I wonder what it feels like to write again. What it feels like to WANT to write again.
Life is hard. And I don't mean the tragedies of life. Death, crime, violence, sickness, suffering and hunger. But the everyday. The mundane. The waking and the sleeping. The ruckus and the stillness. It is the day-to-day living that makes me feel like I'm just not going to make it. Make it to what, I'm not sure.
I'm glad I'm not sure anymore. Surety was certainly my downfall.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Life's going on...
"Our youth is fleeting, old age is just around the bend, and I can't wait to go gray...." -Death Cab For CuteSo, I graduate in two weeks, as long as I can get all of my shit done. And there is A LOT of it. I have procrastinated like no other. But there are some things to look forward to. I'll list a few of them.
-I got into the IU School of Journalism Master's program. I'm starting in the fall and I got an assistantship to help pay for tuition, that's all I know. I'm completely pumped, and really intimidated at the same time.
-My sister is getting MARRIED in August and I'm her maid of honor, which I am completely excited about. She is so happy that I no longer feel like Jo March from Little Women. I guess it's okay that my sisters and I are growing up. Sometimes it is kind of fun.
-I am moving into my own apartment in less than a month. Yesterday, I bought a futon, and felt like a grown-up. But if I had really wanted to be an adult, I would have bought a full-blown couch. A futon is like the teenager of furniture.
-Reading, reading and more reading. I'm totally going to get a Bloomington library card. I love libraries... FREE BOOKS and FREE INTERNET. I have a running list in my head of books I need/want to check out. The first one I'm going to tackle is Les Miserables. I'm studying the French Revolution in my Early Modern Europe class.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Impressions and Loss
I was the freak, the alien at the table full of pretty faces. Plates of chicken were garnished with things I’d never thought I’d see paired with chicken. Like strawberries. And I was just sitting there, the quiet one for once in my life. Among news editors and other female interns who, amidst these unending minutes of small talk, were chomping at the bit to talk themselves up. Sarah, another intern, was always my ally at events like this. She was the one person in the roomful of strangers who knew me, and just knowing that she cared as little as I did made the afternoon bearable. With Sarah there, sitting at my right-hand side, I didn’t feel like I was selling just myself but this special duo of sorts. “The Sarahs from Huntington,” is what the head of internship program called us.
The pretty girls at my table could all speak Spanish, including Sarah. “The Hispanic population, especially in this state, is really taking off,” said Mayer Maloney, the friendly, yet ever-intimidating publisher of the newspaper where I had spent the last ten weeks trying to prove myself. “What language did you take in school?”
“Well, actually, I took two semesters of Hebrew,” I said, “like the kind in the Bible.”
My tendencies toward a well-rounded, liberal arts education had failed me in this moment. Mr. Maloney nodded like he was unsure of something; the glint I had seen in his eyes as he spoke to the other girls disappeared. Why had no one warned me that someday very important people would ask me which language I studied in college and if it wasn’t Spanish, points would be deducted from my score? What I was actually being scored for, I couldn’t be sure. Probably just the vague hope that one of these men would recognize the name at the top my resume in a year or two when it hit their desk. My future was in their hands, and I‘ve never been comfortable in a situation where I had to sell myself. I just wanted to jump out of my skin, like my own body was poisoned or on fire or both.
I sat stiffly at the table, conscious that any movement I made meant a wrinkle in my brand-new black cotton button-up and gray, knee-length skirt. I had this irrational notion that if I could just make it out of that restaurant without any wrinkles, I could chalk the day up as a success. I had lost all this weight during the summer, almost twenty pounds and I didn’t have any nice clothes that fit me. I’d gone to the mall the night before, and I stood looking at myself in the dressing room mirror. The blouse had two purposes. It worked for my luncheon, but I also knew that I would be wearing it to my grandmother’s funeral, and soon.
I couldn’t get the scene from a few days earlier out of my mind, at least the one I had put together for myself from the fragments of real information I was given. She was on the bed in her tatty sweatshirt and soiled underwear. Her thin, 80-pound frame sprawled across the faded pink comforter trimmed in worn lace. The stroke had left her there for dead. I had never thought about my grandmother changing her clothes before. There really isn‘t anything to think about, I guess. It is an automatic in life, something any capable person can do for themselves. And my grandma, who grew up during the depression and married just after the war, was nothing if not capable. She fed us homemade food even when it was a dying art, and gift-wrapped every present with care, signing each card and tag with “Love, Grandmother”--though not once have we called her anything but “Grandma.” She was old-fashioned, yes, but the most competent woman in existence. Yet, just two days before, she could not manage to clothe herself without having a stroke. My aunt and cousin walked in on her in the early afternoon, half-naked.
Her mind died first. She became a little actress to cover up the memory loss. She pretended, badly, I‘ll admit, to recognize me when I would make a visit. Still, she stayed alone in the farmhouse those seven years after Pop died, which I can only attribute to stubbornness. Grandma’s body began to diminish months before the infamous morning she stroked out.
The day of my internship luncheon, she had been in the hospital for less than a handful of days. My Mom had been several times to visit her. Though Grandma couldn’t speak, her eyes said everything as she laid there. She was ready to be done.
We were finished eating, and it was time for show and tell. It was perhaps more uninteresting than that, like a shortened “What I did over my summer vacation” presentation. It was my turn to stand and tell the room I told the fellow interns and publishers about Grant, the autistic boy-wonder I’d done a feature on. He drew beautiful cartoon animals that his mom printed on greeting cards and baby onesies. For the first time all afternoon--all week, really--I didn’t have to force a smile. It was my last genuine smile for days. I sat down and tried to keep my hands from shaking. As soon as the last intern was finished sharing their story, I excused myself to the bathroom, sneaking my purse under my arm, so that I could check the voicemail I had gotten during lunch. It was my dad. He wanted me to call him back right away. Shit. She was dead and I knew it.
The dessert had come while I was gone, and tried my best to engage in the social ritual. I was smiling and trying my best to be charming, as if it is something one can achieve by sheer concentration. It felt like someone had seared two pieces of string to my face, one on each corner of my mouth, and yanked them as far apart as they could. I couldn’t help but feel like a stage actress-- maybe like my grandmother had felt when I made visits--as I was trying to convince these professionals how happy I was to be at that restaurant with them instead of at the hospital with my mom and frail, dying grandma. How could I be thankful for the me opportunities that had kept me from visiting her the entire summer.
Now I just had to make it through the group picture; then I could head to the parking lot. My suspicion that my grandmother was gone had yet to be confirmed--but there is really only one thing Dad could be calling about, interrupting the most important lunch of my semi-adult life. “I just know he is calling to say she’s dead,” I said to Sarah as we got to my car. My hands are clammy and shaking more than when I had made my presentation back in the banquet room. It was August, but I was so cold. I got my phone out again. My dad answered on the home line right away.
“Well, Grandma died at about 11 this morning,” he said softly, skipping the traditional scripted phone-pleasantries.
“Uh-huh.” The only syllables that I could manage. One tear escaped and made its way to my tight lips, and I felt like the wind had been knocked out of my lungs.
“Take some time before you get in your car,” Dad said. “ Don’t drive until you’re ready, okay?” Sure, Dad. Like I would ever be ready to drive home and face the realities awaiting me there. I said goodbye and hung up.
Sarah stood there with me for a few minutes. She gave a look that attempted sympathy but looked more like awkwardness. I went ahead and got in my car. After she pulled away in hers, I finally let myself go. My Grandma was dead. I cried there in my car, my face in my hands. My blouse and skirt were a wrinkled mess by this point. When I finally looked up, most of the cars in the lot were gone. The members of the press association had probably seen me there, wailing into the steering wheel of my Hyundai Sonata. There was finally a moment of honesty that afternoon, and I didn‘t feel embarrassed. I could only feel sad, and drive.
In my Hebrew courses we learned about something called “Shiva,” the Jewish tradition of intense mourning. For a week, the family of the deceased won’t change their clothes, read scripture, or perform any “normal” activities. They refuse to even sit in chairs, but use special stools so that they will be closer to the ground. And everyday for a year, they say a sacred, scripted prayer for the one they lost. At the time, I had a hard time seeing Shiva as a good thing; I had always respected the idea of putting on a brave face and moving past the sadness in life. Dwelling in loss and mourning felt like a contradiction to that. But now moving forward was the last thing on my mind; I wanted to take up residence in the sadness of my situation.
I got out on the interstate and started the hour and a half drive home. I refused to try to make myself feel better by thinking of the good moments I’d had with Grandma. There would be time later, probably sitting in the funeral parlor with my sisters, to take turns telling Grandma Alice stories. Mine was how she always ordered her favorite sandwich, a BLT, whenever we would play restaurant with a set of small, plastic dishes filled with empty thread spools we used for food. I knew when I got home I would have a lot to do, especially since my mother and big sister wouldn‘t be there. The funeral was two hours from home, and our pets would need to be fed while we were away. My sister Lauren would need help putting clothes together for the funeral services, then they’d undoubtedly need to be ironed. I couldn’t believe it, but I even had a newspaper article to finish and send to my editor for Sunday’s edition.
I needed my own sort of Shiva, just some time to myself so I could reflect on all that I had lost that afternoon. But I didn‘t have seven days, let alone two hours. The only thing I had was my drive home. I turned my cell phone off, and I got lost on purpose.
The pretty girls at my table could all speak Spanish, including Sarah. “The Hispanic population, especially in this state, is really taking off,” said Mayer Maloney, the friendly, yet ever-intimidating publisher of the newspaper where I had spent the last ten weeks trying to prove myself. “What language did you take in school?”
“Well, actually, I took two semesters of Hebrew,” I said, “like the kind in the Bible.”
My tendencies toward a well-rounded, liberal arts education had failed me in this moment. Mr. Maloney nodded like he was unsure of something; the glint I had seen in his eyes as he spoke to the other girls disappeared. Why had no one warned me that someday very important people would ask me which language I studied in college and if it wasn’t Spanish, points would be deducted from my score? What I was actually being scored for, I couldn’t be sure. Probably just the vague hope that one of these men would recognize the name at the top my resume in a year or two when it hit their desk. My future was in their hands, and I‘ve never been comfortable in a situation where I had to sell myself. I just wanted to jump out of my skin, like my own body was poisoned or on fire or both.
I sat stiffly at the table, conscious that any movement I made meant a wrinkle in my brand-new black cotton button-up and gray, knee-length skirt. I had this irrational notion that if I could just make it out of that restaurant without any wrinkles, I could chalk the day up as a success. I had lost all this weight during the summer, almost twenty pounds and I didn’t have any nice clothes that fit me. I’d gone to the mall the night before, and I stood looking at myself in the dressing room mirror. The blouse had two purposes. It worked for my luncheon, but I also knew that I would be wearing it to my grandmother’s funeral, and soon.
I couldn’t get the scene from a few days earlier out of my mind, at least the one I had put together for myself from the fragments of real information I was given. She was on the bed in her tatty sweatshirt and soiled underwear. Her thin, 80-pound frame sprawled across the faded pink comforter trimmed in worn lace. The stroke had left her there for dead. I had never thought about my grandmother changing her clothes before. There really isn‘t anything to think about, I guess. It is an automatic in life, something any capable person can do for themselves. And my grandma, who grew up during the depression and married just after the war, was nothing if not capable. She fed us homemade food even when it was a dying art, and gift-wrapped every present with care, signing each card and tag with “Love, Grandmother”--though not once have we called her anything but “Grandma.” She was old-fashioned, yes, but the most competent woman in existence. Yet, just two days before, she could not manage to clothe herself without having a stroke. My aunt and cousin walked in on her in the early afternoon, half-naked.
Her mind died first. She became a little actress to cover up the memory loss. She pretended, badly, I‘ll admit, to recognize me when I would make a visit. Still, she stayed alone in the farmhouse those seven years after Pop died, which I can only attribute to stubbornness. Grandma’s body began to diminish months before the infamous morning she stroked out.
The day of my internship luncheon, she had been in the hospital for less than a handful of days. My Mom had been several times to visit her. Though Grandma couldn’t speak, her eyes said everything as she laid there. She was ready to be done.
We were finished eating, and it was time for show and tell. It was perhaps more uninteresting than that, like a shortened “What I did over my summer vacation” presentation. It was my turn to stand and tell the room I told the fellow interns and publishers about Grant, the autistic boy-wonder I’d done a feature on. He drew beautiful cartoon animals that his mom printed on greeting cards and baby onesies. For the first time all afternoon--all week, really--I didn’t have to force a smile. It was my last genuine smile for days. I sat down and tried to keep my hands from shaking. As soon as the last intern was finished sharing their story, I excused myself to the bathroom, sneaking my purse under my arm, so that I could check the voicemail I had gotten during lunch. It was my dad. He wanted me to call him back right away. Shit. She was dead and I knew it.
The dessert had come while I was gone, and tried my best to engage in the social ritual. I was smiling and trying my best to be charming, as if it is something one can achieve by sheer concentration. It felt like someone had seared two pieces of string to my face, one on each corner of my mouth, and yanked them as far apart as they could. I couldn’t help but feel like a stage actress-- maybe like my grandmother had felt when I made visits--as I was trying to convince these professionals how happy I was to be at that restaurant with them instead of at the hospital with my mom and frail, dying grandma. How could I be thankful for the me opportunities that had kept me from visiting her the entire summer.
Now I just had to make it through the group picture; then I could head to the parking lot. My suspicion that my grandmother was gone had yet to be confirmed--but there is really only one thing Dad could be calling about, interrupting the most important lunch of my semi-adult life. “I just know he is calling to say she’s dead,” I said to Sarah as we got to my car. My hands are clammy and shaking more than when I had made my presentation back in the banquet room. It was August, but I was so cold. I got my phone out again. My dad answered on the home line right away.
“Well, Grandma died at about 11 this morning,” he said softly, skipping the traditional scripted phone-pleasantries.
“Uh-huh.” The only syllables that I could manage. One tear escaped and made its way to my tight lips, and I felt like the wind had been knocked out of my lungs.
“Take some time before you get in your car,” Dad said. “ Don’t drive until you’re ready, okay?” Sure, Dad. Like I would ever be ready to drive home and face the realities awaiting me there. I said goodbye and hung up.
Sarah stood there with me for a few minutes. She gave a look that attempted sympathy but looked more like awkwardness. I went ahead and got in my car. After she pulled away in hers, I finally let myself go. My Grandma was dead. I cried there in my car, my face in my hands. My blouse and skirt were a wrinkled mess by this point. When I finally looked up, most of the cars in the lot were gone. The members of the press association had probably seen me there, wailing into the steering wheel of my Hyundai Sonata. There was finally a moment of honesty that afternoon, and I didn‘t feel embarrassed. I could only feel sad, and drive.
In my Hebrew courses we learned about something called “Shiva,” the Jewish tradition of intense mourning. For a week, the family of the deceased won’t change their clothes, read scripture, or perform any “normal” activities. They refuse to even sit in chairs, but use special stools so that they will be closer to the ground. And everyday for a year, they say a sacred, scripted prayer for the one they lost. At the time, I had a hard time seeing Shiva as a good thing; I had always respected the idea of putting on a brave face and moving past the sadness in life. Dwelling in loss and mourning felt like a contradiction to that. But now moving forward was the last thing on my mind; I wanted to take up residence in the sadness of my situation.
I got out on the interstate and started the hour and a half drive home. I refused to try to make myself feel better by thinking of the good moments I’d had with Grandma. There would be time later, probably sitting in the funeral parlor with my sisters, to take turns telling Grandma Alice stories. Mine was how she always ordered her favorite sandwich, a BLT, whenever we would play restaurant with a set of small, plastic dishes filled with empty thread spools we used for food. I knew when I got home I would have a lot to do, especially since my mother and big sister wouldn‘t be there. The funeral was two hours from home, and our pets would need to be fed while we were away. My sister Lauren would need help putting clothes together for the funeral services, then they’d undoubtedly need to be ironed. I couldn’t believe it, but I even had a newspaper article to finish and send to my editor for Sunday’s edition.
I needed my own sort of Shiva, just some time to myself so I could reflect on all that I had lost that afternoon. But I didn‘t have seven days, let alone two hours. The only thing I had was my drive home. I turned my cell phone off, and I got lost on purpose.
Monday, December 10, 2007
How did I get here?
As of Wednesday afternoon, when my last final is over, I will officially be one semester away from graduation...
That thought makes me want to freak out right now...but I still have to study for my two exams, there is not time for a freak out.
It's just... how did I get here? Really..
That thought makes me want to freak out right now...but I still have to study for my two exams, there is not time for a freak out.
It's just... how did I get here? Really..
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
When did life get so good?
The last week here at school has exceeded all of my expectations as far as being at Huntington goes. I mean, exceptionally good things have been happening to me.
Two weeks ago we had a chapel speaker worth listening to. First of all, he was a journalist, so I was pretty much interested right off the bat. But he came to talk about racial reconciliation and it was so, so good. At first, I was almost resentful of him coming. Whenever someone comes to my predominantly white, upper-middle-class college to talk about racism, I suspect the school invited him/her out of obligation. And even then, it is to puff us up about how far our actions and attitudes have come. "Look at me, my great-great whatever used to own slaves, and now we let minorities come to our school, sit in our churches, become fully integrated into our society..." But this particular speaker didn't come to make us feel good about our non-racist habits, but he shed some major light on how in our minds, integration really means assimilation. I loved how uncomfortable some his statements made me. I was second-guessing my own attitudes about minorities... It was so refreshing to be challenged in such a tangible way.
And then, that same week, we got word that last year's Huntingtonian placed first in its division in the best overall newspaper competition at the Baptist Press student journalism conference. I love affirmation... I'm pretty sure that it is my love language. Kind, encouraging words stick with me for a long time. And when they are accompanied by a trophy, I feel pretty good about myself, and my capabilities as an editor, and a journalist. Yay... the number of sleepless nights and members of administration that I alienated myself from were not in vain. So exciting.
And then this weekend, I got together with an amazing friend. I hadn't seen him in five years, but we've talked off and on throughout that time. It was just so good to get to talk for an extended period, and to get rid of all the awkwardness. We had such a good time walking down Massachusetts Ave. and getting pizza, then Starbucks. He's had a pretty rough year, and it's nice to see him doing so well finally. And I forgot how much we had in common, esp. when it comes to music... we walked into this store that had a lot of vinyl and it was fun thumbing through them and throwing band names back and forth, and just kind of remembering why we became friends in the first place. We've kind of been through a lot and it is just... refreshing to feel like I really have a friend again in my life.
That got a little mushy up there... I'm done now and must return to studying communication theory...
Two weeks ago we had a chapel speaker worth listening to. First of all, he was a journalist, so I was pretty much interested right off the bat. But he came to talk about racial reconciliation and it was so, so good. At first, I was almost resentful of him coming. Whenever someone comes to my predominantly white, upper-middle-class college to talk about racism, I suspect the school invited him/her out of obligation. And even then, it is to puff us up about how far our actions and attitudes have come. "Look at me, my great-great whatever used to own slaves, and now we let minorities come to our school, sit in our churches, become fully integrated into our society..." But this particular speaker didn't come to make us feel good about our non-racist habits, but he shed some major light on how in our minds, integration really means assimilation. I loved how uncomfortable some his statements made me. I was second-guessing my own attitudes about minorities... It was so refreshing to be challenged in such a tangible way.
And then, that same week, we got word that last year's Huntingtonian placed first in its division in the best overall newspaper competition at the Baptist Press student journalism conference. I love affirmation... I'm pretty sure that it is my love language. Kind, encouraging words stick with me for a long time. And when they are accompanied by a trophy, I feel pretty good about myself, and my capabilities as an editor, and a journalist. Yay... the number of sleepless nights and members of administration that I alienated myself from were not in vain. So exciting.
And then this weekend, I got together with an amazing friend. I hadn't seen him in five years, but we've talked off and on throughout that time. It was just so good to get to talk for an extended period, and to get rid of all the awkwardness. We had such a good time walking down Massachusetts Ave. and getting pizza, then Starbucks. He's had a pretty rough year, and it's nice to see him doing so well finally. And I forgot how much we had in common, esp. when it comes to music... we walked into this store that had a lot of vinyl and it was fun thumbing through them and throwing band names back and forth, and just kind of remembering why we became friends in the first place. We've kind of been through a lot and it is just... refreshing to feel like I really have a friend again in my life.
That got a little mushy up there... I'm done now and must return to studying communication theory...
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Some Tidbits...
There have been no monumental happenings in my life, but quite a few small, insignificant ones. Here's what I can think of.
Made it to and through midterms, and got to enjoy fall break with the family. Also watched every episode of The Office, I was pretty ambitious.
My friend Kristi is a new mom, and her son is beautiful. Christopher Raymond Sluka was born October 6. I can't believe how much faster she is growing up than I am...
I have really stupid neighbors. Big, tall, dumb jocks that cycle through the girls on this campus. I'd hate it if they weren't so fun to laugh at.
Saw "Across the Universe" and loved it. There are also about eight movies coming out before Christmas that I can't wait to see. And the Huntington 7 only charges $3 for students now, which is amazing, and means I can see all of them.
I'm reading "Atonement" right now, and its amazing.
My new goal is to finish all of my grad school applications, including getting my letters of recommendation turned in, before New Year's.
I think that's about it for my small, small life. I like it though. Big, life-changing events may come later. But for now I'll just breathe, and rest and enjoy. Later.
Made it to and through midterms, and got to enjoy fall break with the family. Also watched every episode of The Office, I was pretty ambitious.
My friend Kristi is a new mom, and her son is beautiful. Christopher Raymond Sluka was born October 6. I can't believe how much faster she is growing up than I am...
I have really stupid neighbors. Big, tall, dumb jocks that cycle through the girls on this campus. I'd hate it if they weren't so fun to laugh at.
Saw "Across the Universe" and loved it. There are also about eight movies coming out before Christmas that I can't wait to see. And the Huntington 7 only charges $3 for students now, which is amazing, and means I can see all of them.
I'm reading "Atonement" right now, and its amazing.
My new goal is to finish all of my grad school applications, including getting my letters of recommendation turned in, before New Year's.
I think that's about it for my small, small life. I like it though. Big, life-changing events may come later. But for now I'll just breathe, and rest and enjoy. Later.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
a quickie
Just a quick update... I'm taking a break from writing a speech. I go tomorrow, I hate public speaking...
I passed the GRE... that is, I got a high enough score on my verbal that I won't have to retake it, it should be a good enough score to get me in to grad school SOMEWHERE.
Where?, you ask. Hell if I know.
I passed the GRE... that is, I got a high enough score on my verbal that I won't have to retake it, it should be a good enough score to get me in to grad school SOMEWHERE.
Where?, you ask. Hell if I know.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
GRE madness
Okay, so I am locked out of my apartment right now. It was a rushed morning, so now I'm stuck in the computer lab ABSOLUTELY STARVING to death and have nothing to do... so I thought I'd blog. Not that there's much to talk about. The first issue of the newspaper came out today and I think it looks horrendous. I did my best... but I am not a graphic designer. I'm not fit to shine the shoes of a graphic designer... I'm not exaggerating on how bad I really am. Someone, please take that miserable job away from me.
I take the GRE on Saturday... and I am regretting this whole "take it early and get it over with" attitude I had this summer which led me to sign up for the test in FREAKING Sept... when I don't have to have my scores until January at the latest. I'm stupid. So stupid that I'm sure I will FAIL this test and be forced to pay another $140 for ETS to tell me how dumb I am and how much I do not deserve to go to grad school. Though that is all I can think about really, going to grad school... and maybe even moving to Denver to do it.
So I'm a little cranky. I blame the starvation thing. I really had my heart on the leftovers in the fridge. I made these bitchin' cheese and spinach enchiladas last night. It was the first time I'd ever made them and they were fantastic... the recipe, not necessarily my culinary skills. Who am I kidding?... men should be lining up for a chance to date me and eat my cooking. I'm that great.
So now, I'm going to rant a little bit more about the totalitarian system that is standardized testing in America. I am not a standardized person. I believe I'm pretty competent with the English language... but I cannot be expected to know the meaning of jocund or pulchritude or circumlocutory... which, as it happens, I do now. My entire academic career has been centered around learning to write for a 7th grade reading level - its what journalists do. Get the message across in a the simplest way possible. If something is beautiful... I would never say it had pulchritude, and if a person is beating around the bush, I wouldn't call it circumlocutory. Those words are stupid... STUPID. And I hate that I have spent countless hours studying useless words so I can get a high score on a STANDARDIZED test... the root of all that is evil in this world.
I'm going to study some more though, because as much as I want to blow all of this off, I really want to keep studying communication... if that means I have to turn myself into an awesome standardized test taker, then well, just call me STANDARD, devoid of any creativity and uniqueness... run-of-the-mill, the same as everyone else.. I'm making these definitions up, which by the way... has its OWN FREAKING vocab word... Neologism.
I'm sick, and a sell-out. Sorry this post has been a little frantic, but I'm riding high on caffeine and ranting usually makes me feel better.
I take the GRE on Saturday... and I am regretting this whole "take it early and get it over with" attitude I had this summer which led me to sign up for the test in FREAKING Sept... when I don't have to have my scores until January at the latest. I'm stupid. So stupid that I'm sure I will FAIL this test and be forced to pay another $140 for ETS to tell me how dumb I am and how much I do not deserve to go to grad school. Though that is all I can think about really, going to grad school... and maybe even moving to Denver to do it.
So I'm a little cranky. I blame the starvation thing. I really had my heart on the leftovers in the fridge. I made these bitchin' cheese and spinach enchiladas last night. It was the first time I'd ever made them and they were fantastic... the recipe, not necessarily my culinary skills. Who am I kidding?... men should be lining up for a chance to date me and eat my cooking. I'm that great.
So now, I'm going to rant a little bit more about the totalitarian system that is standardized testing in America. I am not a standardized person. I believe I'm pretty competent with the English language... but I cannot be expected to know the meaning of jocund or pulchritude or circumlocutory... which, as it happens, I do now. My entire academic career has been centered around learning to write for a 7th grade reading level - its what journalists do. Get the message across in a the simplest way possible. If something is beautiful... I would never say it had pulchritude, and if a person is beating around the bush, I wouldn't call it circumlocutory. Those words are stupid... STUPID. And I hate that I have spent countless hours studying useless words so I can get a high score on a STANDARDIZED test... the root of all that is evil in this world.
I'm going to study some more though, because as much as I want to blow all of this off, I really want to keep studying communication... if that means I have to turn myself into an awesome standardized test taker, then well, just call me STANDARD, devoid of any creativity and uniqueness... run-of-the-mill, the same as everyone else.. I'm making these definitions up, which by the way... has its OWN FREAKING vocab word... Neologism.
I'm sick, and a sell-out. Sorry this post has been a little frantic, but I'm riding high on caffeine and ranting usually makes me feel better.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Songs that say goodbye
Lately I've been dealing a lot with loss. We lost my grandma in early August. Her funeral was August 6, the exact date her husband, my Pop, died seven years before.It's also the date I was baptized when I was nine. I don't know why that means so much to me, it just all seems like it fits together somehow. When Pop left us, I felt at peace about it. I just kind of mulled through it. His body just went out on him, and I was okay with that. And we still had Grandma, with her dog and huge, ancient farmhouse and property we used to explore. When she died it felt like my entire childhood was gone, too. I ache for it, still. She was absolutely, 100 percent ready to leave this world, but I wasn't ready to let go of mine with her in it.
I did cry a lot at the funeral, but I think it was mostly for my family. We were all a little bit wrecked, and I was crying a lot in response to their emotion. I didn't really feel the sorrow for myself. But the next Sunday I was back at church, I completely lost it, in the middle of worship. The song was "Blessed Be Your Name" - which was a song that meant a lot to me when my cousin Ben died freshman year - and I lost control of myself. They were full-blown sobs. My parents just held me for awhile, and I know I made my mom cry. And she's a lot of the reason I think its been so hard... my mom is an orphan now. Both of her parents are gone.
But I had a ton of distraction, and the grief got swallowed up for a month while I went to Denver and moved back to school. Not a lot of my friends at school knew it had happened so it wasn't brought up. Then, last Tuesday, September 6, the first song of our chapel session was "Amazing Grace." It played at her funeral, and like a revelation, I realized how long she'd been gone. I sat down in the dark auditorium and sobbed, uncontrollably. I was so loud, and I couldn't help it. Breathing became a secondary action. I can't imagine what the people around me were thinking... but Sarah sat next to me and when I could breathe again, I told her what made me react.
Death sucks. Cruel, needless death is even worse. And on Sept. 11, you can think of almost nothing else. I tried to stay away from the news at first. But tonight in my film studies class we watched United 93. I never wanted to watch this movie, because I know how I react to things like this. My head hurt so bad by the end of it, I was trying so hard not to cry out loud. But I'm not sorry that I watched it. Because you cannot hide from the stuff that sucks, even when it is six years old, especially because it feels as fresh as if it had occurred yesterday.
My great-uncle died on Thursday, my mamaw's brother. My great-aunt, my grandma's youngest sister who is really close to our family because she doesn't have any immediate relatives, is dying of pancreatic cancer, doctors say she has mere months to live. And it sucks. I feel like everyone in my family who is over 60 is going to leave me. But I don't have to feel like this, this heavy, uncontrollable feeling crushing my lungs. Jesus is here. In good and bad, to deal with this crap right along with me. He's here to bear the burdens so I don't have to be sad forever. He beat all of this... the sickness and the death and the sorrow and the hatred and the violence, all things that lead to loss and misery.
It's not un-Christian to be sad. But Jesus is about hope, and I have hope that God's going to bring the good into my life, right alongside the bad. Its why I can smile though there are tears welling up in my eyes. Hope.
I did cry a lot at the funeral, but I think it was mostly for my family. We were all a little bit wrecked, and I was crying a lot in response to their emotion. I didn't really feel the sorrow for myself. But the next Sunday I was back at church, I completely lost it, in the middle of worship. The song was "Blessed Be Your Name" - which was a song that meant a lot to me when my cousin Ben died freshman year - and I lost control of myself. They were full-blown sobs. My parents just held me for awhile, and I know I made my mom cry. And she's a lot of the reason I think its been so hard... my mom is an orphan now. Both of her parents are gone.
But I had a ton of distraction, and the grief got swallowed up for a month while I went to Denver and moved back to school. Not a lot of my friends at school knew it had happened so it wasn't brought up. Then, last Tuesday, September 6, the first song of our chapel session was "Amazing Grace." It played at her funeral, and like a revelation, I realized how long she'd been gone. I sat down in the dark auditorium and sobbed, uncontrollably. I was so loud, and I couldn't help it. Breathing became a secondary action. I can't imagine what the people around me were thinking... but Sarah sat next to me and when I could breathe again, I told her what made me react.
Death sucks. Cruel, needless death is even worse. And on Sept. 11, you can think of almost nothing else. I tried to stay away from the news at first. But tonight in my film studies class we watched United 93. I never wanted to watch this movie, because I know how I react to things like this. My head hurt so bad by the end of it, I was trying so hard not to cry out loud. But I'm not sorry that I watched it. Because you cannot hide from the stuff that sucks, even when it is six years old, especially because it feels as fresh as if it had occurred yesterday.
My great-uncle died on Thursday, my mamaw's brother. My great-aunt, my grandma's youngest sister who is really close to our family because she doesn't have any immediate relatives, is dying of pancreatic cancer, doctors say she has mere months to live. And it sucks. I feel like everyone in my family who is over 60 is going to leave me. But I don't have to feel like this, this heavy, uncontrollable feeling crushing my lungs. Jesus is here. In good and bad, to deal with this crap right along with me. He's here to bear the burdens so I don't have to be sad forever. He beat all of this... the sickness and the death and the sorrow and the hatred and the violence, all things that lead to loss and misery.
It's not un-Christian to be sad. But Jesus is about hope, and I have hope that God's going to bring the good into my life, right alongside the bad. Its why I can smile though there are tears welling up in my eyes. Hope.
These words are heavy on my mind
like songs that say goodbye
like songs that say goodbye - Schuyler Fisk
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Let's pack our things and head out west...
If you had no obligations, no one tying you down, where would you go and what would you do? Me,I'd move to Colorado and study journalism and mass communication, which incidentally has become my new dream. Why Colorado, you ask? Oh, there are plenty of reasons that I could write about here, but I think I'll just illustrate them for you...let the pictures explain for me.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Getting settled in a new (yet familiar) place
I'm back at school. This time, I'm in an on-campus apartment. The beauty about these apartments is that I don't have to commute, and at the same time I no longer have to participate, or am even be solicited to participate in so-called "residence life." Like floor activities, I.E. pumpkin carving, scavenger hunts, Oscar parties, and open dorm hours.
And we have our own cable television. With free On Demand movies. You might think this is superficial, but when I spend 4-5 hours in classes a day, then 4-5 hours doing schoolwork, as well as studying for the GRE I'm taking in a month... mindless, really bad television is necessary for my sanity. Last night I watched The N and the Disney channel. Today, I watched three episodes of Inferno 3 and the Hills. I'm preparing myself for what's to come. And I also get to watch as much CNN and MSNBC as I want. Which is amazing in itself.
Right now I'm sitting at my new desk with a cup of tea. I really like this feeling. And I thought I had a lot more to write about but I don't right now. When my roommate gets her pictures downloaded, I'll do a post explaining why I'm considering a move to Denver next year. Well, it may be more like dreaming right now, but hopefully soon it will be a consideration.
And now, its time for more mindless television. Everybody's got love a Saturday night.
And we have our own cable television. With free On Demand movies. You might think this is superficial, but when I spend 4-5 hours in classes a day, then 4-5 hours doing schoolwork, as well as studying for the GRE I'm taking in a month... mindless, really bad television is necessary for my sanity. Last night I watched The N and the Disney channel. Today, I watched three episodes of Inferno 3 and the Hills. I'm preparing myself for what's to come. And I also get to watch as much CNN and MSNBC as I want. Which is amazing in itself.
Right now I'm sitting at my new desk with a cup of tea. I really like this feeling. And I thought I had a lot more to write about but I don't right now. When my roommate gets her pictures downloaded, I'll do a post explaining why I'm considering a move to Denver next year. Well, it may be more like dreaming right now, but hopefully soon it will be a consideration.
And now, its time for more mindless television. Everybody's got love a Saturday night.
Friday, August 10, 2007
What you may never have known...and probably never wanted to
Okay, so I've been tagged, and I'm going to follow through for two reasons: It's my last day of work and I don't have any assignments to work on, I'm just waiting for obits to come in AND Greg tagged me. I like Greg, I owe Greg a lot actually. He had to read the worst screenplay ever (written by me, about HANSON) and he still gave me a good grade. So I will now proceed... here are the rules:
You must write a blog post with ten weird, random things, little-known facts or habits about yourself. At the end, choose at least 5 people to be tagged, list their names and why you picked them. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you’ve been tagged” and tell them to read your latest blog.
1. Sometimes, I hope I'll be single the rest of my life.
I think it has to do more with selfishness more than anything else. And a need for personal space and alone-time. I cannot imagine being married, I never even dreamed about my wedding as a little girl. And I'm starting to develop this independent, strong-willed part of myself that doesn't feel like it needs anyone. And when I do need someone, I have my mom, or my friends. Also, as a part of this hope, I think, I have started to forget how to interact with members of the opposite sex. Not, like, in a work environment or anything. But a social one, with guys my own age. Being alone, in the romantic sense of the word, doesn't scare me...and sometimes I think this makes me a freak. But I kind of like being a freak.
2. When I'm alone, in the car or at my house, I sing... really loud and all the time.
When I was younger, I just sang all the time. I was way more outgoing and apparently lived like the world was my stage. Mariah Carey and Amy Grant were my faves to sing back then. At the playground, I made up this game for me and my friends that involved a four corners-like game at the huge sandbox, and it involved singing Boys II Men and All 4 One songs...But then I found that sense of self-consciousness and self-awareness that most do when they grow up, and now I hide my singing, mostly because I can hear myself and wouldn't want anyone else to have to.
3. I have friends that feel more like an obligation than a blessing. They're work.
Who likes to walk on egg shells when they hang out? Or have a running list in your head of things you cannot talk about around a friend? Apparently, I do. These friends are needy, clingy and super-sensitive. All things I am not, really. And we never argue because I work so hard at making it so they never get mad at me. I'll drive home from hanging out with said person(s) and I feel worn out. And these are the same friends who aren't happy until they see that you are happy in the same way they are. Which leads to endless talks about who they want to set me up with. If you don't see a problem with being set up on countless blind dates, see no. 1 above.
4. I have tons of notebooks in my bedroom at home, full of short stories and poetry that I will never read again.
I'll never read them because I know they are complete garbage. They date back to 1995, I think. I made the mistake of opening one once, and it was all rhyme-y and full of bad imagery and very, very naive. But I won't throw them out, either. Because I had to get through the really bad, "I have to say something profound when I write" phase before I could get to this place where I'm comfortable saying the first thing that comes to mind. I don't have to over think it or worry that I don't sound witty or hip. I can just write, and those notebooks remind me of how far I've come.
5. I'm a compulsive sign-reader.
Now, I don't read them aloud, or anything. My little sister does this on road trips. But I cannot drive by, or even walk by, a sign without reading it. And most signs are just crap, really. Elections posters and sign-up sheets and even the odd petition once in a while. But I do catch a gem sometimes, like... ELECT HAROLD "BUD" WEISER FOR TOWN COUNCIL... classic.
6. I can only clean the bathroom when I'm listening to really crappy music.
It has to be Kanye West, Ashlee Simpson, or maybe even a little Avril. It puts me into this euphoric, out-of-body state that makes cleaning a toilet seem a little less repulsive. It might be a mixture of the music with the cleaning chemicals... but when I'm listening to Ashlee screech "I didn't steal your boyfriend," life seems a lot better than it normally does... and it makes me want to scrub tile.
7. I'm not an artsy or a person who is good at crafts. Not creative at all, actually. But I did have a craft year.
It was 2005-06, the year I turned 20. I learned how to crochet, knit and cross-stich. I even made a purse as a birthday present for a friend on my mom's sewing machine. That Christmas I wrapped all the presents for my mom, and did this over-the-top, beautiful bows for them. I had never been able to curl ribbon before. Everyone laughed when I told them it was my craft year... but it really was. I have the scarves at home to prove it.
8. I want to write a memoir.
I'm thinking it will have to wait until my father is dead, but I'd love to write about being a basketball coach's daughter. There are a lot of stories to tell, and I've kind of started getting some of them down so I won't forget details. But I hate memoirs, really. They are just so trendy right now. But If someone were to chain me to a desk and tell me to write one, this is what it would be about. Living in Indiana, moving from county to county where everyone knows, and openly criticizes your dad.. all in the name of a leather ball and two baskets.
9. I think I want to go to grad school to avoid growing up.
I love studying communication, I really do. But honestly, the biggest appeal to going to grad school right after graduation is that I don't want be have a full-time job yet. I have loved this internship, but there are a lot of things I want to experience before I'm tied to a desk 40 hours a week at a local paper writing about small-town events for small-town audiences. It just isn't what I want for my life right now. I want to be a student a little longer.
10. I really don't think any of the above facts are worth reading, or that interesting.
I think I'm a slave to this attitude that anyone and everyone has a better story than I do. I think that's why I like reporting so much. I get to write and tell people stories, but I never once have to talk about myself. Talking about myself is restricted to this blog, that a total of two (I think) people read. And I'm just fine with that. So, sorry if you read this list, because I wouldn't if I were you.
Now comes this time where I'm supposed to tag people. Here goes...
Anna Pashley - because she's in Switzerland, and I'm unabashedly jealous of her life right now.
Brad Polley - Just because I wanted to annoy him with a blogging game.
Leslie Newton - because she is the first one on my xanga subscriptions...
Beth Hale - the second on my xanga subscription list...
Kristi Sluka - because I miss her...
You must write a blog post with ten weird, random things, little-known facts or habits about yourself. At the end, choose at least 5 people to be tagged, list their names and why you picked them. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you’ve been tagged” and tell them to read your latest blog.
1. Sometimes, I hope I'll be single the rest of my life.
I think it has to do more with selfishness more than anything else. And a need for personal space and alone-time. I cannot imagine being married, I never even dreamed about my wedding as a little girl. And I'm starting to develop this independent, strong-willed part of myself that doesn't feel like it needs anyone. And when I do need someone, I have my mom, or my friends. Also, as a part of this hope, I think, I have started to forget how to interact with members of the opposite sex. Not, like, in a work environment or anything. But a social one, with guys my own age. Being alone, in the romantic sense of the word, doesn't scare me...and sometimes I think this makes me a freak. But I kind of like being a freak.
2. When I'm alone, in the car or at my house, I sing... really loud and all the time.
When I was younger, I just sang all the time. I was way more outgoing and apparently lived like the world was my stage. Mariah Carey and Amy Grant were my faves to sing back then. At the playground, I made up this game for me and my friends that involved a four corners-like game at the huge sandbox, and it involved singing Boys II Men and All 4 One songs...But then I found that sense of self-consciousness and self-awareness that most do when they grow up, and now I hide my singing, mostly because I can hear myself and wouldn't want anyone else to have to.
3. I have friends that feel more like an obligation than a blessing. They're work.
Who likes to walk on egg shells when they hang out? Or have a running list in your head of things you cannot talk about around a friend? Apparently, I do. These friends are needy, clingy and super-sensitive. All things I am not, really. And we never argue because I work so hard at making it so they never get mad at me. I'll drive home from hanging out with said person(s) and I feel worn out. And these are the same friends who aren't happy until they see that you are happy in the same way they are. Which leads to endless talks about who they want to set me up with. If you don't see a problem with being set up on countless blind dates, see no. 1 above.
4. I have tons of notebooks in my bedroom at home, full of short stories and poetry that I will never read again.
I'll never read them because I know they are complete garbage. They date back to 1995, I think. I made the mistake of opening one once, and it was all rhyme-y and full of bad imagery and very, very naive. But I won't throw them out, either. Because I had to get through the really bad, "I have to say something profound when I write" phase before I could get to this place where I'm comfortable saying the first thing that comes to mind. I don't have to over think it or worry that I don't sound witty or hip. I can just write, and those notebooks remind me of how far I've come.
5. I'm a compulsive sign-reader.
Now, I don't read them aloud, or anything. My little sister does this on road trips. But I cannot drive by, or even walk by, a sign without reading it. And most signs are just crap, really. Elections posters and sign-up sheets and even the odd petition once in a while. But I do catch a gem sometimes, like... ELECT HAROLD "BUD" WEISER FOR TOWN COUNCIL... classic.
6. I can only clean the bathroom when I'm listening to really crappy music.
It has to be Kanye West, Ashlee Simpson, or maybe even a little Avril. It puts me into this euphoric, out-of-body state that makes cleaning a toilet seem a little less repulsive. It might be a mixture of the music with the cleaning chemicals... but when I'm listening to Ashlee screech "I didn't steal your boyfriend," life seems a lot better than it normally does... and it makes me want to scrub tile.
7. I'm not an artsy or a person who is good at crafts. Not creative at all, actually. But I did have a craft year.
It was 2005-06, the year I turned 20. I learned how to crochet, knit and cross-stich. I even made a purse as a birthday present for a friend on my mom's sewing machine. That Christmas I wrapped all the presents for my mom, and did this over-the-top, beautiful bows for them. I had never been able to curl ribbon before. Everyone laughed when I told them it was my craft year... but it really was. I have the scarves at home to prove it.
8. I want to write a memoir.
I'm thinking it will have to wait until my father is dead, but I'd love to write about being a basketball coach's daughter. There are a lot of stories to tell, and I've kind of started getting some of them down so I won't forget details. But I hate memoirs, really. They are just so trendy right now. But If someone were to chain me to a desk and tell me to write one, this is what it would be about. Living in Indiana, moving from county to county where everyone knows, and openly criticizes your dad.. all in the name of a leather ball and two baskets.
9. I think I want to go to grad school to avoid growing up.
I love studying communication, I really do. But honestly, the biggest appeal to going to grad school right after graduation is that I don't want be have a full-time job yet. I have loved this internship, but there are a lot of things I want to experience before I'm tied to a desk 40 hours a week at a local paper writing about small-town events for small-town audiences. It just isn't what I want for my life right now. I want to be a student a little longer.
10. I really don't think any of the above facts are worth reading, or that interesting.
I think I'm a slave to this attitude that anyone and everyone has a better story than I do. I think that's why I like reporting so much. I get to write and tell people stories, but I never once have to talk about myself. Talking about myself is restricted to this blog, that a total of two (I think) people read. And I'm just fine with that. So, sorry if you read this list, because I wouldn't if I were you.
Now comes this time where I'm supposed to tag people. Here goes...
Anna Pashley - because she's in Switzerland, and I'm unabashedly jealous of her life right now.
Brad Polley - Just because I wanted to annoy him with a blogging game.
Leslie Newton - because she is the first one on my xanga subscriptions...
Beth Hale - the second on my xanga subscription list...
Kristi Sluka - because I miss her...
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
I've neither the energy nor the motivation to title this post
I've had a really good summer. Good friends. A lot of really good nights out, and some good ones staying in with my family. I've made leaps and bounds in the pursuit of furthering my career...my clippings notebook is huge, and has some quality articles in it. And today I'm just trying to dwell on that kind of stuff.
Because the alternative is living in the here and now, which, at the moment sucks, for lack of better phraseology.
My 85 year-old grandma had a small stroke yesterday and she's in the hospital. She was also really dehydrated and is in the early stages of pneumonia. She's the tiniest woman in the world anyway. And she lives in this amazing, but really old, farmhouse with no central air. Last week, she refused to go to the doctor to get all of her prescriptions renewed. Its not that she doesn't want to take her medicine, she just hasn't left the house in a really long time and her perspective is all messed up. My mom's there right now, and I can't be. I have too much to wrap up here at the paper...its my last week here and I have to be at the county fair all day tomorrow and out of the office on Friday.
I just want to go home and cry. But I obviously have to get this stuff done today.
Is this what being a grown up is? Coping with a family crisis from behind a computer screen, and in between phone calls to school officials trying to get information for an article due in just a few hours?
I am so completely ready to be back in school.
Because the alternative is living in the here and now, which, at the moment sucks, for lack of better phraseology.
My 85 year-old grandma had a small stroke yesterday and she's in the hospital. She was also really dehydrated and is in the early stages of pneumonia. She's the tiniest woman in the world anyway. And she lives in this amazing, but really old, farmhouse with no central air. Last week, she refused to go to the doctor to get all of her prescriptions renewed. Its not that she doesn't want to take her medicine, she just hasn't left the house in a really long time and her perspective is all messed up. My mom's there right now, and I can't be. I have too much to wrap up here at the paper...its my last week here and I have to be at the county fair all day tomorrow and out of the office on Friday.
I just want to go home and cry. But I obviously have to get this stuff done today.
Is this what being a grown up is? Coping with a family crisis from behind a computer screen, and in between phone calls to school officials trying to get information for an article due in just a few hours?
I am so completely ready to be back in school.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Peace in a sea of confusion
I have no idea where I'm going. In my personal life, in my spiritual life, in my professional life... I just don't have a clue. I graduate in May, then who knows?
I have not real attachments or obligations. No loans, no boundaries, really. And that use to excite me. Its one of the biggest reasons I love being single, and my situation in life. But it is also starting to put a lot of pressure on me.
Deadlines for grad school applications are mere months away. Journalism fellowships are the same way (this is a lot of work, I have to make a million photocopies of my articles to make and like 20 portfolios to put together.) Cover letters, application essays, transcripts to request. Not to mention, a scary-hard test called the GRE to study for and take in September. Oh yeah, and CLASSES to take.
Every day like clockwork, outside the window of my office, a tornado siren sounds from the fire department across the street. Why? I have no idea. Why would it ever be necessary to set it off every day... Once a week, still a little excessive... once a month I'd understand. Its just my little annoyance for the day.
Also, I cannot believe how much I've been on the phone lately. Phone interview after phone interview... I kind of hate them because I'm a slow writer... but I can't function as a journalist without them. Being on the phone is wearing on me. I hate leaving voicemail messages. I know, deep down its because I sound like an idiot when I leave a message.
wrote a post last February, and it was somewhat of a confession:
And then I got it. In a way that made me want to lock myself away for fear of all the other hidden agendas I probably have under my belt, hidden so well I'm not even aware of them. I want to be right. I want to win. Not only do I want to be right about God, but I want my opponents--anyone who DARES feel a different kind of certainty about God, anyone with another point of view--to be WRONG. When its time for this world to go by the wayside, I want God to split everyone up into three categories. A wrong group, a right group, and an "I was too busy to care" group. And I want to be in that right group. Right, right, right... I want to be the one who has it all figured out.
Well... I didn't just write a blog, I wrote an entire 4-page essay about it for my senior seminar course. And I think that realizing how I felt had a huge impact on my thoughts and beliefs. But they were still just "My" beliefs. I got some nods, and some "I understands" in my seminar when I read my essay... but not really true affirmation. And I felt a littel weird about the way I felt, frankly...
And then I bought "The Ringing Bell," Derek Webb's new album. It's great, by the way... but in particular, I heard this song...
I Don't Want to Fight
I don't want to be right anymore
I don't want to be good
I don't want to change your mind
Feeling like I do
I don't want to sell graves
Peddle them door to door
A little something to ease your mind
Prepare you for what's in store
Oh I don't want to fight
Brother I'm not joking about peace
We can have it here tonight
It all comes down to you and me
You never asked me to save anyone
not in whole or in part
Like I was some kind of holy ghost
come to change their hearts
Oh I don't want to fight
Brother I'm not joking about peace
We can have it here tonight
It all comes down to you and me
So I'm walking away from this
before I hurt someone
cause I'm facing enemies
from both sides of the gun
Derek Webb is pretty great.
We're not in the movies
I like movies. A lot. Not as much as some...my friend Tabitha has seen and can quote more films than I care to see in my lifetime. She watches a lot of good ones, but she also subjects herself to a lot of crap. I do not object to watching crap, but it has to be the right kind. "Snakes on a Plane" ... good, fun-to-watch crap... "Sleepover" might very well be the best crap film ever made. But she watches crap like "Brave New World."
I'm rambling now... I want to get to my point.
So I hang out with a lot of girls. I have, like two or three guy friends. One is Robbie (gay), Mike (his boyfriend) and Derek (Amy's bf)... so I pretty much don't even think of them as guys. Anyway... not the point...again...
But I am around girls all the time. And I keep running into the same conclusions.
Girls think that real life is like the movies. I know we say this kind of thing a lot. But I truly believe that some girls have completely lost touch of reality.
My friend Jo is the most severe case. I cannot seem to get it across to her that it is lame when a guy says something to her that "sounds like it came from a movie, it was so good," and typically, they probably just ripped it off of a movie, or a handful of movies, you've just never seen. And, to further my point, it is not the great movie one-liners or super-huge gestures that make a relationship work. In fact, I think that if girls are waiting for these things, or a guy is waiting on a girl to give these things to, then there is something just a little off.
Of course movies have these one-liners and huge romantic gestures in them. There is only like 2 hours for the couple to get to their "happily-ever-after." And when you throw in that they have to meet, get together, be torn apart, and get back together again... it is necessary for movie makers to resort to these things to make their movies work.
But its not real, and does a lot of damage when girls think they can live in the movies. I'm just tired of being around that mindset right now. Its kind of a selfish one.
I have not real attachments or obligations. No loans, no boundaries, really. And that use to excite me. Its one of the biggest reasons I love being single, and my situation in life. But it is also starting to put a lot of pressure on me.
Deadlines for grad school applications are mere months away. Journalism fellowships are the same way (this is a lot of work, I have to make a million photocopies of my articles to make and like 20 portfolios to put together.) Cover letters, application essays, transcripts to request. Not to mention, a scary-hard test called the GRE to study for and take in September. Oh yeah, and CLASSES to take.
Every day like clockwork, outside the window of my office, a tornado siren sounds from the fire department across the street. Why? I have no idea. Why would it ever be necessary to set it off every day... Once a week, still a little excessive... once a month I'd understand. Its just my little annoyance for the day.
Also, I cannot believe how much I've been on the phone lately. Phone interview after phone interview... I kind of hate them because I'm a slow writer... but I can't function as a journalist without them. Being on the phone is wearing on me. I hate leaving voicemail messages. I know, deep down its because I sound like an idiot when I leave a message.
wrote a post last February, and it was somewhat of a confession:
And then I got it. In a way that made me want to lock myself away for fear of all the other hidden agendas I probably have under my belt, hidden so well I'm not even aware of them. I want to be right. I want to win. Not only do I want to be right about God, but I want my opponents--anyone who DARES feel a different kind of certainty about God, anyone with another point of view--to be WRONG. When its time for this world to go by the wayside, I want God to split everyone up into three categories. A wrong group, a right group, and an "I was too busy to care" group. And I want to be in that right group. Right, right, right... I want to be the one who has it all figured out.
Well... I didn't just write a blog, I wrote an entire 4-page essay about it for my senior seminar course. And I think that realizing how I felt had a huge impact on my thoughts and beliefs. But they were still just "My" beliefs. I got some nods, and some "I understands" in my seminar when I read my essay... but not really true affirmation. And I felt a littel weird about the way I felt, frankly...
And then I bought "The Ringing Bell," Derek Webb's new album. It's great, by the way... but in particular, I heard this song...
I Don't Want to Fight
I don't want to be right anymore
I don't want to be good
I don't want to change your mind
Feeling like I do
I don't want to sell graves
Peddle them door to door
A little something to ease your mind
Prepare you for what's in store
Oh I don't want to fight
Brother I'm not joking about peace
We can have it here tonight
It all comes down to you and me
You never asked me to save anyone
not in whole or in part
Like I was some kind of holy ghost
come to change their hearts
Oh I don't want to fight
Brother I'm not joking about peace
We can have it here tonight
It all comes down to you and me
So I'm walking away from this
before I hurt someone
cause I'm facing enemies
from both sides of the gun
Derek Webb is pretty great.
We're not in the movies
I like movies. A lot. Not as much as some...my friend Tabitha has seen and can quote more films than I care to see in my lifetime. She watches a lot of good ones, but she also subjects herself to a lot of crap. I do not object to watching crap, but it has to be the right kind. "Snakes on a Plane" ... good, fun-to-watch crap... "Sleepover" might very well be the best crap film ever made. But she watches crap like "Brave New World."
I'm rambling now... I want to get to my point.
So I hang out with a lot of girls. I have, like two or three guy friends. One is Robbie (gay), Mike (his boyfriend) and Derek (Amy's bf)... so I pretty much don't even think of them as guys. Anyway... not the point...again...
But I am around girls all the time. And I keep running into the same conclusions.
Girls think that real life is like the movies. I know we say this kind of thing a lot. But I truly believe that some girls have completely lost touch of reality.
My friend Jo is the most severe case. I cannot seem to get it across to her that it is lame when a guy says something to her that "sounds like it came from a movie, it was so good," and typically, they probably just ripped it off of a movie, or a handful of movies, you've just never seen. And, to further my point, it is not the great movie one-liners or super-huge gestures that make a relationship work. In fact, I think that if girls are waiting for these things, or a guy is waiting on a girl to give these things to, then there is something just a little off.
Of course movies have these one-liners and huge romantic gestures in them. There is only like 2 hours for the couple to get to their "happily-ever-after." And when you throw in that they have to meet, get together, be torn apart, and get back together again... it is necessary for movie makers to resort to these things to make their movies work.
But its not real, and does a lot of damage when girls think they can live in the movies. I'm just tired of being around that mindset right now. Its kind of a selfish one.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Who even knew...
Who knew the people you met at 18 would be the greatest ever...
These are my Hardy 3rd friends from freshman year. Two of us are married now, and two others are graduated. I can't believe it.
I love these girls.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Marriage, friendship and Harry Potter
There's something about drinking a Coke (no diet, it's gross) that makes you feel like your intestines are going to get eaten away. Kind of like when your car battery is all rusted out, and you pour some Coke on it and viola... no more rust. But I can't stop drinking it. It's not about excess. I'll have, maybe, one can every other day. I just love coke... more than chocolate or potato chips or any of those other things I haven't eaten in a little over a month. I know I might lose weight faster if I stopped drinking my coke... but its not really worth it to me right now. I don't need it, but I love it...
So a little over a week ago I trekked up to southern Michigan for my friend Nichole's wedding. She was the prettiest bride I've ever seen close up. I know people say stuff like this all the time, but Nichole looked prettier than bridal Barbie. And for a slightly grown-up version of a little girl who grew up idolizing Barbie... that is saying a lot.
So...apparently everyone else in the world who is my age (21) is ready for marriage. Yes, I'm just being dramatic. And yes, some of these people are not truly ready for marriage, but I do have a lot of friends who really are. And it got me wondering when my life, and the major growing-up stages of everyone else my age started happening at different times. We all grow up at the exact same rate until that point when POP, the highlights of life start happening at different times for different people. We're all born and learn to eat solid food at the same time, learn to poop on the toilet instead of in our pants, learn to talk... all at relatively the same rate. We start school at the same time... go through puberty at the same time...and graduate together. And this is where it feels like it has ended. Its not that my friends are growing up faster than I am, they're just ready for some things, (marriage, babies) that make me cringe.
So... Tuesday at Midnight I was one of the freaks who went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix. Although, I didn't wait in any line (fandago is amazing, isn't it) and I didn't sit in the theatre for hours leading up to the show. But I did love, love, LOVE the movie. It was almost perfect. There were entire scenes that played out exactly as they did in my mind when I read the book. And most of the changes the film made did make sense (except, I really missed Fred and George's bog). The end was totally intense and Helena Bonham-Carter was scary, but not as much so as Umbridge. She was the pure, unadulterated kind of evil that makes you hate all government.
I'm a sleepy, sleepy girl, due to the HP late night movie and getting up early for work. I tried to catch up late last night, but it was all just a futile attempt (I'm trying not to harbor any hatred for my sister and a certain boy whose music was so loud last night after 10:30 that the wall to my bedroom was shaking) even though he's been over every night this week and knows (as does she) how early I go to bed.
So a little over a week ago I trekked up to southern Michigan for my friend Nichole's wedding. She was the prettiest bride I've ever seen close up. I know people say stuff like this all the time, but Nichole looked prettier than bridal Barbie. And for a slightly grown-up version of a little girl who grew up idolizing Barbie... that is saying a lot.
So...apparently everyone else in the world who is my age (21) is ready for marriage. Yes, I'm just being dramatic. And yes, some of these people are not truly ready for marriage, but I do have a lot of friends who really are. And it got me wondering when my life, and the major growing-up stages of everyone else my age started happening at different times. We all grow up at the exact same rate until that point when POP, the highlights of life start happening at different times for different people. We're all born and learn to eat solid food at the same time, learn to poop on the toilet instead of in our pants, learn to talk... all at relatively the same rate. We start school at the same time... go through puberty at the same time...and graduate together. And this is where it feels like it has ended. Its not that my friends are growing up faster than I am, they're just ready for some things, (marriage, babies) that make me cringe.
So... Tuesday at Midnight I was one of the freaks who went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix. Although, I didn't wait in any line (fandago is amazing, isn't it) and I didn't sit in the theatre for hours leading up to the show. But I did love, love, LOVE the movie. It was almost perfect. There were entire scenes that played out exactly as they did in my mind when I read the book. And most of the changes the film made did make sense (except, I really missed Fred and George's bog). The end was totally intense and Helena Bonham-Carter was scary, but not as much so as Umbridge. She was the pure, unadulterated kind of evil that makes you hate all government.
I'm a sleepy, sleepy girl, due to the HP late night movie and getting up early for work. I tried to catch up late last night, but it was all just a futile attempt (I'm trying not to harbor any hatred for my sister and a certain boy whose music was so loud last night after 10:30 that the wall to my bedroom was shaking) even though he's been over every night this week and knows (as does she) how early I go to bed.
Friday, June 29, 2007
What a Full Moon can do to a news room
I'm still learning about this whole small-town, local newspaper thing.
But apparently, full moon = big news day. And not necessarily the good kind of news. Before 11, we've already had a fire and a motorcycle crash. I'm just kind of sitting here waiting for the plagues to hit.
And, generally speaking, I kind of feel like the office is in a slight state of chaos today. Its the last day for one of our reporters, and its a Friday, which I'm sure had fed into the mess.
People in Morgan County are mean to each other. Not necessarily violent mean, but mean-spirited mean. Its just an observation from my first 5 weeks (halfway point, YAY). You would not even believe the horrible things people say to each other on message boards. Here is my favorite one. We had to take this comment down from the website...we take all the ones with profanity, violent threats or lewd comments down--
"I wouldn't piss in your ear if your brain were on fire."
Now, I'm not going to give any names or even info about the situation its about... but its quite possibly the best, most creative stupid, hateful thing anyone has ever said.
I now use it daily.
Last night I slept in Lauren's room and we played "truth or dare" while we were falling asleep --(after we watched the best movie with the most horrible ending..."the Painted Veil"-- and I dared her to say it to Dad sometime today. And it has to be a time where he's not necessarily in a joking mood...maybe even when they are arguing about something. On second thought, she should wait until the Reds are on tonight, they always put him in the worst mood. A mood so bad, that even when I tell him I'm making a phone call, my friend Joanna still got to listen to my dad's rendition of Geaorge Carlin's "seven words you can never say on television" on her voicemail.
I'm not bitter, or anything. I'm also not bitter about the fact that 10 p.m., my weeknight bedtime, is apparently the time of night he must do all things that make a lot of noise. Honk the horn in the driveway...Run the mini-steam cleaner...Yell at the reds for blowing a two-run lead...those are just a few examples.
My dear friend Nichole is getting married tomorrow in souther michigan...I get to handle the wedding registry, which I'm actually kind of pumped about. Not the actual task itself (who wants to meet 200 strangers in an hour) but the fact that I don't have to be a bridesmaid. She kept it small. After tomorrow, she's going to be Mr. Edward Burl Sponseller. Not a great name, but he's a really great guy... I like him a lot.
My mommy's coming to take me out to lunch in a few minutes... exciting stuff.
But apparently, full moon = big news day. And not necessarily the good kind of news. Before 11, we've already had a fire and a motorcycle crash. I'm just kind of sitting here waiting for the plagues to hit.
And, generally speaking, I kind of feel like the office is in a slight state of chaos today. Its the last day for one of our reporters, and its a Friday, which I'm sure had fed into the mess.
People in Morgan County are mean to each other. Not necessarily violent mean, but mean-spirited mean. Its just an observation from my first 5 weeks (halfway point, YAY). You would not even believe the horrible things people say to each other on message boards. Here is my favorite one. We had to take this comment down from the website...we take all the ones with profanity, violent threats or lewd comments down--
"I wouldn't piss in your ear if your brain were on fire."
Now, I'm not going to give any names or even info about the situation its about... but its quite possibly the best, most creative stupid, hateful thing anyone has ever said.
I now use it daily.
Last night I slept in Lauren's room and we played "truth or dare" while we were falling asleep --(after we watched the best movie with the most horrible ending..."the Painted Veil"-- and I dared her to say it to Dad sometime today. And it has to be a time where he's not necessarily in a joking mood...maybe even when they are arguing about something. On second thought, she should wait until the Reds are on tonight, they always put him in the worst mood. A mood so bad, that even when I tell him I'm making a phone call, my friend Joanna still got to listen to my dad's rendition of Geaorge Carlin's "seven words you can never say on television" on her voicemail.
I'm not bitter, or anything. I'm also not bitter about the fact that 10 p.m., my weeknight bedtime, is apparently the time of night he must do all things that make a lot of noise. Honk the horn in the driveway...Run the mini-steam cleaner...Yell at the reds for blowing a two-run lead...those are just a few examples.
My dear friend Nichole is getting married tomorrow in souther michigan...I get to handle the wedding registry, which I'm actually kind of pumped about. Not the actual task itself (who wants to meet 200 strangers in an hour) but the fact that I don't have to be a bridesmaid. She kept it small. After tomorrow, she's going to be Mr. Edward Burl Sponseller. Not a great name, but he's a really great guy... I like him a lot.
My mommy's coming to take me out to lunch in a few minutes... exciting stuff.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
It's a day for Quotes
I'm in a mood to not have anything to say. I just want to surround myself with what other people have to say, stuff that moves me but lets me remain where I am at the same time. Here is some of what I've been reading...
"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." - E. B. White
"I love the rain the most when it stops." - Joe Purdy
"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." - Aristotle
"So scared of getting older, I'm only good at being young." - John Mayer
"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear." - Martin Luther King, Jr
"You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do." - Anne Lamott
"God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing." - C. S. Lewis
"Goodbye is the best way that I know to forgive, and still be letting go." - Dave Barnes
"I can accept anything, except what seems to be the easiest for most people: the halfway, the almost, the in-between." Dominique, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
"I think writer means you show people some beauty, you engage them in a story, you let them know that their life is much bigger and better than they thought it was, and to some degree you help people know that as a human being we really have a lot to identify with each other. And that's kind of it. I don't see my calling as being too much bigger than that." - Donald Miller
"There is only one success: to be able to spend your life in your own way, and not to give others absurd maddening claims upon it." - Christopher Darlington Morley
"If a million people say a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing." - Anatole France
"The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn." - Alvin Toffler
"I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, but only more love." - Mother Teresa
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." - Marianne Williamson
"Amos could think about Jesus for hours, how he inverted the status quo and begged us to lay down our weapons, how (and his is a stunner, as far as Amos was concerned) one of the tests scholars apply to the Gospels, in trying to determine what might be legitimately ascribed to Jesus, is this: what speech, what gesture, is the most unlikely in first-century Palestine? Find those, and ecce homo, you've found the Man." -- The Solace of Leaving Early, Haven Kimmel
"Goody, I love you."- Derek Morgan
"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." - E. B. White
"I love the rain the most when it stops." - Joe Purdy
"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." - Aristotle
"So scared of getting older, I'm only good at being young." - John Mayer
"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear." - Martin Luther King, Jr
"You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do." - Anne Lamott
"God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing." - C. S. Lewis
"Goodbye is the best way that I know to forgive, and still be letting go." - Dave Barnes
"I can accept anything, except what seems to be the easiest for most people: the halfway, the almost, the in-between." Dominique, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
"I think writer means you show people some beauty, you engage them in a story, you let them know that their life is much bigger and better than they thought it was, and to some degree you help people know that as a human being we really have a lot to identify with each other. And that's kind of it. I don't see my calling as being too much bigger than that." - Donald Miller
"There is only one success: to be able to spend your life in your own way, and not to give others absurd maddening claims upon it." - Christopher Darlington Morley
"If a million people say a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing." - Anatole France
"The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn." - Alvin Toffler
"I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, but only more love." - Mother Teresa
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." - Marianne Williamson
"Amos could think about Jesus for hours, how he inverted the status quo and begged us to lay down our weapons, how (and his is a stunner, as far as Amos was concerned) one of the tests scholars apply to the Gospels, in trying to determine what might be legitimately ascribed to Jesus, is this: what speech, what gesture, is the most unlikely in first-century Palestine? Find those, and ecce homo, you've found the Man." -- The Solace of Leaving Early, Haven Kimmel
"Goody, I love you."- Derek Morgan
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
My ever-so-quiet life
My summer life is a quiet one. I know that I'm working on a newspaper, a daily. And there's a lot of hustle and bustle associated with interviews, deadlines, many phone calls, readers and sources calling to yell (I mean, complain) at you.
But at 4:00 I leave the office. And I'm alone for a half hour. Sometimes I'm on the phone, but not often. I get to listen to "All Things Considered," and just... think. About people and current events. My thoughts do not have to carry over into anything. I'm not going to be graded on them, and I won't be forced into some classroom discussion. They belong to me and only me.
A little while ago I was home alone for 10 days. My little sister went on a mission trip and my parent's went on their 25th anniversary trip. That house is so quiet when I'm the only one there. Sometimes I kept the TV or the radio on so there'd be noise, and I wouldn't have to resort to talking to myself. But a lot of the time, it was just me. And the quiet. I spent a few nights with friends but they all have real lives. There was one Friday night when everyone had plans, and I thought about going to see "Knocked up" by myself, then changed my mind and rented "Running with Scissors," "Little Children" and "Because I Said So" (I promise I can justify why I rented this movie). I also picked up a bottle of Oliver's while I was out. I came home and opened the bottle, cleaned the kitchen and made dinner. Sat down with dinner and watched all 1.5 movies before falling asleep BEFORE 10 p.m. It was a very slow, quiet night.
And I kind of feel like that is defining my whole summer. Yes, I'm learning a lot and getting my byline in the paper 2-3 times a week. It is a significant time in my life, but a quiet one. No drama to speak of, even with my little sister in my life. I haven't been really angry about anything in so long. 10 p.m. is my bedtime. Last night, it was 9. I was exhausted from, I don't know what. Sitting at this desk all day putting out copy for the county fair articles? Making 59,000 unreturned phone calls? Maybe its just the knowledge that I'm putting in 40 hours a week. A full-time job is a beast to me. I'm learning how to do my best, and still have a life.
I at the midway point in this internship, and I do like it. I like the people in the office and the work I've done so far. But I am so, SO ready to go back to school. Its going to be a piece of cake, and I think I'll get my life back.
Have I ever told you how much I love Joe Purdy? I, of course, have to give my friend Tabitha all the credit for the discovery, but he's fantastic. He has like, seven albums that he's independently put out and you can buy them all on itunes. He's folky without being annoying, and his voice just makes me long for something when I hear it. I'm not sure what, but something...
But at 4:00 I leave the office. And I'm alone for a half hour. Sometimes I'm on the phone, but not often. I get to listen to "All Things Considered," and just... think. About people and current events. My thoughts do not have to carry over into anything. I'm not going to be graded on them, and I won't be forced into some classroom discussion. They belong to me and only me.
A little while ago I was home alone for 10 days. My little sister went on a mission trip and my parent's went on their 25th anniversary trip. That house is so quiet when I'm the only one there. Sometimes I kept the TV or the radio on so there'd be noise, and I wouldn't have to resort to talking to myself. But a lot of the time, it was just me. And the quiet. I spent a few nights with friends but they all have real lives. There was one Friday night when everyone had plans, and I thought about going to see "Knocked up" by myself, then changed my mind and rented "Running with Scissors," "Little Children" and "Because I Said So" (I promise I can justify why I rented this movie). I also picked up a bottle of Oliver's while I was out. I came home and opened the bottle, cleaned the kitchen and made dinner. Sat down with dinner and watched all 1.5 movies before falling asleep BEFORE 10 p.m. It was a very slow, quiet night.
And I kind of feel like that is defining my whole summer. Yes, I'm learning a lot and getting my byline in the paper 2-3 times a week. It is a significant time in my life, but a quiet one. No drama to speak of, even with my little sister in my life. I haven't been really angry about anything in so long. 10 p.m. is my bedtime. Last night, it was 9. I was exhausted from, I don't know what. Sitting at this desk all day putting out copy for the county fair articles? Making 59,000 unreturned phone calls? Maybe its just the knowledge that I'm putting in 40 hours a week. A full-time job is a beast to me. I'm learning how to do my best, and still have a life.
I at the midway point in this internship, and I do like it. I like the people in the office and the work I've done so far. But I am so, SO ready to go back to school. Its going to be a piece of cake, and I think I'll get my life back.
Have I ever told you how much I love Joe Purdy? I, of course, have to give my friend Tabitha all the credit for the discovery, but he's fantastic. He has like, seven albums that he's independently put out and you can buy them all on itunes. He's folky without being annoying, and his voice just makes me long for something when I hear it. I'm not sure what, but something...
Monday, June 04, 2007
My first week in a newsroom
There has been so much happening, but not very much time to sit and process it all. I'm at work right now, with a few minutes before I've got to go into my editor's office for a staff meeting. This reporter thing is serious business. I only worked four days last week because of the holiday weekend, but I've written like 6-7 stories. A lot of them are briefs, but its seriously probably more than what I wrote all of last semester. I have had two top-of-the-fold, front page stories written... and Brian (my editor) made me write a column introducing myself to the Morgan County community. I hate columns, but this one went okay for me. I think it turned out pretty well, I've gotten a few compliments. Brian told me to connect myself to the county in some way. And I really have only one story that can do that for me... and the main character is Sarah the cow. It was fun to write.
You can check out all the Martinsville, Ind. happenings at www.reporter-times.com. If you're bored you can read about my bovine counterpart in the columns section.
I really didn't think that I was a very tense person before last week. But I've realized that I tense up when I'm writing. Even more so when I'm writing on deadline. My shoulders are aching right now. And my neck keeps cracking. I miss my dorm bed... the beautifully dirty but oh-so-soft mattress on a metal spring frame. I'll never sleep as well as I did those nights in Roush Hall. I've resorted a few nights to taking a half dose of Nyquil to help me sleep. I might as well just booze up before I hit the sack. Its the same effect. Five-six hours a night is just not going to cut it this summer.... I need my eight. Which means giving myself a 10:30 curfew on weeknights.
I'm not trying to complain. Actually, things are going amazingly well for me. Aside from the fact that I haven't seen my friends in over a week. I just have to figure out how my schedule is going to work out, and when Amy's done with classes, we'll have more time to hang out. I've spent a lot of mom time lately, though, and I'm loving it. She's a really great pal. We're bonding over weight watchers, my new summer project. My mom's really good at the whole points things...finding out how to eat the most for the least points possible. I told her that and she asked me if its because she's cheap, something my little sister usually calls her when she doesn't want to spend $50 on a worn-out tee shirt from Hollister bares too much midriff. But I told her she's just economically-savvy. I'm so the better daughter.
So that's the update.... its meeting time.
You can check out all the Martinsville, Ind. happenings at www.reporter-times.com. If you're bored you can read about my bovine counterpart in the columns section.
I really didn't think that I was a very tense person before last week. But I've realized that I tense up when I'm writing. Even more so when I'm writing on deadline. My shoulders are aching right now. And my neck keeps cracking. I miss my dorm bed... the beautifully dirty but oh-so-soft mattress on a metal spring frame. I'll never sleep as well as I did those nights in Roush Hall. I've resorted a few nights to taking a half dose of Nyquil to help me sleep. I might as well just booze up before I hit the sack. Its the same effect. Five-six hours a night is just not going to cut it this summer.... I need my eight. Which means giving myself a 10:30 curfew on weeknights.
I'm not trying to complain. Actually, things are going amazingly well for me. Aside from the fact that I haven't seen my friends in over a week. I just have to figure out how my schedule is going to work out, and when Amy's done with classes, we'll have more time to hang out. I've spent a lot of mom time lately, though, and I'm loving it. She's a really great pal. We're bonding over weight watchers, my new summer project. My mom's really good at the whole points things...finding out how to eat the most for the least points possible. I told her that and she asked me if its because she's cheap, something my little sister usually calls her when she doesn't want to spend $50 on a worn-out tee shirt from Hollister bares too much midriff. But I told her she's just economically-savvy. I'm so the better daughter.
So that's the update.... its meeting time.
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