse In Your Soul

--"Birdhouse in Your Soul", They Might Be Giants

When I got lost at Epcot I had a couple of hours to contemplate what I was going to do depending how long it took my aunts and my brother to find me. I didn't know then that I was going to bump into Brandy. Had I known that maybe my experience for those first two hours might have been different, but I'll never know. For all I knew I was going to be alone for the whole time which left me with a feeling of hopelessness the likes of which I had never experienced before. In my head I knew I was going to be reunited with them eventually. Yet the questions of how long and by which circumstances that would occur kept popping in my head. It was a new experience for me in many ways. I've always been independently minded, but I've always known where and to whom to turn to in cases of emergency. That was an emergency I was ill prepared to deal with.

The two plans of action that I decided were best suited to the situation were to return to the shop that I was supposed to meet them at. I thought that they might keep on checking there for me kind of the same way families set up a rally point when they get separated. After checking the restaurant where we had lunch, I kept going to the store to see if they would eventually show up.

They never did.

My other plan was to stay by the entrance of the park. Epcot only had one exit and entrance spanning a width of maybe twenty yards. If there was any one place that a party would eventually have to pass by in the entirety of the park it would be the entrance. This took up the bulk of my waiting time in those first two hours as I didn't want to go blindly rampaging through the park calling out my aunts' names like some desperate and hopeless child. Not only didn't I think this would accomplish much, I simply didn't have the courage to leave the safety where I knew they would eventually find me. It's like they say when you get lost in the woods; the best thing you can do is find a safe place to stay put. People are more likely to rescue when you're not getting separating yourself even further from people who are looking for you. So by the entrance is where I stayed for a good ninety minutes with only the occasional foray back into the shop to make sure they weren't still looking for me there. By the entrance is where I waited. And waited. And waited.

It was during this time that the thoughts of never being found in the park crept in. I started making contingency plans for that eventuality. My next step had the wait been extreme enough to last till the park's closing would be to head straight for where we parked the car. If the gates of the park were a relatively safe bet for being reunited with my family, the parking lot at the car would have been the safest bet. Then, had the car been inexplicably extricated from the lot, I would have called a taxi to take me back to the motel room we had rented.

As you can see I wasn't without options. It's merely all my options involved taking a lot on faith and all my options involved waiting for an undetermined amount of time.


my story's infinite
like the Longine's Symphonette it doesn't rest


It was the waiting that frustrated me. I've always been an individual who tries to show up early to an event. A window of fifteen to thirty minutes before the appointed time is usually my rule of thumb. During the times I have to wait I console myself with the fact there's a definite time that my waiting will come to an end. I think that's why I got so flustered when people are late with me. When you agree to meet at a certain time I take it as a verbal contract. I take it with the utmost seriousness, which is the whole reason I show up rather early. I don't ever want to be the one who broke that particular promise. And when other people treat appointments as flexible, I take it personally. Whether it's friends, families, or anyone else, I don't break plans and I rarely change plans. That's why waiting to me is no big deal. Hell, if I show up an hour early to a place I know I can always go to the local bookstore or call Breanne up to pass the time. Everything's cool because I know the exact moment when my waiting will come to an end.

At Epcot I had no such luxury. I was entirely in the hands of fate for that period of time. I could have been waiting for ten minutes (which I was really hoping would be the case) or I could be waiting for ten hours, seeing as I got lost just after lunch and the park didn't close till midnight I believe. As it was, the difference was split, and I was only lost for six hours.

Yet the first two hours were probably as dire as I've ever felt. I didn't have a time to rely on. Cel phones weren't even around for me to let them know where I was. I contemplated calling over the whole park for them to come find me, but I didn't want to be the dumb kid who had to get a friendly staff member to help me. Damnitall, I was thirteen. I wasn't going to rely on somebody else to get me found. I couldn't even politely wait by the entrance. I had to keep my eyes constantly scanning the crowd in case they left the park amidst a whole sea of people. I had to be intentionally restless.

I guess you could call it panic. I guess you could say I was frantic for the two hours. You wouldn't be wrong.

For two hours I wasn't enjoying myself at all. I was so concerned that I wouldn't be find in a timely fashion that I was letting the experience ruin my time there. I kept checking my watch. I kept running around the front of the park--from the shop to the restaurant and back again. I kept going over the steps in my head what I needed to do to make myself noticeable to my aunts whenever they came wandering up.

Then, after the two hours, I had what some people call a moment of clarity and others call an epiphany. I decided that the three of them were probably having fun without me. Two hours was a long enough time to make me realize they weren't actively seeking me out. Two hours was a long enough time to make me decide that the rest of my time there wasn't going to be spent just sitting around. And it was like I gathered all the fraying ends of my attention and weaved them back into something resembling me again. It became apparent that the only plan I should have been making is which exhibit, which ride, which displays to go see next. Suddenly my spirits lifted. I was able to enjoy myself again.

I had a purpose again. My purpose was to stop worrying and relish the opportunity to go where I wanted to go, to spend as much time doing whatever the fuck I pleased, to be able to decide on a place to go and not have to put it to a vote. In other words, my purpose was once again calibrated back to the underlying principle I've always more or less lived my life by, "if it makes you happy, then it can't be that bad," otherwise known as the Gospel of the Crow.

I didn't like being the person who put too much stock in how other people might be worrying about. I didn't like being the person who took time out of my schedule to make things easier for everyone else. I didn't like being afraid to leave a certain spot.

Once I came back to the person I really am, I enjoyed the rest of my experience more. Even when I found Brandy, I didn't mind helping her out. It still felt like my choice. It still felt good to me and not something I was saddled with. After all, she never really asked for my help. Indeed, when we first met it took awhile for her to warm up to me. In the end, though, it made me feel better to reunite her with her family, if only because I knew there was no such individual out there would be doing the same for me.

In the end, I had four good hours and made a new connection that day by being true to the person I was. If I had stayed stockstill by the entrance of the park I would have missed out on all that. In the end, the day I got lost at Epcot and the six hours I spent wandering more or less on my own probably was the most fun experience I had on that vacation.

Sometimes living a life that's free and good mean isolating yourself from what people tell you you should do in a situation or even from what common sense is screaming at you to do. Sometimes you have to shut out the entire world, wall your spirit in, and make decisions based on impulse and reacting to the circumstances in unpredictable ways. Sometimes being happy means finding that happiness by any means necessary.

Sometimes you need to lose yourself to find out what's important to you.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers