1 on 1 in Hell

My father recently got a new MacBook Pro. He gifted my mother his old MacBook so she didn't have to use that pile of a Dell any longer. When purchasing his new MBP, he decided to buy a year of "1 on 1" for my mother at the Apple store: you know, to help her get accustomed to a Mac and all things computer in general.

So, I was updating a few things for my mom on her new Mac. My dad was in the middle of making her first "1 on 1" appointment for her and asked me to put the time and date in her calendar while I was on her Mac.

ME: What should I call it?

MOM (begrudgingly): You may as well just put hell.

So, I enter her appointment as follows:

Date: Wed. March 30, 2011

Time: 3pm

Title: Hell!

Where: Apple Store

Needless to say, my mother goes to her appointment yesterday and what do you know: there was a problem the Apple employee noticed with her calendar. It was not syncing with her iPhone for some reason. So, as soon as the girl opens the calendar on the computer to see what the problem is, "Hell! @ Apple Store, 3PM" pops up on her screen.

My mother was embarrassed and had to explain to the Apple employee–who was, by the way, cracking up–that her daughter had done that (and why).

Isn't it great how things just fall into place sometimes?

The Distraction of Nothing

I wanted to kill zombies all day today, but I can't seem to peel myself away from this music. I'm not sure whether it's my mood, the oh-so-meh weather, or what...but I just want to sit here and take in the sounds. Nothing seems as right as this right now--and that's perfectly okay with me.

I have some applications to get out and more writing to do. So little, in all reality, and yet I am constantly overwhelmed. I suppose I've just had a lot on my mind lately.

A lot.

Journal excerpt. Nov 13. 2010.

One day I'll own a brand new Honda. And I'll finally know what it feels like to drive a NEW vehicle. I'll not have to worry about my car falling apart once or more per year.

One day I'll go into a book store and see a book on the shelf that reads "By Jamie Young" (or whatever pseudonym I so choose) and I will smile and touch the cover proudly.

One day I'll have stamps in my passport. Multiples. I'll go to Tokyo and Paris and Istanbul...I'll go anywhere and everywhere. Whenever I want.

One day I'll have a photography show at a studio in New York. And people will be huddled around my blackandwhites gushing over the perfection and emotion and beauty that I caught on film in that fleeting moment.

One day I'll buy my parents ridiculously expensive gifts JUST BECAUSE [but mostly because they deserve such]. Like a car or a house in Denver (they say they always wanted to live there) or even plane tickets to some exotic island for some romantic getaway.

One day I'll be the editor of a publication. Something amazing, but probably small.

One day I'll spend an entire summer on a beach. Any beach. A beautiful beach. And all I'll do is catch rays, drink super girly alcoholic beverages, and write [more].

One day...I'll be my own boss. I'll have the world at my fingertips. I'll be standing on my own two feet with the biggest smile on my face and I'll remember that I called it.

That wasn't me...was it?

I'm reading old journal entries from 2006.

What a terrible year. What a horrible existence.

It's so strange to read about my life then, to think about my life then. It's honestly just like I've put all of that past completely out of my memory bank. So much so, in fact, that it's like none of that ever happened.

Like, honestly. If I ever actually get to thinking about all of...that...it's like I'm remembering someone else's life, someone else's miserable past. Have you ever experienced this? Blocking out memories, people, events to the point of them seeming...surreal? To the point of it seeming like it never actually happened?

This is how it is for me.

Who was I then? I guess I was still figuring it out. Hell, I'm still figuring it out. Who am I now? I guess, comparatively, I am "happier", but with certain emotions and feelings being as they are, now, it's truly hard to say whether or not I am happy in general.

I want my happy.

Give it.

Untitled

I miss you. The way you make me feel. The way you motivate me from deep within yourself. That look of completion in incompletion. That great taste of power I receive from accomplishing you: I lap up the wisdom and the knowledge and the strength from your bowl of creative expression and hope that one day I will fill the bowl on my own. Among your columns and rows and letters and words…I am whole. I am finally final.

I miss you, writing. I miss our good times.

25. a photo of a night you loved

Tara, my mother, and I - Xmas '07.

Fooling around with Photo Booth.

We were all laughing so hard, we were crying.

My mother the writer

My mother sent me such a long text message early this morning. I woke up and read it immediately, then I thought: Wow. My mother should write a book. Or a blog. Or start a blog then write the book.

She really should. Even if it's called "Letters to My Daughter" or something! I will not rest until I convince her to do it! Or have her write it, but I post it for her (considering she is not too tech literate).

This needs to happen.

Go, Mom, go!!!

Anyway, drinking coffee at my desk, door shut - my poor kitty begging to run around the apartment, but...I can not. I can't risk a cat running amuck in an apartment where no pets are allowed, but new roommates are.

No one has moved in yet. That I can hear. Soon, I will venture out to grab more coffee - maybe I should put the coffee pot in my room, too? (haha)

Here's hoping for the best...