My neocortex is at it again!

Last night I had to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and on my way back to bed, I literally SPRINTED through the kitchen and practically vaulted into bed from the hallway.  Why you ask?  I’m still thinking about them zombies.

There, I said it.

Tidbit of info - the neocortex and thalamus of the brain are mainly responsible for creativity and imagination – so I guess you could say these tricksters have dominant control in my ol’ dome. The fact that I’m turning 32 this weekend does not diminish my irrational (and often bane of my existence) overactive imagination. I have a sinking feeling that even when I have children of my own, I will be just as scared as they are of the monster under the bed and in the closet. My kids will definitely be turning to daddy when things go bump in the night!

The first indication that I may not be well-suited for nocturnal comforting was last summer when I was babysitting Leanna, Christopher and Ella overnight while my sis and Chris were at a wedding.  Christopher woke me up at 3AM in a sleepy fog, standing at the edge of my bed and pointing to the far corner of the dark room. “Who’s THAT?” he says as he rubs his eyes.  Before he could finish his sentence, I scooped him one-handed out of the bedroom and into Leanna’s room, slapping on the light with my heart pounding out of my chest.  It took all the courage I could muster to re-enter my sister’s bedroom and flick on the light.  Of course, it was nothing; just the ramblings of a groggy four year-old who’d just woken from a dream.  Why hadn’t I considered that first, before bolting out of the room like a woman with her hair on fire? 

Blame it on the brain, as Milli Vanilli would (not) say.

Seriously though – how do I overcome this both for my own sanity and for the future sanity of my children?  Simple answer – stop watching scary movies.  No. It’s way past that. I’ve seen wayyyy too many movies that have archived themselves in the recesses in my mind, ready to be brought forth at the darkest hour.

“You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.” - Mark Twain

Chilly, Rainy, Lazy, Nostalgic Sunday

Looming workweek aside, Sundays are blissful. The Lord's day, but also my own. During football season when Dan can't be removed from the TV for 12 hours straight, it's my time to run errands or better yet, visit family & friends. Today is one of the latter and I couldn't be more content. First stop - Eileen and lil man Owen. I walk in, shed my coat and boots and smell the onions sauteeing for chili. Owen gives me one of his lil toothy grins (only two teeth are visible) and I can't help but unwind and settle into my "busy day of nothingness." Owen is at that irreplacable age where everything is a wonder. I watch amused, his sticky inspection of the carefully chopped cantaloupe. He tastes and sighs, and I fall deeper in love.

After a leisurely stroll to the library, Eileen and I enjoy a satisfying afternoon of chili and conversation. These moments are the kinds I savor, when time slows down and takes off its jacket, too. Sunday at 3:00pm has a distinctly different feel than 3:00pm on any other day of the week. I sit back to relish in the comfort of my best friend's inviting home, and the feeling that no matter what gets thrown at me this week, I have today, I have right now.

After several hours with two of my favorite people, I drive 5 minutes north to spend the rest of the day with some of my other favorite people. The first thing that occurs to me when I walk inside my parents' house is, "I am truly blessed." It seems so simple, but it cannot be taken for granted. I am lucky to be so loved and to be able to give that love in return. I find myself trying to remember this, to hold onto this moment right here because nothing is guaranteed, sadly for some people, not even a parent's love. But I am one of the lucky ones who can say that no matter what, there is love for me here.

My old bedroom still looks like I live there, half due to my own laziness and the other half to my inability to part with nostalgia. I decide today might be a good day to do some cleaning and finally "trim down." When I tell my mom of my intentions, she looks instantly relieved. I haven't lived here in years and I still manage to occupy two rooms with my clutter. Lenox and Cuisinart boxes are stacked high in the guest room, with hopes of relocating somewhere permanent. "Not today, boys" is what I think when I stare at the boxes and decide to tackle something a little less ambitious - my old dresser drawers.

Not that this is any small feat. The first drawer contains cards, letters, keychains, even a chunk of rock from Bryce Canyon (a trip my family took in 1990). I manage to part with many of the old cards and random papers, but then I spot my grandmother's handwriting and pull out some letters she wrote to me when I was in college. I miss her. I read and re-read the letters, noticing shakier penmanship on the letters with later dates. Even still, my grandmother's cursive is graceful. I miss her more.

I find the manila envelope marked "Important - Do NOT Throw Out" and smile. I know its contents, but have not looked at them in almost a decade. A paper time capsule. Inside contains four years of studying, reading, writing and late nights boiled down to a numbered grading system. Other items: My letter of acceptance to Oswego, an invitation letter to the Honors Program, even my housing form where I put "YEAH!!!" in giant bubble letters next to Kristi's name (my good friend from high school who would go on to become a best friend throughout college and to this day).

It feels like a million years ago that these forms were brand new, yet somehow, it also feels like I've just received them. Once again, time is seemingly relative. I don't know how many minutes go by before I pull myself back to today, to reality. Decades sprawl out before me on the pale pink carpet of my childhood, evidence that I've lived life and lived it well. No wonder I can't bear to part with these tangible memories. I throw away what I absolutely must, but the rest goes back in the drawer, spared.

Days such as today leave me feeling dreamlike, as if I'm watching my life through a window on a cold, snowy night. There are pieces I can no longer see; they've been obscured by the frost. The "artifacts" I've uncovered today are my reminders. They are my proof.

“Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them.” - Bob Dylan

What is it about zombies, anyway?

OK folks, we’re going a lot lighter than my last two entries. A LOT.
I mean, you might leave your seat feeling dumber than when you got there.

I don’t know why, but zombie movies fascinate me. Probably because deep down, even though I know the idea is preposterous, something about people becoming shells of their former selves and suddenly having an insatiable hankering for brrrrraaaaaiiiiinnnnsss just captivates me. Why the bloodlust for humans, though? Why don't they crave, say, squirrels or rabbits or pigeons? Oh wait, those aren’t zombies, those are rednecks.

It seems over the last decade, these flicks have certainly been in abundance. But more recently than that, this new genre of comedy-infused horror is what has me hooked. Shaun of the Dead? Bloody loved it. Insert British accent - “She’s got an arm off!” I just think this fairly new film genre is brilliant. Who’d have thought that comedy and horror would fuse together so nicely? It’s the ultimate dichotomy really. I would imagine that the LAST thing one feels when being chased by the ravenous undead is, “what would be an appropriate witty outburst?”

But that’s the beauty. Take Zombieland, which Dan and I just watched last night. Woody Harrelson is dynamite, and the rest of the cast really made the movie fantastic. But the style of throwing in humor at the most seemingly inappropriate time just WORKS. It’s like the unexpected humor takes the edge off the absolute horror of the situation. Because in all honesty, if somehow zombies WERE to take over the world, I know laughter isn’t the best medicine. A sawed off shotgun is.

I’m definitely a little crazy because I go into these movies knowing FULL WELL I will have bad dreams and check every corner for a lurking zombie for the next several weeks, er, days. I’m almost 32. I know zombies aren’t real. But woe to the gal with the overactive imagination because I actually find myself thinking that I might be in danger at 6AM when I’m in the shower and at my most vulnerable. I can picture it now, I’m bent over shaving my legs and next thing I know, my foot is being gnawed through the shower curtain. It will only take 5-10 minutes for the transformation to be complete, then I’ll be mortally hungry and will most likely have the guilt of devouring my husband hanging over my undead head.

Please. I don’t really think any of this, I’m just telling you the effect these movies have on me. I think about them for days afterward and isn’t that the a redeeming characteristic of a great flick, regardless of the genre?

Suddenly, I want a cheeseburger. But before I go, let me just check under the desk and around the corner, because if it’s the apocalypse and there’s a zombie getting in the way of my very last cheeseburger (hey, for Woody it was a Twinkie), that zombie’s GOING DOWN!!!!!!!!!

“I just read this great science fiction story. It's about how machines take control of humans and turn them into zombie slaves! . . . HEY! What time is it?? My TV show is on!!!!” – Calvin & Hobbes

You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby

No, this entry isn’t an endorsement for Virginia Slims.  Far from it.  It’s about the redeeming qualities of “The City That Never Sleeps.”  Anyone who’s known me for a long time probably knows that I used to be deathly afraid of NYC. Stemming back to a family trip when I was about 7 or 8 where I kicked a box on the street and there was a homeless man inside. Talk about terrifying and in a very real sense, a loss of innocence for me.  People suffered like this right in front of others? Why wasn’t anyone helping this man?

Flash forward 24 years. I now work in midtown Manhattan, much to my own surprise. :) It’s still an overwhelming place to be but it’s amazing what age (and Giuliani’s efforts, I suppose) can to do one’s perspective of this crazy city. I’m still affected by the forlorn, tired and hungry faces I pass on the streets but it never ceases to move me (almost to tears, I admit) when I see random acts of generosity. 

Today, on my way to a client downtown, I watched a man who looked like he didn’t have much extra change himself, hand out sandwiches and bags of chips to several homeless people.  You should have seen the looks of gratitude on their faces. The man doling out the food didn’t appear to be affiliated with any sort of company - the sandwiches were saran wrapped and seemingly homemade. Who knows. It sure looked like he was doing this on his own, out of the goodness of his heart.

It’s these small kindnesses that bit by bit, restore my faith in humanity, which is just as easily shattered when I read news reports about bullies who set boys on fire, and mothers who abandon their children in frigid alleyways. 

At this point, you’re probably thinking I’m a major sap (true!) but I like to look at it this way – every day, every small deed is another chance to redeem yourself.  The best part?  You always have another opportunity.  Every. Single. Day.

It’s comforting on a deep level to know that within this sometimes rotten Apple, there are people who care about more than just their jobs, their burdens and their own lives.

“A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves.” – Amelia Earhart

I'm The Queen Of...

...Procrastination.

I've been a writer my whole life and today, January 18, 2010 is the first time I'm creating/writing a blog. What took me so long, you ask? Well, there are myriad excuses (busy weekends, busier workweeks, blah blah blah) but really the answer is pure and simple - I'm a procrastinator who just happens to be a writer, well up until recently when my career took a surprising turn down the "Business Development (read: Sales)" path. Why do work ahead of time when you can put it off until it becomes a nagging black cloud of stress? I thrive on looming deadlines, it just makes me work faster and more efficiently. I guess that's why it took this long to start a blog - simply because there was no deadline hanging over my head.

So, I figure new year, new decade, new attitude. I have concerns about how I'll stack up against some pretty impressive blogs I've read out there (olivia, rebecca, kim!) but this is me, like it or lump it. Sometimes I'm funny, sometimes I'm plain silly, and sometimes I get really bummed out over things I can't control (aka LIFE). I invite you to ride down this path with me, but I can't promise it will be bump-free and without rambling detours.

Here's the introspective portion of my very first blog entry - I have learned, in my almost-32 years, that life truly is a blessing not to be taken for granted. It's beautiful and ugly, it's hilarious and heartbreaking, and most of all, it's unique to each and every one of us. To me, life is all about the people with whom you fill it, and the cast of characters in my life can certainly sustain this blog!

"Dont ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." - Howard Thurman

Listen...with your eyes.