I Scream

I've learned a hard lesson about dependence again. This one is going to take some serious effort to recover from. The worst part is, I didn't even realize I was abusing it until I couldn't anymore. Nature hosted an intervention and she was ruthless.

I'm lactose intolerant.

This may not seem like that big of a deal, but there are a few key points that need to be acknowledged. 

1) I've never been 'intolerant' or allergic to anything in my life. 

2) 90% of my college diet was based in dairy (cereal, Greek yogurt, lattes, mac n cheese, pizza...)
3) I work at a restaurant where cheese goes on/in EVERYTHING.

4) Ice cream is my coping mechanism.

I may or may not have had a meltdown in the frozen aisle of King Soopers, and the irony is not lost on me.

Apparently, when I had food poisoning a while back, my body took it as a sign to stop making the enzyme lactase, which means I can no longer process lactose. Thanks, biology, for blatantly labeling things.

I am aware that this is not the end of the world, especially with all things considered. But it's an indicator of change, and those can be hard to take. Change is something that I can manage if it occurs over a period of time, but abruptly encountering it is hard. Assimilation and adaptation occur gradually, ask Darwin.

I guess I'm excited to try new things (maybe?) but I have yet to find a suitable substitute for pizza. Vegan cheese is NASTY. I'm okay with almond and soy milks, the ice cream is... adequate, and apparently soy mac n cheese is a thing, so I won't starve.

If anyone knows of any tricks for lactose avoidance, comment below or get a hold of me somehow, it'd be much appreciated.

And one more fun thing! I've revamped the blog a little bit, you can now subscribe by email by entering your address above and can see the most popular posts on the sidebar.

Meanwhile, I'll sit here studying with my Soy Dream vanilla fudge swirl and ruing the day I ate the chicken salad that triggered this whole debacle. 

525,600

To begin, I know this won't accomplish anything but provoking thought. It's a prime example of "slacktivism", but it's what I want to do. Here goes.

Today is the closest I've been connected to an act of terror. My brother, Bostonian and marathon runner, passed by the location of the bombing 60 seconds before it went off, but when he passed, it was just a location, no prepositional phrase.

I've been thinking of how drastically things change in just 60 seconds. Actually, that things can change so drastically in 1. Right up until the instant that it became rubble, that sidewalk was just a sidewalk. And to think my brother was 60 seconds ahead of that instant.

This may be because I just saw Jurassic Park for the first time and idolized Jeff Goldblum, but my mind instantly started creating all the possible scenarios that could have stalled him 60 seconds. He could have stopped to relieve himself, he could have had to tie his shoe, he could have had to stretch out a cramp, he could have had a slower pace because he didn't train that one day when it was raining because the butterfly flapped its wings in Peking.

I was 60 seconds away from possibly losing a brother, and didn't even know it. That minute passed the same for me as any other had, and I had no idea that it was the most important minute of my life so far.

Never again will I take for granted a single minute that I'm not dead or in danger, and neither are the ones I love.

That's a lie, I will. But I'll think about how I took it for granted, and feel insurmountably and simultaneously guilty and grateful for it.

And in case you missed my opinion about tragedy, I'd like to direct you to Super, Heroes, Demise of Humanity, and Beauty and Love in Loss, because it makes me sad to have to repeat these things, and I don't want to. Four is enough, sad blog posts suck.

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

In which I compose a list of scenarios in which getting up sucks, ranked in order from mildly bad to the worst ever, accompanied by a respective list of things I would rather do than have to start the day under that circumstance, which become more drastic as the suckitude of the scenario increases.

1. It still looks like nighttime. 

I absolutely dread waking up when it's still dark enough outside to require headlights. It's the exact opposite of trying to fall asleep on a sunny afternoon on a roller coaster, which makes it equally as difficult. They even have equal and opposite exceptions: excitement-induced adrenaline and horse tranquilizers, respectively.

Exceptions aside, I would rather eat whole grain pancakes, cold and dry, than wake up in the dark.

2. It's much colder than comfort.I really would not have trouble staying out of bed when I turn off the alarm if I woke up to a climate I was comfortable in. I can't fight instinct that early in the morning, and instinct says to establish yourself in a habitat most conducive to your health. AKA not the cold. Cold sucks. Cold is sickness. Cold is like death, especially in the morning. So if I leave the cocoon of my comforter and shiver, I will turn off the alarm and sheath myself again. I'm not always cognizant enough to hit snooze instead of dismiss. Cold is a bad thing.

I would rather mow an entire football field with a rusty, olde tyme mower than wake up in the cold. 

3. After being dehydrated. 
I hope you haven't experienced this, it is not fun. Especially because the next thing you have to do is drink a bunch of water to fix it, which can cause nausea when you combine it with the dizziness of the dehydration. Occasionally it also means you wake up by falling over when you stand up. That's why I have no sharp corners by my bed. Too many close calls to count.

I would rather have to retake my high school swimming class, first hour and everything.

4. Before the dream ends.
Really this is just a frustrating thing. It's like a bookmark falling out, except you only have 5-10 minutes to find your place, but you also have to get back into reading mode and that in and of itself can take a long while.

That was not one of my more brilliant comparisons. I admit that. It's late.

I would rather have to reread the Twilight series than wake up before the dream ends.

5. At the absolute best part of the dream.
I take all the frustration of the previous scenario, and multiply it by 10,000. It's like losing the bookmark because you lost the entire book. At the best part. It's like watching a DVD of a Bourne movie with a massive scratch through the car chase. It's like an alert from the National Weather Service that comes on right at the end of the crime drama so you don't know if they caught the creepy serial killer or not.

I would rather have to read all Twilight fanfic than this.

6. When you absolutely cannot afford to sleep in any longer.
This is never a good thing, because it starts the day by feeling rushed then it kicks your brain into triage/prioritization mode. No one likes to have to decide between hair or makeup or breakfast. Don't even get me started on coffee. There is ALWAYS time for coffee. I can't think of very many things more important in the morning than my coffee.

I would rather be trapped in a room of lactose intolerant fools with nothing to eat but bean and cheese burritos, and no candle. 

7. When you were never really asleep to begin with.
College. Netflix. 'Nuff said.

I would rather do all of the above at once for an entire week straight. 

In Which Literature is Deemed Superior

The internet is frustrating. In fact, some days it makes me want to punch a wall so hard it would rip a hole. Through that hole, I would throw my laptop and scream profanities at its shattered remains. 

Then I remember I like my laptop and return to a state of being resembling sanity.

The truth is, the internet has become the most powerful means of communication. I can honestly say that at least 5 times a day, my sentence starts with "I saw on the internet that..."

To be fair, a lot of the time that starts a sentence that refers to a meme or gif or juicy morsel of gossip. But thanks to friends Bennett and Erika (as well as a few others, these two are just the most prevalent, and I know they're frequent readers) this sentence can also introduce a solid piece of information that I'd rather learn from bbc.com than Fox News, so thanks for that. 

But now, I'm going to use it in a different way. I saw on Pinterest a quotation that read 'When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew. - William Shakespeare'. 

Not to brag or anything, but I did an independent study comparison of The Bard's four greatest tragedies. And I studied three of his comedies the semester before. I'm incredibly familiar with his work. That's not to say I've read every line of every sonnet he ever wrote, or even to say I can name all of his plays without citing a source, but I know the man's style. And it is blasphemy to accuse that of even the remotest similarity. 

The rhythm is all wrong, the wittiness is just not up to par. The supposed origin of the phrase is Hamlet, Act II, Scene ii, most likely when Polonius is reading Hamlet's love letters to Ophelia. Here's what Shakespeare actually wrote:

'Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;
I have not art to reckon my groans: but that
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
'Thine evermore most dear lady, whilst
this machine is to him, HAMLET.'

You see that and think Shakespeare would settle for "you smiled because you knew."? Bitch, please. 

I did the research and found out that the true origin of the conspicuous quotation is Arrigo Bolto, who admittedly wrote operas based on Shakespeare's works, which can maybe justify the confusion. Beyond that, I'm baffled. 

What I've figured is that the people on the internet want to believe it's Shakespeare, save for all the other lovers of Shakespeare who pegged it as a fraud. And to be fair, it's a lovely line in its own right, just not Shakespeare. But essentially, Shakespeare is a romantic figurehead. He's written what some argue as the greatest love story ever told (and if they're referring to that of Juliet and her Romeo, I'd beg to differ) and also sonnets that quite frankly make me smile in my sleep. The modern quotation embodies this romanticism that the hopeless of the internet eat up like Dove chocolate squares, and instinctively associate with the poetic romance of Shakespeare. They can't help themselves, it's like placing a pint of Ben and Jerry's in front of them with free yoga pants. 

My point is that the internet lies. It's nothing revolutionary, but it's still relevant, unfortunately. Books lie less, and that's why I'd rather put up with book dust allergies than computer viruses. 

And fair warning: My next few posts may be tied to Tess of the D'Urbervilles. 

Also, for more fun quotations that aren't actually Shakespeare, check this LINK out. Some guy took this post and gave it steroids and a publisher. It's awesome.

Beauty and Love in Loss

Never is there so much potential for beauty in humanity as in the aftermath of a tragedy. Somehow, when all things material seem broken and wrong, the human spirit radiates. People find it in their hearts to say and feel and do the right thing. 

In tragedy, the human heart reaches out its arms and embraces those around it, and everyone is connected by the single, lonely heartbeat, searching for companionship in the time of abandonment. Tragedy is an inevitable and essential part of the human experience. It's like the loose thread in your coziest sweater. I think we take for granted how whole our lives are until the fabric of our existence feels the tug. 

I'm not acting as advocate for those actions viewed as tragedies, simply seeking solace in an idea. Anyone who denies the magnitude of strength in Heritage's reaction this week, or admiration for Christian Bale when he visited the hospital in Aurora, or the reach of Rachel's Challenge, is only denying the most basic of human instincts. People want love. They want to share it, receive it, give it, see it, and genuinely know it. To be unified is to feel the love, and tragedy reminds us that we cannot stand alone. 

Shakespeare's greatest works, the ones that people carry in their hearts, the ones that define actions and characters, are his tragedies. It is cathartic to experience such pain and emotional turmoil vicariously through Othello, King Lear, Macbeth, or Hamlet, but it is shattering to touch the agony for yourself. 

Every action is an opportunity to react. The reaction that flooded Facebook was that of a shattered community, rebuilding and uniting itself with the love we'd all taken for granted. And it was truly beautiful.

It's reassuring to see such beauty in immediate life, and if anything that has come from this week is to stay, I hope it's that.

Share the love. For Madi, and for the beauty she's helped us find. 

No. 2

Another post of thoughts I can't develop into full-fledged posts independently, sorry. Or maybe you like these, in which case, you're welcome. 

First

In reading The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton, a novel whose themes and language are dated (which is good, because I'm nostalgic), I encountered the phrase "of a sudden", sans 'all', and it occurred to me after all these years that it's a prepositional phrase. Being such, sudden is the object. Which means it's a noun.

Something important to know is that  I envision a man similar to Poe or Hemingway living in my head, poised at a Dickens desk with a pot of ink and either a quill or fountain pen, depending on the poetic nature of the words I'm processing, be it through reading or writing. (This, for instance, is a piece more suited for a pen than a quill.) Anyway, I imagine this scholarly figure, henceforth known as Ernest Allen Poe, looking up suddenly from his parchment in a moment of disbelief. How could he have glossed over that fact for his entire life!? He's Ernest Allen Poe, dammit, authority on all things literary and scholarly in the realm of Natalie's brain. Why was he not informed of this before?

Being of a curious nature, I looked up the word "sudden" in the dictionary. The definition as a noun begins with a single word in italics: Obsolete. It then goes on to define it as an unexpected occasion or occurrence, which makes sense.

But then you compare the understood meaning of the phrase "all of a sudden" to what you can derive from defining each word individually, "the entirety of an unexpected occurrence" and realize something is missing. I, for one, feel like the original phrase must have been "in all of a sudden", meaning in no more time than an instant.

But where did we lose the 'in'? And for a while, we had lost the 'all' too, as evidenced by The Age of Innocence. I'm aware that this may not be enthralling to everyone, but have you ever thought about how our language is changing? Is there a graveyard of words whose tombs say nothing but their names?

But back to the point. Sudden is considered obsolete as a noun, even though it's used frequently in that specific context. How often do we think about what we're actually saying? Or more importantly, how often do we speak without actually knowing what we're saying?

It's not that I'm upset by it. I just think it's interesting that in a few hundred years, people may not recognize our language anymore. They may speak numbers by then, who knows. Or better yet, they'll have discovered the secret to telepathy, or some weird meteor rocks will hit the earth giving everyone the superpower to communicate wordlessly.

Or I've just been watching too much Smallville. Ernest Allen Poe is face-palming. And again because I used face-palm.

Second

I think it's a little sad that even after all this time, and all my mildly feminist tendencies, I still personify my scholarly spirit as a man. Not just a man, actually, but two. At a desk named for another man.

It's indicative of something, I just don't know what. I don't feel comfortable writing about the inner-workings of my psyche on the internet, though, so I'm just going to leave it at this.

Third

As my dear friend ED suggested, I think I'll start a Dear Abby option. Sounds like fun, and I'd enjoy it immensely. Plus, it would give me something to write about so I can hopefully get a more consistent posting schedule instead of an erratic, "I'll post when the muse hits me" pattern.

If this is going to happen, there must be rules. And the rules which will follow must be followed, capiche?

1) You must address all queries to askdearnatalie@gmail.com 
2) Per the norm, the email should begin with "Dear Natalie"
3) Come up with a clever name to sign off with, i.e. "[Adjective] in [Location]" 
4) Please don't use any real names, otherwise I'll be forced to reassign them Power Ranger alter egos. 
5) Make sure what you're writing about is appropriate for the blog. I reserve the right to disregard any undesirable posts.
6) I also reserve the right to post anything not specifically labeled as DO NOT PUBLISH. 
7) In order to get an answer, you have to recommend my blog to someone. Uh huh. Yeah. I went there.

Fourth

In respect of Valentine's Day, I'll follow up my Love's Letters Lost post. I'm choosing to spend this Love Day with some of the friends I care most about. I made a choice a while back to not celebrate love that was unsure or dishonest. My guess is it was about the time Hemingway became a part of my psyche.

I don't believe in Singles Awareness Day. I'm single, but it doesn't bother me. I don't think today is about letting it be known that I'm not in a relationship. Today is about celebrating the spirit of love, and it comes in so many forms. Personally, I'll be reading more of history's greatest love letters and spending some quality time with other girls like me, who would rather be single.

I think what's hardest to explain is that I am in a committed relationship right now, with myself. Have been for 18 years. I've worked hard and long to make sure my life is something I could wake up to in the morning, and smile about when I go to sleep at night. And though it will never be done, my self-renovation is well underway.

So maybe it should be Singles Awareness Day, in that singles, reluctant or otherwise, can take an inventory and become aware of themselves. Because in most cases, when people take stock, they'll realize they can love themselves, and if someone can love himself, then others can too. It may be schmatlzy, and perhaps a little overdone, but it's because it's true, and yet there are still those who choose to disregard it. So I'm saying it again: having a solid relationship with one's self is the foundation for solid relationships with others. You've gotta start somewhere.

And to those of you in a dedicated relationship with someone else, I humbly encourage you to do the same anyway. All it will do is make your relationship stronger. The only difference is, you'll have to share what you find. That's my catch, sharing. I know that now.

So that's my bit, let Valentine's be about self love as much as love of others. My friend Chase writes a blog Chasing Somewhere, and in his last post, Singles Awareness Day, he makes a solid closing argument. Don't let your love be commercialized, let today stand as a declaration of the importance of love, that it is celebrated by its own holiday. Understand what it means to have a love so valuable it deserves its own day, and show it.

I think my thought well has run dry for the time being. I'm sure at some point in the near future, it will kick up again, so don't you worry your pretty striped head. No. 3 will happen eventually.

Love's Letters Lost

I don't know how to admit to this, I've spent so long denying and repressing it... I'm somewhat of a romantic. Though I am thoroughly embarrassed by grand gestures (it's like when people sing Happy Birthday, and my poise just shrugs in a "Don't even look at me, bro!" sort of way) I am nevertheless touched when I see magical moments for other people. Somewhere in the big ball of wibbley-wobbley timey-wimey, there's a girl falling asleep in fluffy pink pajamas, and dreaming of what life will be like when she's old enough to fall in love. 

That girl grew up, now old enough to fall in love. She wears a lot of grey and black, and rolls her eyes at Nicholas Sparks novels and Katherine Heigl movies. But she never outgrew the little dreaming girl. But society did.

Society has labeled romance as this quirky, bumbling passing of time between two people. Romance, now, is incomplete without the comedy. What I consider romance is older than old fashioned, and I'm not talking two straws in a chocolate malt. What the little girl in pink believed in was the kind of romance that Shakespeare dared to write, the kind that lies dormant in poetry and art until the beholder brings it to life. 

Matt Nathanson has a song, Modern Love, that kinda sums me up. It used to be because of the one "Watch your back, I'm nobody's girlfriend," line, but now it's because, upon closer inspection, the lyrics really embody what I'm trying to say. So go ahead and click on the song title and take a look for yourself, but I'm gonna explain the seven words that really drive my point home: this modern love is a taco truck. 

When I first heard the song, I had to do a double take. Taco truck, what? Is he on drugs? Probably, but I don't care. After excruciating research, I found an interview where he explains it, and the rest of it is worth reading too because he is an artist and wonderful, thus the providing of the link.

But modern love is a taco truck. It's not the nice sit down dinner, not the home-cooked, feel-good meal it used to be. Now dinner comes to you and you stand outside and eat it instead of sitting down and experiencing dinner for real. I still believe in dinner for real.

Admittedly, this was sparked by my current bedside companion, The World's Greatest Love Letters, compiled by Michael Kelahan. And as someone whose cynicism has developed from failed relationships and trust issues, reading something as honest and beautiful as Alexander Pope's letter to Mary Wortley Montagu gives me faith. The blind kind of faith whispered into the little girl's pillow. And faith that I won't let her down. 

I think writing love letters has become a lost art. Or at least writing them well. Robin Williams has a line in Dead Poets Society, "Language was invented for one reason, boys - too woo women - and in that endeavor, laziness will not do." A lot of today's wooing and courtship comes from choosing 'our song' and making inside jokes, and fitting the cliches. I say a lot, because I know everyone feels that they're the exception, and I'm not even saying there aren't exceptions. And realistically, this comes from my experience which is limited to, well, my personal experiences. I don't know every love story out there, every warm fuzzy gotten, every text sent. 

That's another thing, texting. I'll take splitting a milk shake over a texting courtship. I've been there, I know it gets me nowhere and nothing but bullshit. If you're the kind who make it work, wonderful. But I encourage you, find another way, something to supplement. Don't just let your thumbs do the talking, don't spend your life waiting for that phone to buzz. There's so much more to a person than what they can say in 3-5 minutes (the appropriate time to wait before responding to a text, according to the tween magazines).

I am now the age that I believed as a little girl was the age to fall in love. And by today's standards, I don't want to. I feel more like the little girl today than I do the young woman that I am, I'm just waiting to grow up to the right age to fall in love, the passionate, mad, inconvenient love, because what I've seen of love today is not enough for me. It's a taco truck.