Every new begining comes from some other begining's end

Umm...did I just quote 90's alt-rock in my title?
Why yes, I believe I did.

Lately, I have been thinking about change; my life, I feel, is at a precipice. My whole world is about to do a back-flip and will undoubtedly result in something much different than what I have existed in for the past few years of my life.
Terrifying? Absolutely.
But would you believe me if I told you I was excited about it?
As a part of this turning point in my life which is both hypothetical and literal, I have found myself morphing into a person who literally craves change. I want new experiences, fresh perspectives, and unexplored feelings.
Does this possibly explain my shopping addiction? I think it may.

If we're being honest here, I think that despite my other proclivities this sentiment is particularly well-adjusted. There are people who live their lives in one perpetually stagnant point in history, and never progress. There are people who are afraid to know anything different, even though difference is an organic process and not something synthetic and foreign. We are meant to change, as human beings. And consequently, the world around us is meant to do the same.
There is something comforting and lovely about nostalgia, but there comes a point in everyone's life when their current state of being simply stops working- it no longer gives us what we require. That is the point at which I dwell right now. I am on the cusp of an "overhaul", of you will. I need a change. I need many changes. I need them to become the person I want to be, someone who lives to the fullest extent of their ability. The idea of change and progression within myself makes me feel healthier, more alive.

As one might have guessed, I was not always this cool.

When I was about 8 or 9, my parents decided that it was time to reupholster the dining room chairs. Which would probably not phase any normal child, nor would a normal child notice such a trivial and aesthetic change when there are more important things to be conquered like Barbie weddings and learning how to color inside the lines.
As you may not have guessed by now, I was not a normal child.
This suffices to say the particular change in discussion did not sit well with my 8 year-old self.

In fact, I had a complete and utter meltdown.

Apparently, aside from not being a normal child, I was also a child who did not cope well with change.

Exhibit A:
When my parents got a new microwave? Devastation.
When they got a new stove? Catastrophic.
When I came home from summer camp and there was not only a new couch in our living room but also a new cat sitting on said couch? Full-on nuclear annihilation.

So the new upholstery? May have been a bit of a problem for me to process.

In this situation, I proceeded to do what I did in every situation wherein my mother was too busy being a mom and didn't have time to by my psychiatrist: I hit #1 on my speed-dial and called my grandmother (what...you didn't have your own speed-dial when you were in elementary school? Loser). I then proceeded to dissolve into an 8 year-old-sized puddle of tears as I imparted the total audacity of my parents and the fact that they thought it was appropriate to bring NEW FABRIC into MY HOUSE.

So my grandmother in a fit of genius (or boredom...that's her main motivation for everything she does) recycled the old fabric from the dining room chairs and turned it into a doll for me- a doll with blond hair, a beautiful dress, and violet eyes. Yeah, she's pretty awesome. Not surprisingly, this quelled the storm.
And, because she's and equal-opportunity enabler, she made my brother and sister a turtle and a cat out of the same fabric.
Side note: I think it is of great relevance that you all know my sister named her cat "Special." Special was friends with Janie's pet goldfish, "Heavy." I couldn't even make this stuff up.

Although this little project was, in reality, probably just to shut me up, I like to think that she was trying to offer a lesson for the future.

Dwelling in the past feels safe and comfortable. We, as human beings, mentally relive moments in which we were the happiest, and try to re-create those circumstances in hopes of capturing those feelings once again. However, change is a natural progression and an important part of our evolution as human beings.
Change is good.
Change allows us to grow.
And, as long as we respect the lessons of our past experiences and preserve them so that they may be carried with us, we can use those instances as as points of advancement within ourselves.

My parents have since gone through three additional sets of dining room chairs, several new couches, and totally remodeled their kitchen.

And you know what? I'm totally fine with that.

But I still have my doll.

R.I.P. Employment

So I got laid off.
Which sounds like it might be a bad thing.
And really, it wasn't so awful.

I mean, don't get me wrong: there was some supreme horribleness for the first 48 hours, or so.
There were tears and lots of Kleenex first, followed by the customary mourning period in which I wear sweatpants while laying on the couch eating cold Chinese food and watching entire seasons of "Dexter" with my cats.
No, that is not what I do ALL the time (just, like, 80% of it).
No, that is NOT attractive.
But once you get past that part, being unemployed is actually not the worst thing that ever happened.

I really, really liked my job. I liked is so much that I worked insanely hard at it.
I was good at it, too. Probably because I worked so hard.
Not that I was being forced to. As I said before, I was quite fond of my occupation.
But this love and this ridiculous work-ethic instilled within me by my parents lead me to a life that involved nothing more than working, sleeping, eating, exercising. Repeat. Day after day.
Which, if you ask me, is not really a life at all.
Life should be about joy.
Or, at the very least, finding satisfaction in things other than those which you are being paid to do.
I liked my life. I was okay with the way things were. Because that is what one is supposed to do.
Did it make me joyful?
Negative, Ghostwriter.

This was not something I realized until I'd had some time to ponder the subject. Truthfully, it is probably not something I would have encountered upon, had I not had some free-time.
However unexpected and unwelcome that free-time was.

When life gives you lemons, they say, make lemonade.

So, I gots to get to makin' me some.

I've had the opportunity to do plenty of things over the last seven days that I haven't done in a long time: I've done laundry, made the bed, washed floors, cleaned my stove. I've read a book (can I even tell you when the last time I was able to read a book without passing out after three sentences was? Do the words "Billy don't be a hero" mean anything to you?), written on actual paper and in a place other than this blog, slept in, cooked every single day, re-arranged furniture...

The day after I lost my job, my Dad told me "enjoy your time off."
There you go, Dad.

I know I won't be unemployed forever.
And, eternal optimist that I am (except when I'm being a fatalist), I am determined to see the silver-lining in this situation beyond the simple matter of household chores and all that other stuff. This was quite clearly the Universe letting me know that I was not meant to have that job any longer than I did. There's something else out there for me. I can feel it.

There needs to be a change in Mollyland- the next task is figuring out what that change should be.

That's my next project, right after I finish Julie and Julia...because it is wonderful.

I've never been content to just accept something; I need to figure out the what and the why.
What do I do now?
Why was this last opportunity not the right fit?

I tend to over-complicate things, though.
I kind of like it that way.

I also like strawberries in my lemonade, too.
So I guess that explains a lot.

We interrupt this boradcast...

To bring you this important announcement.

Allow me to introduce the newest member of
the Fighting Illini hockey team:

This picture will never fail to amuse me.
And...
He's single, ladies!

Way to go, little brother.
Proud = ME.


You may now return to your regularly-scheduled programming.

Once Upon a Time...

..there was a girl named Molly.
She worked two jobs and hated it. She never got enough sleep and felt stressed out constantly.

Then one day, someone told her about their job and he whole world changed; the loved what they did. Loved the people they worked with. Loved their boss. Loved their coworkers.
And best of all, it sounded like a job that Molly would be really, really good at.
Was this company hiring? she asked.
Her friend said that they were, and told Molly to e-mail her a resume.

So Molly did just that and a few days later, she got a call.
Can you come in for and interview? the person on the other end asked.

During her interview, Molly thought about working in this office. She thought about the people who might be her coworkers and what her job would be like and what her days would be filled with.
The number one thing about this job that appealed to Molly: it would be making the world a better place.
She had always wanted to make the world a better place, somehow.
Can you see yourself working here? they asked.
Yes. Yes she could.

Then there was another interview.
And a job-shadow.
And a third interview.
Throughout this experience, Molly learned more about the job- how it would help people and make their lives infinitely better. How there was a high need for communication and interaction with others on this particular occupation.
Molly liked that.
The people in the office were nice, friendly, and had good senses of humor.
Molly liked that, too.

So when they offered her a job, Molly of course said yes.
She was very excited.
She couldn't think of another job she'd rather have.
And it didn't hurt that they were paying her more than both her other jobs combined.

Molly adored her job.
It was the happiest she'd ever been.

Until yesterday.

Her boss called Molly into her office.

We have to let someone go.
We're not making enough money to pay the whole staff.
You were the last one hired.
We're sorry.

*Poof*

There went Molly's awesome job.
And her awesome paycheck.
And her awesome ability to help others.

So the question is....
Where do I go from here.
Because I'm not sure.

How does this story end?

I ALMOST FORGOT!

How could I?

In June, Blake and I went here:

Atlanta, in case you're not super-smart and can't identify US cities by random pictures of their skylines.

It was super-hot.
Like, really.
And I had a mint julep.
We also ate A LOT.
But that wasn't the best part.

I got to see this little chicken:

Molly-Squared Reunion Tour.

I was so happy, I almost cried.
Wait.
I actually did cry.

In case anyone was wondering

Some things about my life at it's present state:

I joined a gym.
So that I don't look like this:

It should be of note, however, that on Tuesday evening I spent 45 minutes on the elliptical machine because I thought, "I'm relatively fit. I can handle it" and proceeded to pull both my calf muscles and am now forced to hobble about like a 103 year-old.
Which kind of supports the notion that I needed to join a gym in the first place.
If you ask me.


I just spent a gloriously relaxing (...right) week with my charming family here:

That's me and my wonderful cousin, Jenny.
Here we are acting all nonchalant around the paparazzi.
Being famous can be sooo annoying, don't you think?
Photo-essay on our fabulous adventures soon to come.


I also got a new job.
Like, as in one that involves and office and a desk and company.

Pretty groovy, right?
I enjoy it.
And I will tell you all about it.
Soon.
My life is only so interesting.
I have to milk sources for bloggin material when I can.


Also, some people had some birthdays:

photo from here.
Their names are:
Mom
Dad
Blake
Gramma
Grandpa
Marie
Lara
Amber
Aunt Jane
Danny
And I owe them all special birthday blogs.
What?
Shut up.
I've been busy.
That doesn't make me a bad daughter/granddaughter/niece/cousin/girlfriend/BFF.
Okay. Maybe it does.


So what was the point of this post, you ask?
Mostly to make my grandmother happy because she keeps whining about how I never blog anymore.

Old family photo found from here.
Looks good for her age, doesn't she?
I'm actually kind of impressed that she can still use a computer.
Way to go Grams!


Stay tuned for more awesomeness.

...But now I see.

Earlier this evening, I was driving home from my weekly visit with Marie and Wrigley the Schnoodle in Virden (Oh, you didn't know that Marie moved to Virden? More on that later.) I was mildly drowsy with DiCarlo's pizza and strawberry-banana ice cream from Whirl-A-Whip. I hurried down Route 4, anxious to get home to me sweatpants and clean sheets.

As I hit a patch of road between Thayer and Chatham, there were no other headlights in sight. No fellow travelers in front or behind me. Kings of Leon found it's way from my iPod to the speakers. I smiled to myself and let the late summer breeze sweep through the open windows tangle my neglected hair into impossible knots. Air that smelled like fresh-cut grass, sweat, and burning leaves.

On the shoulders of the blacktop, the fireflies danced in their nightly testimonial to the impending dark. Deep indigo paint bled across the sky into a canopy in front of me. Corn whooshed by me on the left, soybeans on my right.

Above the fringe of the tall stalks of corn lay a strip of sky still untouched by night. The sun was melting into the horizon in a glowing ball. The atmosphere around it looked as though a child had seized a treasure-box from his grandmother's bureau and scattered it's precious contents across a quilt; sapphires faded into emeralds, emeralds into golden pieces of amber, amber into deep amethysts, and amethysts into brilliant rubies.

The corn's feathery fingers stretched towards the jewel-box sky, silhouetted by the disappearing daylight. Skeletal outlines of trees, set aglow by dusk, dotted the approaching landscape. Modest houses surrounded by fields of vegetative wealth sighed as they settled in to sleep.

I have seen a lot of breathtaking things in my life: the Eiffel Tower, the Trevi Fountain, the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, the ocean. I have never considered this place to be "beautiful." Desolate, barren, forgotten...maybe. But never beautiful. The place I grew up is populated by spires of metal and glass, twisting upwards into the gray-green mist, created leftovers from an ungrateful population. People congest the streets, moving and breathing as a single organism. That was beautiful to me. It still is.

But there is beauty in this place, too.

Sometimes the light just has to disappear for it's magnitude to be realized.