Sunday, December 26, 2004
This was one serious white Christmas, indeed. It was the first Christmas Eve that I can remember, which is just about all of them, that I didn't go to Uncle Pook's for our normal family thing, and I didn't miss it. This was the first Christmas Victoria knew the truth about ol' Saint Nick. This was Kathryn's first Christmas. It was the first Christmas I woke up and didn't have my presents under the tree; they were still in my trunk. I was up with the adults drinking coffee in the kitchen at 7 am and waiting for Victoria to rouse up in a Christmas morning fury. Victoria and I read Shel Silverstein poems to one another for an hour or so, which was a lot of fun. Randy made us snow cream. In the afternoon, Mom, Dad, and I came back to Murray. We ate at the wonderful Asian Buffet. We stayed the night here. I finally took my first shower in a couple days, and now I need to dry my hair. But I tell ya, it's good to be clean.
Okay, there's my first and last (stream-of-consciousness) post for a while. I'm again choosing to leave the computer here. It's just not worth the hassle. But for those of you that I only have contact with online, I love and miss you. I got the dial-up number off this computer, so I might venture to dig out the really old and crappy desktop and get online at home. Maybe. But until the next time we talk, take care. And happy new year. May 2005 bring you great joy.
Monday, December 13, 2004
First best friend: Ashley Wallace.
First real boyfriend: Still waiting on this.
First real memory of something: I think that would be when I broke my arm when I was three.
We'll discuss this later on in the survey.
First real date: Any time now, right?
First real kiss: *taps fingers on table*
First screen name: Oh, something very stupid like sassy_rene or something, but that lasted like three seconds. I'd say the first real one was cassarole220.
First self purchased album: Going way back to the cassette tapes, eh? I don't really remember, but I did have Billy Ray Cyrus' Some Gave All. Yes, that's the one with "Achy Breaky Heart," but other than that song, it wasn't so bad. Sweet mother, listen to me...
First pets: So I had this dog, but I can never remember if her name was Trixie or Roxie. 'Tis is very distant memory.
First piercing/tattoo: I got my ears pierced at some childhood age when I was still young enough to sit in the cart at WalMart. Yet another fuzzy memory.
First enemy: I was never really much of an enemy maker. Kelly Marshall and I didn't really get along in fifth grade, but we became big buddies in sixth grade when Mrs. Boswell put her in my group because we were doing a project on Kwanzaa. Hmm, maybe Holly and I were enemies in sixth grade with that whole "I know what you said" playground incident. We see how that turned out. :-)
First big trip: Like, vacation? I think that would be the horrendous trip to Daytona Beach when I was, like, five.
First detention: Ah. Junior year. I had already gotten one unexcused tardy because I kept pushing the getting-to-school-on-time envelope. Then one day, like, my ignition broke in my car and there was no one anywhere around to get me to school on time. By the time I got there, I almost got away with the second unexcused tardy, but alas, I was caught. Coach Hogg would not be stopped as I pleaded with him to consider my situation excused. He did not, and therefore, he wrote me my one and only detention slip. I wish I could find it.
First heartbreak: When John Montgomery was supposed to accompany me at the basketball banquet in fourth grade but had to go to his grandfather's birthday party instead. Heartbreak, I tell you.
First time breaking a bone: I was three and at Clay Days. Some other little girl basically shoved me off backward from the top of the slide. I'm still not sure which arm I broke. Left, I think.
First sleepover: It was either one of the two infamous Heather Powell nightmares or my own in third grade.
First hangover: No hangovers for me.
Car ride: Back from my WalMart adventure.
Movie seen: Haven't seen any movies in a while. Maybe what part I saw of A Walk to Remember on satellite over Thanksgiving break.
Swear word: Hmm. I pointed out that Jenny's BarbCobbTakeHomeExam (BCTHE) closely resembles the word bitch.
Beverage consumed: A little milk to go with the toffee that I just made.
Person you called: Mom, of course.
Person you danced with: Dance? I don't do much of that. Ah, Kathryn, to try to get her to quit crying.
TV show watched: I caught the tail-end of John Mayer Has a TV Show the other day.
Shower: This mornin'.
Shoes worn: When I remembered to go to WalMart, I changed and put on my Vans.
Item bought: My WalMart purchases include water, margarine, Hershey bars, oranges, peanut butter crackers, and a tin to put my toffee in.
Annoyance: The fact that I'm hot with the heat on and cold with it off.
Web page visited: Jenny's journal to make sure the E in BCTHE stands for "exam."
CD you listened to: The compilation CD that I made and named "Sprachgefühl." And because of it, I have "Big Yellow Taxi" in my head.
CD you bought: I bought three Christmas CDs over Thanksgiving break. Two really cheap ones, bluegrass and celtic, that are pretty good and one more expensive one, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, that definitely did not live up to my expectations. Way to go, cheap.
What song do you swear was written about you or your life? As stupid as this sounds, I think the answer to this question is "Why Georgia."
What's the most embarrassing CD you own? Hmm, that'd be a toss up between Millennium by the Backstreet Boys, Spice by the Spice Girls, Middle of Nowhere by Hanson (which I'm not too embarrassed by, actually), and maybe that Kenny G Christmas CD I have.
What's the best CD you own? Room for Squares will always have a solidarity that won't let me down.
What song do you absolutely hate? I don't harbor an absolute hate for most any song, but there is one song that makes me groan quite loudly and emphatically change the station. That's Uncle Kracker's "Drift Away."
Do you sing in the shower? Maybe I used to, but I definitely don't anymore. I always have a song in my head when I'm in the shower, but I'm waaay too tired to be doing any singing.
Best Love Song?: I haven't really thought about this. But the most recent song that I've heard and thought, "I'd really like to have this sung to me someday," was Bebo Norman's "Try."
Song that gives you the chills when you hear it: Alison Krauss' version of "When You Say Nothing at All" always does that to me.
Song that makes you cry: Matchbox 20's "If You're Gone" used to strike quite an emotional chord with me.
Song that puts you in a good mood: Counting Crows' "Mr. Jones."
Song that's always stuck in your head: For the past couple of days, it's been between "Feliz Navidad" and Natalie Merchant's "Wonder." Yeah. I don't know either.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
My finals week benchmark, as I have mentioned before, has always been getting Winslow to-go, especially breakfast. It's a little sad that it won't be happening this year. But it's not because I'm not living on campus. See, the tradition is to get Winslow on the way back from an 8:00 final. The only 8:00 final I have is Shakespeare, but I have the BarbCobb final right after that. So there won't be any hopping in my car, driving to Winslow to get breakfast, and bringing back to my apartment as I would have done if my schedule had allowed for it.
Now that I've successfully written two paragraphs about Winslow breakfast, I think it's time to call it a night.
Friday, December 10, 2004
I still do have a wee bit of homework to do, but it's nothing too serious. I have to finish up my Spanish workbook. And thrice on the trot (Jenny, I couldn't resist.), I'm going to do my reading assignment for BarbCobb.
But before I go, I'd like to give a shout out to my professors this semester. They've all been good in one way or another, and I haven't always been able to say that. Here's to my educators, in order of appearance throughout the week: BarbCobb, even though she drives me insane and grades papers much too harshly, is very passionate about the literature she teaches, and there is something to be said for that. Koji is the man who can do most all things including teach Spanish whilst speaking English (two languages that aren't his native tongue), draw cartoons, sing, play guitar, and milk cows. Dr. Brown amazes me because he's very much like an excited little boy and deep well of knowledge and wisdom trapped in a professor's body. He's precious, and Tessa and I have decided we have crushes on him. Even Burly gets my love, for even though he doesn't have a clue what he's doing most days and his lectures are thoroughly horrible, he's a pretty cool guy. Mrs. Ed has been one of the most beneficial teachers I've ever had. She freely offered her practical advice and invaluable experience to us future English teachers who desperately needed it. And Q is one of many graduate students I've had as teachers who were actually good at their job. Now I know my rocks and minerals... Anyway, those aformentioned folks deserve my thanks.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
O, Teaching English in Middle/Secondary Schools, our life together: 'Twas bittersweet. You gave me both great anticipation and great anxiety upon the foresight of teaching English to high school students. 'Twas a painful experience many Tuesday nights, but I am henceforth resolved to be more organized, prepared, and insightful because of it. You gave to me a plethora of classmates that will not soon be forgotten and many a bout of girlish giggling as I walked with fellow Bill-admirers past the steps of Lovett. Your departure did come too quickly, and I was not prepared. We had our disputes, fallings out, and other such unfriendly encounters, but in the end, how do I appreciate you. And English Three Twenty and Nine, as unexpected as it may be, I will miss you.
Okay, now that I have that over with, I should get onto other big end-of-the-semestery things that stare me down quite intimidatingly. Like the Shakespeare paper. But I tend to get terribly distracted when I should be doing such things. Like last night, I was going to read the first half of The Tempest, but in all my despair, I couldn't bring myself to do any more school-related tasks once I read most of the first act of the play. So I finished The Chronicles of Narnia. At last. It took me long enough. About a week shy of two months, it took. The whole thing, mind you, could feasibly be read in two or three days, but this semester sure hasn't been messing around, though I do find that I got the most reading done during great seasons of stress. How surprising.
I'm really excited about Christmas break. I have lots of reading planned. I've asked for several books as gifts from the parents, so since Christmas is so very near to the beginning of break, I hope to be able to read all of them before class resumes. As a disgrace to my major and most humankind, I haven't read To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye, or Of Mice and Men, and I'd like very much to take care of that situation. I'm also expecting The Screwtape Letters, which I almost read (checked it out and everything) as an AC Reader book in high school, but for some reason, I decided against it. In my old age, I've come to appreciate literature so much more, and O, the wonder of C. S. Lewis... If Mom managed to not pick that one up at Barnes & Noble, I'll have to do so myself. I am most excited about this chance to read without other things dangling o'ertop my head--even though that hasn't seemed to stop me much even now. But alas, I must take care of what lies between here and there. And I must stop this nearly-archaic language. I almost wrote "hither" and "thither."
Monday, December 06, 2004
I suppose it began when I went to weather.com and saw that it is going to be 68 degrees today!
Trying to be all productivity this last week of classes, I was gathering up all the things I could work on while I'm at work. And quite sadly, I have misplaced the disk on which I saved my preliminary unit plan. This is a possible tragedy of sorts. But there is still a slight hope of it being found.
Next, I was trying to figure out if I'd need my umbrella--I'd already come to the conclusion that I wouldn't need the ice scraper I had in tow--when I realized I couldn't find my keys. Not in the fruit basket I keep on the table where I most always throw them as I walk in the door. Not on the couch. Not in my jacket pocket. Not in my purse. I couldn't remember where they might be, but I remembered I barely could manage unlocking the door last night, what with all the WalMart bags and such. And then the frightening truth hit me: I left them in the door. Car keys, apartment key, mailbox key, lab key... The theft possibilities right there are endless. Not to mention the fact I'd basically slept with my door unlocked all night. So I plucked up my courage and opened the door. They were still there, thank God. And I'd even had my over-the-door light on. They had been there for all the world to see...
Now, I am at work, of course. It is insane. I got here ten minutes before 8:00, and two girls followed me in. Before I got everything started up, another guy walked in. I don't have a clue what's going on, but usually there is no one here until about twenty 'til nine. At 8:30, there are like 16 or 18 people in here. And our favorite student even made a cameo appearance. In a matter of just a few minutes, the entire lab is full. I have never seen it like this. But I have finally come to the conclusion that a professor is holding some sort of online test in here. Not exactly fair to those other students who need to come in and do other things. But I guess there is always the library.
I can't quite concentrate on anything, so there went all the homework I needed to do--at least until all this jazz is over with.
Friday, December 03, 2004
There was frost again this morning, but this time I allocated my time a bit more wisely so that I wouldn't have to play blind chicken crossing Main. I still haven't gotten myself an ice scraper. I'm not sure why there isn't one floating around in my car. Maybe it's under a seat somewhere. But this more, my Racercard sufficed.
I read an article on boundless.org this morning that deals with a sort of revelation I had last night. Well, it wasn't really a revelation. I think there is a difference between "knowing" something and "realizing" it. (The difference between absent-minded head-nodding and a glaring lightbulb pulsating above the head. The difference between a thought bouncing around inside the mind and a thought attaching itself to the wall of the mind like a man dressed in a velcro suit.) In some ways, I wish I'd realized this two and a half years ago, but then again, I feel blessed to have realized it before it was too late.
Looking back now with the responsibilities of a career, a marriage, two young children, a mortgage and lots of school debt, I miss many freedoms I enjoyed during college. But I also see how something I took for granted then is a true luxury now — time to learn: to read, to sit under good teachers and to spend time with mentors. You may dread the reading, writing and lectures now, but the time will come when you’ll crave those "meals" you skipped.I am already seeing the fruits of my labors--more acurately the lack of fruit of the lack of labor. Too long I have put on a front of being a hard worker, but it's all a guise that covers nothing more than the cleverness it takes to get by without doing much. But what's the point? A piece of paper without the education it claims? I love learning. I don't know why I go into shutdown. It's all a mindset. There are times when I think I'd love to take certain classes, but the one I'm in afford me the same opportunity--that I don't take. I don't realize the value of the opportunities that I have, and that's why, I believe, my efforts to drag myself out of the pits of slackerdom always fail: I just didn't realize the benefit. Five semesters have passed in this manner, and I don't want another one to do the same. But this isn't just academics. College is somehow an almost magical time, a little window of time where I have the opportunity to cultivate so many things in my life. And I don't want to miss out on them either.
. . .
H. Jackson Brown says it best in his Life’s Little Instruction Book: "Don’t learn the tricks of the trade, learn the trade." Instead of looking for shortcuts, this is the best time to work at becoming an expert at something — to really grasp a field of knowledge and to learn how to apply it to people’s needs.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
But Tom Brokaw was on Today, and I had to see if I could tape at least part of it. That made me leave late.
I got out to my car, and somehow wasn't prepared for the frost that had it frozen all over. If I walked to class, I would have absolutely been late for work. So I nearly killed myself crossing Main Street with windows that weren't quite opaque but not quite translucent and wouldn't even roll down. I'm not sure why I was so dead-set on getting to work on time. But figuring I didn't see any headlights coming at me I skrrrted across two lanes of traffic and hoped for the best.
I wasn't late for work. While I was there, I did my 303 paper that was due today, so it was almost late.
And I was almost late for 303 because not only my was relief at work late, but he didn't show up at all. Fifteen minutes after my shift was over, someone finally came in. Sheesh.
I had conversation class tonight, so I was going to get home too late to see Nightly News and Tom Brokaw's farewell. I taped it. Touching, it was. Maybe I should bust out the CD Tom Brokaw: A Dedication and listen to "Ignition" in his honor.
I went and saw Century Century play at the Stables tonight. Thank goodness the other bands were running late, or I might have been too late.
Now I have to work on my Quia Spanish online workbook. Or it will be late.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Those folks who disregard the "Please! No cell phones in the Lab!" signs have brought something to my attention. Seems there are lots of group projects going on, and when the MIA group members ring up the cell phones of those in the lab, whereabouts are described as "In the Hart lab." It sounds like they are saying "In the heartland." Like the George Strait song? Something about this reminds me of Big Westums' *cringe* N-E-S-T-S-E-X.
So there is this absolutely not college-aged Spanish-speaking girl who comes into this lab every now and then. She always asks to use the phone, and I let her--just so I can hear her speak Spanish to her mother. I can usually understand most of what she says. Ahem, but not enough to consider it eavesdropping, right? But being able to understand her makes me feel so much better after watching Univision, the Spanish channel, last night and only catching about one word per minute.
I've done it again. I sang and played guitar at church this morning. This time, though, I didn't know that I was going to do it until about 45 minutes beforehand. I was getting ready for church this morning, and I knew I had to do it. It swept over me like I wave, and I was nearly ill with conviction. The song was "I've Always Loved You" by Third Day, and shortly after I knew I had to sing that song, I knew what message I needed to put with it. Now, know that I have gotten very bad about remembering what books, chapters, and verses go with what scriptures, but this morning, I remembered Romans 5.6-8:
He presented himself for this sacrificial death when we were far too weak and rebellious to do anything to get ourselves ready. And even if we hadn't been so weak, we wouldn't have known what to do anyway. We can understand someone dying for a person worth dying for, and we can understand how someone good and noble could inspire us to selfless sacrifice. But God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him.How well the whole thing went is very much an example of the miracles, signs, and wonders of which the song speaks. It scares me sometimes when I realize that I have been given certain gifts that I, in no way, should rightfully possess. I cannot sing. We all know that. I do not practice guitar nearly enough for this song to come off as smoothly as it did. To be the recipient of such gifts humbles me so much. Every time I skillfully place a word, every time I take a photograph that captures more than meets the eye, every time I sing the right note, and every time I pluck the right string at the right time, I am as amazed as everyone else. It almost feels like luck, you know? Like everything that I do successfully is a fluke. But it's all because I know anything good is not of myself, and all these things are a microcosm of salvation.
Now God has us where he wants us, with all the time in this world and the next to shower grace and kindness upon us in Christ Jesus. Saving is all his idea, and all his work. All we do is trust him enough to let him do it. It's God's gift from start to finish! We don't play the major role. If we did, we'd probably go around bragging that we'd done the whole thing! No, we neither make nor save ourselves. God does both the making and saving. He creates each of us by Christ Jesus to join him in the work he does, the good work he has gotten ready for us to do, work we had better be doing.Now. God gives us gifts, and sometimes he uses someone else, someone walking alongside us on this earth, to put these gifts in our hands. And because of this, I owe deep gratitude to Dale for making me play guitar. Okay, maybe I picked it up by my own volition, but I was not without encouragement. He was the one who had faith that my clumsy hands could make the chords. I wouldn't call myself a musician by any means, but at least today, my hands and my guitar were usable together for the glory of God. So Dale, I don't care if all you wanted was someone else who would play guitar with you. Thank you.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Yes, I'm fairly certain I slept through part of my shower. I couldn't get over how incredibly tired I was, but indeed, I hadn't gotten to bed nearly as early as I should have. When I finally got out and was blinking in the crude bathroom light that the shower curtain had newly uncovered, I got that sinking feeling that you get when you're too tired to be driving, but you're driving anyway. You know, I'm talking about those times when you've made it all the way home from wherever you're coming from, and you're not quite sure if you dimmed your headlights when you met on-coming cars or if you even noticed whether the traffic lights were green, yellow, or red as you breezed through them.
I squinted my eyes and asked myself, "Had I really heard the alarm go off?" I couldn't convince myself that I had, and then I realized I had no idea what time it was. I had no idea if I was running early, late, on time, or what, but since I wasn't sure at all what time it was, I just knew that I was late. I chided myself for staying up too late as I hurriedly picked up my cell phone to check the time that I was certain would tell me I had awoken much later than I hoped. Ah, but I was wrong. My tender eyes struggled to focus on the time in the top right-hand corner of my phone display, but once I saw it clearly, I didn't know whether to be relieved or a little scared. It was 2:39 am.
I had only slept for about an hour and a half before I woke up and assumed that it was time to start the day. No wonder I was so tired. The fact that it was pitch black outside upon my waking didn't deter me. Oh, no. Daily savings time will mess with your head like that. And I really don't know why I got up or why I thought it was morning. Between turning all those alarms off, you'd think I would've noticed the time. Maybe I should pay more attention to details.
I towel-dried my hair the best I could and added mousse, threw a much drier towel over my pillows, and reset the alarm. Considering all that middle-of-the-night activity when I didn't fall asleep until 1:00 am, I'm pretty tired. And my hair looks a little interesting after the four-hour bed-head air-dry.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
"My own plans are made. While I can, I sail east in the Dawn
Treader. When she fails me, I paddle east in my coracle. When
she sinks, I shall swim east with my four paws. And when I can swim no
longer, if I have not reached Aslan's country or shot over the edge of the world
in some vast cataract, I shall sink with my nose to the sunrise and Peepiceek
will be head of the talking mice in Narnia."
Reepicheep, from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Okay, I'm not sure why I decided to blog. Possibly so that I could give you further evidence of my insanity. See above paragraph. Anyway, what I need to be doing is finishing getting ready for my interview this morning. Yes, indeedy. It is the fateful morning of the Admission to Teacher Education interview. I scheduled it a week or so ago for nine o'clock today when I still thought I was having Shakespeare at 9:30. But no, 'tis cancelled. So here I will be going to an interview that I will likely get out of at 9:15, and then what? I might come home and change out of the dreadful interview clothes before I go to earth science.
Here's a revelation for you, one I can actually verbalize: I do not put effort into anything. That is so sad. I miraculously get okay grades, but I am not learning nearly as much as my grades reflect. I do believe I written about this before. But I guess I remember this on a cycle or something. Maybe this time, I'll try to prove myself wrong. Eh, there's always next semester.
Have a good day.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
I'm beginning to form a pattern with my blogging. Post on Friday. Don't post again until Tuesday. Disheartening it is.
Where have I been? Well, for the most part, I've been flying through life by the seat of my pants, I tell you. I've gone from being the procrastinator who waits until the day before to do things and have become the lunatic who doesn't even begin major projects until the day they are due. That has been the story of my past two days. In less than forty-eight hours, I've written a paper on King Lear, a play which I did not quite do anything like read, graded three student essays, written up an observation, and diligently searched for five articles that I would, in the same sitting, read and write analyses of. This might not seem like too much, but consider that each of those assignments were completed only moments before they were turned in. But believe me. I do not make myself out to be a martyr of academia. I'm an idiot.
I am the proud owner of my first real coffee pot. Well, I did have a chintzy little four-cupper that I kept around for Mom's sake, but she always said it was a piece of junk. I didn't really care because, hey, I didn't drink coffee. Until this weekend. I don't know what happened to me, but over one weekend, I've become a coffee drinker. It's like a coming-of-age, really. When I told Mom, she sounded proud. I was a little confused because I don't see caffeine addiction and coffee breath as things to be proud of, but I guess I've finally joined the ranks of adulthood in my family. I don't know. But I will have freshly brewed coffee at 7:00 tomorrow morning. And strangely enough, that is exciting.
Friday, November 12, 2004
I just got back from coffeehouse. That was fun, as usual. The art concept went over very well. Art submissions could be bid on in a silent auction with the proceeds going to summer missions. Considering I'd invested a massive 70 cents in each picture and since they are quite replicable, I decided to donate my photos to the cause. I don't know the total yet, but I hear that many of them went for double digit dollar amounts. I was impressed, especially since the bidding began at $2-$4. Hooray for summer missions.
Um, well. What else is there to say? Not too terribly much. I guess I just wanted to say how the coffeehouse went. Good art. Good music. Good poetry. Good coffee.
So I guess that means I'm done. G'night.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Today has been and will be semi-productive. I woke up quite early--and alert, too. Probably because, for the second night in a row, I went to bed before 11:00 last night. I went to Shakespeare, where I turned in my journal with all the required entries. In earth science, we filled out evaluations for ol' Naugle. Isn't it too early to be filling those things out? Apparently not.
After chicken, I went to the bookstore to pick up some 5x7 black matting board for my pictures I'm submitting for the coffeehouse. Little did I know that those clever folks in the bookstore already had those cut up. Apparently mounting 4x6 photos on black board is a common thing. Who would've guessed? I should have.
Anyway, I then went to the campus' hellish pit of doom: Alexander Hall. Hamurabi told me I could pick up my Admission to Teacher Education forms there. I knew I had received those papers back in the day. The day being first semester of college. So I figured I should get new copies because there was no telling what I had written on them, if they were presentable, or if I still even possessed them. Well, the lady working the Teacher Education Services desk gave me a swift boot in the pants because receiving these forms requires "a very strict process." Excuse me. I'm sorry, Ms. The Same Lady Who Threw Jennie and Me Out of the Orientation Meeting, I didn't know you couldn't pass those things out. Ah, whatever. Bitterness. Let's just say the past two times I've left that building, I've been grumbling curses. Luckily, I came home and found my forms in fine condition. Thank goodness, because I didn't want to go back.
After all that, I had a seat in my kitchen floor and pasted my photos to the black board. Oh, the fun. I've never really used rubber cement, but I now understand the joys of it. Rubber cement will eternally remind me of journalism in high school, when Holly, forever playing with a jar of the stuff, and I would sit in the back corner of the room, pretending to be doing work, and talk for the entire time.
To continue this trend of productiveness, I think I'm actually going to read the chapter for my teaching English class tonight. And at 3:30, there is a organizational meeting for Notations. As much as I shouldn't be taking on more things to do here at the end of the semester, it looks like I'm going to do it anyway. But I think it will be fun and a good experience. And then the week will carry on with its multitude of stressfulness. I schedule tomorrow. Eighteen hours. God help me.
Friday, November 05, 2004
All of this I should do, but I find myself looking at Amazon reviews of My People's Waltz, which I've been reading off and on when I absolutely should be reading Shakespeare or Herbert or some other canonized British writer. But Phillips, a North Carolinian who currently teaches creative writing here at Murray State, has a way of writing that fills me with eagerness. I can't figure out which it makes me want to do most: read more or write. He writes how I want to write and how I like to read.
They're going to do an artwork coffee house at the BSU. I think I'm going to have some of my photos developed and submit them. I need to figure out which ones I want to use. Yet another thing I waste my time worrying with...
Thursday, November 04, 2004
I got to Faculty Hall a little too early. I never go in to meet with Dr. Morgan until two minutes before the scheduled time, and I was there about fifteen minutes early. Some wise person put a couch--a quite comfortable couch, too-- in the hallway on the seventh floor, so I sat there with my schedule and my telephone (so I could see the time) in my lap, waiting for 12:58 to come. While I was agonizing over the prospect of taking eighteen hours next semester, I hear a "Hello, Cassidy. How are you?" I look up to the one and only Hovie. I tell him that I am fine and that it's good to see him, and as he's getting ready to board the elevator, he remembers that he never congratulated me on having my story in Notations. "What? Thank you. Really? I never heard," I say. So he went back to his office and gathered me up five copies of the journal. We talked for a bit, and he encouraged me to attend the organizational meeting for Notations that is coming up since I'm a "published veteran," he said. I'm glad the power went out yesterday. And I'm glad I was early for my appointment.
The advising appointment went well. I scheduled my interview to be admitted into the College of Education. That's a little scary. But only a little. We talked about English electives, and yes, I can take a creative writing class for one of them. I really want to take creative non-fiction next semester, but it overlaps with my teaching reading course that I must have. I also got my hands on a MAP report. It's more updated than my last one but only barely. It was printed last semester. I would just like to note my 2.66 GPA under the social sciences category. I guess my superfluous Ed credit will boost that a little.
Next semester is scaring the pants off of me. This is what it's looking like right now: On Monday,Wednesday, and Friday, introduction to philosophy at 9:30, advanced composition at 10:30, women's literature at 11:30, and Spanish at 1:30. On Tuesday and Thursday, teaching writing at 2:00. And on Tuesday night, teaching reading at 5:00. Yes. I think I need to work on this a little more.
Ah, I do want to thank y'all for the comments last time. I do believe that was the most emotional set of comments I've ever received. Thank you.
Look at me and these short paragraphs. I guess it's because I'm in a hurry. I'm supposed to meet my advisor at 1:00, but I forgot to take my advisee material with me. My proposed schedule and so forth. So after we totally skipped earth science for some chicken, I realized I had to come back home to get my stuff.
Let me tell you a little drizzly tale. I was supposed to meet my advisor yesterday after work. "A few minutes after 12:00," we agreed. Well, a few minutes before 12:00, the power went out in some of the campus buildings, Applied Science included. So there were some angry people in the lab. And then my relief was a little late. So here I was five minutes after 12:00 still in AS. I finally went and asked to leave. When I got to Faculty Hall, the power was out there, too. No elevator. And I'm supposed to meet my advisor. On the seventh floor. Being the dedicated student that I am (what?), I climbed the stairs. I nearly died, mind you. And when I knocked on Dr. Morgan's door to no answer, I about threw myself in the floor and had an asthma attack right there. And a few moments later, the power came back on.
Alright, well. I need to get the stuff together that I came home for. But I just wanted to blog. I've missed it.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
artist: bebo norman
This crying thing is really becoming a regular event. This time, I was talking to Mom when I broke down. Three days in a row, here I am crying. And it's hard to explain why I am crying because I'm not sure. I do know what I'm crying about, but not why. Probably doesn't make sense, eh?
I'm trying to decide if I want to try to go to Thailand this summer. There are few things I've ever felt such a strong desire to do. But it is more than desire. I feel compelled. I think. It is a huge decision. Part of me is excited at the thought, and the other part is terrified. By leaving this country, or just this town, for two months during the summer, my future will definitely be affected. I could be here taking classes and all that. But I need something to affect me, you know. But I don't want that to be my entire motivation. Anyway, even if I decide I'm going to try to go, I may not be able to. I'll have to go to an interview in Bowling Green in a few weeks. This is huge. I'm not worrying about what it will cost me, financially and otherwise. That's not how I'm weighing this. I want to know if Thailand is where I belong this summer. Because I'm willing to go.
I had a good cry last night. The last two times I've cried have been immediately after I've hung up with Mom. And I haven't necessarily been crying because she's hurt my feelings or anything, but there have been things that she has said that trigger something within me and starts a steady stream of tears right out of a dry spell that has been showing no signs of ending. Last night, they were okay tears. Just like many of mine, they came from being overwhelmed, I think. But this time, it was a different type of overwhelmed, almost a comfort in being small.
I need to meet with my advisors. This is a new concept for me. I've never met with my education advisor, and I'd say that meeting is long overdue. I should have been admitted into the College of Education last semester, probably. But I also need to meet with Hamurabi to get this stinking hold of my account. (It sure is nice that the advisor hold policy follows me through college.) I'm not sure what classes I'm going to take next semester. So far it looks like this: teaching writing, teaching reading, advanced composition, Spanish, women's literature, and maybe creative non-fiction. Oh, my sweet mother. That is eighteen hours. And none of them are going to be easy. Maybe I need to rethink this. Ah, and I need to take contemporary literature! And linguistics! This is painful...
[Much fretting and finagling of class schedule.]
Well, after a little virtual schedule action, I've learned that I can't take creative non-fiction and teaching reading at the same time. The prospect of an extra semester seems so nice. That, however, is yet to be determined.
Before I go, I'd like to invite the entire handful of you to the ESO fall poetry reading that will be going on tomorrow night in Faculty Hall 208 at 7:00 pm. I'm sure that's what you want to do on a Friday night, but I'm sure it will be great fun. I went to the one last year, and I really enjoyed it. This year, I'm actually in the organization, so I'm expected to be there. And who knows. I might even read something myself. Reading is open to anyone who wants to read poetry or short prose of their own or of someone else. And there are sure to be deep-thinking, shaggy-haired boys abound. So you know I'll be there.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Don't ask me why. I'm not so sure.
It's been a long ol' day. Tuesdays just are. It began with Shakespeare, where my mid-term was returned to me. He gave us a three-point acknowledgement of the fact that we were interrupted with a fire alarm and had to transplant ourselves during the test. Those three points turned my grade from an 87 to a 90. It feels a little cheap, but I guess it counts. But I sure don't think that's too bad for only having read approximately one and a half plays. Earth science was earth science as usual: mind-numbing. I came home after chicken with Justin and eventually worked on my lesson plan for tonight. Much to my surprise, I was fairly confident about it, but to tell you the truth, I hardly remember teaching. The time flew by, and I'm not sure I did a thing. But I got a 98 on it, so apparently, I did okay. She also handed back our research papers. 93, there. It was a 92, but I proved that my MLA was sound and snagged back another point. All these grades sound good, but you know what they say to me? Grades, numbers on a scale from 0-100, really don't mean a thing. They surely don't reflect my efforts. It's a mystery.
So I'm thinking about this NaNoWriMo thing. Maybe you've noticed the Thirty Days Hath November link on the left. And maybe you've followed it. If you have, you know that I've signed myself up to particpate in National Novel Writing Month, being next month. Participants are challenged to compose 50,000 words' worth of writing that could loosely be passed off as a novel in a span of thirty days. Do you realize how much that is? Let's look at it this way. In the past year, I've written approximately 91,000 words on this blog. That would make one month's work equal to over half of what I've written in twelve months. Well over 1,000 words per day. And this would be fabricated fiction, too. Not me droning on about the meaningless details of my life.
So why did I sign up to begin with? I don't know. I can't even write a paper over a week's time. I always have to wait until the last minute. This will require me to keep up a word-count quota every day. I think I'm insane. By signing up, that doesn't mean I have to churn out 50,000 words or some dark council will sacrifice me by moonlight, but if I start it, I want to complete it. And if I don't do it, I may never. [See previous post concerning things I want to do before I die: Write a book.] But it is honestly about the last thing I need to be doing. I do have a tendency to put a lot of effort into things I ought not, so this could be quite successful. However, that simple fact means I'll likely devote my entire month to this piece of crap and completely neglect everything else in life. And who made this thing during a month with a major holiday? Just because November starts with the same four letters as novel... I don't know. I'm just trying to decide if I should do it or not. I probably will. Stupid me.
artist: century century
album: seattle '98 bootleg
This little thing here has quite a lineage, one I'd rather not recount, but it is my duty to keep it alive.
Three things I'm wearing right now:
- The girliest socks I own. They have little purple flowers across the toe and around the ankle.
- The jeans I wear practically every day. They're about to give out.
- And um, a white half-length sleeved, boat-neck shirt.
Three things on my desk:
Okay, you must first know that I don't have a desk. It's the trunk in the middle of my living room floor I'm using as a coffee table, which I am, in turn, using as a desk.
- The Dido CD that Ashley let me borrow to burn.
- My Quik Tune guitar tuner that decided to somewhat die yesterday.
- The stack of really cute blank-inside cards that I, once upon a time, thought I'd send to my FY girls. Ha.
Three things I want to do before I die:
- Write a book. I don't know what kind.
- Travel outside of this continent.
- Fall in love, of course.
Three good ways to describe my personality:
- Slightly creative, on good days.
Three bad things about my personality:
- I can get a little defensive.
- Too often, my attitude is one of indifference.
- I have the confidence of a pissant.
Three things I like about my body:
- The color of my eyes.
- Some days, my hair.
- Yeah, that's about it.
Three things I don't like about my body:
- My feet.
- My fingernails.
- My everything else.
Three things I say the most:
- "...and all that jazz."
- I find that "quite" is one of my favorite adverbs.
- As is "indeed."
Three places I want to go:
- The New England states.
- An Asian country.
- A European country.
(I know. I tried to be as specific as possible.)
Three names I go by:
Three screen-names I have had:
Three people I consider best friends:
Three CDs I couldn't live without:I tried to limit myself to one John Mayer CD, but I realized I couldn't. Then after I decided it would be a random choice between three, I couldn't think of another CD I really couldn't live without. So here they are. Count 'em. Three John Mayer CDs. I can live without them. They're just my favorites.
- Room for Squares
- Heavier Things
- Any Given Thursday, Disc Two
Three websites I visit the most frequently:
Three books I want to read:
- The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis
- My People's Waltz, Dale Ray Phillips
- The Catcher in the Rye, J. D. Salinger
(I know. I can't believe I haven't read it either.)
Three things that make me cry:
- Being yelled at.
- Losing someone, regardless of the means.
- The most random things can make me cry if I haven't for a long, long time.
Three things that make me laugh:
- Random outbursts, i.e. "Daddy!"
- My family, in all their retarded glory.
- When someone, usually Holly, and I say the same crazy thing at the same time.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
song: everybody's gotta learn sometime
I should probably be in bed, but I just put a load of towels and other such things in the washer. I have to stay up at least however long that cycle lasts so I can put them in the dryer. I want to assume that's the residential college washing machine cycle of twenty-six minutes.
I was going to work on my paper for BarbCobb today, but I never got around to it. I ended up watching some of CMT's "Outlaws Week" programming: Shocking: Moonshine Madness and Morning After: Top 40 Drinking Songs. Quality television, right there. Then Holly, Jenny, and I went to Nick's and sat at the Jesus Jones table, and much to our astonishment, their Musak played "Right Here, Right Now" by none other than Jesus Jones. Hooray for coincidences. We came back and were going to launch into some Scattergorizing, but on the way in, we noticed Janitha's karaoke program was getting ready to start. We thought we'd hang out for a few minutes. We ended up spending a couple hours rocking the karaoke mic. Once Holly and I gave our stunning performance as a duet singing "If I Had a Million Dollars" by Barenaked Ladies, we couldn't stop. Before it was over, I did, either by myself or with someone else, "You're the First, the Last, My Everything," "Cleaning Out My Closet" (Yes, I finally got to showcase that talent.), "Disease," "Friends in Low Places," "Only Wanna Be with You," and "Baby Love." Check out all those dude songs. We finally got around to Scattergories for ten lists.
I'm pretty much tired, but I think I'm going to catch up on my Chronicles of Narnia reading. I'm determined to actually read it all. I'm only on The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe right now. I'm thinking after I finish that, I'll pick up on the Harry Potter series and maybe eventually, the Lord of the Rings books. I'm getting geekier by the day, but I do enjoy it. Fantasy genre, here I come.
Friday, October 22, 2004
Anyway, it is indeed the one year anniversary of this blog. So many things have happened in the past year that in many ways, it feels like a decade has passed. Life has been moving at such a rapid pace, and the people I've only really known a year I feel like I've known all my life. This day, as I have mentioned before, is also the anniversary of what, at one point, came to be known as the B-Unit.
In this one year, I've learned so much. About myself, about other people, about life, about God. Just so much. I feel like I've grown up at an exponential rate, but it's not the kind of growing up that makes me sad. I do wonder what happened to the days when I sat around and had to search for something to do with my time, and I wish sometimes that I could be a kid again. But I'm beginning to learn that no matter what's going on in my life, I'm still me. I've grown up to the point where I realize that growing up isn't necessarily conforming to the "real world," but it's living and not letting that real world encroach upon who I am.
I cannot bring myself to re-write the post that I lost to the evil blog-eating internet, but I cannot let every bit of my work be lost forever. Thank goodness I had some of the work drafted and saved prior to this mishap. So instead of the unabridged version, here is a brief history of my blog:
- I began this blog on 22 October 2003.
- Since then I have posted between 250-300 times. (My post counter hasn't updated for several weeks, so I'm stuck at 262.)
- To date, I have received over 2,374 hits, not including my own hits or the hits received before 27 January 2004, when I didn't have a data archiving service
- I have posted approximately 115 photos hosted at Photobucket.
- John Mayer has been mentioned well over fifty times.
- The single most searched phrase that has led people to my site is "heterosexual lover of rainbows."
- I have received the most referred hits from Another Social Casualty, Holly's blog.
- In May 2004, I changed the title and address of my blog from Back Porch Poet at http://backporchpoet.blogspot.com to Washed Up at http://washed-up.blogspot.com.
- On 27 May 2004, I launched the first blog design that I created completely on my own using the HTML and CSS skills I had gained by refusing to let my blog be. (This is design 8 in the chronology.)
- I have significantly altered my blog's appearance a dozen times. This is blog design lucky thirteen.
- I host my new photos at Flickr.
- Those photos and my entire site are now under a Creative Commons License.
For those of you who'd like to see a visual history of my blog, you can click the links below to see all of my blog designs in chronological order.
Here's to another year.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Dr. Brown graded our papers while we took the exam and returned them before we left. B+. I'm satisfied. He said it is an A paper, but I should more carefully proofread. Well, dear, it would have helped if I had proofread to begin with. I hardly ever proofread papers, and it is my downfall. I am so exhausted by the time I finish my paper, I don't feel like proofing. And many times, I'm writing the last sentence three seconds before class starts. Who has time to look for mistakes? I should definitely change my ways.
I had another last-minute run-in with the library at about 5:28 this afternoon when I was printing off my stuff for the teaching demonstration we were to be prepared for. At 5:30. I barely made it to class on time. I might have been a little late. Either way, I indeed slid into my seat like Zack Morris. Turns out, I successfully avoided having to do my demonstration tonight. I go next week, and I am so grateful. So at 5:25 next Tuesday afternoon, I'll be scrambling to rework my lesson plan. I never learn.
I did however learn a new word tonight. Sprachgefühl. Wonderful Bill gave his demonstration tonight, and he began by explaining this word to us. It's a German word meaning "language feeling." It describes our intuition to speak our native language. We just know the words feel right. I've always been aware of this concept, but I never knew the word. Anyway, it's especially relevant when talking with non-native speakers. I think it's so interesting that we have an intuitive bond with our native language. Something to think about.
For the past couple weeks, this apartment has been turned upside down. Wherever something has landed after its use, that is where it has stayed. I'm out of groceries for the most part. I had to wash both a spoon and a bowl to fix my canned soup. I drank a little bottle of Gatorade with that lovely meal because it's all I could find in my refrigerator short of milk, and milk would have required me to wash a glass. But now that I've eaten, I think I'm going to do those dishes and recover this place from chaos.
Monday, October 18, 2004
I guess I just oftentimes get so aggravated with the conformity and miserable cycle of life as it has come to be. I don't mean my life, really. The life that we're all expected to lead. There is just so much pressure. The pressure to succeed, which automatically translates to income. That has created the pressure to get a degree, which automatically falls back on somebody's income somewhere. So now that there is all this money, so dearly-loved money, tied up in this education, there is pressure to make it work. You have to pick the right thing, love it, do very well at it, complete it, and live by it for the rest of your life. Pressure. I'm all for education and the acquisition of knowledge, but when did it become the pseudo-be-all and end-all of human existence? By pseudo, I mean that it is this tangled up affair with money disguised as the pursuit of a greater, more educated humanity.
I find myself so many times recently experiencing true life, instants when I know I'm getting a taste of how life should be, when I'm disconnected from the life that has become my everyday experience. So essentially, it's not that I don't feel content. I do. In glimmering moments. Moments that are external to this daily life of mine, like when I am at home or with my family or doing something I don't "need" to be doing when I should be doing things for school.
I don't know if I am just blessed to have those moments and am too much wanting a life that is one big happy experience or if I am keeping myself apart from the life in which I belong. Honestly, what is the alternative to this? Drop out of school? No, that's not scary at all. I guess life is scary no matter what. But like I said, stress that comes from procrastination makes me panic. Something about it makes me step back and consider why I let myself get so caught up in and stressed out about a life to which I sometimes feel involuntarily bound. And by bound, I am implying the most literal concept of watching my life pass me by while I'm unable to break free and join it.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Yesterday, Mom and I went to Madisonville. Instead of taking the conventional way home, we took 630 to Dixon and then Oak Heights, Jack Allen, and Poole Mill Roads before home. All just to look at the turning leaves. That last jag from Oak Heights through Poole Mill Road is my old bus route. I haven't been through there in over four years, and I have never driven it all. It was a most literal drive down the legendary memory lane. Those people and places are ones that I haven't thought of in years. The one-lane winding roads with grown-up fencerows atop tall banks and the green and golden valleys and hills in the light of the dropping sun were almost too nostalgic to be real. The sheer reality of it all, though, was enough to make me think about the nature of past, present, future, and how they relate to our lives.
"Living in the past" is generally looked down upon. I don't really know how possible that life is. Just as possible as living in the future, maybe? I suppose the danger lies in constantly trying to get to those places: the ones that have gone forever and the ones that are just out of reach. But where we are is where we are. It has just been the future and has just become the past. It's just a puzzling concept, and I somehow think I can use it to justify my living the past for an afternoon. But for those few moments, I took my past and made it my present.
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
T. S. Eliot, from Burnt Norton, Four Quartets
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Well, I surely don't feel any different. I don't think. It is so strange to me that I have lived twenty-one years. As you can always expect from me, I see it two ways. On the one hand, I can't believe I've been around for that many years. And on the other proverbial hand, I feel like that is such a short time. I don't know. Why bother with trying to figure it out. For the shock factor, I always like to compare my age to someone else's life at this particular age. When I was ninteen, I wondered at the fact that my sister was that age when she married. How young it seemed. Ah, but now, my mom married when she was twenty-one, and that has never seemed young to me. Until now. I wonder when we stop seeing ourselves as so young.
Tomorrow's going to be a busy day. Filled with responsibilities, appropriately enough. I have to scramble my Shakespeare things together, take those two earth science tests, fill out my time card, do some business at Sparks, and I must wash dishes before I leave for the weekend. How adult. Bleh. I find it interesting that we've given times in our lives certain labels that entail certain characteristics. A person can't just be a person. We are either young or old, a child or an adult, a kid or a grown-up. I've never thought about it, but rites of passage give you new job descriptions as you go along. Maybe it's just me or maybe it's just tonight, but that seems quite absurd.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
I think part of my good mood is the fact that I disregarded all of my homework and other stress-inducing activities last night to begin reading The Magician's Nephew, the "first" book of The Chronicles of Narnia. I say "first" book because there is quite a discrepancy about the order in which the seven books should be read. Some people believe they are to be read in the order they were published. Others believe they should be read in the chronological order of the stories, which is different. The HarperCollins edition that I bought has them bound in the chronological order, so I guess that's how I'm going to read them. Anyway, it occurs to me that I didn't read all that much as a child, and I enjoy making up for it. I'm considering this book a birthday present for myself. Way to go. Celebrate turning twenty-one by reading children's fantasy stories. I so often have a backwards way of going about things, and I love it.
I keep saying I'm going to get my hair cut, and I think I may do that this afternoon. There is no sense in all this long mess. The curls tend to do better when it's shorter anyway. Plus, I'd like to straighten my hair some, but it just takes way too much effort to pull that off with twelve feet of hair. I do fear, though, that I may miss it. Why? Yeah, I don't know. I'm not even sure how much I'm going to have cut off. I guess we'll all find out when I get it cut...
Well, I have some poem scansion to do. I have absolutely no knack for this task. It's where you go through the poem and mark the syllables as stressed and unstressed. I tend to want to put everything in iambic feet even when it's not supposed to be. Yay for poetry.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
I acquired my beautiful copy of The Chronicles of Narnia today. I'm way too excited about that. I bought it with that gift certificate I won because I filled out a survey during the test run of giving out free USA Todays. The program took off nicely. I've only picked up one paper since. But hey, I did get $50 at the bookstore, and I'm using it. Not sure what to do with the money I have left over. I tell you what, though. I can't wait to read The Chronicles of Narnia. I'm just not sure when I plan on finding time to do that.
I just had a weird experience. I noticed a guy across the library who I thought was Guy A. After another glance, I noticed it was Guy B. Not so weird, you say? But Guy A and Guy B used to be roommates. My memory and imagination tend to play tricks on me. Whatever, though. It isn't nearly as strange as that whole thing I do where I think I see someone, but I've only mistaken someone else for them. Then about five seconds later, I see the actual person. Now that's creepy stuff, and it happens to me on a regular basis.
For those of you who care, and something tells me no one cares, I'm sitting in the seat where I would have been a Cassidy sandwich between J. Matt and JMG that one day. Which, really, I wonder if those two fellows are enough alike to constitute a sandwich of me. Well, it would be an interesting situation nonetheless. Uncomfortable, to say the least.
Alright, now that I have that paper out of the way, some of this week's stress has been eliminated. I still have to prepare for tomorrow's composition in Spanish. That sucker has to be like 150 words long. That might not seem so bad, but try writing that much in another language. Yeesh. And then I have those two earth science tests on Thursday. Somehow, I'm not all that stressed about them. The one for lecture won't be so bad as long as I look at the old quizzes. The lab one may take some more time, but at least the concepts aren't that hard to grasp. I'm not used to studying disembodied scientific concepts. I'm more of an interconnected-progression-of-literature or language-that-builds-on-itself type of girl.
Oh, there went JMG. Man, he's always at the library. And now that he's here, it's probably my cue to go. Oh, wait. There's more. The annoying man Jerry from my grammar class that informed me yesterday that I need to have to have the misspelling of privilege that appears on the CTLT log-in screen corrected just showed up. Now that the library has all these computers, you never know who you might see. I guess it's my Winslow replacement for people watching. Anyway, I'm really going this time. I'd hate to get stuck at the last minute if the printer wasn't working.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Today brought the darker side of fall. It's very obvious that I love the familiarity of the season, but there are some things with which I'd rather not feel so familiar. The cold raininess reminded me of the stress of midterms. It's not as if I hadn't been feeling it, but an extra sense of dread hangs in the air and reminds me that I have so many things to do and not nearly enough time to do them all. The cooling temperatures mean that winter, in all its dreariness, is coming, and precious time is passing. The drizzly weather makes a somber mood, something much more conducive to sulking and sleeping than anything else.
That was me this morning as I was slinging on my backpack and heading out the door. Yes, I talk to the fish. And yes, I talk to myself.
I was looking forward to walking to class this morning. Leaves are really turning, and I love it. Walking through the quad at about 7:45 in the morning is actually enjoyable, especially with all the autumn going on. Walking back home at about 3:30 this afternoon in the rain didn't seem quite as appealing. I was surprised with my own disappointment. How bent could I be on walking?
After all, I am quite tired. I didn't get to bed until after midnight again. Six hours of sleep is not completely a robbery, but I wouldn't consider it a great night's rest. Especially when the alarm goes off and it still looks like the middle of the night outside. But that's what I get for spending an hour or so reworking the blog design when I should have been in bed. I bet if you compared the dates of new blog designs with all my syllabi, you'd find that I launched new designs on the days before major projects were due. I have averaged about one new design per month of this blog's existence. One of these days, I'll settle down.
Anyway, let's talk about all the fun things this design has to offer. The header photos are ones that I took this summer at our farm. I've dropped the concept of the journal scrolling independently of the rest of the blog page and have gone with a more stable layout that is browser-friendly. (I've tested it with Internet Explorer, Netscape Navigator, Opera, and Mozilla Firefox.) Obviously, the newest and most fun feature is my Flickr badge that displays a random assortment of photos from my photo album. For the most part, these are pictures that I haven't put in journal entries, or they are complete versions of photos I have cropped for whatever reason. Click on one to see the full view and a nifty little description. I may be adding some more features as I take the notion, but I'm trying to keep it simple. Unlike most everything else.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
This is the first weekend in a while that I haven't gone to Calvert City. Today, Sissy, Randy, Victoria, and Kathryn travelled home to see the parents. I, on the other hand, have spent my weekend pretty much put. I rented three movies from Blockbuster: Dead Poets Society, Saved!, and because you can rent two and get the third one free, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Yes, I'd never seen Dead Poets Society, and I have been reaping the consequences all sorts of folks. I am glad I finally saw it. Very good film. I've already given my dissertation on Saved! By renting Eternal Sunshine, I was able to go back and piece together some of those parts I might have been a little blurry about. I must say that my cinematic choices were wise. And I can't forget to take those back to Blockbuster after work.
Hehe. I love to people watch. From my view here at the desk, I can see lots of people milling about around Hart, Winslow, and Elizabeth. I just saw a little boy on a bike speeding by, and I thought that was rather unusual as he was definitely not old enough to be be out riding by himself. Within about five or ten seconds, an older man clad in khakis and a button-up shirt went sprinting by in the same direction, obviously in hot pursuit of this kid. It was quite clear that this was a late afternoon stroll on campus gone wrong. The supervising gentleman had certainly not planned on chasing the youngster, and the boy undoubtedly did not intend on being caught.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
The too common Christianity that the world sees is a commercialized hype. Isn't it bad that I can hardly stand the word "Christianity"? The connotation now is that it is some cult, and in many ways, this "faith" that people have created is just as much of a cult as anything else. The fake faith that people have created distracts from the truth. Somehow, maybe as a way of to try to attract "sinners," "Christians" have made their particular Jesus into nothing more than a fashion statement and the latest craze. And somehow, "Christians" have concluded that they are perfect and everyone who is not is different, an outcast. This is not the truth.
First of all, I don't need--I shouldn't need--a t-shirt or a bumpersticker to confirm my faith to myself or anyone else, especially God. And it hurts me to think we've reduced the lover of our souls to a pep rally song: I love Jesus! Yes, I do! I love Jesus! How 'bout you? Yes, that's just as fake as school spirit. And I don't believe I can dictate where He is or who He loves.
Yes, I believe that God sees all that we do. But He has His own infinite wisdom about all that. I am no one to judge. I am to love and not condemn. I, too, am just condemnable. We are all imperfect. Salvation is not something you prescribe to an "errant" person to make them an angel. It's not the be all and end all of some magical holiness to be recorded on some "I love Jesus" business card.
It is the very recognition that we are all a bunch of screw-ups, even ourselves. And not one of us can do anything about that. It doesn't matter how many times we wear a WWJD bracelet or punish ourselves for doing something wrong: We are not righteous. No, not even one.
The misconception is that once we've come to know the Truth, we're perfect. Many so-called Christians believe that. That is the source of all the judgmentalism on their part. And it's the mother of perceived hypocrisy.
Truth is a beautiful complexity. It is beyond my limited understanding, and we fail when we try to bring down to our level and try to fit it into a pop culture-sized box. Do I see everything in black and white? No. Most days, all I can see is grey. But that does not mean that black and white does not exist. Just because I am not perfect doesn't mean that perfection doesn't exist. There is my faith.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Way to start the last two posts with a John Mayer lyric conversation.
Big news: I finally got my very own key to the Applied Science lab, so I can let myself in when I get to work instead of having to wait for my boss. Yay.
I'm a little busy, I guess. I have conversation class here in a few minutes, and then Jennie, Tessa, and I are meeting to study for our BarbCobb test. And I'm supposed to have an earth science quiz in the morning, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to look over that a little. But at least I don't have Shakespeare tomorrow. Like Dr. Brown himself said, we're quite lucky to have the assistant dean of our academic college as a professor. He has all kinds of important excuses for cancelling class.
I am so out of everything here. I need bread, sugar, laundry detergent, and all kinds of other things. I keep forgetting to go to WalMart. I guess I could actually do that today after I leave the BSU. That is if I can get away before it's time to meet my study group. Conversation class has a way of lasting forever, but it's lots of fun. And I guess I could go to that now. If I could get up. I'm sitting in the floor. And my entire right leg is asleep.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
I need to make a confession. I am one completely irresponisble, ungrateful squanderer. Aside from yesterday's passive citizenship, I've screwed up again. Okay. Sunday at Sissy's, Mom gave me some cash. Like forty dollars worth of cash. Because I was not near my purse, I just stuck it in my pocket. I knew that I shouldn't have put it there, but I did. And with my usual style of procrastination, I told myself I'd put it where it belonged later. I didn't. Today, I remember digging in my pocket for something and feeling the money. (Yes, I'm wearing the same unwashed jeans.) And then later, it was gone. Yes, gone. It's not here. It's somewhere on campus or any someone's pocket or wherever. But I don't have it.
Just like with my non-registration, I know the consequences. I can't complain about the election. Whatever. That whole soap-box gets on my nerves anyway. And I know that the losing of this money means forty dollars less in my pocket. Again, whatever. I'll just have to be more careful with spending. The real problem is me. How ungrateful can I be that I just throw these privileges, these gifts around without concern? But I'm not too down on myself about it. Yes, they were immature things to do (well, not to do), but recognizing them and learning from them is a maturing process. For that, I am thankful. If I'd never lost the money, would I ever have realized this?
Um, in other news, I've gotten two tests back. Spanish: 94.5. Earth science: 93. Now, only if I can keep this up. I have a BarbCobb test Friday. And a great amount of other mid-termy type things to do. And I need to be catching up on my work for my night class. So I'll be doing that now.
Monday, October 04, 2004
I know. Don't scold me. My vote is my vote and not yours. And I didn't mean to not register. It all began long ago in the Henderson County Courthouse. Mom and I were there to pay some sort of tax or something. Well, that's what she was there for. I was there to register to vote. This was, I don't know, at least six months ago. But the hateful woman, I dare not call her lady, smirked at me and told me the books were closed for the day. In a fit of rage, I stomped out of the building mumbling something about not wanting to vote anyway. That was sarcasm, might I add.
It's not that woman's fault. I've been over 18 years of age for almost three years. She just picked a particularly rare politically active moment in my life to bite my head off. That wasn't the best move. But I could have registered since then, but in my disgust, I didn't. Not even while I was at the Awareness Fair, where I told Jenny I would register today. My reasons for not registering at that thing was that I didn't trust it. You think I'm going to give my social security number to those crazed hippies? Well, I guess I should have because I didn't remember today was the last day to register until about 4:35. Five minutes after the Calloway County Courthouse closed. But I rushed to the Curris Center anyway, hoping the registration table was still set up. Nope. I rushed to the courthouse, hoping that closing time was 5:00 instead of 4:30. Nope. As a last ditch effort, I sped like a maniac to the post office. For what reason, I am not sure. It's a government building, but no. Its doors had closed, too. On the verge of tears, I came home to see if I could register online. Well, first off, my printer is out of ink. And the mail-in form had to have been delivered by today. So much for that.
You may be a little confused. If you have read my post about this year's election, you might wonder why I even care. Well, the truth is that I may not have voted on November 2, but now, even my choice to do so is gone. By that time, I might have actually come to a conclusion about who I'd vote for. Maybe not. But now, it doesn't matter. Chances are that I would have scrambled to cast my ballot and missed it by this much, just like I did today.
Sunday, October 03, 2004
I slept too late again. And then I just laid there in bed. Thinking. And hitting the snooze button on my phone even though I was awake. After taking my precious time getting showered and such, I did the whole weekend thing and went to Sissy's to see the family. That was a short visit. I didn't get to Calvert until 2:00, and I had to leave a little after 4:00 so I could be here to work by 5:00. While I am here, I need to work on my research paper that, no, I haven't worked on yet. I always find something much more meaningless and entertaining to do. And it's not that I mind doing the work. I just have such a difficult time getting started. And by the time I get home, it'll almost be 9:00, and I'll have to go to bed somewhat early because I have to be at work again at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Then where will the day have gone? I don't like days that pass before I know it. Because they turn into weeks, months, and years that have passed, and I'll never know where they went. That's such a scary thought to me. So Sundays give me an eerie feeling. And I wish they didn't.
I feel like I need to be somewhere different for a little while. Another state maybe? More like another state of mind. I feel like I have a million things I need to stop and think about, but they are just external to me. I need to go somewhere where I can reach out, grab those thoughts, and pull them inside so that I can deal with them. They are ideas, beliefs, concerns, whatever that belong inside me, and I'm not quite sure what it is that is inside me right now. Nothing, maybe. Futility. And I don't like it. Everything feels like a chaotic mess.
This is what I want to do. You know that part in Big Fish when Edward Bloom is at the circus and he sees the woman he will love forever and time basically stops? He's walking toward her, and there happens to be some popcorn hanging in the air and he pushes some of it away? I want time to stop like that and let me move some things around. I don't really want to change things, I just want to rearrange them. Or at least look at them long enough to understand what's going on around me. But just like in Big Fish, after time starts again, it speeds up to make up for that lost time, and by then, I would just be confused again.
Maybe that whole analogy made no sense whatsoever. Besides its impossibility, it really wouldn't work anyway. But it's just the feeling I get. Kinda like being in a circus. So many things going on at once. Maybe if I could just see that one thing that I will love forever, time will stop long enough to sort things out, and then it'll all be okay.
Saturday, October 02, 2004
What also really needs to happen is this: house cleaning. Well, just doing the dishes would be a good idea. I have no clean glasses, spoons, or forks. And I should also take the trash out. Yeesh.
Here in a couple hours, I'll be going to Justin's band's show. It's sponsored by Students for Social Justice. After having seen The Weather Underground last night at Cinema International, I'm afraid the show might turn into an anti-war hippie rebellion ending in violent protest. The things I do for my friends.
Okay, so I think I'm going to do some of that house cleaning business. I've sat in front of this computer long enough today.
Friday, October 01, 2004
I'm incredibly sick to my stomach. But I'm pretty sure I know why. You see, last night at about 9:30, I got the biggest hankering for fudge pie. The recipe came from that crappy cookbook I bought this summer when I thought I was going to be Little Susie Homemaker. Well, this recipe, at least, was golden. The problem was, though, that I had managed for all of my vanilla extract to empty itself in the bottom of my cabinet. So, succumbing to this persistent craving, I went to WalMart to stock up. I came home and made the thing, but it's supposed to refrigerate over night. That meant fudge pie for breakfast. It was good about an hour ago, but now, all I can say is bleh.
Yay. October is here. I celebrated by donning my first hoodie. October is quite the month of celebration--and not just my birthday. Two very important anniversaries are this month. And it just so happens they are on the same day. October 22 is the one year anniversary of the B-Unit. It is also the anniversary (or would birthday be more appropriate?) of this here blog. Don't be confused. The name and address have changed since then, but it is the same blog. It just had an identity crisis. Ooh, and I just had a fun idea for how to celebrate the past year of blogdom for me. Okay, you might not think it's fun, but I do. Let's see if I decide to roll with that idea when October 22 rolls around. And as always, it's a celebratory event when another month gets added to my archives list. I really don't know why that excites me so much, but it sure does. But my question is this: Where did September go?
Whoa, some lady just walked through the lab, and she was wearing that same perfume that Ms. (Mrs.?) Blackburn wore. Kindergarten will always haunt me.
*deer in the headlight look* She's back. The crazy lady's back. After a week of freedom. After a week of assuming she wouldn't come back. She's back. But I'm going to be positive. Maybe she is miraculously reformed. And again, I see many alcoholic beverages looming in my future. Oh, the temptation. Oh, the temptation.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
First off, I'd like to address the fact that I find myself with lots of crushes. Aw, how precious is that? And I don't mean people I'd like to marry. Just guys I enjoy looking at and being a fifth grader on the inside about. For this I say, thank you, English department. You never fail to bring shaggy-haired, deep, intelligent, poetic, and absurdly cute boys (or men, at least in one instance) into my presence. But that's it. You bring them into my presence. And they do acknowledge me, sometimes. To ask me if I was in class the previous week when they totally didn't notice me. To ask me if I will sit and watch the ESO money box while they go pee. But that's okay. Because I am not really interested in them. Dear English department, these boys you bring me are kindling for the tiny flame that the little fifth grader in my heart wildly dances around, giggling all the while.
What else? Hm, I have a Spanish test tomorrow. And no, I haven't studied. But I can do that at work, right? Hopefully. And at 12:30 (BarbCobb is cancelled), Matt, Tessa, Jennie, and I are meeting for a little study session and some lunch before the test. That should be enough studying. Uh huh.
So my birthday looks like it's going to be a lot of fun. My Shakespeare paper is no longer due on that date, but everything else in the world seems to be happening on October 14. Not only will I be having my earth science lecture test, I will also be having the earth science lab midterm. Couldn't the tests at least have been in a class that I enjoy? No, indeed. But there is an ESO meeting that afternoon, which means I get to see at least one of those adorable shaggy-haired English boys. (No, no. Not the Beatles.) Wait. No. We decided not to have that ESO meeting that day because it's the last day of class before fall break. Grrr. As much as I don't drink, it has become very tempting to consider getting sloshed on the day I turn twenty-one. Somebody needs to talk me out of it.