Forbidden Fruit

     And lo, I have returned from the void to transfer into tangible form the stream of my thoughts. Have you yet noticed the my alliteration appreciation? It's somewhat of a trademark in my literary endeavors. ...but, I doubt a poorly kept diary would count. In any case, I found myself writing a novel on Twitter after having having been left to my devices, and was hit with the recollection that I'd started this very thing for such an occasion. What fortune!

     Every so often, certain stars align which create the perfect environment for introspection, stars which I've named "Up Beyond A Reasonable Time", "Recent Questionable Occurences", and "Lethargy". For these events to coincide is something to which I've no doubt become accustomed, and that's okay, I think. But now, as I again wander the maze of my mind, I can't help but think that something is exceptionally amiss.

     Have I lost you within my digressions? I don't mean to ramble, but I do mean to paint a specific picture. Perhaps I'll get straight to the point, something I feel I should learn to do quite soon, although, my propensity of hearing myself talk disallows these notions.


     What curse is it inflicted upon me so brings within my reach that which I cannot attain? Truly, the irony lies in the fact that said curse behaves reflectively: That which I do yet cannot desire must only also yet cannot desire me. It is thoroughly unfair, yet, somehow just in the idea that such only afflicts those already, however admittedly, are unsatisfied with their current situation. Am I speaking too cryptically? That's fine. I'll give you some time to sort it out.

     Meanwhile, I'll admit I don't particularly mind being single at all. My only complaints are that stuffed animals are not warm, nor can they carry conversation or engage in common interests. The problem with being on the market is that shopping is difficult, perpetuated by the fact that I am not a miser. I want the best, and won't settle for off- or store-brand just for the sake immediate gratification. Because of this, I didn't find a partner I deemed suitable until I was 21. It lasted a healthy while, but while we ourselves meshed well, nothing around us did. I will not say I don't miss it, but at the same time, living within a bubble was detrimental to myself.

     The point in that sentiment is that because I am so particular, and at the same time so passionate, there is injustice in the idea that recently, only those who can't (by moral obligation) indulge in it, do. And while I have caged myself from entertaining such musings because of my particularity, consequently, it builds to an uncontrollable degree. Then, there are those who will come along and see fit to wrench those bars from place, unleashing and inundating themselves in that which has been reserved, and I, unhindered and unabashed, fervently engulf them.

     I don't know what it is about me that strikes the fancy of these individuals. I find it flattering, I do, but I would be remiss to say that it's perplexing how often this happens. Reviewing past events has called to light a pattern where my (if I may modestly confess) bewitching charm captivates someone it has no business captivating, which is something I cannot help. It does create complications, as one could imagine.

     While I don't think it terribly binding, I do have to wonder why this happens, and if it will dispel. Why can't whatever magic permeating my being work outside this parameter? It's funny, though, because I find myself inadvertently embodying my favorite fruit: The apple. It actually happens to be my favorite food. They call it the forbidden fruit. They also say, "You are what you eat."

     Perhaps I should stay away from them.


Woeful Wanderlust

     Before I begin, I'd like to note the change in title of my blog page. Previously, it had been known as "Devi's Daily Diatribes," but seeing as I'm quite whimsical and do things at my own pace and of my fancy, it wasn't long before I'd moved on to another project entirely. Given the sporadic nature the blog will be taking on from this point forward, I thought a differentiation was in order for this digital diary.

     ...Hmm... "Devi's Digital Diary..." is it too soon to rework the title again? I'll dwell on it for a while.

     At any rate, for the most part I'll try to pen my thoughts as they strike throughout the day, so as to divulge them to the masses via virtual venting at a later time. This way, I'll still be fulfilling my desire to keep a diary AND actually keeping it relevant to the events that actually transpire as opposed to a rant about some random opinion that just happened to cross my mind. ...Not that any such entry falls into that category as of yet, but, had I actually adhered to the "daily" of previous suggestion, it would have been inevitable for such a post to appear. And I doubt anyone wants to hear my thoughts on why words are those words (i.e. who came up with the word "cloud" for a cloud?).

     But I digress. Today, as has occurred quite often in recent times, I've been hit with the re-realization that my life is stagnant. I'm in a rut and there's nothing I can do about it but daydream of places worth visiting, things worth seeing, people worth meeting and time worth spending somewhere unreachable given my current circumstances. Is there such a thing as a quarter-life crisis?

     As July quickly approaches I worry that, at almost 24 years old, I've never been outside the country (beyond my first year of birth, which I remember, but it is not memorable). I've never even seen the ocean. I've so many ambitions. And yes, I do know that complaining about it will accomplish nothing; However, it does merit noting that I've even ambitions at all. In this day and age people seem so content to just exist how they are and live day to day. Well, I don't want that existence.

     I want to soar. I want to broaden my horizons so wide the universe itself will fear being consumed. I have all these wishes, and yet, no starting point from which to leap into the air. It's maddening. But at the same time, I appreciate that despite my fruitless efforts to fulfill these quests, I still have someplace to call home. I just resent that, at the moment, said home is more like a holding cell from which I dig an escape with the world's tiniest spoon, and that spoon is made of wood which keeps breaking; So, I have to carve a new one, in turn shrinking that spoon. And soon, I will be all out of spoon.

     It's the possibility of that impending spoon doom that worries me the most. What if I miss my chance to jump? Will I, like a timid skydiver, have to wait for the next cycle around before my chance at a new one? What if there isn't one, and I'm doomed to live the rest of my life in the same place doing the same thing? Many people have taken to addressing this issue by having a child. No thanks.

     For now, it's all I can do to keep digging. And if my spoon breaks, well, I'll just have to claw my way out.


     Today sure was thought-provoking.

     Those outside the area of northeastern Kansas may not know that it is currently under attack by a relentless snowstorm. Somebody needs to call Mother Nature's maid because she seems to have missed a few dozen spots and this dust is everywhere. I'm talking 8-plus inches of the stuff, and it won't be letting up anytime soon.

     I had to WORK in this nonsense. This meant that I had to get my skinny little butt out from beneath the feathery soft jumbo blanket of my more than irresistibly comfortable full-sized bed, change into my uniform that, as I am a security guard, isn't quite as flattering as I'd like, and step into temperatures upwards of ten degrees to dig out my car and drive to my employer.

     It doesn't sound like a lot of work, does it? I'm only 5'8", 106 pounds and have 2% body fat. I'm perfectly built for the cold, right? Did I mention I had to do so with no ice scraper, no shovel, and no gloves? But hey, money is money, and I like to believe I'm a responsible person. Plus, I've brushed with death in colder weather, so, I feel like this challenge was acceptable. I even made it to work early.

     However, it seems like I was only one of few with such a mentality. Two people called into work today under the guise of not being able to come in due to accumulated snow hindering their efforts. I laughed. Derisively. I have a coworker who is probably 75 years old, who is smaller than I and has to commute 30 miles boths ways (for a total of 60). He made it to work. If both he AND I can make it, I'm pretty sure anyone could have.

     Superficiality aside, because of these events, I spent a bit of time today pondering what kind of generation I really grew up with. I've always felt myself an old soul, instilled with the values and wisdom of the ancient (read: my mother). Often being told I'm "wise beyond my years" and an "indigo child" didn't help, either. I reflected upon these ideas and came to the conclusion that the way I was raised attributed to my work ethic today.

     As an only child growing up with a single mother, I always, always had to help around the house. Do the dishes, vacuum rooms, take out the trash, what have you. These chores were instilled into me through common practice until they became so second nature I'd find myself doing them out of boredom. This, of course, included helping my mother shovel the sidewalk, and, when we later moved to a house that had one, the driveway. This was routine every winter, and although I'd balk and gripe every year it, the fact was that it was an obligation, and I adhered to it.

     I feel like this translated to life away from home, this being the perfect example. An obligation (work) had to be met, no questions asked, simply because it was my responsibility. And even though I bemoan the very idea of manual labor, I toughed it out and my paycheck is going to thank me. Whereas a couple of people (one of whom doesn't even live much farther away from the worksite than I) apparently found it too tedious.

     Did I mention that old man drove a total of 60 miles?

     I feel privileged to have grown up under such conditions, actually. I feel like those with siblings often get complacent. "Oh, someone else will take care of Chore X." "Oh, I bet I can bribe Sibling Y into doing Chore Z for me." Wheeling and dealing or outright overlooking daily duties, and whatnot. I often think about what would happen if I ignore some chores--sometimes I actually do, now that I have roommates, to see if anyone will do them without prompt. They often--but to their credit, not always--go ignored for so long that I end up doing it myself anyway. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who touches the vacuum cleaner.

     But growing up, I did not have this luxury. If there is something that needed done, I did it myself, although through protests (as any child would), no questions asked. I feel like a lot of my peers could have benefited from the only-child lifestyle.

     Also I didn't have to share anything and got practically whatever I wanted--that was nice. But at a cost, of course.

     That isn't to say that all siblings behave this way, or that all only children are so motivated. Nor do I mean to call into question the way that people are raised. For the most part, I feel like I am acquainted with fairly well-rounded individuals. I just wonder, sometimes, if I'm one of the handful with a level head.

    With that, I ask: When did this generation become so lackadaisical?


Behold, a Blog's Been Born

     After somehow managing only to garner two hours of sleep before my body wrested itself from Mr. Sandman's arms and being allowed a substantial amount of time to stir, alone, in the depths of my psyche, I've decided it's probably a bad idea to pen up such thoughts and created this catastrophe waiting to happen. Although, somewhat in retrospect, I suspect that releasing such ideas to the public might not be such a good idea itself, either.

     But that doesn't mean that it won't be fun.

     I've always been keen on the concept of keeping a journal of some sort anyway, but I could never keep up with the blasted things. I think it may have had something to do with the fact that I had to sit down and physically pen my thoughts to the paper, and, while I absolutely adore my handwriting, it was a meticulous process that, combined with current schoolwork at the age, compounded cramp upon cramp on my poor, thin little wrist. That said, I think an online diary may be a much better prospect in that not only is it easier on the hands, it's impossible to misplace, as had taken place more times than I'd like to admit.

     While that alone is more than likely enough a reason to merit the birth of a blog, I must also call to light that I love to type. As my fingers fly across the board at a keen 88 words-per-minute, I can't help but lose myself in the clacking sound of my fingers fleetingly kissing the keys. So, in a way, I suppose that it won't be just an outlet through which I can channel my thoughts, but also an indulgence in that I can get my fix, so to speak, as I really don't do enough typing now that I'm not in school. And I do miss that.

     Typing, not school.

     As for the content of the thing, I'm not really sure what to tell you to expect, should you even have made it THIS far. It's possible that maybe I'll complain a bit about how mundane my reality is, or the rut I'm in that has been carved as a result. I may list in detail that which I find most fascinating about my current love-interest (of which, I feel I must warn you, I've plenty). Or I may ramble of nothing at all, which is characteristic. I like to talk, see; But, I guess you'd have picked up on that having taken a glance at how wordy I like to be.

     It's at this time I'd like to point out for no apparent reason that this is probably the tenth time I've tried pressing 'Tab' to indent my paragraphs only to instead have my cursor carried over to 'Post Settings'. It looks like I'll have to ween myself from my familiarity with word if this is going to be more cathartic than frustrating. I... look forward to that.

     At any rate, there it is. Or here. I'll likely make multiple posts per day, given that my job is to literally sit and watch a screen and I'm sure I'll have plenty of thoughts racing through my head within that time. I look forward to watching this blog flourish--and I hope you'll be there to watch it with me, if for no other reason than for the fact that you're nosy as hell.