Leaving On A Jet Plane

Well, today I leave the country for 4 months.

It's kind of funny, actually. This semester abroad is something I've wanted to do since I was 17, and now it's finally here, so part of me is so excited that it barely let me sleep at all the past two days. The other part wants to throw up from nerves.

I know I really should be fine on this trip. The plane leaves tonight and gets there tomorrow morning. My family threw me a really lovely dinner and going away party (Mum wanted to call it my 'Last Supper', but I vehemently objected, settling instead for 'A Long Expected Party'). I couldn't be more thrilled with what I got, including a rather angry looking 'Angry Birds' sleep mask, a travel alarm with an alarm tone that gets louder (thank you Dad!), a pair of handmade Dobby Socks, and a travel altar.

I still say I have the best family in the world.

I was talking last week about my anxieties to Mum, and she said I ought to think about Rose Tyler and do a comparison for my blog. I thought it was a fantastic idea... and then didn't write anything. I couldn't come up with just the right song, so I figured "What the Hell" and put it in with this entry.

Rose does think twice about travelling with the Doctor, but when she finally decides to follow him, she has nothing packed, no money but what's in her wallet and only the clothes on her back. She had serious guts to follow and not look back. I kind of want to emulate her in this respect because I can't seem to shake my anxiety no matter how hard I try.

I know it will all go away in good time, and soon I'll laugh at how nervous I was/am, but I'm about to say goodbye for 4 entire months; I've never been away from home or from my family for that long. Maybe it's a good thing, an experience to push me out the door and help me to grow up... or perhaps it's just me getting in my own way,.

I'm going to England. I'm going for 4 months. I'm turning 21 in 25 days (and YES I know I can drink over there already, don't say it), and I'm going to grow up.

"Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again."

Shake it Out

Today has been, for lack of a better word, interesting.

Although, enlightening and revealing are probably better terms.

I'm sitting in the kitchen in dry clothes, wet hair dripping on my shoulders, listening to Florence + The Machine on repeat, eating a truly delicious piece of cake and grinning ear to ear. Those who've seen me recently can tell you that this has not been my normal expression. Sure I've smiled, but it hasn't really reached my eyes, you know? It's that smile, the one you use to say everything is fine when it's far from fine.

I will say this for myself though: I've been lost.

It's going to sound terribly dramatic and sappy and poetic, but I've been wandering through the paths in my mind, searching for the way out of the Winterlands. I've tried to lose myself in food and isolation and television, and they do work for a time, but once they're done, I'm just reminded of why I went to them in the first place.

This is the first time since the beginning of May that I've felt this liberated, this free...the first time since getting my report card for the Spring Semester.

Now, most people would say that all A's and one B- is a fantastic report card...but not for me it isn't, not when all I've received for 3 straight semesters are A's and A-'s. This grading period broke my streak and dropped my GPA, and while I am perfectly aware of my friends who struggle with their grades, this one really hit me where it hurt.

I'm hard on myself. Everyone who knows me can tell you that. My Dad says on a regular basis that he's never seen anyone beat up on themselves as much as I do. I'm very...strict with myself in that I hold myself to very high standards in academics. For me, anything less than an A is tantamount to failure.

Yeah, I'm a bit nuts.

Anyhow, I went in a bit of a downward spiral, landing myself back in therapy a month later. I'm not ashamed to admit that I went back because I'm doing much better. I've rediscovered writing recently, and I now write a little bit everyday of this and that, mostly fantasy and imaginings and things, but I'm getting better. I'm trying new things, hanging out with new friends (meeting my Braintwin (love you dear)), and I'm finally starting to confront something about myself that terrifies me.

My Shadow Side.

Everyone has one. Twin's is very developed and fully embraced, and believe you me: she can be terrifying when she wants to be. I've never thought of half the stuff she has, and when we're talking and making stuff up, she can certainly surprise me while I, on the other hand, my Shadow Side contains all of my anger, my fear, my insecurities, and even harder...the darkest part of me that had me on the edge of suicide twice in the last eight months.

I think it's safe to say that I really don't like my Shadow Side, but the more I try to ignore it, the stronger it gets...think I'll call that "The Monster Under the Bed" Effect. The more you try to ignore it or pretend it doesn't exist, the stronger it grows. The Shadow Side feeds off fear, and i have plenty of it.

Writing, in some ways, is therapeutic. (Don't tell my Mum I just said that. She'll say she told me so). It's a way to work through my feelings and emotions safely. I don't have to unload them on anyone else, and writing every single day for the past 4 months has done wonders for my skill, confidence, and typing speed...for the first time in my life, I can look around the room and type. I don't have to stare at the keys all the time anymore!

Anyway, after all of that, to return to the whole reason I sat down to write this entry today, I'm sitting for this wonderful dog who likes to play outside. I don't. I really hate being outdoors, preferring the inside and a book and a mug of tea (ever so British of me). But today, I was gone for several hours and came back and took her outside to throw a tennis ball, and I had to water the flowers. So, I did, and then I remembered what the owners said about her loving water. What ensued was half an hour of soaking the dog several times, watching her try and catch the water in her mouth/try to eat the stream, and me giggling and shrieking with laughter.

I'm sure my family is going: okay, who are you and what have you done with our daughter.

I'm still here. I just let the child that never was out to play and had a freaking blast. And this will knock their socks off: I soaked myself.

I haven't played with a water hose in years, so it took a few minutes of experimenting with my finger in the stream to figure out what pressures caused what reactions, but soon I was a natural, creating different types of water spray patterns and such. And it's fairly warm out today, so I stuck the hose up above my head and let the thin spray pour down on me.

It was such a liberating feeling. I absolutely hate getting wet with my clothes on, but I did it today. I let the sun pour down with the water, watched the rainbows form in the spray, and let myself actually live for thirty minutes.

I chose the title for today because I was singing this song while I was outside, dancing in the grass, giggling like a four-year-old, playing with the dog, and shaking out the devils in me to mix and mingle with the rest of my mind for the first time in my life.

On my way inside to change from my completely soaked through clothes, I came up with this little mantra:

Guide me through the trials and tasks, and help me smile if I finish last. Make my days of joy and laughter, fill my life with endless rapture.

The only way to survive and be a whole person is to embrace the shadow side and everything that comes with it, and when I asked myself if I were ready to work to become a real girl once and for all, I only had three words to say.

Bring. It. On.

"Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself

I like to keep my issues strong

It's always darkest before the dawn

And I've been a fool and I've been blind

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I'm always dragging that horse around

And our love is pastured such a mournful sound

Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground

So I like to keep my issues strong

But it's always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

Cause I like to keep my issues strong

It's always darkest before the dawn

[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/f/florence_and_the_machine/shake_it_out.html ]

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

And given half the chance would I take any of it back

It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone

It's always darkest before the dawn

Oh woah, oh woah... 

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat

Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah"

Hey, Soul Sister

This one has been a long time overdue. At least two weeks now. But better late than never, right?

On the 13th of this month, I made my first solo road trip to Connecticut to visit a friend. Now, the special thing about this friend (well, there are probably a billion things), but the first is that we met over the internet.

*le gasp!* I know, but calm down. We met chatting about Sherlock and within the first hour of talking traded Tumblr IDs. So, following each other there, we got to setting up daily times to talk, usually in the evenings when we were both done with the trials of the day, or, as it was April, school. It's now three months later, and we could not be closer friends.

The best discover I think we made in all of our hours and hours of talking is that we are Brain Twins. I lost count after the first week of how many times we told each other to get out of the other's head...if that sentence makes any sense. We finish each other's sentences, grab quotes from thin air, have inside jokes (soup jobson...you had to be there). It's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and a lot has happened to me.

So, it wasn't really a surprise that we had trouble working out a visit. My parents were strangely okay with me visiting, but hers put their foot down. Really didn't surprise me. I figured at least one set if not both would.  Then on one of the two times we've Skyped face to face (we traded Skype IDs after about a month), she took me around to meet her Mum and Brother. After confirming that I'm not a middle-aged man in a basement somewhere, we got the all clear.

The drive sucked. There is no other way to describe it. Stuck in Friday afternoon traffic and getting lost several times even with the GPS, the trip too 5 1/2 hours (to compare, the trip home took 2 3/4 hours). I did have good tunes, though, and the scenery was pretty enough, but after the long haul, I made it.

We were inseparable for the 36 hours or so that I was there. Twin's family was wonderful and kind, more than gracious in accepting me into their home and making me feel like one of the family. Her siblings were amazing and clever and just as big fans of things as I am. I wore my "Doctor Pooh" shirt on Saturday to everyone's delight. I even cooked them dinner on Saturday, my way of saying thanks; I even taught Twin the dishes and left recipes.

It didn't last nearly long enough, and all too soon I had to leave. We still talk every day by text or by Skype, usually both. I get flack from my parents about not talking face to face or voice to voice enough, but how can I make them understand that talking through text is enough right now? Save face to face for when we can sit on the sofa and talk about everything and nothing until two in the morning. Save face to face for when we're cooking together and dancing to my iPod. Save face to face for when we're driving in the car or strolling through the mall. Save voice to voice for when I'm lost on the highway and need to let Twin know I'm eventually going to make it there. In order to be friends, we don't have to see or hear each other.

We just have to be there when the other needs us. And that is enough.

"You see, I can be myself now finally/ In fact there's nothing I can't be/ I want the world to see you'll be with me/ Hey, soul sister..."

Drumming Song/ The Sound of Drums

"Is there hope of our parents ever understanding the world we live in as we see it? Understanding that we have thousands and thousands of friends and that it's possible to be friends with them and never meet or speak? To follow them on Tumblr or leave comments on their writing or artwork is enough?"


I was going to do a different topic with this particular song combination, but in light of a recent fight with my parents (specifically my Mum), I felt a short rant was called for.


I'm not proud of the fact that I fight with my parents on a regular basis. Mum says it's normal and part of growing up, but when I wake up each day not knowing if I'm going to be best friends or worst enemies with my parents (again, usually my Mum), it tends to put a girl on edge.


I will admit that I have problems with communication on a regular basis. You happy now? So what if I planned to have the leftover London broil for my lunch today? It wasn't out on the counter, it wasn't labeled with a post-it, there wasn't a meal plan on the fridge. I had no idea it was intended for the salad until Mum said something. And yes, I did overreact a bit, but I'm not in the best head space today. I know that isn't an excuse, but I'm really trying here. When i said she could go ahead and use some of it, she said no, I could have it.


That's the one thing I don't get, no matter what she says to explain it. I'm offering back what I feel I messed up with, and she's telling me know. The look on her face as well: resigned, frustrated, trying not to take it out on me. And she'll deny that was the face she was making. he'll say that I'm reading into it too much and making things up, seeing what's not there.


Then, after lunch, I'm trying to explain why I'm so excited to be a part of fandoms like "Doctor Who" and "Sherlock", talking about the group in terms of "we," and she doesn't understand it! It seems to baffle her that I consider myself part of this huge group of people, most of which has never met face to face.


Why does being friends or being connected with other people have to hinge on meeting face to face or talking over the phone? Why can't she understand that the world is changing? I get that she was never a big part of fan bases like I am, but why can't she try and get that it is something that makes me happy? Makes my life better? Gives me a place to channel excess emotions and energy in healthy ways?


Anyway, the point of all this is I just need to vent and I'm tired of feeling misunderstood by my parents and by other adults alike. Sometimes, it feels like all of the disapproval and side glances and incredulous looks just reinforce the noise in my head. I chose the songs by Florence + the Machine and by Chameleon Circuit because they both work. They fit together very well to illustrate the pounding in my head from not being heard...and not being able to hear myself.

"Louder than sirens, louder than bells/ Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell..."

"Can you hear them? They're coming, they're in the signal. They're in my head..."

The Beauty Underneath

So, while sitting at my friend's house watching a The Phantom of the Opera double feature (Phantom and Love Never Dies, the sequel), I had a sudden thought. I've always loved the story of the twisted genius or transformed prince or deformed creature: Frankenstein, Dracula, Sherlock Holmes (yes, he counts), The Phantom of the Opera, King Kong, all of them And I finally realized the connection...Beauty and the Beast.

That's right. In some way or other, they are all variations on that fundamental story that has shaped my life since the time I was a two-month-old baby in Mom's tummy carrier in the cinema. It was the first film I ever saw, and it was the first one I ever memorized. I can still play that movie in my head practically frame for frame, note for note, line for line because I watched it so many times when I was a child. In my head, I was Belle, beautiful, kind, smart, loving, outcast Belle with her nose in a book.

Coincidentally (or maybe not), I learned how to read when I was about three, maybe three-and-a-half years old. Even then, books were my favorite thing, my passion that could transcend and transport me beyond this realm into another, into millions of others for that matter. Even now when I'm finding it difficult to focus my attention long enough to sink my teeth into a new book, I still find other things to read and devour, all fantasy and fiction and mystery and science fiction. Anything that doesn't exactly have to do with dates and history and who did what where and when and with what. When I read, I want to go somewhere else, be someone else, even for a short while.

Seem like a strange thing to want? It's not, even though it feels like it might be from time to time. I could blame my parents for that particular sentiment because they were and are always the ones telling me not to get invested in things that aren't real, but how does an eight-year-old explain that she is being bullied and doesn't understand it and the only place she feels safe is off with a book? Escaping to a distant land where magic is clearly present and does exist? I didn't know how. I couldn't figure out the words required to do it.  So, instead of forcing myself to face the bullies or deal with them or try to make things different or better, I closed up and turned to the written word that I trusted because it wasn't mine; it was someone else's.


I had a teacher that terrible year who didn't like what I wrote or how I wrote; I can remember my Halloween short story having heavy Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone influences since we had only finished it for the first time a week or two before. It's taken me until the past six months to rediscover a true love of writing and creating things through words in myself. I can speak just fine, construct arguments and such, but ask me to sit down and write out a paper or a speech and I'll dig in my heels and give many suffering sighs and fight every step of the way...remnants of the Monday evening vocabulary assignments in third grade. We all dreaded the Monday vocabulary paragraph; an assignment that could easily have taken ten minutes took me three hours of screaming and protesting and insisting that it was stupid and I shouldn't have to do it. I was rather petulant, but I couldn't tell them what was wrong. I perfected the art of faking the stomach ache instead, trying to skip school and avoid the torture of facing my tormentors, students and teachers alike. I got yelled at in art class because I colored the sky in two different directions, another time for wasting valuable class time; in my defense, I used the class time well as we were making clay pots and I spent the whole time working on mine, but more than halfway through the class, I collapsed my work and started over because I was dissatisfied with the product...apparently that meant, according to what I heard my art teacher saying to my head teacher, that I was wasting time and wasn't focusing or on task. I pulled a tooth in science class because we were learning something about the ocean or a marsh; all I remember was a bird in the book and I was bored, so bored, bored enough to pull my tooth and brave the physical pain I feared just to get out for a few minutes. I remember being put in GT (gifted and talented), but I don't remember much of what we did aside from learning about Hiroshima and reading "Stories with Holes" out loud. I read the Goosebumps books looking for a distraction but all I secured was a deep seated fear of dummies and masks and dark corners. When my parents finally wrested the truth from me about how miserable I was, they made arrangements and pulled me from school. I was home schooled from 2000-2003 when I decided to return to public school at the other elementary school in town. And even though I still had issues with bullies, I did make a few friends who helped me get through the year...even if I felt like more of an outsider than ever before.


Adults and educators and others always complain about the level of bullying that goes on in schools, but they never, ever seem to understand the issue beneath it. Children are petty and cruel and selfish and it shows. The decent ones have to work really hard to stay that way or they wind up eating lunch in the principal's office for kicking a boy in the jewels at recess or hitting another girl in the face with a chunk of ice because it slipped while they were playing catch or forgetting to come back to class because they went to the bathroom with a book under their shirt and read so long their bum went numb. All are true. And all have happened to me. The kids don't want to talk because they know for a fact that things will only get worse, the bullies will be more subtle, and they will know who ratted them out. I don't think people give children enough credit for their intelligence. Children are brilliant and see things far clearer than many adults.


The worst form of bullying is the verbal/emotional kind. Cuts and cruises and broken bones can heal, but other scars run far deeper. The worst kind I can remember were all of the taunts about just how "different" I was. According to them, my laugh was weird, it was wrong to read so much, I spelled my name wrong (that might have been me more than them as there was a girl in my class with my name spelled differently), I was friend with the wrong people, I wasn't cool in the slightest because my family didn't do Pokemon or watch Nickelodeon. You wouldn't believe the looks I get now from my peers when I say I didn't grow up on the Rugrats or the Wild Thornberries or even Barney because I was watching Lambchop, Mr. Rodgers (who I got to meet in person twice!), The Puzzle Place, Arthur, Winnie the Pooh, Thomas the Tank Engine, classic Disney Cartoons, Sesame Street, and others I probably can't even remember anymore. I believed in magic and tried my best to be nice and polite and kind, but they kept coming with the never ending whispers and glances and stares and smirks. They tried to mold me and shape me into their idea of who I should be. I told one girl to shove off because she wasn't the boss of me and I wasn't her clone and I made friends with another girl even though I had no less than six people telling me she was bad news and I should stay away from the new girl.Still others would come up to me and say, "You know so-and-so was saying this about you earlier"  including my "best friend" because she said she was looking out for me. How does that make it better?! And there I was, a year younger than all my peers and hopelessly confused and scared and frustrated because I couldn't find anyone to really be a real friend except the new girl, and she transferred schools a few months before the end of the year. I sat in the same place in the cafeteria for the rest of the year, not caring that I sat alone. I got the "three heads stare" already and the fact that I went through a kick of eating cheese and ketchup sandwiches every day didn't help my reputation as the school freak in the slightest.

In terms of my life through literature, my one trustworthy friend through the hell and torment of trying to learn the ropes without getting cut or burned, the year I turned eight, my grandfather gave me the first Harry Potter book, a series which has since shaped me in more ways than I can count including being the subject of two Honors papers that I've presented through college. I read The American Girl and Little House books with my mom, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings with my Dad. I snuck Captain Underpants books home and read them under my bed at night because for a short time they were banned in our house. Eventually I consumed the entire Series of Unfortunate Events, The Bartimaeus Trilogy, The House of Night Series, Abarat, and anything I could get my hands on by Gail Carson Levine, Eoin Colfer, Lois Lowry, Dr. Seuss, Michael Crichton, Susan Cooper, and many, many more books and authors that grace the shelves in my room and in the library and in my parent's office (and yes, I did go through a Twilight phase, don't judge me). Hundreds upon hundreds of paper-clad friends with adventures new and old to be had. And the library had even MORE! I can still remember the first book I consciously remember reading silently. I loved Jim Henson's Labyrinth as a child, and we had an illustrated book of the film. I was sitting on my bed and realized that I had been reading for at least ten minutes without speaking or moving my lips. It felt like the greatest discovery of my life.


So, here at the end of all of this, I'm sitting on my friend's couch falling in love with the song "The Beauty Underneath" from Love Never Dies, and it hits me. I love the stories because I wish I could be the girl, but I see myself as the villain, the twisted mockery of humanity in some cases who just wants to be loved. And someday I'll find it outside of my family and the few close friends I trust now and things will be different. But somewhere in this body, is a shunned eight-year-old who just wants one friend she can trust and talk to that isn't made of tree pulp.

"When the dark unfold its wings,/ Do you sense the strangest things?/ Things no one would ever guess,/ Things that words cannot express?"

Stayin' Alive

So, I realized that I have never done an entry about this particular TV show. I did Doctor Who ages ago, last spring in fact, but this show has been a more recent obsession of mine.

It's a little something called Sherlock.

Co-created by Steven Moffat (current head writer for Doctor Who) and Mark Gatiss (pronounced GAY-tiss), it sets the classic Sir Arthur Conan Doyle tales of the great Sherlock Holmes in present day London. Now, before you go off and say "But that doesn't work! It must be terrible," I can bloody well assure you it isn't; if anything, it is one of the greatest shows out there. Sherlock (played magnificently by Benedict Cumberbatch) is a modern man, up to date with the latest technology, preferring to text his replies to cases rather than talk. He still lives at 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson is still his landlady, and he still plays the violin at all hours of the day and night when he's thinking. He's obnoxious, has no concept of what is inappropriate to say and has an arsenal of insults at the ready detailing how he is far superior in his intellect to the rest of the world. He has a website (http://www.thescienceofdeduction.co.uk/....contains minor spoilers for Series 1) which is quite fun to look at and which John Watson goes to when he Googles the detective after their first meeting.

What makes this Sherlock very special and memorable is his ability to observe and mimic body language, manipulating those around him without having to resort to elaborate disguises. He can conjure tears to get the answers he seeks or flirt when he wants something. He doesn't truly understand what love is or what it means but understands what the result is for those in it or moved by it. It is incredible to watch, truly astounding.

At his side is the illustrious Dr. John Watson (played by Martin Freeman in this BAFTA winning role). Instead of a diary or journal, Dr. Watson keeps a blog of everything that happens to him, eventually catapulting him and Sherlock into internet fame in Series 2 (http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/.....Moffat and Gatiss truly think of everything. It is current with the end of Series 2, so if you don't want spoilers, then wait until you are caught up to check it out, and look for the hat tips to the hiatus between Series 1 and Series 2 and to Martin Freeman filming The Hobbit in New Zealand). John is still a former army doctor, a veteran of the Afghanistan war struggling to integrate back into society after being wounded in action. Quiet, stoic, caring, he is the perfect counterpoint to the blustering, quick thinking, verbose Holmes.

And, of course, it would not be a Sherlock Holmes story without the great Jim Moriarty (Andrew Scott deserves all the awards for this role, especially with his performance in the Series 2 Finale). I'm doing my best to avoid spoilers, but I will say that Scott's Moriarty is incredibly dangerous, a master of disguise, and every bit as smart as Sherlock is. He ascribes to the theory of chaos while Sherlock is all about logical thinking. To Jim, this is all just one big game, and he likes watching Sherlock dance for him.

There have been 2 Series so far (in Britain, a Season is a Series). Each episode is 90 minutes, so you essentially get three full-length feature films each time, each episode more gripping and thrilling than the last and cleverly updated and woven with others. Each episode is many references to others; no story is purely translated, another reason why the adaptations are so complex and intricate and why an hour-and-a-half is required for their telling.

Series 1:

1. A Study in Pink (A Study in Scarlet)
2. The Blind Banker (combo of The Valley of Fear and The Adventure of the Dancing Man)
3. The Great Game (a mixture of about 7 or 8 different stories, ending in a very charged cliffhanger that was unresolved for 18 months)

Series 2:

1. A Scandal In Belgravia (Irene Adler)
2. The Hounds of Baskerville (self-explanatory)
3. The Reichenbach Fall (The Final Problem)

Needless to say, the Series 2 finale left many fans shocked and furious (if you don't know it, READ AND/OR WATCH, well, definitely read the stories because they are completely brilliant, but I won't divulge the episode here, only to say that it is some of the best acting I've ever seen in my life and left me with more emotions than I knew what to do with).

The rest of the cast is stunning: Una Stubbs (Mrs. Hudson), Rupert Graves (DI Lestrade), Lara Pulver (Irene Adler), Louise Brealey (Molly Hooper) and the rest all bringing their own life and vivacity to the party, creating a colorful background of people for Holmes and Watson to join in their adventures.

As for the title of this entry...well, you just ought to get caught up. The Sherlockians who see this will know what it means because until Series 3 comes out, it's all we can do, just manage to somehow Stay Alive.

"Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin' and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive"

Getting Better

I can finally say it out loud: I changed my major.

I've been sitting on this decision since the 5th of April, debating whether or not to follow through with it, and I finally filled out the paperwork a week ago today. I'm now a Secondary Education English Major with a Minor in theater.

I haven't really told my friends yet; only a few of them know because I asked them for advice while trying to make up my mind about the whole situation. I also refused to tell everyone until I spoke with my acting professor and mentor. It only felt right that she should really be the first one to know.

I won't deny that I was scared to talk to her. I respect and love her and hold her in the highest regard, but I was so worried that she would be disappointed with me. I don't do well confronting authority figures, especially when I'm telling them something really difficult. Hell, I can barely stand up to my mom to tell her I disagree about something. This was, this was infinitely harder because I felt her opinion of me hung in the balance. I know it really shouldn't matter what other people think, but I really value her opinion.

She was really supportive of my choice; now, I could tell she was worried that I was making this decision based on my issues in Directing, but that's just the icing on the cake. Honestly, little thoughts of this decision have been getting more and more vocal since my breakdown in November. It just took until now for my brain to catch up. I've been saying for ages that I want to teach High School English and act on the weekends; I guess I just wasn't ready to let those thoughts in completely.

This is the first really big decision I've made for myself, and hopefully it'll be the first of many more.

Now, yesterday sucked royally, especially since I got severely reprimanded in both of my classes. Now, since the 5th and I hit my transformation/revelation, I've been better, happier than I've been since I was three years old. This past week, with the stress of knowing I had to tell my acting professor on top of the nightmare that was Directing, it's the closest I've been to those old feelings since the beginning of the month, and it was terrifying. I thought I was going to relapse, that I wouldn't even make it three weeks before reverting to my old habits, but on the way to my car, something fantastic happened.

I was in a right state after Directing and was talking out the inner monologue because it helps me sort out y thoughts. When the words, "I'm the biggest **** up in the world. I can't believe how much of a **** up I am," I stopped, I literally stopped in my tracks. Where had those thoughts come from? Without thinking, I shot back, "Get the hell out of my head! I don't need you anymore. That's not true." And the thoughts went away. Now, I felt like I'd been run over by a car the rest of the day, but there was something very empowering about telling the nasty voices in my head to stuff it and having it actually work.

I've been paying attention to how I feel lately, mostly to make sure I don't relapse into my old behavior. With this revelation came the feeling that my heart was whole for the first time I can remember. I no longer eat because I'm upset as dinner proved last night, and my chest doesn't feel empty anymore. I know things are changing, and instead of running from the change, I'm embracing it. I'm growing up.

Things are getting better.

"It's getting better all the time."