"Have a great day!" "That's too much pressure." "Have the day you have!"

I just finished bawling like a small child because I just got to the end of The Odd Life Of Timothy Green.

If you're reading this and have no idea what that is, let me tell you about this wonderful movie. It's about a husband and wife that love each other dearly and want to take that love and make it into a baby, but they can't. So one night, they decide to take paper and make their perfectly not-so-perfect baby. And then they bury the list in the backyard.

The writer of the movie was wise enough to not explain everything that happens or why it happens or really how or any of that, but somehow a storm comes, and the list is made into a boy named Timothy.

The story that follows is about Timothy fulfilling all of the things on the list, but not always in the way the parents expected it to pan out. Every time he fulfills a bullet on the list, one of his leaves falls off.

Oh, right. He has leaves growing out of his legs.

SPOILER WARNING (but also predictable).

As expected, once the leaves are all gone, Timothy must go as well.

And that's where I first started crying. The reason I lost it here was because he tells the parents he has to go, and they both say something along the lines of "We can do better. We will be better parents. We are just getting used to this." And Timothy laughs and says, "No, you are ready. You've always been ready. Never give up." That got me.

But the movie goes on for about another ten minutes after this scene. And yes, I bawled for the remainder of the film.

Timothy decides before he goes to give the leaves that have fallen off of his legs to various people he's met throughout his short life. The explanation of why he chooses the people he does is priceless.

But what really got me, what the real kicker was is the very last scene.

The parents adopt another child.

The movie is simple and sweet and G-rated which tells you something right off the bat. It's not exactly date night material.

But man, it got me good.

Funny thing that I started thinking about after I watched it and listened to the end credits song sung by Glen Hansard five hundred times over, some of the movies that have really gotten me over the years have been about adoption.

One of my all-time favourite movies is called Martian Child and is all about a writer adopting a boy who thinks he's from Mars. The second-to-last scene in this movie always makes me cry like a small child.

One of my favourite movies as a kid was Angels In The Outfield. I watched it a few weeks ago for the first time as an Adult and I don't think I ever realized as a kid that while the movie is about angels helping out a baseball team, it's really about adoption.

And yes, when I watched it again, it made me cry when Danny Glover adopts the two boys at the end. I also started crying when Joseph Gordon-Levitt's dad leaves him at the court house and he's calling out to his dad to come back.

I realize that I'm a pretty young 23 year old and I don't have a boyfriend (or, let's be real, any chance of a boyfriend considering the catches in Hickory) let alone a husband, so kids seriously should be the very very last thing on my mind.

But after watching movies like The Odd Life Of Timothy Green or Martian Child or Angels In The Outfield, it makes me want to adopt when the times comes.

John Cusack, who plays the man who adopts the martian child in Martian Child, says something really great at one point in the movie: "I understand the reasons for not wanting to bring a child into this world, but there's no rule about not loving a child already in the world."

That sums up all reasons for wanting to adopt.

I've never been one to want kids of my own. I'm kind of like Robin on How I Met Your Mother; I don't want kids, but probably if I was ever told my a doctor that I couldn't have kids, I would immediately want them. (Side note, the episode where Robin found out she couldn't have kids ripped my heart out.)

Honesty time: I figured I would spend all my time as a parent of my own kids worrying that I would A) drop them and kill them as infants or B) screw them up really bad as teenagers.

But with kids that are adopted, here's my thing about both A and B: I would adopt them when they are in elementary school so no worries about dropping them, and if their biological parents have either abandoned them or died, well, I can't do any worse than that, right? It can only be uphill then.

I don't know what will happen in 5 or 10 or 30 years. But if I keep watching movies about adoption, I think I have a pretty safe bet on what will probably happen.

"No one has ever seen my moves."

(Title from the movie Safety Not Guaranteed)

Hipster.

What's the first thing that pops into a mind when this word is read?

Pathetic is what usually pops into mine.

I've always thought about bad connotations in correlation to this word.

Funky dress, weird hair, can't like anything that anyone else likes, moody temperament, et cetera.

But here's the thing, I'm a hipster.

Funky dress = I decided about a year ago that I was going to stop dressing how everyone expected me to dress. I wasn't going to change my whole closet every time a new trend showed up at Forever 21. I was going to dress in a way that made me feel confident. I've always had issues with self confidence and insecurity; why fuel that fire with dressing in a way where I wasn't comfortable? The other day, I really wanted to wear this one shirt, and I wanted to feel pretty so I wore a skirt and my favourite brown wedges. When I came out of my room to go to work, my roommate saw me and smiled. "That outfit would straight up look ridiculous on anyone but you," she said. And I felt awesome the entire day. I may not always match the way society says I should match or wear the "latest" fashion, but I wear clothes that I want to wear because I want to wear them.

Weird hair = I've always wanted to be that girl with the long, wavy brown hair that can just be thrown up in a messy bun or intricate braid. I tried to be that girl for awhile. And I hated it. I always felt like my hair was gross and weird and I just hated it. I would cut it and hate it so grow it out only to hate it more. Then one day about two years ago, I went to a hair dresser on a whim and said cut it all off. I've had short hair ever since. I know it's counter-culture of the "pretty girl" to have short hair; most girls who are beautiful today have long, curly hair, or at least a cute shoulder length cut. I have hair that my hairdresser here affectionately tells me I need to put product in to make it feminine or it will be a man's hair cut. But I'm okay with this. Because short hair gives me confidence. I may look odd with it sometimes, but I know there are days where I rock it. And I'm okay with that now. I don't need to have a "pretty girl" haircut to feel pretty.

Can't like anything that anyone else likes = this is where I really get hipster. I genuinely do like a lot of things no one else likes. When I watch a movie, I always pick the nerdy, lonely, pathetic guy to call dibs on. Ask my friend and they will vouch for me on this. One of my best friends told me I had to see Pitch Perfect, and that she knew exactly which guy I'd like the best, but she wasn't going to tell me until after I saw it. I called her after I did and the first thing she asked was which guy I liked. I told her the lonely magician who no one really likes but turns out to be cool in the end and she screamed I KNEW IT into the phone. I eat oatmeal as a snack when I get home from work. I would rather have apple juice than beer. I cry at those sappy Kay jewelry commercials, every freaking time. I sleep with my teddy bear Rosecheeks and a stuffed version of Little Foot every night because I have to cling to something as I fall asleep and they keep me sane when the lights go out. I watch random and obscure British movies because that's how my parents raised me, not because I want to be cool. And yes, I liked Regina Spektor before a lot of people and don't listen to her anymore but that's because I always move on and get obsessed with new things. Just ask my family. I don't do these kinds of things to be cute or get attention like some girls I went to college with. I do them because that's who I am and I never knew it was dorky.

Moody temperament = this is something I've struggled with ever since high school. I jokingly like to tell myself it's just because I read too much Sherlock Holmes and try to copy him. But it's true. Some days I am probably the most annoyingly cheerful person you will ever meet (I'm channeling my inner Arthur from Cabin Pressure on these days). Some days I am dark and write stories with serial killers and twisted humour where a man keeps failing at suicide which makes him more depressed which makes him want to kill himself even more. Some days I am a complete and total hopeless romantic (this is where the crying at Kay commercials kicks in). Some days I tell myself I never ever ever want to be in another relationship ever (this is normally when I've thought about exes too much or just realize that no man will ever compare to Rory Williams from Doctor Who). Some days I need to be around people in order to breathe. Some days don't come near me or I will run away from you because I can't be near people because they suck. I try harder than most people realize to be consistent in my daily life and not change how I act from one day to another. The same best friend I mentioned earlier who told me to see Pitch Perfect had a rule when I was in college that I had to call her when I would catch myself just literally staring at my white wall for hours at a time, and the reason I would stare at the wall like this is because I was angry at myself, trying to figure out why I am the way I am. I'm not writing any of this to sound pathetic, believe me. It's all 100 % percent honest and it's taken me the entire time I've had a blog to be honest like this (which is saying a lot seeing as I have four whole followers [yes that is me being sarcastic] [yes that was a parenthesis in a parenthesis]).

What am I getting at with all this jibber jabber?

I'm not really sure to be honest.

Maybe I do.

Maybe I'm just trying to get my feelings worked out in my head and the best way I know how to do that is to write them down. Maybe I'm trying to say that I am a hipster and whatever, that doesn't make me pathetic because I'm only pathetic when I let that word become who I am.

You know that saying sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me, and everyone always tells you it's wrong because words can hurt? Words can hurt. I know that I know that I know that words are the most powerful thing in the world. But words don't have to control us. A single word can never define a human being. Ever. I don't care if you're white or black or gay or straight or single or taken or a murderer, none of those one words defines who you are. Even someone as messed up as Hitler doesn't deserve to be completely summed up with the word Holocaust. He was complex. He was messed up and horrendous, yes, but he was other things too.

Okay.

I realize it sounds like I just compared myself to Hitler. It's late is the only excuse I can come up for that one.

I've probably just taken being called a hipster the other day and turned it into the most dramatic thing ever, but, well, that's the hipster in me coming out.

The point I am trying (or failing) to make is that yeah. I fall into the hipster category. But does that make me pathetic?

Freaking no.

It's just one part of what makes me me.

And on my good days, I'm pretty confident in me.

Which is kind of awesome.

Not talking and doors shut are great, let's keep it up.

When you don't say a word when you come home, I don't know what that means. I suspect it means either I've done something to piss you off, or work has you irritated.

When I say hello and you mumble a hey before going into your room and shutting the door, I don't know what that means. It begins to confirm my suspicions that you are pissed at me for some reason.

When you think I'm on the couch but hear me in the kitchen so you deliberately turn around and don't walk into the kitchen like I know you were about to just do and walk back into your room, I don't know what that means. My suspicions that you are angry at me are building.

When I take the food I've cooked for tomorrow out of the oven and leave it sitting on the oven to cool, then come back into the living room, so you run out of your room and into the kitchen and then loudly say, "Seriously? Wow," before grabbing a beer and running back into your room and slamming the door behind you, I do in fact know what this means. It means I have pissed you off. Seeing as I have not seen you all day and I have cleaned the kitchen, loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, taken the trash and the recycling and taken all of my clutter from the living room into my room because I know it annoys you when I leave it in the living room, I am racking my brain to think of what I have done to piss you off so horribly.

The only conclusion I can come to is that my food cooling before I stick it in the fridge for tomorrow has pissed you off. I know what you're thinking; how could that have pissed you off?

Well, I'm back to where I started. I don't know.

I suppose I have a hard time reading your mind. Please forgive me for that, I'll try to do better.

"The hero of Canton, the man they call me."

I can’t write.

I’m going through this phase right now where I can’t seem to get myself to read or write because all I really want to do is enjoy films.

I’m sure eventually I’ll get so inspired by all this film watching that I won’t be able to handle not writing or reading, but right now I just watch a really great film and just kind of sit in my room by myself and stare at the wall and think about how much I loved the film.

It’s not even that I have writer’s block, it’s that I just don’t feel like writing.

I keep making myself go to this little sandwich shop called Groucho’s on my day off and try to write or read, but I usually just end up Sherlocking (and by this I mean being nosy and guessing at someone’s life) the other people there, or listening to the conversations of the funny men who work here or just staring out the window.

It’s nice and peaceful and I always leave full because their sandwiches are kind of to die for, but not having been writing/reading productive.

This is an odd phase. I can’t remember the last time I was in one where I just didn’t feel like writing.

In other news, I’m not sure to have Adult Friendships. 

Some people who are close to being in their 30’s invited me to hang out with them the other day. I accepted because I’m tired of sitting alone at my apartment. We went to see a movie and then to this bar/restaurant for beers and I tried really hard to talk about Grownup Things, but most of the time I just sat there and smiled and listened to them talk about Grownup Things and wondered if it will always feel awkward to have Adult Incounters.

So after this, I called up my friend Ed who sometimes still acts like he’s in high school and we went to see the new James Bond movie and were giggly and childlike at the movies and it felt comfortable.

When is the age where I have to have only Adult Friends and I’m not allowed to go to the movies with a gay boy and pretend like he’s my date and watch people look at us confused because it’s obvious he’s gay but he’s being affectionate and giggle when the main characters of the movie start kissing passionately because we are 8 years old at heart? 

Well, everything in the world is all right when I watch this video. It's not very Grown Up, though. Oh well. 

Should I hold my beer all fancy like you?

Sometimes I think about myself when I'm 30 or 40 or 50 and I think about all the things that I could be doing and all the things I could be and all the awesome things I will achieve.

But I forget that I have to work to get those things.

I can't just expect to suddenly have a famous play on the West End. I would need to spend time in rehearsals but before that I would need to find actors but before that I would need to get a director to like my play but before that I would need to network to find people in the industry but before that I would need to move to London but before that I would need to arrange to move to England but before that I would need to save enough money to move to England but before that I would need to have graduated from at least a grad school but before that I would need to go to grad school but before that I would need to get into grad school but before that I would need to save money to go to grad school.

But before any of this, I would need to actually write a good play.

Instead I'm sitting in front of the television watching The Social Network wishing I was witty and blogging because I tried to write something and I couldn't even come up with more Firefly fan fiction.

I don't even wish I could just blink and be a playwright or casting director, I just wish I could stop having writer's block. Or at least stop using writer's block as an excuse for my laziness.

I know I just got a job and I'm getting used to be an Adult so I should probably cut myself some slack and realize that I'm working 45 hour weeks sometimes 6 days a week at weird hours and I'm trying to get myself in better shape and eat more healthily which takes a considerable amount of time out of the day. Along with trying to get used to a new town and find friends and be more than a recluse.

But I think I'm freaking myself out because I'm turning 23 and somehow in my mind that's one step away from 30 and I want to at least have achieved some kind of dream by the time I'm that old.

I hate it when my characters just want to become recluses and not do anything. Why are my characters a mirror of me? Where's the fun in that?

I hate writer's block.

"Expecting an epic ending, most underdogs end up not winning."

I wouldn't mind if my things were published or produced anonymously or with a pen name, or if I just sat in the very back of the theatre and wasn't allowed to tell anyone it was mine.

I really wouldn't.

Because when I watch a really great film or see a really great play or read a really great book or listen to a really great song, I feel inspiration with every second. And I know how wonderful that feels, how it's like breathing in the freshest air imaginable.

And I would feel like I've done something worthwhile if I could see the look on just one person's face when they left the theatre of my play or finished reading my short story. That look that tells me they are going to go home and create something wonderful themselves, be it a work of fiction or a piece of pottery or compose a song or even just knit a beautiful pair of socks, all because they saw my things and were inspired to create themselves.

That's all the fame I'd ever want.

"Of course it's you."

WARNING: the title here is from the episode of Doctor Who, when The Doctor opens his hotel room door and sees whatever scares him the most and utters these words. What follows here is a bit of a ramble about Doctor Who and how I strangely connect it to my relationship with God.

I just watched the last Doctor Who and I need to get this all out before I forget it and the feeling's past.

I'm choosing to believe that Amy finds Rory after both of them search for a long time and they know that they can get through anything together because they have gotten through everything together and that's how strong love is when it is pure and right and a good thing.

And I know that River will be all right because she knows how wonderful her parents truly were and that they loved her and would have done anything for her and she would have done anything for them and that's enough to get her through anything because love is that strong.

But I can't believe that the Doctor will be all right.

I know it's just a television show and Moffat is a crazy man with a pen and sometimes I don't know how he can bear his own mind because it must be a sad and wonderful and brilliant and depressing and intense thing for him to create things like Doctor Who and Sherlock. But I think even fiction has an element, or rather lots of elements, of truth to it.

We, each and every one of us, in some way or another, understand what the Doctor is going through because we have all lost someone through either anger or death or stupidity or just time passing and we know that we will never see them again while we're alive and maybe not even when we're dead.

But what I think absolutely broke my heart when watching the last episode was that I could feel the Doctor's pain so much more than I ever could. When he was screaming and begging Amy not to leave him, he wasn't just talking to her. He was talking to Rose and Donna and Martha and every companion he's ever had who have, for one reason or another, left him. And he was tired of being left and ultimately being alone.

Sometimes I think Sherlock had it right when Moffat wrote the line for him: "Alone is what I have, alone protects me."

Because we're ultimately alone in the end, anyways, right? No matter how hard we love or how often we love, or even how hard we hate or whatever, ultimately we die alone, right?

Wrong.

I cannot believe this is correct.

Sitting on Jennifer's couch in our living room, listening to beautiful and depressing music by Yo-Yo Ma, I refuse to believe that this is correct.

I know it's weird to turn a Doctor Who television episode that is not real life into something spiritual and relevant, but I guess I can't help it. That's just in my blood. So I'm sorry if it offends or you think that I'm being dramatic or making something into a big deal, but that's the only way my mind knows how to work.

What I got from this episode is what Doctor Who ultimately is; it's a story about a man who never dies and is ultimately alone and tries to pretend like this doesn't bother him but in the end it hits him in the face and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

But I do.

Because I know that no matter who dies or what happens to the world or how many depressing or romantic films I watch try to tell me, even when I'm completely and totally alone, I'm not alone.

Someone, Someone with a capital S, made me.

I didn't just appear on earth because my parents gave birth to me. I appeared because my Creator decided to make me.

And He's not just Up Somewhere eating popcorn and watching us all like we're a movie. He is active. He wants to interact with us.

Why else would anyone make something?

You don't make something to just do nothing and do nothing for you. No one has ever done that. You make something to please you.

He made me to please Him. But more than that, He made me to give me the choice to please Him or not.

And by His grace and making my brain somehow realize all of this, I choose to do that. I choose to believe that He is real and interacts with me in the most real way ever. I choose to believe that He created others for me to interact with as they please or choose to not please Him.

But as I'm writing this, I realize something else.

Not even He is alone. There are three of Him in His Oneness.

That means that He understands how horrible and deadly being truly alone is, so not even the Creator of all things, the Ultimate Master (to borrow a Doctor Who term) is alone.

The only way as a human being could ever not ultimately be alone is by choosing to please Him and invite Him to be in my life that He created.

I don't understand in this moment how anyone can consciously decide to not accept Him because they are ultimately alone and if the Creator cannot even be alone, how do they possibly think they can do it?

For a long time, I've thought of Hell quite differently than most people. I've not thought of Hell as being a fiery pit where Satan congregates all those who choose not to accept Him.

I've thought of it as complete and utter blackness. Aloneness.

I've thought that if you choose to ignore Him, He will actively still pursue you throughout your life because He doesn't want you to be in this blackness and aloneness. But when your life ends and you're still ignoring Him, there is nothing left for Him to do.

So because you said you didn't want Him and He won't change your mind for you, you get exactly what you asked for.

You get nothingness for forever. You are alone in blackness, completely void of everything God. Because it's what you chose.

The reason I think of this as Hell is because that is what scares me to the depths of myself. And that to me is what Hell should be.

Going back to Doctor Who, I wondered for a long time what I would see in my hotel room in that one episode where everyone's greatest fear is in their room. I thought maybe it would be a demonic horror movie or a room where bugs crawl all over me and I can never get them off or all the friends I've ever hurt congregating to talk about how terrible a person I am or something along those lines.

But I don't think any of that is what it would be.

I think if I saw my room, it would be a completely blank, dark, empty space with nothing. I think if I looked into my room, I would see this image of what I think Hell is. A place empty of everything God.

Thank God that He has given me a brain that realizes this and loves me in a way that surpasses Rory and Amy or River and The Doctor's love that He will give me every chance in life to avoid my hotel room.

I'm sorry for all of that. I know from getting on tumblr that this is probably not the response I'm supposed to have from watching Doctor Who.

I'm supposed to curl up in a little ball with my shock blanket and a tub of ice cream and weep and shout Moffat's name over and over again and have my friends pat my hand and say, "There, there."

I'm not supposed to watch it and think, "I cannot express how thankful I am to my Creator that He has given me the choice to avoid my hotel room of Hell."

Oh well.

I've never really thought normal, and I think this just proves it.