The Post Where Steffi is a Debbie Downer

I've missed you, Internet... lots of stuff has been happening lately that prevented me from posting. "What kind of stuff, Steffi?" you might ask, but since you don't I'll tell you anyway. I was going about my usual business--saving quadriplegic orphan puppies from evil terrorist aardvark dictators (they are aardvarks, you see) and all. Also, they give the puppies some puppy biscuits and then TAKE THE BISCUITS AWAY MWAHAHAHA. Curse you, evil terrorist aardvark dictators.

The second most diabolical tater known to man.

But in all seriousness, my grandma died. I don't mean to be funny about this. She was and always will be one of the most important people in my life. It was very, very sudden and I've been kind of a mess ever since. It doesn't help that I'm away from home for the month, thrust into the company of strangers. Don't get me wrong, I've made a ton of friends and I love them but... I just needed to not be surrounded by people. People everywhere, I was flooded with people. People in my room, people in my hallways, people in my life; I was breathing people, vomiting people. It was all just too much. I may have been surrounded by people, but, when I found out what had happened to my grandma, I was completely alone. That was the hardest I have ever cried in my whole life. And I was alone in that crowd. A self-imposed exile, trapped in the cloudy recesses of my head. I locked myself in here and I can't seem to remember how to get out.

I didn't sleep that night and I've had trouble doing so ever since. It's then, in the darkness of the night, that I think about death and love and where my life is going. I think about abject, eternal nothingness. I think about God. I think about my grandma and the things she'll never do. I think about what she did do and how I can ever live up to her. What's the point in doing anything if I can't show her? Then there is a very cold pang in the pit of my stomach. I feel so selfish for that pang because I know that she loved me completely and overwhelmingly--she had me drowning in it--and when somebody who loved you goes away, what does that make you? Who am I now? Where did the love go when she died? Did it die, too? Does that make me less somehow? Where did the wonderful that she saw in me escape to? Was it ever really there at all?

It's Existential Crisis Monkey!

Oh, Existential Crisis Monkey. You so crazy.

So yes. That was just about as deep as I've ever gotten on here. Didn't mean to be a buzzkill, but this blog is about me growing and remembering the stuff I learn along the way, for better or for worse. I am not usually so angsty--I'm generally a fairly upbeat, cheerful person. This is probably the most upset you'll see me here, so don't think it'll all be death metal and un-saving quadriplegic puppies (that means giving them puppy biscuits after having saved them and then TAKING THE BISCUITS AWAY MWAHAHAHA).

Ethical Treatment of Puppies Monkey strongly disapproves.

On a happier note, more "Total Eclipse of the Heart" paraphernalia. Also, because you've been such good sports about my ranting about the endless void of black emptiness that is death, here're some more nifty music videos. You are welcome.

Anyway, next time I will make up for this Debbie Downerness by having a... are you ready? Mentally prepare yourself, here... virtual SLUMBER PARTY!! EEEEEEEEEE I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW, RIGHT?! <--- virtual girlish squeal of joy. Ok, go get your best PJs ready. This is officially ON.

~Steffi