8.29.2011

emotive unstable, you're like an unwinding cable car. listening for voices, but it's our choices that make us who we are.

Converse_Love



























For some people, I'm sure that movie stars or models make them feel like they will never be good enough, never be as interesting and beautiful as those they see glorified in the glossy pictures of their favorite magazine. But for book people, I'm guessing that's not the case. At least it's not for me. I've never really envied the rich and the famous. They've always seemed too removed from my life for me to care. No, my feelings of inadequacies have always come from the grainy pages of my favorite books. 

Don't you just hate to feel upstaged by literary characters? Characters you know in your heart are fictional, don't actually exist, yet at the same time you can't help but be crippled by your own insecurities, can't help but tell yourself that you'll never be their equal.

You're just simply never enough. You'll never be as brilliant as Hermione, as sassy as Elizabeth, as tough as Katniss, as "iridescent" as Juli...

And it's SO absurd, because these characters aren't real, so of course you can never compare. They are just figments of a writer's imagination. And yet at the same time, you are still disheartened by the fact that you can never measure up. You will never be as perfect and as perfectly flawed as the characters you idolize.

Does anyone else ever feel like this? 

Or am I the only crazy one?

Title song: "The Unwinding Cable Car" - Anberlin

8.20.2011

i think i have been kidnapped. but i'm not sure i really want to find me.





























I'll be the first to admit that I'm probably not the real Sarah McCabe. 

The real Sarah McCabe would laugh at the thought of herself slaving away over a hot stove, not look forward to making dinners {preferably of the edible variety} for her amazing new roommates.

The real Sarah McCabe would also give every excuse in the world not to clean her room. Or do the dishes. Or fold the laundry. She would definitely not spend a Saturday voluntarily doing all three. 

The real Sarah McCabe sometimes shirks away from the idea of fun. And from not being in control of every situation every moment of every day of her life. And if she's not in control, she feels guilty. In fact, she can be a little self-righteous at times, but don't tell her I said that. I don't think she would want me to talk about it. All I know is that the real Sarah McCabe never ever lets loose. Which could be why she gets so bored and unhappy when her life doesn't seem to be moving anywhere.

The real Sarah McCabe also over-analyzes everything. And then rethinks everything she thought she'd made a decision on. And is still left with no conclusions. Although, come to think of it, I, the fake Sarah McCabe, do that as well. I suppose we both have things we need to work on.

So the real Sarah McCabe may be missing. But I don't really want to look for her right now. Maybe I'll put up posters tomorrow. If I feel like it. 

Or I might just go get ice cream instead.

8.12.2011

my car, its filth, weird quirks and a few other notes.

Pattern inside the car wash

No matter how old I get, there is still something fascinating about sitting in your car during a car wash.

Yes, I understand how lame I sound.

You see, I am one of those people who NEVER wash their cars. I'm talking the "layer-of-dirt on-my-car-is-so-thick-I-can't-even-see-my-own-reflection-and-I-still-don't-go-to-the-carwash" kind of pathetic. And It doesn't help that I currently live in the middle of nowhere {read: Gravel roads. So many gravel roads. My car gets to bathe in dust every day}.

But I'm moving back to school tomorrow {today?(!!!) now that it's 12:04 a.m.}, and it's a bit of a superstition of mine to start the new year off completely clean. And this includes my car. So today, I dragged myself to my once-blue-now-brown Ford Escort and drove {across the street from my office; I know, so far} to the self-automated car wash. Where I proceeded to feed my $6.00 in change to the little talking box. Once the box lady kindly told me to continue on into the car wash, I gladly followed her instructions, pleased with myself for taking the initiative to de-dirt my car. Of course, I was so busy listening to the box lady that I drove into the car wash without rolling my window up. But let's not get into that...

I forget how cathartic a car-washing experience can be, completely isolated from the world, inclosed by soap bubbles in my tiny two-door. It's as if everything disappears, as if the only thing that matters is the methodic circling whoosh of the water as it hits the windshield, blasting away a year's worth of dirt and snow and grime. So much time I spend  avoiding the deed, abusing my poor car by allowing layer upon layer of disgustingness to accumulate when all it takes is 3 minutes and $6 for both my car and I to start fresh

And now the vicious cycle can begin again. But for one moment, just one short, glorious moment {read: until I drive home on the dirt roads again}, my car is clean. And we are even.

On another note, yes, I know I haven't posted in ages. Don't yell at me. In my defense:

1) Last weekend I was in St. Louis with my mom, so I didn't have my computer. And, off topic, St. Louis is a beautiful, brilliant city. The museum is fabulous. And free. And that's really all a girl can ask for, right? Also, I found out that Death Cab for Cutie is holding a concert on the Loop {translation: coolest place in the city} this October. My aunt's house is only a 10 minute walk to the venue. So I'm thinking road trip. Time to check off #4.

2) This week there was no internet in my house. During which time I was dying a slow and painful death. So cut me a break.

Some people might call these excuses. But I never ever give excuses. I just give reasons.

Have a wonderful Friday, everyone! 
See you soon (this time for real)!

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