So many things, all wrapped up in one super-long post.
Wow. It's really been quite a while, hasn't it? I don't really know if anyone reads this, especially given the lapse in entries, but I feel compelled to poke at it now anyway.
First, anyone who has not seen The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, should do so. I have seen it twice, and cried openly both times. I don't cry in public, or even in front of people (generally), but I was quite enamored with this movie. It so perfectly met my expectations and childhood love for the story that I simply wept joyously for its very existence. How lame does that make me? On second though, I don't want to know. Keep it to yourself.
School is about to start back. I'm kind of excited. I'm mostly excited because I did so poorly last semester, that I feel I should expect something great of myself this semester. I'd best do something great, anyway, because otherwise my GPA is slowly circling the proverbial toilet bowl. Sigh.
This last part will come out jumbled and may make very little sense to anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about, or has never read my journal. I apologize in advance.
I like to imagine the following story in fairy tale fashion. I'm also a little sad to be telling it here, because I'd love to make it my reply to the next "Megan, tell me a story," I get. But this seems more appropriate.
Once, there were a boy and a girl. Age probably dictates they be given the more formal titles of man and woman, but they were essentially a boy and a girl.
This particular boy and this particular girl met in school. Neither really talked in class, but they were drawn to each other nonetheless. There was no reason for the attraction. Chalk one up to cosmic/karmic fate.
Under the layer of shyness (or perhaps a little smug* superiority) that kept them nearly silent in a class setting, the boy and girl were interesting, intelligent people. The boy was bright and buoyant. He was always a forward-thinker, and an optimist beneath the veneer of disenfranchisement. The girl was clever, caustically sarcastic, and maybe a little bit sadder than either of them had believed.
Through a series of coincidences, if you believe in such things, the boy and the girl bonded. They were inseparable. They spent 23-hours a day together, and everyone who knew them always paired their names in conversation. They had been lonely, perhaps without even realizing it, and now they were not. They were happy. They skipped through life, arm-in-arm.
What happens when you separate the inseparable? Well, several months of bitter feuding. A good deal of crying. A lot of childish name-calling. A number of unwise decisions. The girl had a little bit of a breakdown, and the boy, well, she doesn't know. That was the problem. Before they had always known what was happening. They had thought the same thoughts. They had known each other's deepest secrets and darkest fears. They had been everything, and when you break everything, you're left with nothing.
At least that's how it had seemed at first. But the boy continued living his life, and with time the girl picked up hers. And now the stories diverged. They each went their disparate ways for a time, only briefly touching, but always breaking away. They had to break away, or they'd think of the past and just be hurt and bitter and sad all over again. Things went on this way for three times as long as the friendship had lasted.
But even over all those months, the friendship was still what mattered. It burned brighter than any of the terrible things either had said to the other. And neither of them forgot. The boy and the girl both remembered, and they each had occasion to regret.
But some coincidences may not be just that, and some bonds are never really broken. And in the end, their came a time when the boy came to the girl, and neither of them really had to forgive the other, because the months in between didn't really matter. The friendship had always existed, even when it was buried under everything else. And maybe they both realized that without each other, the old loneliness they had once dispelled was creeping back. It was banished again, and though their lives were different and maybe they had changed just a little, in all the ways that mattered, their friendship burned just as bright.
So there that is.
*smug: exhibiting or feeling great or offensive satisfaction with oneself or with one's situation; self-righteously complacent. (Someone asked me to define it recently. And now I have.)
First, anyone who has not seen The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, should do so. I have seen it twice, and cried openly both times. I don't cry in public, or even in front of people (generally), but I was quite enamored with this movie. It so perfectly met my expectations and childhood love for the story that I simply wept joyously for its very existence. How lame does that make me? On second though, I don't want to know. Keep it to yourself.
School is about to start back. I'm kind of excited. I'm mostly excited because I did so poorly last semester, that I feel I should expect something great of myself this semester. I'd best do something great, anyway, because otherwise my GPA is slowly circling the proverbial toilet bowl. Sigh.
This last part will come out jumbled and may make very little sense to anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about, or has never read my journal. I apologize in advance.
I like to imagine the following story in fairy tale fashion. I'm also a little sad to be telling it here, because I'd love to make it my reply to the next "Megan, tell me a story," I get. But this seems more appropriate.
Once, there were a boy and a girl. Age probably dictates they be given the more formal titles of man and woman, but they were essentially a boy and a girl.
This particular boy and this particular girl met in school. Neither really talked in class, but they were drawn to each other nonetheless. There was no reason for the attraction. Chalk one up to cosmic/karmic fate.
Under the layer of shyness (or perhaps a little smug* superiority) that kept them nearly silent in a class setting, the boy and girl were interesting, intelligent people. The boy was bright and buoyant. He was always a forward-thinker, and an optimist beneath the veneer of disenfranchisement. The girl was clever, caustically sarcastic, and maybe a little bit sadder than either of them had believed.
Through a series of coincidences, if you believe in such things, the boy and the girl bonded. They were inseparable. They spent 23-hours a day together, and everyone who knew them always paired their names in conversation. They had been lonely, perhaps without even realizing it, and now they were not. They were happy. They skipped through life, arm-in-arm.
What happens when you separate the inseparable? Well, several months of bitter feuding. A good deal of crying. A lot of childish name-calling. A number of unwise decisions. The girl had a little bit of a breakdown, and the boy, well, she doesn't know. That was the problem. Before they had always known what was happening. They had thought the same thoughts. They had known each other's deepest secrets and darkest fears. They had been everything, and when you break everything, you're left with nothing.
At least that's how it had seemed at first. But the boy continued living his life, and with time the girl picked up hers. And now the stories diverged. They each went their disparate ways for a time, only briefly touching, but always breaking away. They had to break away, or they'd think of the past and just be hurt and bitter and sad all over again. Things went on this way for three times as long as the friendship had lasted.
But even over all those months, the friendship was still what mattered. It burned brighter than any of the terrible things either had said to the other. And neither of them forgot. The boy and the girl both remembered, and they each had occasion to regret.
But some coincidences may not be just that, and some bonds are never really broken. And in the end, their came a time when the boy came to the girl, and neither of them really had to forgive the other, because the months in between didn't really matter. The friendship had always existed, even when it was buried under everything else. And maybe they both realized that without each other, the old loneliness they had once dispelled was creeping back. It was banished again, and though their lives were different and maybe they had changed just a little, in all the ways that mattered, their friendship burned just as bright.
So there that is.
*smug: exhibiting or feeling great or offensive satisfaction with oneself or with one's situation; self-righteously complacent. (Someone asked me to define it recently. And now I have.)