Bedtime story

Once upon a time a girl wanted a bed. Not just any bed. A bed that she could store stuff under. Or build forts under. And so, her dad built her one. An amazing four poster bed with plenty of crawl space beneath. The girl loved her bed, except that it wobbled to and fro. When she leaned on the foot of the bed, it would move an alarming amount. This wobbling to and fro eventually led to the destruction of the bed's metal parts.

"But do not be alarmed, child; I will fix it. I have new steel hangers that are indestructible," said her father.

So her father came to visit. He took the broken, flimsy hangers off the bed parts, and put on the new indestructible parts. It was not easy. They did not want to fit. "Ah, but this is good," thought the girl, "for if they are this tight putting together, my bed will no longer wobble to and fro!" And much cursing and hammer pounding and more cursing later, the girl's bed was as good as new. Better than new, for now it had indestructible parts. And lots of screws to help steady it even more.

After five months of having the bed against wall A, the girl decided she wanted the bed to be against wall B. She pulled and tugged and huffed and puffed and cursed and spat, but the bed would not budge! "No problem," said she, "I'll just take off the mattress. Sure then it will move!" So she easily slid the mattress off the bed, only nearly knocking a shadow box from the wall.

"But what is this strange button?" she asked, finding a black circular peg thingy. Looking closer, she sees that it's the peg from one of the hangers. One of the indestructible hangers. Looking even closer, she sees that both the tabs for the hanger is missing! "Noooo!"

Instead of further defying a sure death from sleeping on a broken bed, the girl decided to dismantle the bed. But, alas! As she was removing all of those extra steadying screws, two strip! And another broke off at the head. She looked and searched for something to help, but nothing she found could.

Of she went, on her quest to remove the screws from the bed. First to one store, where an employee handed her something saying, "This will work!" Back home went she, only to find out that the employee must have been the villagestore idiot, because there was no way that tool would work, since it was designed for a specific type of screw. So she returned the failed merchandise and searched out another store. Here, they sold her a tool that she was sure would work. So she got home and tried it... Only to find out that she's not quite smart enough to make it work.

Eventually, after much man-handling and more cursing and spitting, huffing and puffing, and pulling and tugging, the girl managed to get the boards free from the defective screws.

And from that moment, she decided that that bed would never enter her home again. And she lived happily ever after, even if she was relegated to sleeping on a mattress on the floor like some teenager.

What defines you?

So tonight I decided to watch Confessions of a Shopaholic because I really enjoyed the Shopaholic books by Sophie Kinsella and was somewhat excited about seeing the movie. And it was actually really well done, except for the fact that it was set in America (books are in England.) Though, I could just be thinking that because A) I did not actually read the books (audio books for car trips) and B) it's been about a year probably since I read(listened!) to Confessions of a Shopaholic.

Anyway, in the movie, Becky's parents buy an RV because her dad has always wanted one. He offers to sell it to help her out, and she says "No. Don't you dare. It totally defines you!" Or some such. He replies, "The only things that defines me are you and your mother." And I was all like, awwww. lol

Seriously though, it made me wonder, what defines me? There are so many things and so many moments in my life that have helped shape me into who I am today; but do any of them define me? I guess, if you looked up the One Witch Sydnii in the dictionary, what would you find as my definition? Camden, obviously, for without him, I, as I am now, would not exist. The marimba. The sound it makes, the music it creates: that is a part of me.

Also, I am defined by my relationships, how I interact with and respond to people, but also how I interact with and respond to the gods. But this, I'm afraid, is less easily described as succinctly as something as concrete as a child or a thing.

And more into the realm of the abstract: am I defined by what I do not have or what I have given away or what has been taken from me? Am I defined by anything from within or must my definition always come from without? Am I truly unique or simply a melting pot for others' ideas and being?

Does it make a difference?

At the end of the day, aren't I still me?