It's Morning...

and my neighbor's dog still hasn't touched her dog food.

She was a lot more energetic going outside today.  That was a good thing.  But when we got back inside, she had no interest in food whatsoever.  I gave her a tiny bit of this thing my neighbor calls a "twistie"; that was all she really wanted to eat yesterday, too.

I did get her to eat part of a biscuit last night, which was good.

So I think she's going to be ok.  I really think she's going to be ok.  I'm going to go back and check on her in a few hours - take her outside, try to get her to eat something, let her sleep. 

Make sure she hasn't died.

I don't know what my deal with death is.  I really don't.  No one really close to me has died; I've not had a near death experience or anything.  It's just that death seems to always be one of the things that my thought process seems to always come back to. 

Maybe it's because I realize how mortal I am.  Maybe it's because I realize how short life can be.  Maybe it's because I'm twenty and that's what I'm supposed to be thinking about in some weird, twisted way.  Maybe it's because of where I've been in my life.

Who knows?  I've got nothing.  But it gives me writing material.  And it gives me a way to be morbidly different from my peers, I guess.

Last night, I had the strangest dream.  I dreamed it was Friday.  I was going to go on a trip with my English class to San Diego to do journal studies.  My understanding was that my plane wasn't scheduled to leave until the next day, Saturday.  Instead, it left Friday night.  I didn't get on it.  I had to contact my English professor.  She was very nice about the whole thing; she told me that I was going to have to get on and fly to San Diego the next day by myself.  I had a feeling of forboding about the plane ride and told her.  She told me to do whatever I felt was right; I couldn't go anyway because I was dog-sitting.  It was a good thing.  The plane ended up crashing. 

Then I was like Jack in the movie 'the Jacket'.  They locked me in a body drawer; it was frightening and tight and I couldn't breathe. I was trying to figure out how to time travel like he did so that when I died, I wouldn't be in the box for eternity.  It was hard and I was scared out of my mind.  No one wants to be stuck in a box or drawer for the rest of time.

When I woke up, I was thinking about the movie and it's ending.  It was a good movie and I liked it a lot.  I plan on seeing it again.  But the ending was rather ambiguous.  Jack hits his head and tells them to put him in the jacket so he can go see the future to see if the girl, Jackie, is any better off.  It ends with them in 2007 in her car, much like at the beginning of the movie, only she's a lot better off and her mom's still around and whatnot.  She asks him if he's ok, he says he is now, and the sun comes up.

The end.

Well, so what happened?  When he died - because he died in 1993 on New Year's Day - and was in the jacket, did he get to stay in that future of 2007?  Or did he just vanish from it as soon as he found out that she turned out ok?  Basically, did he stay dead or did he stay in the future? 

Because I liked the character of Jack Starks and because I liked the movie and because I'm a hopeless sucker, I'm choosing to think that he got to stay in 2007 and live a happy life with Jackie.  After all, it's a bit sci-fi anyway, so it's totally possible.  I hate the idea of him dying and vanishing altogether.  It bums me out greatly.

Oh, and just so everyone knows, I failed at my seven movies in seven days thing.  Life has this funny way of catching up when you least expect it.  Before you know it, the movies are due back at the library.  It's crazy how time flies.

Time for a different tangent.

So, I'm trying to decide what angle of writing I want to take for this semester.  I can't remember if I told you guys about this last night or not, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm repeating myself here.  My professor for Creative Writing II has told us that we're supposed to decide what kind of writing we want to do and to focus on it throughout the semester.  I have two different things I want to do: writing memoires/essays, or writing short stories.

It's a toss up.  Part of me doesn't feel like I have enough things in my life to write about, but that's not true.  I can do creative non-fiction and not run out of material.  But short stories are so appealing to me; they're condensed and compact, filled with things both written and implied.  I don't know.  I just don't know.

The beauty of it all is that I only have to choose for this class.  In the working world, it's all interchangable and jumbled together.  For this class I need to pick one so I can work on a portfolio.

I'm leaning towards short stories.  Maybe I can combine short stories and non-fiction.  We shall see.

And that is today's blog post.  Thanks for listening.

~Meaghan