A flash of red

My grandma’s favorite bird is the cardinal. She finds the male’s plumage absolutely gorgeous. Seeing one against white snow is even more thrilling; the red is exceedingly brilliant amongst the white.

My aunt goes for a walk every morning on a path near her home in Illinois. After my papa died, she told us about a cardinal that follows her as she walks, flying from branch to branch, perch to perch.

“I think it’s Dad,” she told my mom.

***

Today while I was running down a route near school, I noticed a flit of red cross the path before me. It skittered into some bramble.

I stopped in my tracks.

Florence Welch’s haunting voice played in my ears from my iPod as I turned and stared at the bush he had flown into. Without even thinking, I took off after it. I had to see it, just one more time. He sat, perched for me to see, then he took off. I stood there for awhile, dumbfounded.

It seems that things happen when I least expect them to. Papa’s voice, face and stature suddenly appeared vividly in my head. I smiled and nearly cried. Then I continued running.

 

Unexpected kindness (the best kind)

Robby and I are not perfect. We argue and have disagreements and hurt each other. We have a lot of fun when we’re together, and therefore hate it when we’re apart. College has posed as one big obstacle we are working on climbing over.

Usually our conversations are light and full of laughter, but tonight was different. Tonight, the phone call was not a fun one.

I won’t delve into the details. It’s our business, not yours. But, I can reveal that the call contained topics we’ve been over before. And I always make things worse by putting my least flattering quality on display: impatience.

An hour later, a tired, frustrated me requested an end to the phone call. I pushed one button and his voice ceased to exist in my ear. Normally I can forget things and carry on with life, but I knew that our repetitive conversation would stick with me.

And it did.

I got out of bed, slipped on my moccasins, grabbed my toothbrush, towel, face wash and toothpaste, and silently prayed that nobody on my floor was out and about to see my tear stained face.

I opened my door and BAM! Girl sitting on the floor with homework papers and textbooks scattered around her. I looked at her for a moment, then remembered my distorted face and turned away to walk down the hallway.

Wait, she’s been dating her boyfriend for over four years, I thought, I remember learning that when I met her at orientation! So, I turned, cleared my throat, and asked, “Do you and your boyfriend fight often?”

Twenty minutes later, I sat on the ground across from her, still in the conversation I stirred up with that initial question. We covered everything from homework, roommates, and my best friend leaving St. Bonaventure to the boyfriend topic and what we’re both doing this weekend. I met her at orientation, but failed to followup last fall when we moved in. And she lives across the hall, for God’s sake.  How did I ever let that happen?

She might not have known it then, or even now– just merely an hour later – that she really helped me. I made friends here at Bona’s and apparently did not need her as a friend. But, she was there when I did.

 

And, Rob, we have our spats and our disagreements, but, no matter what, I always feel most comfortable when I am with you. Remember that. <3

Pros and Cons

I have my own room here at St. Bonaventure, and I’ve been thinking about how much I enjoy it. But, with the pros come cons. Here’s my pro/con list.

Cons:

• Nobody to talk to late at night.
• I can stay up as late as I want, without fear of disrespecting anybody. (Not always a good thing.)
• Loss of the companionship most in the roommate relationship gain.
• I have to text around to other friends in order to avoid eating alone in the Hickey. (haha)
• If I lock myself out, I’m screwed (though it hasn’t happened yet…).

Pros:

• I can stay up as late as I want.
• Everything stays where I left it.
• I don’t feel like I have to put away my stuff.
• More room.
• I can sit around in my underwear if I want to.
• Coming back from taking a shower is not awkward at all.
• I don’t have to worry about volume of things (though I am considerate toward my neighbors).
• Everything is MINE and nothing feels foreign.
• The hair that catches on my toes from my rug is mine (until I vacuum).
• The hair sucked up by my vacuum is mine.
• One bed is mine, the other is a couch.
• The fluorescent lights are only on when I need them.
• I don’t get judged when I tuck my teddy bear in every morning.
• I don’t get rudely awakened ever.

Guess I’m a little OCD. Whoops. But I’m very happy to have a single room. The pros make up for the cons.

the most adorable song on earth

“Raconte-moi une histoire” by M83.

“Lyrics”:

i heard about this frog
it’s a very tiny frog
but it’s also very special
you can only find it in the jungle
so far away from me
but if you find it and if you touch it
your world can change forever

if you touch its skin
you can feel your body changing
and your vision also
and blue becomes red and red becomes blue
and your mommy suddenly becomes your daddy
and everything looks like a giant cupcake

and you keep laughing and laughing and laughing
nothing is ever quite the same really
and after you finish laughing
it’s time to turn into a frog yourself
it’s very funny to be a frog
you can dive into the water
and cross the rivers and the oceans
and you can jump all the time and everywhere
do you want to play with me?

we can be a whole group of friends
a whole group of frogs
jumping into the streets
jumping into the planet
climbing up the buildings
swimming in the lakes and in the bathtubs
we would be hundreds, thousands, millions
the biggest group of friends the world has ever seen
jumping and laughing forever
it would be great, right?

I wish I had written that.

Emily IS Strange

And here I am again, staring at the empty white block of WordPress space. You know, when I started this blog back in 2008, I thought of specific topics to cover in each post. Rants included my fourteen-year-old hatred for Miley Cyrus, Katy Perry, and all things normal. On the family computer, I most frequented my blog, MySpace, and Emily the Strange’s Society of Strange. I had over 3,000 posts on that society website. I was dismayed to find it no longer there one day. All of my “hard work” was wasted.

I was “different.” I was “misunderstood.” My hair was red and I skipped around the high school wearing fishnets and crazy skirts, undoubtedly designed by Tripp, the gothic clothing brand. I sported Emily the Strange gear, spent tons of money on band merchandise, and listened to nothing but Escape the Fate, Bullet for my Valentine, and the like. (Not the band The Like.)

Yep, I’m insulting the very girl who began this blog. The only decent things she did was start a blog in the first place, and name it “Blackbyrd” after The Beatles song. It could have been something like “There’s No Sympathy for the Dead” (ETF) or “Kiss and Control” (AFI), but it wasn’t.

My blog is growing with me, and that was made possible by my choice to name it “Blackbyrd.”

As for me, I will keep updating and growing. I’m thanking my fourteen-year-old self for buying those band tee shirts – they make for extremely comfy lounging tees now.

Good riddance, 2011

Dear 2011,

You have been the toughest year of my life (thus far). There are many more to come, but as of now, you’ve sucked the most.

You started off shitty and barely improved. You are present on countless headstones and funeral programs. It wasn’t often that I saw you written down on something pleasant.

People were in the hospital. People died. Someone is still in the hospital. You, in all of your unfairness, knocked them down, one by one.

I had the worst track season of my life. For the first time, I did not improve any of my times. I went from running 4:40s in the 1500m to 5:10s. Consistently. My fastest 800m in 2011 was a 2:24. Not good. How disappointing.

Friends disappointed me, and I lost them. I still think about how things could be different. But they’re not.

I went off to college and had a fun time around friends, and a miserable time in my own dorm room for a good 2 months. (That has since changed.)

But, though I hate you, you weren’t completely bad.

Without you, and how miserable you made my family and me, we would not have little JuneBug, the puppy that melts my heart each time I glance at her.

I can bitch about all of the shit that has happened to me and around me this year, but in the end, I’m healthy and my family, for the most part, is healthy as well.

Here’s to hoping 2012 is better than you, 2011. Even though its future looks somewhat bleak (according to crazy people), it still looks nicer than you.

 

Sincerely,

Emily

That Bug

“You and that Bug,” he said, looking at me over his spectacles. It’s the customary look received upon stepping into his office (for me, anyway).

Yep. That Bug and me. The perfect pair.

I had my mom’s Suzuki Forenza today, and she took Bubbles. Why? Because I feared Bubbles lacked room to haul Adam and his belongings back home from Fredonia. Turns out Bubbles would have done the job just fine (Adam doesn’t over pack like I do). Flo (Mom’s car) is nice. She drives well and barely requires a touch of the pedal to get her going.  She even has an aux in outlet, and, with a chord, I can play my iPod flawlessly. What Flo doesn’t have is my personality. Bubbles does.

Bubbles is my baby. She’s a “she” not an “it” and I love her to death. It may seem odd for a person to have such an intense relationship with his/her car. But, if you think it’s odd, then you don’t know me and the way I think.

“You and that Bug.”

Yep, me and that Bug. [Excuse the "me and." It adds emphasis.]

 

Jogging memories

It’s funny how using one or more of your five senses can jog your memory. A sound or song can take you back to something that happened while you were listening to it. If you happen to catch a TV show you viewed as a child, you’ll probably go “Oh yeah! I remember that!” upon seeing it once more. Sometimes we forget about things and it takes a nudge of something to bring it all back.

I opened the alcohol wipes an hour ago to clean off the earbuds I have to use to do my work. I didn’t think anything of them. But, as soon as the hole I tore was big enough, the smell of the wipes brought it all back.

Papa sitting at the kitchen table, preparing to prick himself in the stomach with his needle. He opens the small package, and I can smell the strong alcohol smell. Slowly, methodically, he disinfects the area where the needle will go. I watch and cringe as he injects whatever it is into himself (I thought I knew what it was, but think I have forgotten). I take the used alcohol pads and throw them in the little waste basket he has settled by his chair. The smell of the alcohol wafts, but I don’t mind it.

The people here in the JMC office probably thought I was a weirdo when I sat here an hour ago, just smelling the alcohol pads. I couldn’t help it. The smell jogged my memory.

I let my memory run.

This could be a problem

I just wikipedia’d Jenna Marbles (and you should, too!). She is from Rochester, NY and attended Brighton High School. That means that she was just 100 miles away from me when we were growing up. That might not seem like a big deal to you, but that just blew my mind.

YouTube phenoms seem like they are so far away when you watch them. Jenna definitely did. I was pleased to discover her hometown is merely 100 miles away from mine. It makes the world seem smaller.

Anyway, so we perused Jenna Marbles’ videos on YouTube last night.

I. Love. Her.

She’s so down to earth and reminded me of myself. Every video we watched was something I have thought, or ranted about, or could potentially rant about in the future. It made me think, Wow, I could be my bitchy self for a living and people would love me!

 

But, the thing is, I’m not a naturally funny person. This could be a problem.

A Billy Madison reference

There’s something about how the keys sound on my Netbook that makes me want to write. Don’t get me wrong, I love my iMac, but the keys just don’t sound the same.

I should be writing an essay for Chris, but I’m not. I’m just going to revisit an old habit of mine and put it off until tomorrow night. I figure I can print it out in the library, grab some coffee, stay up all night, and then take a nap between Intro and Spanish. And then another nap after, of course.

I’m at home right now. All I want to do is pick up the book I have on my nightstand that I started a couple of weeks ago and left here.

Reggie and Ollie are BOTH on my bed, leaving me very little wiggle room. Ruby makes appearances here and there, but she doesn’t dare join the menagerie on my bed. Tomorrow I’ll go back to school (Billy Madison reference?) with Robby. Our plans are to do laundry and move my room around a bit (did I mention I have my own room now?). Once everything is settled, we have a date to watch Water for Elephants, which he gave me for my birthday a week ago and we have yet to watch. After he leaves, it’s an all-nighter for me, most likely.

Right now I should be writing my essay for Chris’s class. But I’m not. I just finished my last race of the season and felt like vegging around eating chocolate and watching TV instead.