I’ve decided to attempt one of those fancy 30 day writing challenges. If I know myself, I may make it to Day Four. Maybe Five. If I quit, just tell me to quit being an asshole and get back to writing. Teamwork y’all.
Today’s prompt is: What are your favorite sounds?
If I had to make a guesstimation, I would say that many people would respond with: “The sound of the ocean!” (Don’t hold me to this. I simply made up facts. Everyone likes fake news, right? Okay, good).
Of course, why not love the sound of the ocean? The ocean brings back memories of the summer. Vacation. Seafood. Family time. Salty skin and beach waved hair. The ocean reminds us that we are not at our desks, suffering a 9-5. The waves keep you in check with their methodic crashing, lulling you to sleep in the most perfect, Earth hug ever.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the ocean and the waves.
It’s just not my favorite sound.
In terms of “sound” I immediately went to “What’s my favorite music?” but I scratched that. Music is awesome, it also teleports you away from whatever dumpster fire you’re dealing with or the happiest of occasions you’re about to experience.
What is my favorite SOUND.
The dictionary defines sound as:
Just so you know, I looked at the definition for a few minutes. I don’t think I blinked either. Has that ever happened to you? Where you feel hypnotized and you’re unable to move or blink, but your mind is still thinking and probably saying, “Dude. Blink. You are alive. BLINK YOUR EYES.” No? Okay. I’m a weirdo.
I’ve been sitting here thinking. Chewing on my pen. Biting the bottom half of my lip ever so gently.
Sound. Sound. Sound.
And now I have Simon & Garfunkel stuck in my head, “The sound… of silence.”
With that song popping into my head after a string of random thoughts, I realized what my favorite sound is:
the way winter sounds
There is a particular way winter “sounds,” especially right before it snows. For those of you who are unfamiliar with snow, I promise it’s only pretty from inside the house when your hot chocolate has booze in it. Otherwise, nah. However, right before it snows, if you happen to be outside, the world sounds muffled.
Like when you have cotton in your ears.
The air feels heavy and dense. Cars sound far away. You can just feel the sound of snow. For me, it’s cozy. It’s also a rare treat, as I live in the South and we rarely see snow. And if you know anything about Snowpocalypse 2014, then you fully understand how the South deals with the “Devil’s dandruff” (hint: not very well).
The sound of winter reminds me of when I was little. We lived in Michigan at the time, on a dead end street. Our house was a tan/yellow brick color and we had chocolate colored shutters and a chocolate colored door. We also had a milkman and a front porch with astroturf on it.
Yet, in the winter, we had one cool thing: an igloo maker.
It was a plastic square with a handle on it. The idea was to make snow squares and build yourself an igloo to live in the front yard. I never made it longer than an hour or so- but I do remember trying to build one with the neighbor friends.
Our gloves and mittens would be soaked. Our snowsuits wet and shimmery. We’d have those rosy cheeks and runny noses, but damn it, we were going to build an igloo if it killed us. I can specifically remember laying in the front yard on my back, staring up at the falling snow. Doing that made me feel sick to my stomach because of how trippy the snow looked falling from the sky. Even now, I feel kind of queasy remembering it.
The best part of the sound of winter was coming inside and getting a bowl of hot tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich. You’d put your gloves on the heater vent and sit down to eat your lunch and watch cartoons.
The simpler times.
When the weather made a sound that felt like a hug.
like two fire escape ladders
Always next to one another
icebound in winter,
when the city is wrapped in gray.
Broiling in the long summer
when the city radiates in reds.
No hero’s parade
A penchant for all that is good
Until we are replaced
That may or may not
or be heroic
or in love.
What are the odds, that just a few months ago, I could not recall the password to my blog.
I mean, I tried EVERY possible word combination I could think of.
This afternoon, I had a few things I wanted to say. A few thoughts I needed to get out of my skull. A smathering of emotions just hanging on like a ripped cuticle.
I just typed in my password and realized I was on my original freaking blog.
The mind I tell ya.
It’s a weird shop.
Currently trying to study for another medical term test, but my brain was like, “Hey, remember that blog you used to have?” Yes. “Do you think you’d like to write on it, seeing as you gave up Facebook for the weekend to study?” Yep.
So here I am.
It’s been quite some time since I’ve felt like writing- at all. Sure, I have little random sentences that I scratch down on receipts or punch out on Twitter. Just nothing of solid content that I felt like writing about. This blog post probably won’t be that exciting either. I am also burnt out on studying about the conduction pathways of our heart, the different sections of the lungs and trying to remember how to spell TRIIODTHYRONINE.
Being back in school is weird for me. I started off slow, just taking two classes, because it’s been twenty years since I’ve been in a classroom setting. Let me tell you, SHIT IS DIFFERENT NOW. Everything is online. Teaching is online. Online. Online. Online. Discussion board, ONLINE. Registration, ONLINE. Email. Email. Email.
Robots, all of us.
Just kidding. That’s my age talking (not kidding).
More than likely, I’ll be changing my major, because I just don’t give a shit about muscles and how your diet is effecting them. I don’t want to take a test where the professor lays bones on the table and says, “What are those?” Damn Daniel, what are they? (God I hope you guys get that pop culture reference). I started off as a PTA, then went back to my original idea to become a registered dietitian, but honestly… I just want to be a goofy art or history teacher.
That’s where I belong.
So, here I am, putting off more studying (which I’ve been doing so much of). At least three times a week I have a panic attack because I can’t pass this one math test and I still have another chapter to finish before the end of the semester and people, TIME MOVES SO FAST. Only it doesn’t move fast when I’m work. But we all knew that already.
Aside from school, it’s been everyday life per usual.
Well, there was the time a few weeks ago raw sewage spewed back into the downstairs bathroom and we had to use tupperware and tiny trashcans to … well, scoop it out. The house smelled like a wet fart for days. We still haven’t managed to put the new toilet in (we have it, just haven’t had time to install it). Then, the oven went out. Did I mention we’re hosting Thanksgiving this year with my brother in law and his wife? No? Mmmhmm.
We are going to see Helmet next Friday and I’m super pumped about that (twice in nearly a year and half)! Their new album came out and they’re doing a tour- a part of me secretly hopes they play some old tunes again as well. The day before Thanksgiving we’re going to The Stuffing in downtown to see some of our fave indie bands and I AM SO STOKED. Nothing makes me happier than to go to shows with my son and my husband. Not that I want to rush my son growing up anymore than he already he is, but at least when he’s 18 we’ll be able to get him into more shows. Over the summer we paid $13 bucks to see our favorite band Tiny Moving Parts, with a handful of other bands, and it was the most phenomenal night of my life! Not only did the set list kick ass, but we got to meet the guys after the show. I was honestly surprised how many people just jumped ship and left. The guys were nice enough to take pictures with us all, sign everything and anything for the kids and just talk music in general. I also noticed the drummer from another awesome band was working the merch table, so of course I had to get that Mom photo op in! He couldn’t believe MD was my son. No one ever does and those thirty seconds after they realize he’s my kid is awkward. For both of us.
MD is now the age where servers bring him his own check, ask me if the bill is together or separate and most recently, Mrs. Claus and the elves at the mall thought we were boyfriend/girlfriend. I’m not sure if people are stroking my ego or if they honestly are in disbelief he is my son. I have half a head of gray hair people and I wear sensible flats with comfortable jeans. COME ON. I will say that yesterday’s episode with the elf and the Mrs. Claus was the most uncomfortable I’ve been about the whole, “YOU’RE HIS MOM?” scenario. I was giving MD a hard time about not taking a picture with me and was pretend crying. The elf wouldn’t drop it though. She was just going on and on and finally I wanted to say, “Look elf, we need to go look at some sneakers in Macy’s, so peace!”
The time changed this morning, so now I’m watching it get dark and it’s not quite six p.m. I’m listening to The Sundays (ha! On a Sunday) and trying to relax. My entire universe feels so out of whack lately. Tonight before bed, I’ll do some T’ai Chi and hopefully sink into a restful slumber.
In between homework and other grown ass lady responsibilities, I’m still knitting. I finished a magical shawl that took me an eternity, but I got it done. I finished another shawl and I’m wrapping up a UT Vols type deal for my husband. I have a baby blanket in the works and I’ve also been doing more doodling.
Two weekends ago I went up to Nashville and took my son and his friends to get hot chicken on the East side of town. As I was approaching the bench outside, I noticed a guy sitting behind us that looked so much like Chandler, that my heart got stuck in my throat. It was his younger self. Same eyes, devilishly good looks and that smile. I kept looking back at him to make sure, to triple check, quadruple check. It was tough. On the way home, MD even mentioned how crazy it was that the guy looked like him. Perhaps a head nod from the Universe and from Fritz himself.
I suppose that’s all I’ve got for right now.
Maybe later on tonight I’ll look for a 30 day writing prompt and go from there. I do miss writing on the ole blog. Facebook can get kind of boring with all that political hate/shit throwing going on right now.
Quick, how do you spell a thyroid stimulating hormone drug?