Thank God for Excedrin

I figured I needed photographic proof
that I willingly got on a ferry. (Not
that you can really tell I'm on one.)

It's official. I've moved and am currently residing in Seattle, WA.
*does happy dance*
I'm still shocked that this is real life. I mean, I'm sitting in the Central Library, typing away at one in a hundred computers provided for everyone, hundreds of miles from nearly everyone I know and love.
It's wonderful.
I don't know about you, but the fact that I'm a new and unknown face in a big city is so freeing that I can hardly stand it. Of course, I'm still scared and worried about finding a job, but I've made it this far and I know I can make it the rest of the way as well.

So, for those of you who are wondering, I still have quite a few things to take care of. I can barely see the floor in my new apartment for everything that's still lying on the floor. When I left this morning, my cat was sitting on a half-made dresser I gave up on last night when I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.
Today, I drove an hour away to find a place where I could park my car semi-permanently without paying an arm and a leg. To get home, I had to hitch a ride with the owner of the rental space and then take a bus and two ferries to get back to downtown. If you know anything about me, you know I hate boats and tend to avoid any kind of deep water at all costs. Still, I managed it and survived, though I did have to stop by the drugstore on my walk home after acquiring a head-splitting headache. Thank God for Excedrin.

I'm still searching for a job and definitely feeling the pressure about getting one soon, but it's a load off my shoulders to have a place where I can park my car that isn't timed. I mean, getting up at 6am, throwing on a hoodie and jeans, and running to the car lot where I parked it the night before just to pay for a few more hours would've gotten old really fast. I was sick of it as soon as that alarm went off this morning.
Now I just need to find that job that will stem the flow of cash trickling out of my savings account, get a Washington State driver's license, order some checks, and figure out where the hell the dumpster for my apartment is. Oh, and I should probably finish assembling my dresser before I alphabetize the rest of my bookshelf.

I have a lot to do in the near future, but I look forward to seeing what Seattle life has in store for me.

I'm Moving!!

The best picture I managed to take of the Space Needle!

I know it's been a right age since I've written anything on this blog. I'm not exactly the best at keeping up with the twenty-thousand things I do on the internet (especially when it comes to writing: my passion and my bane).

Curled up in a chair at my parents' apartment in Paris, I am forcing myself to actually sit down and write this partially because I miss doing this, partially because Mom hasn't woken up yet to go to the bookstore with me, and partially because I've been too stressed in the last few days to do anything but think about this move . . . so I might as well get something productive accomplished from it. 

So here's the big news: I'm moving to Seattle. 

The first question I get every time I tell someone this bright bit of information is: "Why Seattle?"

It's a fair question, but one I find a bit difficult to answer. It's a lot of little things combined, I suppose. I've grown tired of living on the outskirts of Dallas and it was time to get out of my parents' home (even if I was the only one in it, seeing as they live overseas). I wanted to move to a big city and have a bit of a fresh start in a new place. 

Seattle seemed like the right place for a plethora of reasons. I've always liked the idea of Seattle. It's the coffee capital of the nation and known for it's quirkiness and love of art/artistic expression. It's rainy, but I've always loved the rain more than the sun. It's a new place, far away from the old, where I can decide for myself where to go from here.

I should also mention that it is the #1 most literate city in the world. If you know me, you know that's ridiculously cool. I mean, we are talking about a girl who is both an aspiring writer and librarian here.

The second question I normally receive is: "So who lives in Seattle?" Meaning, who do I know in Seattle?

The answer to this one is much easier. I know no one. I'm not moving up there to be with anyone, nor do I need someone else to go with me in order to make it. I know that people have the best intentions when it comes to this question, but I want to make it clear that I can do this on my own. Of course I've received helped from my family and my friends, but this is my adventure to take and no one should ever let fear of doing something alone keep them from doing that thing which they desire. This is your life; live it.

Lastly, people generally end their inquiries not with a question, but with a comment: "Wow, that's really brave of you. I would be too scared."

Let's get one thing straight here: I am scared shitless. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I have spent the last few days having a near heart attack because now that I've gotten my apartment pegged down, this is real. (Not to mention, I am literally going to have 2.5 days to pack and say goodbye to everyone because I can't come home early from visiting my parents.)

I struggle with anxiety on a daily basis. It's a constant staple in my thought process and therefore definitely a big part of my life. One thing it has taught me, though, is that fear of a thing shouldn't always keep you from taking part in it. I have a long way to go in overcoming my personal anxiety, but I sure as hell don't want it to keep me from living my life. Therefore, I have to make the conscious effort to subvert it.

This, of course, doesn't mean that my anxiety about the move won't keep me up at night of put me on the verge of panic attacks (if you've never experienced one of these, count yourself lucky).

Let's also keep in mind that I'm predisposed to at least be a little more well-versed in something as big as this. After all, I've moved away from everyone I know more than once. And let's not forget just how many schools I transferred to and from. I still get asked if I was in the Witness Protection Program when I tell people my school history. It's one big, jumbled mess.

I guess the point in that is that I don't find myself particularly brave. I'm just unwilling to stay where I am out of fear. I'm filled with wanderlust and a need to explore that, for now, outweighs the terror of being the new girl once again.

And if I have to move back or decide Seattle isn't for me after my year's lease is up? Well, then that's how the cookie crumbles. I won't view it as a failure, but as an adventure and a risk I'll be glad I took. I'd rather know I tried than forever regret being to afraid to go.

Well, if all else fails, at least I'll still have my cat. She's coming with me at least. ;)

Stifled

My dad was home for the weekend, which was awesome. I rarely get to see him and it's always a treat when he comes to town.

While the two of us were driving to see a movie yesterday, we somehow managed to get on the topic of my future. Right now, I'm living in their home (in America) while they're overseas (in France). My aunt (Mom's baby sister) and uncle recently moved in since they don't have anywhere else to stay and she's pregnant with her first baby (Hank!). I work as the Assistant Store Manager and a video store not far from my home.

To be honest, I hate it here. I feel stifled where I live, like I'm constantly on the verge of a panic attack. The suburbs have never been the place for me and I'm pretty sure they never will be. I love my job and I love my friends, but I'm ready to be out of here. Yet it seems like my plans keep getting pushed back.

Or maybe I'm just too scared to make the leap . . .

Anyway, I was venting about all of this when my dad brought up a way I could move a bit sooner. He was telling me that if I could find some way to further my writing career in Seattle (the city to which I'm wanting to move), if I could convince him that this would be a viable option that would actually help me make progress on that writing career, he would figure a way to set me up so that he could help me live there and be able to eat without working my ass off 24/7.

Of course, he's basically referring to college. Though he was talking about the possibility of a trade school, or something of that nature, that would strictly teach writing instead of requiring the student to take all of the other pointless classes that they will probably never use. *cough* Maths. *cough*

It's tempting. It's sorely tempting. Right now, I feel like I would do anything to get out of here and feel like I'm actually doing something: moving toward my future. I spent a good portion of my free time today looking for something like what he said. I found one or two promising universities, but those are so expensive and I've been so certain up to this point that I don't need college and I don't want to waste my (and/or my parents' money) on something I'm not absolutely certain I need for the future I desire.

It's not that I have anything against going to college. I think that, for a lot of people, it is the right choice. But I also think that not everyone has the same path and, for some, that means choosing not to go to college. I thought that was the path I was going to choose.

Then again, how are you supposed to know which way to choose? I mean, that's a pretty big decision there. How can I know whether my initial choice was the best or if I ought to change my mind before it's too late? I mean, I could always use more training in the skill I enjoy so dearly. I'm sure there's plenty to learn, but I'm also sure I don't want to get in debt of any kind.

As you can see, I've been having quite the inner dilemma. I don't do well with these sorts of issues. Thankfully, I managed to quell the panic attack that was on the verge of breaking loose tonight, though the nausea is still present. I don't really know how to explain my emotions on this any better than that. I mean, it's probably not a good idea to get me started on my social anxiety and all the things that crop up when I think of having to attend classes again (of course, this contributes to why moving is scary for me anyway, though my desire to get out of here is greater than my discomfort at the very idea of social interaction).

I hope I don't sound whiney, or worse, like a sociopath, but these are my general thoughts on my current situation and the decisions I feel like I need to make. I'm terrified and hopeful and entirely conflicted.

I just hope that, in all of that, I'll be able to figure out what is best for me, regardless of the other factors that play into the making of this decision. Writing this out helped, as writing out my emotions generally does, even if it hasn't quite led me to a solution.

Phobias

I've never been ashamed of my phobias. I mean, everyone's terrified of something. I happen to be terrified of enclosed spaces and deep water. It's not a big deal as long as no one puts me in an enclosed space or forces me to get on a boat. I've written a post on my claustrophobia (which you can find here), so you can tell I'm not ashamed of it. I feel like it's a pretty legitimate phobia. I mean, I do hate having it. I hate that I can't enjoy the Hezekiah tunnels the way my tour group did and that I started panicking when my family went into a partially underground tomb in Ireland. I hate bursting into tears and having trouble breathing. And I especially hate when that happens on a crowded Metro car or in front of people who like to tell me afterward that I'm probably over my fear now. (Sorry, but throwing spiders at an arachnophobic person isn't going to make them stop fearing the little buggers. It's going to make it worse. Claustrophobia works the same way.) 

I've been embarrassed by people witnessing my reactions to my phobias, but never of the phobias themselves. Until now.

I've recently noticed that I am growing increasingly fearful of elevators- a problem which I'm not okay with. I believe it's a mix of my claustrophobia and that time my sister, niece, and I got trapped in the library elevator. It seems that every time I find myself in an elevator, my heart rate goes up and I catch myself holding my breath until the doors open up again. 

It's almost comical. I mean, I get claustrophobic on planes, which are clearly the more dangerous of the two, but I seem to panic more on elevators than the metal birds I seem to find myself sardine-packed into every couple of months.

Frankly, it's embarrassing. Elevators freak me out. Then again, so does claymation and I've never really been ashamed to talk about that one. I just think it's irritating and odd that I've somehow managed to find another thing that makes me want close my eyes and pray for it to be over. At least I haven't gotten to the point where I'll only take the stairs. I suppose I'm a bit too lazy for that one. 

2012 New Year's Resolutions: Midyear Evaluation

I have mentioned before that I'm really into New Year's Resolutions. Setting goals for myself is one of the chief ways that I manage to get things done and that is exactly why I enjoy them as much as I do.

On New Year's Day, I put up a list of my resolutions for 2012. Since it is now mid-July and the year is halfway over, I thought this would be a good chance to look back and see where I am on those goals and which ones I'll manage to accomplish this year.

So without further ado, here is my midyear evaluation:

1) Create/Write a Dream Journal

This goal has basically been accomplished. I purchased a journal for the task just after Christmas and, though I don't use it as often as I would like to, I have been steadily adding to it throughout the year. As of today, it has fifteen entries. That may not seem like a lot, but my dreams tend to be long and elaborate.
Here's a little excerpt for your sheer amusement:

(4/2/12): "The games didn't last very long. Soon enough, it was down to four of us. Nathan Fillion (I think as Castle) was there and sought me out for an alliance. At this point, we had all been relocated to a sort of hotel room and were told that Stephen Moffat would show up to congratulate the winner(s).Nathan wanted me to tell him more about myself, but I refused, saying that it was dangerous information and I didn't even know if I could trust him."

Yeah, my brain is a weird place.
Hopefully, I'll manage to start writing in it more often. My biggest problem is getting myself to wake up and immediately start writing out what I dreamt. As a rule, we tend to forget our dreams quite soon after waking. If I don't go immediately to the journal, I tend to mull it over while checking my phone or my social media sites and by the time I feel up to writing it out, I've forgotten most of the details I wanted to put in.
I'll definitely have to work on that over the next few months.

2) Move to New York City.

Yeah, this definitely won't be happening. At least, not this year. I've been meaning to write a blog post about this goal and will probably do so in the near future. The point here, though, is that I still don't have a job. There's no way in hell that I'll be able to afford anything at this point in time. I hope to be moving up north sometime next year instead, if at all possible.
Like I said, I'll be writing a blog post about this whole thing soon, so keep an eye out for that one.

3) Read 75 Books

As of yesterday, I have read 41 books this year. This means I only have 34 to go!
However, as any of those with whom I've discussed this goal will know, I have been steadily working my way up to reading 100 in a year. This is due to the fact that I once read that English majors at Oxford college are required to read 100 books a year. As a book enthusiast, this seemed like a wonderful idea to me. In 2011, I read 55 books, so I set the goal at 75 this year.
But I would be overjoyed if I could manage to read 100 this year and reach that goal sooner, rather than later. So if you look to the sidebar on the left and see the Goodreads Book Challenge Widget, you'll see my goal there is 100. If I can reach it this year, I will be overjoyed. If not, there will always be next year.
Either way, I'm totally going to blow the 75 goal out of the water.

4) Learn Tae Kwon Do

This one will likely remain partially done this year. I did take two Tae Kwon Do classes sometime around May, but I basically let it slip through my fingers and the trial period ran out. I decided it wasn't something I needed to be pursuing just yet.
I would still like to take some sort of fighting class in the near future, whether it be Tae Kwon Do, Karav Maga, or Kickboxing (all sound awesome). It's just not something I want to focus on right at this moment. Maybe next year will work out better for me.

5) Finish Writing My Book

Honestly, I don't see this one happening this year either. The book I was working on when I wrote that resolution didn't work out and I abandoned the project. Since then, I've been so wrapped up in FanFiction story lines that I haven't had the time to start yet another book project.
I think once I finish up the loose ends I have in my current FanFiction stories (A Matter of Trust (Newsies), Eyes of Purple (Narnia), and Winning the Golden Hearted (also Narnia), then I'll buckle down and focus on churning out a book.
In the meantime, this gives me the chance to work on developing the stories bouncing around in the back of my head and add new depth, as well as improve my writing skills. So don't worry, this time isn't being wasted in the least.

6) Accomplish at Least 3 Things on My Bucket List

And my final resolution has already been passed with flying colors. I have already accomplished four things on my Bucket List and will definitely be accomplishing another before the end of the year, hopefully more.
The three items on my Bucket List that I am probably most proud of are:
1. Go to Ireland
2. Get a Tattoo
3. Try Fish Sticks and Custard

So there you have it, my midyear evaluation. Maybe more will be accomplished by the end of the year than I expect and we'll have even more to celebrate. I'm already looking forward to the goals I'll be pursuing next year.

Snapshots of Beauty (Ireland)

At Blarney Castle

In Dublin

At Blarney Castle

Blarney Castle

Following Your Dreams

Ice skating: Not one of my greatest talents

My time in Paris is coming to a close soon. I leave on March 31st and it's such a bittersweet thing. On the one hand, I am super excited to see all the family and friends I have at home; but at the same time, there are so many wonderful family and friends here that I will be leaving.

The prospect of going back to Texas both excites and scares me. As much as I've loved my time in Paris, it has felt quite a bit like I'm putting my life on pause. Now it's time to press the play button and start moving full-force toward those dreams that I have been looking forward to and holding so close to my heart. All those plans I have been making are going to become actions soon enough. It's exhilarating and terrifying.

One of the things I have loved so much about Paris is all the amazing people I have met. So many young people are giving their everything to follow their dreams and they aren't afraid to take a leap of faith or two to get there. It's so inspiring to see these wonderful people fulfilling their heart's desires.

At times, my own dreams seem so far away and nearly impossible. It seems like every time I give voice to a new goal or another part of my dream, there's always someone who responds with, "Yeah that all sounds well and good, but logistically . . ." and it makes me want to scream! Every day someone does the impossible. Every day someone reaches that dream that once seemed to be the most unlikely thing possible.

What I've learned from all this and from each of the people I've come in contact is this:
Always chase your dreams. No one else is going to chase them for you. And if you let others convince you that your dream isn't valid, you'll spend the rest of your life wishing you had chased it instead of listening to the people who were "just looking out for you".

I understand that people will always have concerns with the way I live my life or the way I follow my heart, but that's something that ultimately comes down to me. I have to make the decision to do what I want to do or to listen to the skeptics.

I can't wait to see what lies in store for me in this journey of life. It promises to be one amazing trip and I can't wait to see who else I will meet or what else I will accomplish along the way.

The Hezekiah Tunnel Incident

My sister is visiting us in Paris for Christmas and tomorrow is her last full day here. We've been cramming in as many fun sight-seeing events as possible in the time we're here and tomorrow is supposed to be proceeding in much the same fashion.

First on the agenda is the catacombs. Now I've heard little tidbits about the place before, but we haven't been yet. It's basically these underground caverns full of arranged bones. They were cleared out a cemetery and put on display down there years ago. Now it's a huge site for tourism. I even found out they have a sign that says, "Stop! This is the empire of death!" (That's what it says in the picture.)

Sounds awesome, right?

Wrong. It's not awesome because I can't go and I'm super pissed about that. Okay, it'll probably still be awesome for my brother, sister, and dad-- but it sucks for me. You see, I'm claustrophobic. Like, I have panic attacks from claustrophobia. Panic attacks including tears, snot, and plenty of hyperventilating. Turns out the caverns are pretty narrow, which means it's definitely a no-go.

We don't need another Hezekiah Tunnel Incident.

"What's that?" you ask. Well, the Hezekiah Tunnel Incident is basically the story of what happens when I underestimate my level of claustrophobia. When I was told my tour group in Israel this May was going to walk through the Hezekiah tunnel, the tunnel Hezekiah travelled when he and his army were attacking Jerusalem in the Old Testament, I thought, "Sounds like fun."

I should have known better.

My first red flag was when we watched the informational video at the beginning. I saw a clip of some guy having to crouch to get through part of the tunnel. I quickly asked about the narrowness of the tunnels, but was assured that it wouldn't be bad. I'm thinking, "Oh, they must've just been exaggerating. The tunnels are probably pretty big. I mean, if an army is going through them, it's probably, like, five people wide."

Oh, how terribly mistaken was I.

It only took about five minutes of walking through the tunnels before it was narrow enough that I only had to move my shoulder about three inches to the right or left to hit the walls. Then the roof lowered to only a foot above me. I tried to stay strong, I really did; but it wasn't long before I was reduced to tears.

I cried for twenty out of twenty-five or thirty minutes of the journey. God, it was terrible. The only thing that kept me from hyperventilating the entire time was knowing that if I managed to make myself pass out, I was going to just get trampled as I drowned in the calf-high water. By the end, I was practically pushing the others out.

That was probably THE most terrifying ordeal of my life. I was shaking at the end of it. Then some of the adults on the trip had the nerve to go laughing about how I was probably over my claustrophobia now. Yeah? Far from it. If anything it's probably worse.

So that's why I'm not going to bother trying to "tough it out" in the catacombs. It was a bad idea the first time and the sign of insanity is to do the same thing multiple times and still expect a different result. No thank you.

I think I'll just meet up with them at the Napoleon Museum.

Not for Those with Weak Constitutions

Well, it's 4:30 in the afternoon here in Paris and I've only been awake for maybe an hour.

Oh, the wonders of jet lag!

My plane ride over here was probably the worst travel experience of my life. How so? Well my original flight was meant to be DFW>HIA>DFW>CDG. That means I was supposed to take a plane from the Dallas-Fort Worth airport to the Houston International Airport, then board a plane there for DFW which made a pitstop there (where my brother was going to get onboard) then take us to Charles de Gaulle.

What ended up happening was that I made it to HIA and had to collect my luggage and recheck it because that's what the American Airlines guy at DFW had told me I needed to do. That was fine and dandy except for the face that when I made it to the American Airlines baggage check, they told me I was too late to make the flight and I would have to make other arrangements-- that was the last flight to Paris today.

I got out of line and found a seat nearby, promptly bursting into tears as I called my dad. Now, I'm not the type to cry in public if I can help it. However, this is an exception for a number of reasons:
1) I had pulled an all-nighter the day before and I was over-exhausted.
2) My brother was sick and cell phone-less. I had no way to reach him so he would know what was happening.
3) I just wanted to go home and see my family.
4) I didn't know what to do or where to go.

When Dad picked up the phone, I explained the situation to him and he handed the phone over to Mom while he figured out my flight with the airline people. In the meantime, a sweet older woman saw me crying and dabbing at my eyes with my sweatshirt, so she came over and handed me a pack of tissues. It was rather sweet of her and it helped me calm down a tad. I don't know why. It's just the little things like that that really make your day just a bit brighter.

Finally, Dad came back on the phone and informed me that he found another flight for me with British Airways. It took me another half hour just to get the the terminal where their airlines were located and then I had to grapple with a pissy baggage check lady who seemed to be irritated by everything and kept trying to hurry me along as if I could help the fact American Airlines was taking so long in getting my ticket to come through on the computer system.

Finally, she got it and I made it through the security line after having to go through the metal detector about four times. It was only when I realized my iPod was still in my pocket that I finally got through.

My flight was delayed when I made it to the gate, so I found an outlet and checked my phone, only to find a voicemail from my brother, who had called from the DFW airport to let me know that the gate had changed in case I needed to know. I tried calling back, but it was a pay phone call and therefore pointless. I then called my dad, trying my hardest not to panic. He was still working with American Airlines to get a message to my brother. I hung up and tried not to worry.

Let me give some context here in explaining that all of the previous night during which I had pulled an all-nighter, my brother had been throwing up from some stomach virus that had him feeling miserable. Dad had given him the option of staying behind a day or two in order to recover before his flight, but he didn't want to get left behind in Texas when his family was in France. He didn't want to be sick by himself. Let's face it- who does?

So I sat there, worrying about him until my dad called back and told me he had gotten the message through and my brother wouldn't be worried. With that burden off my shoulders, I managed to relax long enough to eat some chocolate and do some reading until it was time to get on the plane.

My trip lasted about eight hours before we landed at the London-Heathrow airport. I had enough time to use the restroom, brush my teeth, and spruce up my makeup before I had to jump on the plane. I spent about an hour and a half on that plane and slept through most of it. I declined breakfast, as I had on the other plane. Airplane food makes me nauseous and the dinner I had eaten hours before had been enough for me.

I reached the airport with barely suppressed glee. I had my passport stamped and hurriedly grappled with my bags before heading out to where everyones' families were waiting. . . only to find mine missing. I stood there awkwardly, then moved off to the side to where I wasn't in the way. My phone had died before I made it to Heathrow and I started to panic wondering how I would reach my family. Sure, I knew how to take the metro home, but that would take hours and I didn't know the address for a taxi to take me. I knew Mom had told me to call them when I was in London. What if they were still waiting for that call and assuming my trip over the Atlantic had just taken longer than expected?

I moved off to the side and waited for twenty minutes, scanning the crowd for my dad's face before I finally saw him walking over with my brother. I jumped up and wheeled my bags toward them as quickly as possible. Turns out, they hadn't expected my flight to be in so soon and had gone to sit down where there were more open seats.

Exhausted and ready to finally be home, I let them pile my things in the car for me. My brother claimed shotgun because he was still feeling nauseous after the flight and such. I settled into the back, complaining about wanting to sit next to dad.

The car ride took about forty-five minutes, but the worst bit wasn't until the end. It's a well-known fact that I suffer from motion sickness. Thus the reason I generally get shotgun when we go on family road trips and such. I can't even swing on a swing set for more than a minute or two.

So near the end of this car trip home, I was feeling intensely nauseated. I kept asking how long it was until we got there and complaining that my stomach hurt. I didn't start gagging, though, until we made it onto our street. Dry-heaving is never pleasant, but a panicking father who's driving the car can always make it worse. Not only was he freaking out in the front seat, but he pulled over IN FRONT OF A CROWDED BUS STOP. And that was about the time my stomach decided to release its contents. Talk about embarrassing.

My brother and I were both yelling at him to move the car while my head was still sticking out the door and he finally moved further down the road, still throwing up out the door. I rinsed my mouth out with Dad's sweet tea he offered and jumped out of the car over the emptied contents of my stomach, keeping my head low since we weren't far from the bus stop at all.

Mom was leaning out the window with the cat calling down about how excited she was that we were home. I ignored her and hurried into the building, dying to brush my teeth and praying I wouldn't vomit all over the floor on my way up.

Finally, I made it upstairs and after changing and thoroughly brushing my teeth, I got plenty of water and promptly passed out for the equivalent of nearly twenty hours.
And that, my friends, was the worst travel experience in my life. I hope I never top it.