Blahdy blah blah

I don't know why I'm writing this.  I haven't posted a blog post in several years, and I'm not sure any of my friends whom I follow on Blogspot have either.  I guess I just needed to feel like I was talking to someone, but without people actually hearing it.  That way, I can feel like I got something off my chest, but no one will actually have to deal with what I say.

So, I have been struggling with my clinical depression/anxiety/OCD/what-not for almost a decade.  At least that's when I was properly diagnosed.  Some days are better than others, but at the end of the day, it's always there.  This past week, I was stupid and didn't pick up my anti-depressant refills when I needed to, and as a result went days without them.  In addition to actual depression symptoms, withdrawal from citalopram (Celexa, one of the medications I take) can be unpleasant.  The main problem I face when I accidentally withdraw is vertigo.  So I turn into a dizzy depressed person.  But the withdrawal isn't the main issue from this week.  I came to the re-realization that the depression is still there.  I sometimes wonder if I will ever be out of the woods with that.  That maybe some day I will be able to feel like a normal person without pharmaceuticals helping me get by.  To quote (probably incorrectly) Aragorn, "But it is not this day".

So why am I writing now?  I just have been feeling an even greater lack of self-worth lately.  I regularly tell people I am a terrible person, and on the surface it sounds like I'm referring to my sarcasm. Or maybe my inability to help people do things that require lifting more than 5 lbs. Ok, 8 lbs.  No, I genuinely do not feel that I am worth loving.  I actually do not understand what people see in me because I don't see it.  I know I'm not the only one who feels that way, but it's hard to talk about it to other people.  People will try and tell you that you matter; that you're a nice/good person.  But it doesn't ever change the fact that I don't believe that.  After all is said and done, I still think of myself as a shitty person who doesn't deserve other people's love and respect.  In talking with a friend/roommate, I know that love is unconditional and that it's not something we earn.  Rather, it is something that is just...love.  It doesn't have a rational merit-based system of measurement.  So maybe that's why I can't convince myself of it.  I feel like I need to earn it; I'm not just inherently lovable.  Because my depression has led me here.  Because I don't know the actual answer.  I guess I'm taking it on "blind" faith that people are genuine when they say they love me.  Usually I treat such things and compliments as just words.  Words can be thrown around without much weight behind them.  So it's easy for me to dismiss them.  And yet, when people have something critical to say of me, I grab onto it like it's the last bottle of Diet Dr Pepper in the store.  Like people's negative views of me are much more believable than kind words.  Scumbag brain is a dick.

So, I just needed a place to spew this all out.  I'm not giving up.  This isn't me resigning myself to hopelessness.  I just needed to see this in person so it's not just a swirl of incoherent ideas in my head but an actual thought process.  And this way I can pretend I talked to someone, but at the same time I can remain behind a screen of "No one reads this".  At least I hope not.  And if you are reading this, go do something more worthwhile like read The Perks of Being a Wallflower or listen to the Glagolitic Mass by Leos Janacek.  Cool stuff.

I miss him already!

So about a week ago, I was at the Russell House Tavern in Harvard Square. I was with some friends after the Longy Opera and was having dinner (at midnight, of course, cuz that's when everyone eats dinner). My mother texted me (because she stays up about as late as I do), asking what I was doing. I told her I was with friends and she said she'd talk to me later. I didn't think much of it; I assumed she just wanted to say hi and that was that. So, I called her the next afternoon on my way back to school from work. We chatted for a second about what was up (she was driving to Savannah with my aunt and great-aunt), then she gave me the sad news: Junior, our guinea pig, had passed away. He was getting up there in years; he had lived with us for almost 6 years, meaning he was probably at LEAST 6 1/2. Anyway, I was really sad to hear this. A few years back (November 2008), our other guinea pig, Tuffy, died. Since then, Junior had been our only one, and I felt bad that he didn't have his playmate. The main reason we had not gotten another guinea pig was that my mom was taking care of dogs so much that she just didn't have the time to take care of a new guinea pig, so we were essentially "phasing out" of guinea pigs. It was really sad when Junior died because that meant no more guinea pigs to see when I went home. He was indeed a good boy.
Thinking about it, I realized how sometimes our instincts can be dead-on. While I was home for winter vacation, I tried to make sure I at least went and talked to Junior every day. The day I left to come back to Boston, I put my things in the car and was getting ready to leave when I told my dad (who was driving me to the airport) I needed to get something. I went back inside and went straight to Junior's cage to give him a final good-bye. I don't remember if I just went and pet him/scratched him or if I took him out and hugged him. When I got back to the car and we were pulling out of the garage, my dad asked what I had forgotten, since I came back to the car with nothing. I told him that I had said good-bye to Junior since I had the distinct impression that he wasn't going to be there when I next came home to visit. I'm not saying I'm psychic or some sort of guinea pig whisperer. Maybe I was just pessimistic since I knew that he was getting old. Regardless, I am glad that I went back to see him again quickly before I left. I was hoping to see him again in a few months when I go back to Georgia to visit, but now I can't. I have been looking at apartments the past few weeks, hoping to move at the end of the summer. The top priority after convenience to either work or school was whether a pet was allowed. I have decided that I would like to have a guinea pig in my new apartment. I like the company of a pet, and a dog or a cat would be too difficult to take care of since I would be gone most of the day. But a guinea pig is relatively content to sit around on its own and does not require a large amount of attention. That isn't to say that they don't need attention, but I would not have to take time in the middle of the day to go home and feed/walk/play with the piggie like I would a dog or cat. I would, naturally, spend most of my evening hours at home so that I could chat with him and probably let him eat pieces of paper that I'm writing on. Anyway, I don't know how this went from mourning dear Junior to a future plan for my living situation. Oh well. Guinea pigs are adorable, and I hope I can find one that is just as sweet and cuddly as both Tuffy and Junior were. Rest in peace, little poots.

Hey, I still have a blog?

So, I was reminded by my awesome friends and their cool blogs that I still have one. The last time I wrote was back in October, which is pretty sad. The thing is, I never have much to say about things in general. Oh well. So, I decided that I would take a minute and vent about one thing that drives me crazy (amongst the hundreds on the list). Today's rant has to do with people who use self check-out at CVS. Now I know that not everyone in the world is technology savvy, but that's not the point. The machine TELLS YOU WHAT TO DO!!! The nice lady-voice says "Please scan your item" or "Place the item in the bagging area" or "JUST #%&# SWIPE YOUR CARD, DUMB-ASS". OK, so that last one is just what goes through my head, but that doesn't mean these machines cannot be reprogrammed to include that in later upgrades. So anyway, I am constantly amazed by the people who use these machines and still manage to take twice as long as everyone else to check out of the store. You're buying a box of Kleenex and a Butterfinger, not trying to build a time machine. The machines are there to make things go more quickly. If you are unable to figure out the machines, then go see the cashier with a pulse! The rest of us want to get out of the store! It's even more unfortunate because the line for the self check-out machines is always AS LONG AS the line for the cashier, even though there are THREE machines and usually only one cashier (sometimes two if they happen to actually notice there's a line). So clearly someone is having a special moment and cannot properly help him/herself get a move on. Perhaps it's just my inherent nature to be ill-tempered in public, but it really isn't that hard. And again, if you don't understand the system prompts, then get out of the line and go talk to the human guy/gal behind the counter. So yeah, that's what I have been thinking about today. I was also thinking about how awesome Bela Bartok is. I bought a recording of his opera "Bluebeard's Castle" and it was amazing. That has absolutely nothing to do with my rant, but I thought I'd end on a positive note (F# to be more specific). Anyway, maybe I should start writing here again. It just depends on how often I feel like saying anything. I prefer to read other peoples' blogs; they're far more interesting and entertaining. That said, please go to thesloshedpoet.blogspot.com and have a great time.

Regardless

As many people are no doubt aware, today is Spirit Day, a day of remembrance for those poor kids who basically were bullied to death. They felt they had nowhere to go to escape such hatred that they killed themselves. This is truly a heart-breaking trend that has become all to common in recent years. The sad thing is that so many people out there are also biased against gay people. My own church has not exactly been the most gay-friendly organization out there either, seeing such things as the fight for Proposition 8 and now President Packer's controversial remarks. I find it remarkable that so many people still act as though somehow their lives are endangered by the gay lifestyle. Like a gay couple getting married somehow puts their marriage in jeopardy. Also, who gave them the right to vote on someone else's life? If it were a vote to decide whether black people could get married, or Japanese, and everyone got to vote on it, would that be considered fair? Unlikely. And yet, the people got to decide on something that did not affect them. Oh sure, they said it did, but let's face it, no. You just like the idea of imposing your views on people who do not share them. That is in fact quite wrong indeed. This is of course going way off topic, but you can see how such homophobia caused these children to find themselves alone and hated. They honestly didn't see anywhere to turn, for fear of being ridiculed and cast out even more.
Regardless of how people feel about this issue, I think we can all agree that bullying is wrong, whether it be for someone being gay, or being Jewish, or black, or handicapped, or anything that is perceived as being incorrect in the eyes of the bully. No one should ever have that type of feeling of superiority or justification for belittling another human being.
That's why it was so wonderful to see people today wearing purple honoring Spirit Day. Whether some of the people I saw were wearing purple conscious of the occasion or not, I don't know, but it was so nice to see all the support from people who genuinely feel terrible about the loss of these young lives. The bullies and bigots out there need to see that there are more people out there who side with the oppressed, and the bullied need to see that they have friends on their side. No one should have to resort to suicide to escape the torment and hell that they experience. So let's take a moment and remember these young men and commit to being a little less closed-minded, especially with regards to things we pretend to know all about but really don't.

In dealing with the deaths of two dogs in the past month, I decided I would like to do a little tribute to all the dogs that have lived in our house (that I have met, since there are some that were there while I was at school and were adopted before I came home):

1. Sadie (aka Sadiekins, aka Old Lady Sizemore):

When my sister first started volunteering with the Pup & Cat Co. in January 2007, my mom and I went to drop her off and then we looked at some of the dogs up for adoption. Sadie had just barely gotten there after having been living with an old couple that could no longer take care of her properly. She was already 8ish when we got her, but my mom was dying to have a cocker spaniel like her sister used to have. So she put in an application and we waited. Sure enough, Ursula (the woman in charge) granted our wish and gave us Ms Sadie. So she came home with us the following weekend and she immediately made herself at home in our sunroom. She loved to eat anything and everything that was put in front of her. We should've named her Hoover because of how quickly she could lap up her dinner. She was a sweet girl who never nipped at anyone. She would bark, but that's just their way. She loved to also sleep in the living room behind my dad's recliner. That was her spot. Also, due to having been fed only wet dog food (as opposed to dry cerealish stuff), she had lost some of her teeth. Therefore, her tongue always stuck out a little, especially when she first woke up from a nap. It was a darling thing to see. She passed away a few weeks ago due to either kidney failure or a tumor that was causing liquid build-up. There was nothing the vet could really do for her, so Sadie was put down. She really was the sweetest dog in the world, and we had almost 3 1/2 wonderful years with her.

2. Craig (aka Dweezle):

As part of Pup and Cat volunteering, we take in dogs that have not been adopted yet so they don't have to stay at the vet's office all week, waiting for Saturday and the adoption drive. Craig was our first one, and he had been rescued from a puppy mill along with his brother (Weezle). We had Craig for a few weeks before a lovely couple decided they wanted to adopt both dogs, which made Ursula happy, as she didn't want them broken up forever. He was an English springer spaniel, and for some reason loved socks. When Mom would do laundry, he would randomly snatch one and walk off with it. Strange...

3. Candy (aka the Prima Donna):
After Craig left, we got Candy, who is a papillon. She was a sweet little girl at times, but at other times she would drive me crazy. She could not go outside without a leash or she'd run off and not come back unless Mom went and got her. She was pretty good besides that, but her constant barking drove us all a little nuts. She went to a nice family that already had another papillon, and they got along great.

4. June (aka Junebug, aka My Little Baby):
Next came June. The same day we got rid of Candy, we took June to stay with us. My mom's first reaction was "That's a runt!" She really was this sad little dog. She had been abandoned and picked up by a pound. Not long before she was scheduled to be put down, Ursula came and got her. She was almost immediately adopted by an older couple, but their grandchildren scared her to where she wouldn't come out from under the bed. So the couple returned her and we got her. Well we fell in love with her from the start. She is a Beagle/Jack Russell mixture, and she is the funniest dog ever. Not long after we took her in, we went on vacation to Pennsylvania for my cousin's wedding, and so we left the dogs at home to be cared for by the neighbors. Before leaving, though, my mom decided that we had to keep June. She had been through a lot already, and there was no guarantee that the next person to adopt her would work out, which is traumatizing to the dog after that many turnarounds. So we kept her. And I am really glad we did, because she is my favorite little girl and she always sleeps in my bed when I go home for visits. She's a sweetheart and will roll over onto her back for anyone and everyone to rub her tummy. She just loves it loves it loves it.

5. Buster (aka Cranky, aka Grumpy, aka Deaf-o):

After I had gone back to BYU in the fall of 2007, my mom got her next foster dog assignment: Buster. This was by far the hardest case we ever had. Buster was a much older dog who had been abused severely by his previous owner, who also abused his own wife. By the time we got Buster, he was mostly deaf and seemed to have tremors like he suffered from brain damage caused by the abuse. Needless to say, he did not like anyone at home except for my mom whom he followed all over the house. Everyone else, though, was an enemy. I kept hoping someone would take him, perhaps an older single lady that he could dutifully follow around the house all day. But it never happened. He stayed in our home for over 2 1/2 years before he also had to be put down due to serious conditions that were causing him chronic pain to where he could barely move. It was actually sad by the time he died because he turned out to be a very nice dog by the end. Not like licking every single person he ever met type of dog, but he stopped growling at people (except Dad, but oh well), he stopped snipping at people, and he got to where he was comfortable around most of us in the family (except Dad, again, and my little brothers). He would even sometimes lay on the floor wherever I was if he couldn't find Mom. It was sorta cute.

6. Harley (aka The Puff Ball):

This was, by far, the quickest turnaround we had for a dog in our care. Harley was a Shih Tsu puppy whose owner had received him as a gift. She loved Harley very much, but was chronically ill and could never play with him like he wanted to. So she decided he deserved a better home and asked Ursula to take him. We picked Harley up ourselves, and the lady was in tears because she really wanted to have him, but because of her awful health just couldn't. It was a sad day. We had Harley about a week before a nice couple from North Carolina came and got him. They already had a Shih Tsu, so Harley had a playmate. This was my dad's favorite dog. He thought Harley was just the cutest dog ever, who didn't bark at Dad when he walked into a room.

7. Molly (aka Hyper Dog):
Immediately after Harley was adopted, we picked up Molly. She was a wild child if I have ever seen one. She had more energy than a football team. She loved to play with anyone and everyone, including the other dogs in the house (Sadie, June, and Buster at the time), though they never wanted to play and Buster and June would growl at her if she got too close. But everyone else just loved her. Not long after I went back to school (summer 2009), she was adopted by a family. She was eventually returned because they never had any time for her, which was really sad for Ms. Molly. So we kept her a bit longer, until she was adopted not long after Christmas 2009. My mom and sister still go to see her from time to time because she really was such a fun dog. Her new home has a nice fenced backyard that she can tear loose in whenever she wants.

8. MacKenzie (aka Brown Molly)

Not long after Christmas 2009, we got MacKenzie for a bit. She was also a rather energetic dog, though to a lesser degree than Molly. She and Molly would play a lot. She was adopted not long after Molly was, and that was also a quick turnaround.

There have been a few other dogs here and there, but I never met them because I was in school. From what I've heard of them, they were all rather darling little critters. They have since found good homes and now my mom is down to June, Kody (a poodle), Skipper (a miniature pinscher), and Jilly (a Dachshund mix). Jilly is set to be adopted tomorrow, and Skipper and Kody might have homes soon as well. They all deserve good homes, and I hope they find those special someones for them.

Random Thoughts

Sometimes in my stream-of-consciousness sort of way, I have too many things on my mind, so I have to write some down to get them out of my brain. One thing is that, here at the BYU the school is closed on Memorial Day as far as classes and such though the library is open. Keeping that in mind, it is a holiday to celebrate the lives of those who have served in the nation's armed forces. So why, then, if that is the purpose of the holiday, is the US flag not flying outside the administration building? What on earth? Granted, I'm one of those people who doesn't stop in his tracks when the national anthem starts playing across campus, but even I think it's a bit odd that the flag isn't flying on a holiday such as this.

Secondly, I am so freaked out about moving to Boston. I am excited, don't get me wrong, but I am terrified about moving since I don't yet have a place to live and I am still trying to figure out how things work. In other words, I'm sort of wussy where that is concerned. But I have been much more active in my search for an apartment as of late and may have found one that I am interested in.

Third is my recital. I want it to be over now. It still isn't scheduled though I have a lesson tomorrow where hopefully we can move forward with plans and such. I feel like I am so close but at the same time it feels like that paradox where you always halve the distance to the finish line but therefore never actually make it because you can never reach it by halving the distance. Sigh...

Fourth, I am still mourning the loss of my dog Sadie. She is quite possibly the sweetest animal to ever walk the earth. She was a darling little girl and I am sad she is gone. While I have not yet been home for the summer to visibly note her absence, I can already feel it. She apparently either had some kidney failure or a tumor that was causing fluid buildup in her system and the only thing they could do wouldn't have helped much at all, so she was put to sleep a little less than two weeks ago. I was fortunate that I was able to say goodbye to her over the phone before she died, even if she had no idea who I was or what I was saying to her (I'd like to think she knew it was me).

Fifth, I miss my little Ms June, our other dog. She is my favorite to be around at home because she always wants me to rub her tummy when I see her and she sleeps with me at night. She's quite the goof ball, but I love her all the same. I guess that really is a cover for the more general complaint in that I just want to go HOME!!! I've been in Provo almost nonstop since January (excluding my weekend in Boston for my audition) and I would like to see my folks. Granted, they will come for my recital when it happens, but I like the carefree environment of my home and would like to get back there.

I think that's all I really was thinking about lately, at least as far as the negatives. I just feel a bit too stressed lately due to unfinished stuff, but it's coming along. Seriously, though, cannot wait to get done with my recital. We'll find out tomorrow how it's coming, though. Fingers crossed.

Inspired by a Diva

So I have long been a huge fan of the soprano Renée Fleming. Her artistry has made even the worst days in my life manageable because her voice is a thing of beauty that I believe to be the pinnacle of vocal art. While I wish I could meet her (and I missed my chance when she was in Boston the same weekend I was [damn not having money for a ticket]), I recently had an opportunity to learn from her experiences in the music world.
I read a book entitled "The Inner Voice: The Making of a Singer". This book is in essence a memoir that devotes itself to the ups and downs in the life of Ms. Fleming. From her early years to her college studies to her career, with all the bumps in the road that you could expect from trying to be a professional musician. Just seeing how much she struggled to develop a proper voice (originally not being able to sing in high registers at all), learn how to audition successfully, maintain a healthy relationship with her daughters, and still struggle like most people in a hectic career helped me see a lot of what sorts of struggles I am facing in my own life. Granted, I don't have kids (nor will I) or a career (yet), but seeing how many times she fell and picked herself back up gave me the hope and determination I need to push forward. I am currently working on giving my senior recital, but I have been in a slump lately due to my frustration at not having given it yet. I have tried everything I know in order to re-motivate myself, but to no avail. Then I read this book. Her straight-forwardness was refreshing. She didn't try and sound like she was Goddess of Song, but she wasn't afraid to say exactly how much work she really had to put into her voice and her personality to get where she is today. Having read it, I am even more determined 1. to meet her someday and 2. work on this recital in earnest.
Who knew that a diva, a prima donna, can be a real person? But she is very much a normal woman. And she's funny, she doesn't take herself too seriously, and she has a good time doing what she does. I admire that and hope that I can be like that someday. Because a performance is not the end of the world, as she expresses she has learned since having children. So now I am determined to succeed, and all thanks to one incredible woman not being afraid to open up and share an incredible story that shows that perseverance is key to being a happy professional musician.