Woke up kinda early this morning. Well, early is relative I guess. It was 8:30, but yesterday I got up at 3:30... so I guess you could say I got to sleep in today. Off for the fourth of July holiday. I have to admit I'm not the most patriotic of persons, but I do like this weekend. Just because it gives people the chance to slow down and enjoy summer for a little bit. When we were kids, everyday got to be about this. The sun, the water, the bicycles, the playgrounds, the beach... the friendships. Now we just work and squeeze the fun in somehow. Fun usually replaces sleep for me. Not healthy.
Tuesday night I saw Mat Kearney at the Bluebird. So many people crammed into that very tiny venue. He was magical, though. He played all of my favorites from his new album, which I has been in a constant rotation in my car on my way to work and back. Can't get enough of it or the new Snow Patrol cd. The new Mrs. Morgan came to the show with me and we had so much fun enjoying the music and laughing at the stupid people who kept getting in our way.
This morning I woke up and turned on Pollyanna, which is an old movie starring Haylie Mills. And I have this problem when I watch these dramatic movies, because I always want it to stay happy. Pollyanna is climbing that tree to sneak back into her bedroom, and I know she's going to fall. But at the same time, all I'm thinking is... "I don't want her to fall." Like I don't already know that everything is going to turn out okay. I want the happiness without the uphill battle, I want it all to be alright all of the time.
You know the movie is just a metaphor for my life... right?
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Thursday, May 07, 2009
The middle
I have started to feel like young adulthood is not unlike adolescence... let's think about this for a second. It is still just a series of stepping stones. College graduation... first full-time job...Wedding...kids...first credit card bill...first trip abroad... all these firsts and the changes they bring to our lives. Is life really a checklist of things I need to? If that were true, mine would look like everyone else', wouldn't it?
What if my life right now... living in this house, not doing anything related to journalism, working in a factory... is just a stopgap... something I hastily put together so that I could survive. Everything did fall into place so quickly once I figured out all the things I lined up for myself were things that were terrible for me, i.e. living alone, grad school, trying to become some accomplished reporter. Looking back on the entire year of 2008, it was like months of slowly sliding into a place where I didn't recognize myself anymore... the thoughts and emotions I had weren't like me, and they were dark and irrational and really scared me sometimes. But the end of the year came when I could not stand myself anymore, and I got desperate, so much so that I literally had to remove myself out of the life I thought I wanted and had worked hard to create. And I feel better and completely blessed where I am now, to be making money doing something useful where I am appreciated and I feel like I am doing something that helps others in an immediate way.
And, day-to-day, I'm a very happy person. I think that is all that I can really be asking for, isn't it? A lot of my good days come from getting to work with kids and doing ministry in the only way that ever made sense to me... and I'm so incredibly grateful that these amazing students have let me get to know them.
My biggest struggles lately have been feelings of inadequacy... which isn't something that I've ever shaken really, even at times where I accomplished great things. I know that there are people in my life who love me, they truly care, but they think that right now I'm wasting my life. I'm not living up to my potential, and I could be doing more. And I know that I have felt that way about my friends and family so many times... especially girls I knew from high school and college. And I had some grandiose dreams when I was younger, and I have no doubt that I could have reached a little higher to get actually get to some of them.
Today was Mother's Day... and i got up early and made pancakes for my family before my parents went to church. It was gorgeous outside and I had so much energy that after I cleaned the kitchen I went for a walk. I ended up all the way across town, at the cemetery. I don't know about you, but cemeteries really used to freak me out, but this one was really pretty and hilly and I ended up sitting for awhile on a cement bench that was on a hill overlooking all of it. And I don't say this often, and I really haven't been able to say it in a while, but while I was there I had a pretty profound meeting with God. I was just looking at all of the headstones below me and they all looked the same. They all sat in a line and created this windy, circular pattern in the grass. And they were all the same. But they weren't really, because each one of them represented a valuable life that was lived. For each grave, someone was born, lived a life--no matter how short--and then died.
And I felt like God was there in this. Like he was telling me that we can't do much to deviate from the beginning or ending of our lives. He knew exactly what i was going to be born into, and he knows how I'm going to leave this world and there is not much control I get over any of that. And I think we do get angry with God about death. A lot of times for us it comes like a thief in the night, and turns our comfort levels and our sense of security as the rulers of our world completely upside down. And it really hurts to live without the people we love. There is a part of me that aches for my grandma sometimes, because when she died it felt like my entire childhood was buried with her. And God, who both creates and destroys, who births and lays to rest, is in charge of our beginning and end. But I think what he was trying to tell me today in the cemetery was that he gives us license to do with the middle what we will. It is my life, and my responsibility when I do great things that honor him just as much as I'm responsible when i screw everything up. Our life is really his gift to us, the freedom to figure things out for ourselves.
There were hundreds of lives laid to rest in this cemetery, but not one was lived exactly like any of the others. We are all the same, but unique in our thoughts, emotions and decisions. So life is not a checklist...we are not on a conveyor belt. I'm free to take or leave any rite of passage I come to. The middle... our lives... are for trial and error, and freedom to love and live as we choose. How i'm living my life now, even if it is in error, could never be a waste.
What if my life right now... living in this house, not doing anything related to journalism, working in a factory... is just a stopgap... something I hastily put together so that I could survive. Everything did fall into place so quickly once I figured out all the things I lined up for myself were things that were terrible for me, i.e. living alone, grad school, trying to become some accomplished reporter. Looking back on the entire year of 2008, it was like months of slowly sliding into a place where I didn't recognize myself anymore... the thoughts and emotions I had weren't like me, and they were dark and irrational and really scared me sometimes. But the end of the year came when I could not stand myself anymore, and I got desperate, so much so that I literally had to remove myself out of the life I thought I wanted and had worked hard to create. And I feel better and completely blessed where I am now, to be making money doing something useful where I am appreciated and I feel like I am doing something that helps others in an immediate way.
And, day-to-day, I'm a very happy person. I think that is all that I can really be asking for, isn't it? A lot of my good days come from getting to work with kids and doing ministry in the only way that ever made sense to me... and I'm so incredibly grateful that these amazing students have let me get to know them.
My biggest struggles lately have been feelings of inadequacy... which isn't something that I've ever shaken really, even at times where I accomplished great things. I know that there are people in my life who love me, they truly care, but they think that right now I'm wasting my life. I'm not living up to my potential, and I could be doing more. And I know that I have felt that way about my friends and family so many times... especially girls I knew from high school and college. And I had some grandiose dreams when I was younger, and I have no doubt that I could have reached a little higher to get actually get to some of them.
Today was Mother's Day... and i got up early and made pancakes for my family before my parents went to church. It was gorgeous outside and I had so much energy that after I cleaned the kitchen I went for a walk. I ended up all the way across town, at the cemetery. I don't know about you, but cemeteries really used to freak me out, but this one was really pretty and hilly and I ended up sitting for awhile on a cement bench that was on a hill overlooking all of it. And I don't say this often, and I really haven't been able to say it in a while, but while I was there I had a pretty profound meeting with God. I was just looking at all of the headstones below me and they all looked the same. They all sat in a line and created this windy, circular pattern in the grass. And they were all the same. But they weren't really, because each one of them represented a valuable life that was lived. For each grave, someone was born, lived a life--no matter how short--and then died.
And I felt like God was there in this. Like he was telling me that we can't do much to deviate from the beginning or ending of our lives. He knew exactly what i was going to be born into, and he knows how I'm going to leave this world and there is not much control I get over any of that. And I think we do get angry with God about death. A lot of times for us it comes like a thief in the night, and turns our comfort levels and our sense of security as the rulers of our world completely upside down. And it really hurts to live without the people we love. There is a part of me that aches for my grandma sometimes, because when she died it felt like my entire childhood was buried with her. And God, who both creates and destroys, who births and lays to rest, is in charge of our beginning and end. But I think what he was trying to tell me today in the cemetery was that he gives us license to do with the middle what we will. It is my life, and my responsibility when I do great things that honor him just as much as I'm responsible when i screw everything up. Our life is really his gift to us, the freedom to figure things out for ourselves.
There were hundreds of lives laid to rest in this cemetery, but not one was lived exactly like any of the others. We are all the same, but unique in our thoughts, emotions and decisions. So life is not a checklist...we are not on a conveyor belt. I'm free to take or leave any rite of passage I come to. The middle... our lives... are for trial and error, and freedom to love and live as we choose. How i'm living my life now, even if it is in error, could never be a waste.
Friday, May 01, 2009
ABC's...
You've been tagged. You are supposed to write a note with the ABC's of YOU. At the end, choose 26 people to be tagged. You have to tag me so really you just need 25 more people. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you - but not in a creepy stalker kind of way.(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your ABC's of Me, tag 26 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)
A - Age: 23 in a week and a half
B - Bed size: twin, I'm still a kid
C - Chore you hate: Cleaning the top of the stove
D - Dog's name: Maddie
E - Essential start-your-day item: caffeine in any form
F - Favorite color: green
G - Gold or silver: silver
H - Height: 5' 7 1/2"
I - Instruments you play: the kazoo.... the recorder?
J - Job title: Product Builder
K - Kids - None
L - Living arrangements: Three-bedroom condo with three roommates
M - Mom's name: Barbara
N - Nicknames: Goody, Sgoddard
O - Overnight hospital stay: When I was born?
P - Pet Peeve: Condescension
Q - Quote from a movie: "When we go to Morroco, I think we should take completely different names and be completely different people." - Almost Famous
R – Right- or left-handed: Right
S - Siblings: 2 Sisters, Katie, 25 and Lauren, 19
T - Time you wake up: Most days, 3 a.m.
U- Underwear: Yes... the boring kind.
V - Vegetable you dislike: I don't really like Fennel
W - Ways you run late: Getting caught up watching something on tv
X - X-rays you've had: teeth, left index finger
Y - Yummy food you make: cheesy chicken crescents
Z - Zoo favorite: Dolphins, polar bears
A - Age: 23 in a week and a half
B - Bed size: twin, I'm still a kid
C - Chore you hate: Cleaning the top of the stove
D - Dog's name: Maddie
E - Essential start-your-day item: caffeine in any form
F - Favorite color: green
G - Gold or silver: silver
H - Height: 5' 7 1/2"
I - Instruments you play: the kazoo.... the recorder?
J - Job title: Product Builder
K - Kids - None
L - Living arrangements: Three-bedroom condo with three roommates
M - Mom's name: Barbara
N - Nicknames: Goody, Sgoddard
O - Overnight hospital stay: When I was born?
P - Pet Peeve: Condescension
Q - Quote from a movie: "When we go to Morroco, I think we should take completely different names and be completely different people." - Almost Famous
R – Right- or left-handed: Right
S - Siblings: 2 Sisters, Katie, 25 and Lauren, 19
T - Time you wake up: Most days, 3 a.m.
U- Underwear: Yes... the boring kind.
V - Vegetable you dislike: I don't really like Fennel
W - Ways you run late: Getting caught up watching something on tv
X - X-rays you've had: teeth, left index finger
Y - Yummy food you make: cheesy chicken crescents
Z - Zoo favorite: Dolphins, polar bears
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Clearing the air
I love the fall, the crispness in the air and the colors. But right now, laying outside and smelling this spring afternoon, the grass and flowers and warmth, it seems like nothing could top this.
Since I started my 40-50 Hour job that has me waking and sleeping at funny hours, I haven't had a lot of down time. Last Friday we had a paid holdiay for Good Friday, and I will tell you one thing, I had no idea what to do with myself. I slept in... but then I cleaned, and baked and dyed Easter Eggs. That is how lost I was, I was an adult dying easter eggs by myself. i don't know how to sit on the couch all day. movie and television marathons... i haven't watch seasons 1-3 of veronica mars since I was depressed and only left my apartment when I hated myself so much I wanted to eat double cheeseburgers (the entire months of October and November, I lived off Steak N' Shake, Wendy's and Rally's... YUCK
But the question is this... what do you do with your life if you don't want to be a lazy, depressed sack? I started to read a book, but that feels like something foreign to me right now, I just can't focus on anything. I have been reading a lot of magazines and online articles, but I haven't read a book since I stopped going to school. That, to me, is a very sad fact. I'll get there though.
You know the phrase, "You just need to get this off of your chest." Well, words have never rang truer for me lately. I have sort of started to regret my last post, and i appreciate all the kind words that I have gotten about it, but I'm glad I did it because it might have been the kick I needed to get over my issue (which isn't a guy, I promise, it's about something a little bigger and dearer to my heart). It's not fixed, but I think I'm at a place where I don't need to be. The air is clear, I'm not feeling constantly stifled anymore like I have something to hide... Breathing in deeply the air of openness and a clear conscience.
I hope, if anyone is still listening, that you are blessed today.
Since I started my 40-50 Hour job that has me waking and sleeping at funny hours, I haven't had a lot of down time. Last Friday we had a paid holdiay for Good Friday, and I will tell you one thing, I had no idea what to do with myself. I slept in... but then I cleaned, and baked and dyed Easter Eggs. That is how lost I was, I was an adult dying easter eggs by myself. i don't know how to sit on the couch all day. movie and television marathons... i haven't watch seasons 1-3 of veronica mars since I was depressed and only left my apartment when I hated myself so much I wanted to eat double cheeseburgers (the entire months of October and November, I lived off Steak N' Shake, Wendy's and Rally's... YUCK
But the question is this... what do you do with your life if you don't want to be a lazy, depressed sack? I started to read a book, but that feels like something foreign to me right now, I just can't focus on anything. I have been reading a lot of magazines and online articles, but I haven't read a book since I stopped going to school. That, to me, is a very sad fact. I'll get there though.
You know the phrase, "You just need to get this off of your chest." Well, words have never rang truer for me lately. I have sort of started to regret my last post, and i appreciate all the kind words that I have gotten about it, but I'm glad I did it because it might have been the kick I needed to get over my issue (which isn't a guy, I promise, it's about something a little bigger and dearer to my heart). It's not fixed, but I think I'm at a place where I don't need to be. The air is clear, I'm not feeling constantly stifled anymore like I have something to hide... Breathing in deeply the air of openness and a clear conscience.
I hope, if anyone is still listening, that you are blessed today.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Disappointment and harsh words that need to be said without an audience
I'm sick of being sad because I don't feel like writing. If I stopped doing everything I didn't feel like doing, I would lay in bed all day, for all the days. It's been that bad, really.
Right now, I'm going to take some space to vent to someone I can't speak to personally. Well, I could speak with them, but I'm not going to...
I know that I set a higher standard for you, and that I have a habit of being more forgiving to total strangers than to the people in my life. But you let me down. All of us really. People who are a part of it, who don't really know what has gone on in the last month, you've let them down the most. Because these people trust you, all of you, to be honorable...men of your word. Your attitudes in secret should be your attitudes in public. And you got caught being crappy people, which is your right, but you have placed yourself in a postition of responsibility. You are responsible for something I cared a lot about. You forfeited your right to act as you wish, to treat people with disregard and unkindess. You have no right.
What is going to take me the longest to get over is how much I got duped into thinking this was all going to be something different. We talk about being different. And we talk. And we talk. And we talk. You know, I can say I have purple hair, I could even go and buy bottle of hair dye. But until I actually do the deed, my hair is still brown, its just a bunch of meaningless and USELESS words. You are all talk and no follow-through. I'm exhausted from thinking about this, and I'm not going to be a part of it anymore. In short, I think we are breaking up, for good.
This doesn't mean that I don't think that you can come out of this mess, if you can see what has been wrong and let God show you how to do things better. Not so that people will stop leaving you, but because that's how we honor God, by doing the right thing in the right way. With courage and honesty and integrity. But I am saying that I'm not going to be there to help us get through it. It's my weakness this time, not yours. I'm not strong enough right now, not patient enough to wait for you to see that I might be right, and I know in the deepest part of me that I cannot be a part of something when I don't believe in the way its being handled, I can't be with you when there's no trust.
That is where i'm having a hard time. Reconciling my call to have unconditional love for you with these feelings of disappointment and resentment. I guess, in truth, I can't stay with you, because I didn't love the real you. I have turned you into something you aren't, I always thought you were something better.
So goodbye, you know who you are. I love you and wish you well, but my life will be better without you in it.
This doesn't mean that I don't think that you can come out of this mess, if you can see what has been wrong and let God show you how to do things better. Not so that people will stop leaving you, but because that's how we honor God, by doing the right thing in the right way. With courage and honesty and integrity. But I am saying that I'm not going to be there to help us get through it. It's my weakness this time, not yours. I'm not strong enough right now, not patient enough to wait for you to see that I might be right, and I know in the deepest part of me that I cannot be a part of something when I don't believe in the way its being handled, I can't be with you when there's no trust.
That is where i'm having a hard time. Reconciling my call to have unconditional love for you with these feelings of disappointment and resentment. I guess, in truth, I can't stay with you, because I didn't love the real you. I have turned you into something you aren't, I always thought you were something better.
So goodbye, you know who you are. I love you and wish you well, but my life will be better without you in it.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
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.
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, 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.
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