Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

Gifts received from family:
glasses/contacts (from mom and dad)
Shower gel, chapstick, lotion (from nieces)
Borders & Waldenbooks gift card (from brother/sil)
French book & scrapbooking stuff (from sister/bil)

Gift received from significant other:
turquoise/gold bracelet, very Egyptian-looking (if they used turquoise, that is)

Gifts given:
beautiful old book (to John)
JFK memorial record (you know, like a biiiig black cd?)(to John)

(p.s.: the items I gave to John were things that I had procured long ago; I didn't have time to go Christmas shopping this year, so the gifts to my family are still forthcoming.)

(p.p.s.: actually, there's another gift to John - I'm not telling him that my IQ is nine points higher than his; no, I'm not vocalizing this, just having a fun old time partying it up inside. Woohoo!)

I was homeschooled.

I was homeschooled.

Over the past while, JBK has been continually amazed at how little pop culture I was exposed to when I was growing up.

Today, over lunch:

"How about 'Cheers'?"
"No. Never."
"Never seen 'Cheers'?!"
"No."
"Wow. This is like discovering an Indian tribe that evaded the White Man and his influence."

I'm on my way . . .

The past couple of weeks have been absolutely brimming with emotions. Frustration, stress, bliss, comfort, annoyance, panic, contentment, and the knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be. (Except for this nasty cold . . . And the karaoke.)

My door is shut against the sound of my dorm floor's Christmas party (Bah, Humbug!), my drawing utensils are scattered about me, making a halo of chalks and cray-pas to my prostrate body, as I lie on my stomach, gazing at a blank sheet of 9x12 paper.

I have to stare at the sheet for a second, poring over every square inch of white perfection. It always intrigues me, takes away my breath for a minute. It's beautiful in its very newness, yet I wonder what it will become. It's pure potential.

(As are we all.)

It's times like this that my senses are heightened, that I love even more the feel of the chalks between my fingertips; I revel in the chalkdust leftover on my hands, the dust caught on my carpet or desk as I gently blow the loose particles from my drawing.

I've organized my drawings in this end-of-semester frenzy, realizing that I need eight more before the end of the week is up. I've been drawing steadily through the semester, but I'm too much of a perfectionist, and that's my hangup. If I had realized earlier, my teacher doesn't care what it looks like. She exclaims over a few stray coloured marks across a sheet of black paper -- the squiggles must speak to her. But I'm clinging tenaciously to my belief that my drawings should BE something, something I recognize. At this point, it seems that for me to resort to churning out Modern Art, well, it seems like a cop-out.

So I'm here tonight, listening to Shivery, staring at reflections of Christmas lights, and catching a glimpse of random snowflakes as they lazily waltz past my window.

I'm distressed. Christmas Eve has always been my favourite of the Christmas holidays, for Christmas Day holds memories of hot, dry air, blindingly bright sunlight, and a tangle of emotions, including being on edge, frustration, confrontation, and being rushed. I love preparing for Christmas Eve -- I love anticipation, preparation, the excitement of looking forward to something. And this year, I'm being robbed of it. My last final is on December 23rd . . . which means that I'll get to my parents' house either the night of the 23rd or morning of the 24th. NO TIME TO PREPARE ANYTHING.

I feel as though I'm robbed of one of my favourite parts of the holidays. And that makes me so sad. I think it might be the culmination of a ton of things on my mind, but I cannot wait to have a place of my own, a house, with a husband, with some colour other than BEIGE on the walls. I want to slather indoor semi-gloss paint onto blank walls (and revel in the colour and smell of the latex paint), pin up some of my artwork and photography, arrange furniture, bake, cook, do dishes, organize my spice rack, go grocery shopping together, lust after baby clothes at the mall (oh, wait, I already do that . . .), make the place a home, comfortable and welcoming.

Things I've done in the past 10 days:

Things I've done in the past 10 days:

- made four batches of cookies
- taken two naps
- taken a wintery hike and numbed my mitten-less hands
- worked
- made a paper snowflake
- done dishes (not my own)
- watched "Back to the Future" for the first time
- gotten another A (!)
- killed the battery in my replacement vehicle (way to go)
- been having wheat again
- been mocked
- bought carrot cake for my roommate's birthday
- not changed the month on my calendar
- had the opportunity to study abroad in South Korea for free
- rewatched "It's a Wonderful Life" and decided I don't really hate it
- cried during "It's a Wonderful Life"
- laughed a lot
- drawn for my class
- listened to much Christmas music
- discovered that when transcribing an interview recorded in a crowded Starbucks(?), it's sometimes easier to discern the interviewee's voice when I cover the speakers with my hands or arms or other appendages.

yeah, he's a keeper...

yeah, he's a keeper...

The first time he saw me after I got back from Thanksgiving break (aka "Gorge yourself on anything you want, because after all, it's Thanksgiving, and it doesn't count! Have another cookie -- or two, or four, or thirty-seven!"), he hugged me, picked me up, and said...


"Wow, did you lose weight?"

Inspiration.

Inspiration.

I usually get inspired to compose blog entries when I'm behind the wheel of my car, traveling alone. I keep the radio on for company, and tonight during a 2-hour drive, I listened to part of "This American Life," one of my favourite shows on public radio. Something about the personal aspect of the show inspires me to write down my own thoughts, but I'm always traveling when I hear "This American Life," unable to access a keyboard or notebook. I try to hold onto the thoughts, the great openings to fantastic entries, until I reach my destination, but they're slippery and I lose my grasp on them within miles.

Other times, I find myself outlining the day I had, while lying in bed at night, just before drifting off to sleep.

Neither of those repeated scenarios are conducive to blogging.

Perhaps the problem is that I have too much fodder for entries, too many thoughts on my mind, too many beautiful scenes around me, things I don't like to inscribe for the world to see. These, I write down for myself, filing them away, to be looked at later.

So.

I could write about my Thanksgiving weekend, how I had been looking forward to it for a month, but over the past couple of weeks, grew rather apathetic about it, and now am just wishing it was over.

Or I could write that the sunset tonight was amazing, and lasted for the better part of an hour.

Or I could say that I tried to make fudge tonight, and I was pretty confident about it because really, how hard could it be? Answer: VERY hard. I have an 8x8 greased baking dish full of dry chocolate crumbles.

Or I could write about the fact that when I came home for Thanksgiving, I accidentally left some important information back on the desk in my dorm room, and had to make a special four-hour round-trip back there today to retrieve it. It wasn't so bad, though, because I got to spend a little time with JBK, watching Seinfeld, eating soup, then drinking hot coffee and dunking homemade spritz cookies in it, talking about things from our childhoods. I adore how comfortable everything is with him; how any situation is, if we're together, natural and unthreatening. Big social events? No longer a problem. With him by my side, I feel protected, safe, and complete. Today, I got there a few minutes before he did, and when he arrived, he took the stairs two at a time and immediately folded me in his arms, and it was as though I was finally home.

I'm unspeakably blessed.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving!

There is a plethora of reasons I am thankful this year:

For my family - it's good to not be living at home anymore (darn right), but I love my family to death.

For health - everyone else's, as well as mine.

For traveling - a year ago today, I was in London.

For church - it is so beautiful.

For Autumn - it was long this year, and glorious!

For books - and for the people who take the time to write them.

For professors - who encourage critical thinking, instead of spoon-feeding
information.

For friends - with whom I can pick up right where we left off, even after a year.

For snowstorms - with big, fluffy flakes.

For walks - while it's snowing, walking in the unblemished snow, late at night.

For drinks - coffee and tea late at night, warming up after those walks in the snow.

For music - lately, for Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" CD most of all.

For Kristen and Troy - because without them, we wouldn't have met.

For opportunities - and having the right to decide for myself whether I should pursue them or not.

For vocabulary - working "extrapolate," "monotony," and "nefarious" into conversation on a regular basis.

For extra quilts - I love waking up in a cocoon of blankets, snugly warm in a freezing room.

For him - for being cared for by the most amazing, wonderful man I've ever had the privilege of knowing. For being more myself when I'm around him than with anyone else. For feeling at home, finally. For this.

Yes, I have much to be thankful for.

the highlight of last week:

when we finally kiss goodnight
oh i'll hate going out in the storm.
but if you really hold me tight,
all the way home i'll be warm!

the fire is slowly dying
and, my dear,
we're still good-bye-ing!
but as long as you love me so,
let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

one of the highlights of the last week: finishing coffee at Perkins at 1 AM, walking through the early-morning snowstorm, waiting in the car for the engine to warm up, for the heater to kick in. we listened to Bing Crosby crooning Christmas songs, watching the snowflakes swirl around the car, seeing the festive sparkle of city lights from across the lake; his arms around me, my head on his shoulder, his lips occasionally brushing my forehead as we quietly talked to each other.

something that never ceases to amaze me is how we connect on so many different levels. there's overwhelming mental and emotional attraction and stability, as well as physical attraction; we each delight in the fact that the other is intelligent, that we have so many similarities on which to build a broad, stable foundation for this relationship, but enough differences to keep conversation interesting, to always have something new to bring to the table.

one of our favourite things to do is, when everything is quiet, fantasize about where we're going to travel someday. "where are we?" i asked the other evening, out of the blue; without having to ask me what i meant, he grew thoughtful, his arms around me.
somewhere in middle-Europe; Germany or Austria, thought my mind, and i couldn't wait for him to answer, to see if he felt the same thing.
"vienna," he said, and my mind relaxed, happy; "we're staying in a townhome bed and breakfast, and it has wooden floors; at the foot of the bed, there's a fireplace."
"and no animal fur," i added, referencing another trip we had pictured the day before.
he laughed quietly; "yes, no animal fur."
"what did we do tonight?" went to a concert, went to a concert, i chanted mentally.
"we just got back from the opera," he replied.
"and it's snowing, and our gloves and scarves and long coats are drying by the fire," i said, getting caught up in the mental imagery.
"yes, it is. and right after the concert, we went out for wine."
my mind laughed, remembering our professor who got wasted in Europe; i opened my mouth to say, "except there's no wine, because karl drank it all," but he beat me to it.
"but karl's along, so there's no wine left."

it's still over a month to Christmas Day, but already, this is most amazing Christmas i've ever had.

The time of my life

We take late-night walks around town, wandering for miles, keeping each other's hands warm in the 27-degree weather, discussing everything, enjoying each other's presence. I am more at ease, more comfortable, more complete than I ever have been. It was reassurring this weekend, when we were at my parent's house and it felt as though he fit in - as though he belonged there. My parents think he's wonderful, and are so delighted that we found each other; his mother said that, amongst other things, I'm the sweetest girl he's ever known. He's someone I can be proud of; someone with convictions and morals, someone who has amazingly deep respect for me. We spent the weekend together, hours and hours of travelling in a car, and never tired of each other's presence. Yesterday, we were separated for 12 hours and couldn't wait to see each other again, so we met at 11:30pm and went for a walk. I love that his face lights up when he sees me; that he shows affection in front of his friends; when we're together and he's talking to someone else, he reaches over for my hand, just to let me know that he's still aware of the fact that I'm there. We meet for coffee in the mornings, and it's such a beautiful way to start the day.

Life.

I won't be posting much over the next while; life has gotten so busy. The main catalyst is that I've had late midterms last week and this week (four papers due this week alone, as well as some last week), and it has created havoc and destruction, making it difficult for me to stay on top of what is usually a normal load. I've fallen behind in my work-work because of it, and that's driving me crazy.

Add in the fact that I'm completely enjoying someone...and the end result is that my schedule is bursting at the seams.

it's been a while...

it's been a while...

...since I've posted. It's not that I have nothing to say; my brain is overflowing, but I don't want to say anything here yet.

I'll share soon. I promise. But for now, just be content to know that life seems like a beautful dream - but better than a dream, for I don't have to fear waking up and finding that it vanished.

From one of his friends: (haha)

Message: 11.03.05 12:50pm B: You are cordially invited to the upcoming student senate meeting. A John K. has informed us that you are a prospect of his and that he would like you to see him in intellectual action. He'll probably stay awake if you're there too. I know he seems a little pedantic, but give him a chance. It's not a bald spot, it's a solar panel for a sex machine.


Reply: 11.04.05 1:59pm Danika: I would like to extend my sincere thanks and convey my deep appreciation for the cordial invitation to the upcoming student senate meeting (which I accept, of course). I am delighted to be considered a prospect of a John K, even though he has a funny last name; and from what I've seen of his intellectual action, it's pretty hot, even after a few drinks. And have no fear; to me, pedantic=really, really, really great.

all-nighter

The First (and will be the last, for a while, anyway) All-Nighter I've Had in a Long Time

He likes that I'm articulate; he appreciates my vocabulary and my ability to state what I think (apparently. you can laugh, if you want). He loves the fact that I'm gentle, and thinks I'm entirely appropriate. He couldn't believe we met because of his roommate.

We talked from 10 pm until a quarter after five this morning, about politics, religion, school, health, having children; music, beds, reincarnation, the topic of If We Could Be Anyone from History, Who Would We Be?, board games (he was always Professor Plum; I was always Miss Scarlet), food, growing up, "Is there anything really bad about you that I should know? Because if there is, please tell me now", and travelling, while relaxing on the futon.

Nothing happened, nothing uneasy or forward; instead, it was beautifully comfortable, yet exciting; a time of amazing conversation that could've happened anywhere; lying under the stars, or on a walk, but we were both tired from a long walk and a little alcohol and everyone else was sleeping, anyway.

We talked and laughed -- at one point, just after our Board Game episode of the conversation, he sighed, "I'm going straight to Hell," to which I giggled and replied, "Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200," and we both found that insanely funny for a few minutes -- and then we talked about how strange it is that we have managed to not meet for the past semester and a half, when we have the same majors and freakishly similar interests (hello, Big Band Music?).

When he had walked into the room, I was introduced to him, then stayed and sat on the floor and talked with him, because somehow I knew that of all the people there, he was the one I would want to talk to, want to get to know.

I told him this morning that when I first saw him, I felt as though I knew him; no, that it was more a feeling that I should know him.

"That's the perfect way to describe it. It was the same way with me," he said.

Later, I said something brilliant about growing up, becoming one's own person, thinking and believing and having likes and dislikes because of yourself, not because anyone else wants you to; being able to develop without succumbing to peer pressure. And then there was silence, as he took a deep breath.

"what?" I wondered about the sudden deep inhalation.

"you gave me butterflies. I looked over and saw you, and got butterflies."

Teacher's Pet

teacher's pet

In my favourite class, we have been discussing/critiquing various memorials dedicated to WWII's holocaust. Today one of the critiqued memorials is a monument in the Ukraine, dedicated to around 2,000 Jews who were slaughtered there. It's a beautiful monument, but there's a funny twist: Nowhere on the monument does it mention that the victims were Jewish; instead, they're listed as "Citizens of the Soviet Union."

My professor asked if there's a problem with that, with not recognizing the victims' Jewish heritage; for, when we separate people into different categories, are we not adhering to some aspect of Hitler's beliefs - that people are not inherently the same?

I raised my hand, unable to sit still; the professor looked at me.

"Yes, but the problem is, they weren't killed because they were Soviet citizens. They were killed because they were Jewish."

And thereafter commenced the following conversation:

d: I love it when I get the answer right.
k: And the way he looks at you when you do...
d: Totally. It's all, "You. Me. My office. Now."

Happy Hallowe'en

Happy Hallowe'en!

Jme: "I ran out of real candy, but here; you can have a candy cane or string cheese."
kid: ". . ."
Jme: "Here, take the string cheese, but be sure to refrigerate it when you get home!"
kid: "Fiiiiiine."

Grand Finale (oh deer).

Grand Finale.

"Hell of a way to end your weekend," remarked the trucker as the wrecker's bed slid towards my car. I looked at him; the glaring lights of the tow truck lit up the pitch-black darkness and illuminated tiny flakes of snow swirling towards us.

I agreed with him, a dry laugh working its way out of my mouth. "Yeah, I know. The Grand Finale." I gazed at the bits of drying animal flesh pasted onto the hood and side of my car; the smashed hood, the puddle of fluid under the car's body. I'd always hoped that if I ever were to hit a deer, I'd hit it hard enough to kill it; the memory of the deer appearing in front of me, then the massive thud, the sight of pieces of animal flying across and over my car, landing far away in the ditch, assured me that there was no chance it could be alive.

I swallowed hard, trying not to connect the delicate beauty of the animal with the horror of the scene in front of me. My neck ached and my pulse thudded in my head. It had taken forty minutes for the police and wrecker to get to the scene; forty minutes in which I shook and listened to the hissing of the radiator, trying to contact someone to help me. I had pulled out my phone and dialed 911, and the phone, even though on silent, played music as I hit "send," a sweet chime that assured me that help would be on the way.

Girl Problems

Girl Problems

roomie: It's because, you know, I have PMS. Well, not PMS. More like MS.
me: Oh no! You have Multiple Sclerosis?
roomie: Yes, that too.

Revealing

Revealing

There are so many times I don't post; I write posts, yet don't publish them. It's not that I find my thoughts particularly disturbing; instead, there are a few topics which, if I write about, make me feel naked. Those posts, I save as drafts to be re-read over and over by myself. Many of them are about someone; the posts about him I was hesitant to publish, mainly because I didn't like having a public electronic record, in case things don't work out. But lately, I'm realizing more and more that even if things don't work out the way I'd like them to, these thoughts are still here and won't change. Will I always be able to remember that I loved spending time with him? Yes.

There are a few random snippets I am okay with sharing, though.

There are so many students from Japan here this semester, living in my dorm. They're all so small and skinny, with tiny jeans and cute shirts and feathered, highlighted hair, and always ALWAYS cheerful, smiling and bobbing their heads whenever someone walks past. "Good morning!" they chirp, dipping their heads and grinning so hugely that it seems strange they don't have a ton of smile wrinkles yet.

In dance class...his arm around my waist, my hand on his shoulder, his fingers on my ribs tapping out the beat, and our bodies moving together as though they can speak a language of their own, one in our subconscious; we waltz like Cinderella and the prince, only closer; Cinderella in a short denim skirt and tights, and the prince in gym shorts and a t-shirt.

I walk alone on my side of the pavement, dodging the uneven parts, remembering a conversation we had, and my eyes look up and to my left, expecting to find themselves met by a pair of intent, calm eyes, anticipating seeing a brown knit cap and a ready smile.

I was a bit anxious about our last dance class, the one after The Talk. But I shouldn't have worried that it might be awkward. Instead, everything was perfect, and we danced together better than we ever have before. Rather than awkwardness, there was comfortableness; instead of being overly careful to maintain distance between ourselves and not touch each other, we were relaxed and close; I gave him space, but his arm drew me closer.

immaculate conception

Immaculate conception, Take II

Tonight I was reading a history book about Genghis Khan, and found out there are myths surrounding the circumstances of his birth. One is that his mother was "impregnated by a ray of light." I did a double-take and snorted, then read it to my roommate.

D: "...impregnated by a ray of light." What an excuse. Can you imagine? "So who got you pregnant?"
M & D: 'Oh, it was, you know, a ray of light.'

Is there really a parent dumb enough to fall for that one?

transference.

transference.

J. was my best friend two years ago. I met him at my other college, and we were together nearly 24/7 for over a year and a half. I felt more comfortable around him than anyone else I'd met up to that point, and then we moved to different colleges and grew apart a bit. This spring when my dad was in an accident and I was home alone, I didn't want any of my other friends with me, or even the guy I was seeing at the time; I just wanted J. Not to talk to, particularly, not to cry on, but just to know that he was there.

There's a guy here in one of my classes, who reminds me overwhelmingly of J. Not in amazingly similar looks, but in the shaggy hair and the sweatpants, the laid-back attitude, and the habit of slouching around most of the time, then catching you off-guard with some deep, philosophical thought. It's funny, how I've transferred the feelings I had for my friend, onto this complete stranger; I feel comfortable around him, like there's a piece of home with me in each class we have. Last night, our class watched a movie, and I sat on the floor; this guy came in late (as would my friend) and lay down; I had an overwhelming urge to give him a hug and to lie there, too, sharing a backpack as a pillow.

Until I saw this guy, I didn't realise how much I miss my friend.