Blog 23: The Greate Donut Quest

Sometimes I just get it in my head that I want something. Real bad. And it's hard to dissuade me from going after it. Last night, that thing was a donut. I had a Krispy Kreme coupon for a free Cookies and Cream donut which sounded amazing. I mean, really, they're thinking outside the box with that one. Whitteny made fun of the slight awe I expressed at the sight of it. Anyway, as most of you know, there were crazy storms last night--which made me happy, because I love storms. Everyone else, however, was pretty worried. Emily insisted on unplugging every appliance and Elise can be quoted as saying: "You realize we might have to sleep in the kitchen floor." They're both like my mom: worriers. I'm like my dad in that I'd just as soon stand out in the monsoon enjoying the sights and sounds. My sisters say it's because they live in reality while I live in Hayleeland: a magical place where everyone eats rainbows, poops butterflies, and I am thoroughly invincible. They're ridiculous. I obviously don't think I'm invincible. I just think I'm lucky enough to escape all injuries. haha. I told them to maybe consider that I was secretly one of the X-Men and I manufactured the storm for my own amusement--which, incidentally, they did not find amusing.


In any case, Whitteny and I went to dinner at Monterrey and then had a writing session. We both sat on my bed, listened to music, and contributed to the other's budding novel. We're going to be the next J.R.R. Tolkien-C.S. Lewis level duo. Just wait and see. Eventually everyone but us night owls went to bed. Around midnight, Whitteny made the comment that she wanted to go on a trip. By trip she really meant she wanted to get out of the apartment and drive around for a little bit. "Do you think it's safe?" she asked, in reference to the tempest outside. 'Probably not,' I thought, but "Yeah, definitely" is what I replied out loud. Where would we go? Jokingly, I mentioned that Krispy Kreme would still be open. She started to laugh, but then stopped abruptly. We looked at each other, a scheme hatching in each of our brains. Donuts sounded so delicious right at that moment. A little while later, we threw on clothes and shoes and set out on our adventure. By then, the storm had subsided, but its effects remained. We felt like we were going on safari when we crossed the small bridge in my apartment complex. It was submerged in water. You could have gone white water rafting on our little creek. But Freddy (Whitteny's Ford Escape) was up to the task. First hurdle crossed, we pressed on toward the goal: delicious pastry goodness.


There was trash all over the place, including a large amount of what appeared to be cotton stuffing. Whitteny conjectured that perhaps tornadoes hate teddy bears...and a few giant teddy bears met their end last night. There were whole roads that had practically become rivers. You couldn't see the asphalt under the muddy flood. We saw very few cars and by the by I might observe that it looked like a zombie apocalypse had taken place. It was quiet...too quiet. When we finally pulled up to Krispy Kreme, my heart swelled at the thought of a donutty midnight snack--for freesies with my awesome coupon. We peered at the bright menu for a moment from a distance before approaching. Then we sat. And nothing happened. The Krispy Kreme truck guy, who seemed to be unloading things into the back of the shop, walked up to our car to deliver grave news. Krispy Kreme, the 24-hour donut shop, was closed. They had lost power for three hours. It took us a moment to pull ourselves together after this tragedy. We preceded to drive down Kingston Pike, trying to figure out what to do. We had gotten it in our heads that we were going to have a delectable midnight snack. Our hearts were set on it. During our Plan B brainstorm, I suggested we visit a tavern that had a big neon OPEN sign and start a bar fight...Whitteny said that it was a stupid idea. I know. What is wrong with her?


We settled on going to the Kroger down the road from my apartment to peruse their pastry selection. By this time it was around 1am. Though they stay open all day and night, after a certain time Kroger turns off many of its lights. The store was dim, and there were barricades everywhere--ropes in front of checkout lines, whole aisles blocked off with boxes--and when we walked in to this sight I said: "It looks like they've closed down the store to hunt human beings in here." And that's exactly how we felt when walkways were barred. Whitteny said "I feel like I'm being corralled"--corralled to the slaughter house. But we made it out. Probably because of my invincibility luck. Anywho, their pastry selection was lackluster at best. We settled on frozen pie that came in single slices: I with Key Lime and her with Southern Pecan. We walked up to the register and stood there for a moment before realizing that we didn't want that pie anymore. We wanted fried chicken. We continued our giggle fits, returning the pie slices, and grabbed some chicken. We also got banana bread, Reese's eggs (a staple in our spring shopping trips), and a mini Key Lime Pie. Then we got to the register and Whitteny didn't have her debit card. She had to go out to the car while I stood there making awkward chit-chat with the cashier guy and trying to seem a little less high. I've never been stoned, but I imagine my behavior would be basically the same as it was last night in the grocery store: questing for food, indecisive and vacillating in my food choices, unable to go two seconds without laughing--yeah.


We finally made it back with our treasures, crossed the soggy bridge, and ran through the rain back to the sanctity of my apartment. We feasted. But not on donuts, because grocery donuts are usually gross. So my coupon lives to be redeemed another day. After the victuals, I promptly settled into my pre-bedtime nap. I have a habit of feeling too sleepy to get up to wash my face/brush my teeth/take my contacts out. If I reach that point, I typically take a 30 minute nap. I know. It's weird. Then I get up, do the whole bedtime routine, and actually go to sleep for the night. Whitteny mocks it, but I think it's a solid strategy. Much better than just avoiding the grooming all together. On an unrelated note, I had another dirty bathroom dream. This time it was flooding full of water, which is evidence of the real world seeping into Hayleeland. I'll end my ramble with a prosaic conclusion that sometimes you just need a quest, however small, however trivial, however entirely preposterous, to make your life seem well-lived.

Blog 22: Selective Insomnia

Lately I've been having trouble getting to sleep at a reasonable hour. Once I do drift off, I usually sleep straight through the night, but getting to that point is practically like pulling teeth. I think I have a mental block from going to bed before midnight because I feel like I am missing out on my life when I am in bed. And before you lecture me on the importance of rest--I know all the facts and figures already. I don't usually stay awake on purpose. It just kind of happens.

Part of it is a restlessness that I have been building up for the past few years. Small changes keep me from losing my mind completely, but I want to feel I've done something worthwhile with my life. At the end of the day, I need to feel accomplished. Some days, when I'm pitiful, it's enough to know that I put in a full day's work and took a shower. Others, like today, I commit myself to creative tasks. This time it's blogging, preparing notes for my new travel diary (blog) coming soon, and working on my screenplay/stories/writing exercises. Other days it's making a collage or a necklace. Still others involve cleaning and rearranging the apartment. I find that my optimum productivity tends to happen in the evening. I think deeper, I feel stronger. Back when I used to go to the gym all the time, I nearly always worked out at night after work.

There's just something about staying up late that's invigorating and somewhat inspiring! Maybe it's the little kid in me that is ecstatic about ditching bedtime; perhaps it's that in pretty much every fairytale, most the magic happens at night. But whatever the subconscious motivation, I cannot seem to buckle down and get myself into a sleeping pattern that makes any sense. Part of me kind of likes it--that is, the part of me that isn't severely grumpy when that rare exhaustion sneaks up. It's probably all in my head, but I have to say it all makes for interesting dreams. The other night, I dreamed that Whitteny had a bowl-cut that was lopsided. She had also dyed her hair dark black with random blotches of coppery bleach blonde. We were yelling at each other in a kitchen that looked like it came straight out of the 70s. Also, Whitteny (true insomniac) and I (quasi-insomniac) frequently have dreams that we have ventured into a small bathroom that suddenly becomes huge and filthy, with puddles of sewage and no toilet paper, and voyeurs. haha. It's hard to explain without too much detail. We'll be asking Synda, our college group's resident dream-interpreter, about the possible significance...I think it mostly just signifies we're both kind of nuts.

Blog 21: Poison and Wine

This entry is actually inspired by a song called "Poison and Wine" by the Civil Wars, introduced to me by the illustrious David Hagerman. It's one of those songs that will indisputably put your heart in knots. The main line is "I don't love you, but I always will." And being that a song, when poignantly well-written, can put me through a year's worth of emotion in the few minutes it plays, I felt like I needed to write something. I think there are some things we just don't ever let go of, losses that we will mourn intermittently for the rest of our lives. I've had loved ones die, and that is difficult, but death is a part of life. Sometimes I think the hardest losses are the intimate friends who drift away for whatever reason--physical distance, a falling out of some sort, just the little complications of life. Nothing like that marked separation to make you see that friendship or relationship as unreachable bliss. And just like in the song, we deny that it holds power over us when deep down, we know that those people have become elements of our innermost selves that will never be removed.


Nights like this, I find myself happy with the way my life is going, but still wondering what it would've been if all my original plans hadn't come crashing down. I find myself longing for the old faces and hands that populated my days, well, back in the day. And maybe I'm wrong--I hope I am. Maybe one day things will all work out in a manner that supplants my old dreams. Maybe new visages will break my habit of searching for the old ones. I don't really know how it works. I've not found all that I am destined to find, I guess, and sometimes I wonder if all these events were actually supposed to happen or if things just went terribly wrong. Every once in awhile, I daydream that it'll all come full circle. Other times I just like to believe that someday I won't feel like I'm settling for the next best thing.


Hindsight is 20/20, as cliched as that saying is. And every once in awhile, I can't help but look back and try to figure out how to put all the shreds of paper back together into the storybook pages they once made. If I don't have what I wanted (and sometimes still yearn for), it might just mean I was never supposed to grasp it in the first place, and though it have the appeal and taste of the finest wines, I'd fall dead with poison on my lips. That sounds a bit dramatic, I suppose. Just trying to tie in the title and how it made me think. Do we ever stop desiring things that we used to dream?

Blog 20: El Concerto de los Goo Goos

I have the privilege of retaining some old friendships--at least, they seem old to me, but I realize I'm not exactly middle-aged. I mean to say that I have people who still cherish our communication begun in junior high. The best part is that we're still good friends who don't just keep each other around as human accessories to party with, as is the noticeably common practice in our age group. In any case, one such friend (Miss Dani Johnson) invited me to a concert at her school, Tennessee Technological University. The featured performers were Jeff Leblanc (who may actually be Matt Leblanc's brother--you know, Joey from friends), Vertical Herizon, and the Goo Goo Dolls. As a student, she got to go for free and bring one guest--namely, myself. :)

I often observe that I have a boring life...and I sort of do. But this prospect was an exception; for once the stars aligned. I was off work at exactly the right time and I had just a bit of money to spare for gas. It's only about a two-hour drive, but I have never made a trip like that by myself. It sounds silly, but that mini-road trip was a big thing for me! I love driving. A couple of summers ago when Whitteny and I made our infamous trip to her school in Indiana to pick up her 6-foot painting of Eve, I drove a lot of the way. Road trips, with the right people or even alone, are one of my favorite things in the world. The music, the scenery, the crappy food--I love it all. Although, admittedly, I didn't eat any crappy food this time, being in such a hurry to start my mid-week vacation. I did, however, have WAY too much caffeine. When I got off work I made the most amazing drink. I'm going to call it a Cinnamon Bomb. It was a Cinnamon Dolce Frappucino (which includes three pumps of espresso roast) made with vanilla soy milk. What made it ca-razy was that I also added a full packet of the Cinnamon Spice Via instant coffee AND a pump of chai...needless to say, it was a sweetly spicy blast of caffeine that got me very hyped up! haha

Surprisingly enough, I made it to Dani's duplex in Cookeville without a hitch, listening to college radio stations the whole way and feeling like an indie-rock mogul. The weather was amazing and Maurice was a champ. He didn't whine or complain at all. (For those of you just tuning in, Maurice is my pathetic little car, who by all appearances is a death trap) To be honest, I did a lot of praying on my way up. "Dear Jesus, please protect me in this car and let me not get stranded." It was a legit concern. And it seems my prayers were answered, although I do have to air up one of my tires before I make my exodus.

Now, to the concert. Jeff Leblanc was a cute, chubby fellow. His music was sweet, but honestly forgettable. It sort of sounded like a mix between The Fray and John Mayer. We were too busy chattering excitedly to pay a lot of attention to him. At first, there weren't many people there. We were way up in the bleachers, still, but had a great view of the stage. The group of friends around us were a fun bunch...and got friendlier after passing around a single beer and a flask amongst themselves. I find such things endearingly trashy. It was kind of funny to watch. But there was a sense of camaraderie as we were all huddled around, our knees hitting their backs, their elbows knocking our shins. There was a lot of goofy smiling and apologizing done. Have you ever felt at a concert that everyone around is your friend? You sing the songs together, you share those knowing smiles when the first riff is a familiar one, you comment on the general atmosphere with emphatic nods of agreement. 

Anywho, Vertical Herizon was pretty awesome. They were very energetic and kind of hilarious. The best part about bands that aren't at superstar status but are still somewhat known is that they have a great time on stage. They're not burnt out of the lonely road yet and they aren't complacent with themselves thinking they can slide by because their music is so popular. In my experience, the band that plays right before the headliner usually rocks the house (sometimes more than the main event) and that might have very well been the case last night, though I haven't decided for sure. It took more than half an hour for the Goo Goo Dolls to come on after VH, and we got pretty impatient, though it did give us time to notice that there were three whole racks full of guitars next to the stage. It was a musician's dream. I don't think the lead singer used the same guitar twice.

GGD sounded great, of course, but they didn't show as much personality as VH. And maybe I'm just  not familiar with the particular songs in which he sings, but it seemed to me they were trying out the bass player as a secondary lead vocalist. On the songs he sang, the mood was less than accepting. His look, voice, mannerisms, and the inexcusably tight pants encircling his portly legs lent themselves to a second-rate punk rock band: something that would have been pardonable in a local show in which the energy and fun are more important than the music, but this was a concert featuring the freaking Goo Goo Dolls and we weren't having it. Whenever he stuck to what he was good at (background vocals and bass), we were good to go. I did notice, in my possibly overly-critical scrutiny of him, that he was a strummer rather than a picker, as many bass players will tell you is both interesting and somewhat difficult. With that, he earned some points. Said points were nearly invalidated by his emo hair, which hung sweatily halfway down his face.

All in all, it was a blast. They played "Better Days," which is my favorite, and "Iris," which everyone loves (and is also Dani's favorite of theirs). After the show it was time for some Taco Bell and my first visit to a frat house, which looked basically as I imagined it would: full of fast food trash and expensive entertainment equipment. haha. We just walked around meeting people. It was as pretty relaxed night and we left soon after, heading back to the house to lay on the couch and talk until I started slipping into zombie mode. Then it was decidedly time for bed.

So far, it's been a nice adventure, especially considering my usual habit of just hanging around the apartment! And I have a new ticket to add to my concert collection. It's been awhile since that happened. 

Blog 19: Factors of Fear

Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.

YODA, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace

If there is one thing which I would banish from the earth it is fear.

HENRY FORD, Theosophist Magazine, Feb. 1930

The big lesson in life, baby, is never be scared of anyone or anything.

FRANK SINATRA, quoted in The Way You Wear Your Hat

If we let things terrify us, life will not be worth living.

SENECA, Epistles

The reasons I began this entry with those quotes are a) Clearly this blog is about fear and it seemed a good icebreaker and b) They're awesome. Anywho, today at work, the topic of fear was breached. A couple of guys said they were afraid of hospitals. When it came my turn, I honestly had nothing to say. I wouldn't call myself fearless--I'm sure there's something. However, a few minutes ago I was thinking how I wish I had an arch nemesis; I then decided that said nemesis is fear itself. I've always thought phobias were a waste of time and energy, and truly they annoy me. I've always just had a sort of had an unsympathetic approach to it: face your dread and get over it. Ever since I was a kid, even when things freaked me out, I put on a brave face. I was frightened of the dark, terrorized by imagining a whole host of things going horribly wrong, painfully shy and weary of embarrassment, but I loathed showing that side of myself. I wanted to be the hero, the strong leader for the cowering masses.  I used to dress up like Indiana Jones and do whatever courageous thing I thought he would do (ignoring his fear of snakes, of course. haha) I think over time I have talked myself out of my fears--or possibly had too many object lessons of what they can do to a person and consequently shirked them. 

When I was in junior high, I had a very close friend who would spend the night. She was afraid of (no joke) feet. It didn't matter if you had just showered. It didn't matter if you were in a pool. It didn't matter if you had a lovely and stylish pedicure. If your feet got near her, she would freak out. One time we were getting in bed and I just barely grazed her with my toe by accident. If I recall correctly, she cried. I lost part of my patience with phobias then. My little sister Emily is also extremely afraid of spiders. I know you read this, Em, but you already know how much it irks me. If she sees a spider, she will sprint as far from it as possible, shrieking and waving her hands the whole way. She's a regular Little Miss Muffet. A lot of my philosophy about horror is derived from my ideas about Emily's fear: if you don't like the arachnids, you're in luck. They're about 0.000008 your size. Why be afraid terror-stricken by a thing you can easily conquer? Oh, and back in the day I was watching some talk show in which a woman exposed her phobia of cottonballs. Really? Fluffy little cottonballs? How stupid!

I probably overestimate myself a lot. I know for a fact I've exaggerated the potential of several people during my life, but I've always just kind of thought that anyone can do anything they set their minds to, whether it's becoming a good orator, killing a spider, or defeating a serial killer. Maybe that sounds crazy. I've just made fear my enemy because I feel like no matter what cripples me, I can overcome it. I mean, doesn't the Bible say we're more than conquerors? (Romans 8:35) It also says "For God has not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, of love, and of a sound mind." (2 Timothy 1:7) It may sound cheesy, but I think the source of my lack of horror is that very verse. It's one that really hit me when I first read it. I guess I don't feel afraid of anything because the Creator of the universe is in my corner. Even death doesn't seem daunting. One of the guys, in the course of expressing their disbelief regarding my lack of phobia, asked me: "So you're not afraid something will wipe out your whole family?" to which I had to reply no. I love my family fiercely and passionately, but I'm inclined to believe that their names are written in the Book of Life--so why should I be horrified at that thought? And I've never been petrified of sorrow like some people are. It's a part of life to embrace, just like everything else we experience. I don't look for it, but it makes me feel divinely human.

Another reason I spurn fear is that I think it really tends to steal people's lives. They keep from doing what they want and love because something bad might happen. For example, I am so very enamored of motorcycles. One of my dreams is to own one. My family hates the idea; perhaps loathes is a more accurate word. "But you could get hurt/die!" I'd rather die enjoying life than suffocate and smother myself trying desperately to hold onto it. Elise and I used to say we were going to buy a bike together, splitting the cost and responsibilities. Then, a friend of ours died in a bad motorcycle accident. He was much-beloved. Not only were we devastated, but Elise changed her mind, and the idea of danger became even more set in my parents' view because of that accident. Let's just say it'll cause more than a little friction when my dream comes true.

I've also had more than one friend whose life was made a living hell by parents scared of literally everything. They were restricted to the point of near-insanity and missed out on so many great opportunities. "You can't drive at night, you can't eat a certain kind of food, God forbid you go on that school trip to the big city!" I'm not a 'live only for pleasure' kind of thinker, but if you are so busy obsessing about staying alive that your existence is void of pleasure, what is the point of staying alive, again? I do not suggest that one should behave recklessly. I am very alert and prepared to throw down when I do something such as go downtown at night or say, go to a crusade at night on a mission trip to Honduras. I pay attention to my surroundings. But I don't let the thought that there could potentially, maybe, possibly be danger keep me from doing what I want to do--and neither should you. Remember what Yoda said. We don't want you joining the Dark Side.

Blog 18: And the World Laughs with You

Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up and feel like everything is just grand? You just start giggling uncontrollably when you wake up because you had the best dreams and your day seems full of potential, then you do a little squeal of unadulterated joy and say to yourself "Haylee, you are so ridiculous. Now I'm more ridiculous because I'm talking to myself. I really need to get a life." And then you laugh some more, good-naturedly. Well. Maybe you don't do that, but I do. Actually, if you do that, you're kind of creepy. Stop pretending to be me!

I had a day like this not long ago. I got out of bed and just felt so full of energy. That almost never happens. I excitedly got all snazzed-up, dancing to my rock n' roll while I got ready. Sidenote, I gave up rap and hip hop for Lent. Yes, I really like rap and hip hop. No, I don't know why. Yes, I am slightly ashamed to publicly admit it. But it has turned out to be a blessing in disguise, not listening to it for awhile. I realized that I had been blowing off all the music that makes me feel like one of the cool kids in the movies with a leather jacket and aviators and a motorcycle. You know, those guys. Except I wouldn't smoke like they always seem to do. Are you following me or am I going off on too many rabbit trails?

Anywho, it may just be a girl thing but sometimes I have days where I look in the mirror and feel chagrin. I feel like I need to just give up on life and buy a moo-moo and ten cats. But on a day like the one I'm describing, I look in the mirror, wolf-whistle, and say to myself "I think you've lost weight, foxy lady," and wink and do that little hand-gun motion that people are always doing when they're cheesy. Then I walk out the door and the sun is shining. Everything seems exciting, everything makes me laugh. It seems like all the people I pass are thinking one of two things about me, one being "I'm jealous of that movie-star-quality miss," or two being "I want to ask her on a date." Given, they are in all likelihood not thinking that at all, but I like to imagine I'm the leading lady on days like that, and the leading lady always inspires such emotions. On days like that, any music that is playing seems to be a theme to what I'm doing. I can be strutting through the store or sitting at a red light and all signs still point to me being one awesome B.A. because of the rhythm hand-selected for me and me alone. It makes me feel like a one-girl revolution. haha.

A day like that is just pure heaven, and that makes any interruption of the bliss so seemingly unforgivable it is preposterous. I'm no Mr. Darcy, meaning that "my good opinion, once lost, is lost forever" is not a phrase I would use. But if you throw off my groove on one of those days by generally being a butthole, I am really not going to like you for a few days, at least. If the pattern continues, I may give up on befriending you entirely. I actually start out a lot of days like I just described, thinking the best of everything, feeling every moment is full of potential, being brave and putting myself out there. I love starting out that way, and I hate that people have the wickedly vicious venom that can snipe out such a day in one half-hearted motion. We shouldn't have that much power over one another, but realistically, we do. Experiencing this startling revelation has made me so much more conscious of how I behave toward other people.

Even in just the past two weeks I've felt my very reactions to others transforming completely. People who I would've honestly borderline ignored before have become worthy conversationalists in my estimation. When someone approaches you enthusiastic and friendly, you should respond in kind. Maybe they're having one of those glorious days that feel like they began with the rolling out of a red carpet in their honor, and who are you to ruin that with your anti-social tendencies? I mean, you don't have to be obsequious about it, falsely flattering to gain some sort of advantage with the person, and you don't have to be fake. But you do have to treat the other as a human being. Sometimes all it takes to transform an annoying person is some genuine consideration for him or her.

I hate how we constantly justify our actions by our feelings. I'm so bad about it, although thankfully I've improved a bit. Yeah, I jumped down her throat, but I was tired. Sure, I kind of ignored him, but I was having a bad day. It's just not a viable defense for such behavior. With one fell swoop, you can turn "the world is laughing with me today" into "it's me vs. the world today." I'd much rather let the person who feels like leading lady/lad lift me up with them than grumble them down to my embittered state.

It's a shame to go from feeling everyone rooting for you to questioning if any good intentions exist anywhere. It's happened to me a few times. I'm not really the girl who all the guys fall all over and all the girls want to be. Never have been. And some people in my life have solidified that truth in my mind with their lack of interest when I try to engage with them. Maybe the person trying to talk to you isn't that cute girl you like or that guy who makes you laugh; maybe he or she is just a big dork, but you should make them feel like they are that cool character in your story, worth your time. You never know what will come of it.

My best friend in the whole world is Whitteny. When we became friends, we each kind of thought the other was super weird. Yet she offered me rides home from school and I invested in her, and then we found our friend-soulmates out of it. If nothing else, you might get some really good conversations. I've had some of the most thought-provoking, engaging dialogues with guys and girls who I originally found distasteful. Just get outside your box, people. And don't be such an elitist with who you offer your kindnesses to, because one day it's going to bite you in the butt. Someone will ruin your rock star day by pointing out what a d-bag you are, and it will be an uncomfortable epiphany at best.