While not entirely alone recently, an important event has occurred that begs me to address it.
My birthday.
What's special about birthdays is that while they are celebrated with others, create a bond shared only with your mom and produce reflections on moments shared with others over the past year, they truly are moments alone.
Sure, I have great birthday parties where even the Peanuts Gang shows up to celebrate or I force a friend to wear a pink cowboy hat because he failed to provide his own (the invite specifically stated!) but my birthday is a day I experience as only I truly can.
Every birthday DAY and every year is unique to me. This year was my 26th birthday. Only I know the thoughts I thought when I woke up that morning and the reflections I indulged in throughout the day. Sure, every day is like that for each one of us. Our birthday is unique in that it is the one day that the world surrounding us assents to our demand for narcissism and ego-centrism. On my birthday I get to be what I hope to avoid being every other day of the year.
I wake up with the resounding proclamation "World, Celebrate Me On This, The Day of My Birth!"
This year I decided that birthdays can be very lonely days. While everyone else is going about their day in the bliss of the ho-hum, I awake to the undeniable reality that I am getting older and that an end somewhere is surely immanent. What is only the background noise of the second hand ticking throughout the year, becomes the gong of the changing hour on that day.
The failures, the wasted time (Gaa the wasted time!), the insecurities and the fear of the unknown in the coming year all break upon you at once. Where you were once able to keep them all at bay they have liscence to plague you without apology on your birthday.
And who but you will say, "This year I will do such and such better," or "This is the year I finally blah blah blah." Nobody makes your goals for you. You are thrown into the reality that a new year of life has begun and you must make the most of it.
Add to that I have a December birthday and so my birthday is almost coupled with the actual change of the year. It's pressure.
How does one cope with it all?
My strategies:
-I never work on my birthday, this gives the sense that the world has stopped for the day to celebrate me. Now my husband has gotten into the habit of taking the day off too. This confirms the importance of the day.
-I always have people around me to celebrate with. This reminds me that the world does extend beyond my existence . In fact my existence is more about others than it really is myself.
-With naivety and relish I welcome the new year full of hopes and possibilities and know that yes "This will be the year!"
-For now, I remind myself I am still young. (note to self: explore new coping skills before finding 30).
-I keep myself on a cake high for the entire week following my birthday. I can then blame any unsuspecting feelings of depression on a sugar crash.
Birthdays are the ego's bane. The one day a year where the Id and Superego come out in full force to fight to the death.
So this year on my birthday the redeeming thought I had was, "I wonder what God thought on the day I was born? What plans did he make for me?" Redeemed from the path of self-indulgence or self-mortification I spent the day musing on which of those plans I may fulfill in the coming year.
I am most certain they will be filled with adventures big and small. I'll be sure to document the small.
Until the new year.... (barring any small adventures occur during Christmas. Highly doubtful, December is made for grand adventures)
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
I can only control myself'
So I've been on my own for more than a week. I couldn't find a spare moment to blog in all that time. More accurately, I couldn't muster the motivation. I've spent all my free time playing guitar and watching re-runs of "Are you being served?"
I find it odd that I am supposed to have much more free time then I did in grad school, and yet, in grad school it seemed as if I had endless opportunities to blog. I believe the reality of it lies in the fact that there were many more things I COULD avoid doing by blogging. In fact, the only reason I finally found time to blog was because I am avoiding my clinical notes RIGHT now!
The past week has been unusually stressful and the hopes that this week would be less so have already been shattered. Added to that stress is my husband being in New York for ten days. Without his comforting presence, I have taken to sleeping to cope with the stress. While that may seem like a one way ride to depression town, I have found that short naps are healthy coping mechanism. The alternatives being eating, drugs, alcohol or mental breakdowns, sleeping appears to the lesser of all evils. Granted, there is always exercise. There are certainly times when I go that route. But exercise in itself is stressful. There's the putting on of special clothing I would never wear at any other time. The actual GOING to the YMCA. If I decide to walk around my neighborhood there's the clothes changing and the showering when I return. Added to that is the guilt I always feel for not taking my dog with me. He's not good on long walks because he's so slow and has to pee on and smell everything. Then there is the inevitable verbal altercation with the other neighborhood dogs. That is not peaceful. So I leave him behind but experience significant guilt because we both know where I'm going and what I am doing. He never mentions it when I get back, but it's there. To appease my guilt I feed him treats. He already has a weight problem. So at that point treating my stress is leading my dog to senior obesity. So naps seem like the best alternatives. Short moments in bed, or on the couch, or on the porch swing that revive me and grant me a fresh perspective when I awake.
Of course prayer and reflection are also essential for resisting the swelling tide of life's circumstances. This past week there has been one thing that has brought me an overwhelming amount of peace. A friend and college suggested an activity for assisting children in identifying areas of their life they may feel are out of control. The activity involves requesting the child to draw a picture of the ocean and a picture of a boat in that ocean. The therapist then asks the child to write everything they have control of on the boat and everything they don't have control of in the ocean.
So this past week I asked one of my child clients to participate in this activity, She surprised me by drawing a picture of herself in the boat. On boat, she wrote, "I only have control of myself" and in the ocean she wrote " I can not control other people." Pretty impressive! For some reason this stuck with me all week. Whatever happened, whatever went wrong or whatever seemed insurmountable, I thought about that picture. It was a great reminder that I have no control whatsoever of the circumstances surrounding me. If clients cancel appointments at the last minute, if life's circumstances seem to be getting out of control, I can only control my own attitude and behavior. I can only accomplish the tasks in front of me. Even if I'm great, if I'm 100%, the actions of others can steer my little boat the wrong way. But at the end of the day, I am left with the peace that I have done all that is in my power to do, and not deceived myself into thinking I can do anymore.
And the greater peace of that is that whatever is mine to control I can turn over to God. In that is the greatest peace! I can only control myself (which trust me is A Lot to control!!!) but God can control me and everything else.
"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship."- Louisa May Alcott
I find it odd that I am supposed to have much more free time then I did in grad school, and yet, in grad school it seemed as if I had endless opportunities to blog. I believe the reality of it lies in the fact that there were many more things I COULD avoid doing by blogging. In fact, the only reason I finally found time to blog was because I am avoiding my clinical notes RIGHT now!
The past week has been unusually stressful and the hopes that this week would be less so have already been shattered. Added to that stress is my husband being in New York for ten days. Without his comforting presence, I have taken to sleeping to cope with the stress. While that may seem like a one way ride to depression town, I have found that short naps are healthy coping mechanism. The alternatives being eating, drugs, alcohol or mental breakdowns, sleeping appears to the lesser of all evils. Granted, there is always exercise. There are certainly times when I go that route. But exercise in itself is stressful. There's the putting on of special clothing I would never wear at any other time. The actual GOING to the YMCA. If I decide to walk around my neighborhood there's the clothes changing and the showering when I return. Added to that is the guilt I always feel for not taking my dog with me. He's not good on long walks because he's so slow and has to pee on and smell everything. Then there is the inevitable verbal altercation with the other neighborhood dogs. That is not peaceful. So I leave him behind but experience significant guilt because we both know where I'm going and what I am doing. He never mentions it when I get back, but it's there. To appease my guilt I feed him treats. He already has a weight problem. So at that point treating my stress is leading my dog to senior obesity. So naps seem like the best alternatives. Short moments in bed, or on the couch, or on the porch swing that revive me and grant me a fresh perspective when I awake.
Of course prayer and reflection are also essential for resisting the swelling tide of life's circumstances. This past week there has been one thing that has brought me an overwhelming amount of peace. A friend and college suggested an activity for assisting children in identifying areas of their life they may feel are out of control. The activity involves requesting the child to draw a picture of the ocean and a picture of a boat in that ocean. The therapist then asks the child to write everything they have control of on the boat and everything they don't have control of in the ocean.
So this past week I asked one of my child clients to participate in this activity, She surprised me by drawing a picture of herself in the boat. On boat, she wrote, "I only have control of myself" and in the ocean she wrote " I can not control other people." Pretty impressive! For some reason this stuck with me all week. Whatever happened, whatever went wrong or whatever seemed insurmountable, I thought about that picture. It was a great reminder that I have no control whatsoever of the circumstances surrounding me. If clients cancel appointments at the last minute, if life's circumstances seem to be getting out of control, I can only control my own attitude and behavior. I can only accomplish the tasks in front of me. Even if I'm great, if I'm 100%, the actions of others can steer my little boat the wrong way. But at the end of the day, I am left with the peace that I have done all that is in my power to do, and not deceived myself into thinking I can do anymore.
And the greater peace of that is that whatever is mine to control I can turn over to God. In that is the greatest peace! I can only control myself (which trust me is A Lot to control!!!) but God can control me and everything else.
"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship."- Louisa May Alcott
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Writing my thesis- Effective Means of Reducing Prejudice
Of all the challenges I've faced in the past few years, writing my thesis was perhaps the most difficult. There was a time when it felt as if my life was literally defined by the status of my thesis, I was either working on it, avoiding it, waiting for it to be sent back to me, writing a song about procrastinating working on it (check out my FB for that video!), proposing it, researching it or defending it. I can picture myself a few short months ago, working on my thesis at 3am, eating copious amounts of candy and watching reruns on TVLAND. I would procrastinate for weeks (months a couple of times) and then spend three crash-n-burn 12 hour days in a row researching, writing and editing. I amused my fellow cohort members with stories of how I was avoiding it, I suffered innumerable mental breakdowns because of it and came to see it as the very bane of my existence,
The Result? 93 scholarly pages addressing a very important problem in American society.
___________________________________________________________________________
"Contact Theory: A Multi-Model Comparison of Effectiveness in Reducing Prejudice Among White Professionals in a Single Interaction."
Scholars and researchers have expressed alarm over the under utilization of mental health services by Blacks. Scholars speculate that one reason for this under utilization may be the expectation of prejudice from White mental health workers. The most widely studied method for reducing prejudice is Contact Theory. This study compared models of Contact Theory to determine which model would be most effective at reducing prejudice using White professionals. Results of the study indicated that none of the models effectively reduced prejudice and none of the models was more effective than any other. That was the unfortunate outcome. The fortunate outcome of this study was a stellar historical account of Blacks in the field of psychology from 1700's to the present, a detailed look at the holes in the current literature regarding Black underutilization, a massive amount of suggestions for future research. Most importantly, the discussion portion of this study explored how society has changed since Contact Theory was first proposed and proposed methods for reducing prejudice by addressing the evolution of expressing prejudice in America.
The very last thing written in my thesis:
"Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away, and that in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty." (MLK jr., 1963)
___________________________________________________
The bound copy of my thesis arrived this week. At first, it just sat there and I thought "All that time and money and that's it?" But today, I realized how proud I should be of the work I accomplished. I read 120 studies, I designed a true experiment, I ran stats and wrote 93 pages of intelligent words. I reflect on all of this to remind myself, as I always tell my clients, that we MUST take time to celebrate what we have done. Big or small. Whether we paid our bills this month, or finished the laundry or wrote a thesis, we should CELEBRATE that accomplishment. There are plenty of people who chose not to fulfill their responsibilities, who chose not to love their kids or their spouse, who chose not to use the gifts that God has given them to their fullest extent. Let's not take being a responsible person for granted. Celebrate what you've done well and celebrate the ONE who enables us to do it! Whatever we have done alone, he has done it with us.
Colossians 3v23 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men"
The Result? 93 scholarly pages addressing a very important problem in American society.
___________________________________________________________________________
"Contact Theory: A Multi-Model Comparison of Effectiveness in Reducing Prejudice Among White Professionals in a Single Interaction."
Scholars and researchers have expressed alarm over the under utilization of mental health services by Blacks. Scholars speculate that one reason for this under utilization may be the expectation of prejudice from White mental health workers. The most widely studied method for reducing prejudice is Contact Theory. This study compared models of Contact Theory to determine which model would be most effective at reducing prejudice using White professionals. Results of the study indicated that none of the models effectively reduced prejudice and none of the models was more effective than any other. That was the unfortunate outcome. The fortunate outcome of this study was a stellar historical account of Blacks in the field of psychology from 1700's to the present, a detailed look at the holes in the current literature regarding Black underutilization, a massive amount of suggestions for future research. Most importantly, the discussion portion of this study explored how society has changed since Contact Theory was first proposed and proposed methods for reducing prejudice by addressing the evolution of expressing prejudice in America.
The very last thing written in my thesis:
"Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away, and that in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty." (MLK jr., 1963)
___________________________________________________
The bound copy of my thesis arrived this week. At first, it just sat there and I thought "All that time and money and that's it?" But today, I realized how proud I should be of the work I accomplished. I read 120 studies, I designed a true experiment, I ran stats and wrote 93 pages of intelligent words. I reflect on all of this to remind myself, as I always tell my clients, that we MUST take time to celebrate what we have done. Big or small. Whether we paid our bills this month, or finished the laundry or wrote a thesis, we should CELEBRATE that accomplishment. There are plenty of people who chose not to fulfill their responsibilities, who chose not to love their kids or their spouse, who chose not to use the gifts that God has given them to their fullest extent. Let's not take being a responsible person for granted. Celebrate what you've done well and celebrate the ONE who enables us to do it! Whatever we have done alone, he has done it with us.
Colossians 3v23 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men"
Thursday, September 8, 2011
I Feel Very..... Young
It pains me to admit my husband was out of town for a whole week and I failed to blog a single adventure. Perhaps its for the best, after overcoming the shock of grad school I am enjoying the calm of "normal" life. I considered if infact any adventures have been had. Adventures while alone that is.
I am not sorry to say my most recent adventures have been full of the people I love. A pleasant thought.
However, I am finding that there are things you must do, as an adult, alone:
1. Interviews.
Can you say stressful? It's worse when you are a mental health professional, trained in the art of reading body language. You spend half the time wondering what the side glance 5 minutes in meant followed by the short response at 7 minutes and 20 seconds. At some point you realize you have no idea what they just said because you are trying to analyze why they placed their coffee cup on the left side of the table instead of the right.
Then, of course, you reach the inevitable "Do you have any questions for me?"
Questions? Uh, yes. "How many employees have been murdered on the job in the past year?" What can I say? He covered everything else.
There I was, FRESH out of grad school, trying to look and be professional and all I felt was very....young.
2. Working
This is probably unique to my profession. I am required to be alone in a room with anywhere from 1 to 25 clients at a time. It is my sole responsibility not to make the worse than they were when they came in and to conduct "therapy" skillfully and ethically. While it may not seem like it, that is a tremendous amount of pressure. Nothing is worse than being in the middle of a session about fiscal responsibility and, out of no where, a client says "When I was 4 I witnessed Mr. Rogers murdering my dog with the family Bible." (*not an actual incident).
What do I do next? I follow the therapist's protocol.
-nod my head like I am really taking it in
- repeat it back, just to make sure I got it right in a less traumatic way "So you saw your dog being harmed by someone you cared about."
-State the obvious "That must have been very difficult for you"
Hopefully, by this time, you have stalled enough to consider where to go from here. There are many times my knee-jerk response is to want to say "I'm not qualified to do this." Then I would leave. (I'm not going to go into a long tirade about why I actually am qualified, the truth is I'm a brand-new therapist). I don't leave, instead I allow the client time to work through their trauma and some how leave the session with the client thanking me for helping them through it. The role of the therapist is one that is solitary. You don't have responsibilities like that when you are younger. There's always a bigger person to lend a hand. At any rate, there is SOMEONE around to help.
3. Selling yourself.
It feels like there is no end to this representing yourself to the world stuff. Whether its a job, a client, a PHD program, submitting writing or trying to propose at a conference. I have never cared to sell anything and I hope to never have a job where that's required of me. All I want to say is "Look, do you want this or not?" But no, it feels as if there is an endless stream of people and situations I'm required to convince that I have the skills, knowledge, training , talent, personality etc. they are looking for. I must precariously balance the fine line between humility and narcissism. I feel I never find the balance. I'm either saying "I guess I'm ok but I'm sure you could do better (in my best Eeyore voice)." or "I'm so awesome you're a fool if you bother considering anyone else! Revere me!"
I long for the good old days when all chick-fila wanted to know is if I was 14 and knew how to mop floors.
It feels like I've been thrust into a world I'm not ready for. Although growing is something we do within the company of others, it is also a very solitary journey. The challenge for me is to accept that perhaps it is not that I can't do these things, it's that I don't want to do them because the doing feels like a message to the world that I feel old enough to be all I'm needed to be. But I don't feel that way at all.
I feel very young.
I am not sorry to say my most recent adventures have been full of the people I love. A pleasant thought.
However, I am finding that there are things you must do, as an adult, alone:
1. Interviews.
Can you say stressful? It's worse when you are a mental health professional, trained in the art of reading body language. You spend half the time wondering what the side glance 5 minutes in meant followed by the short response at 7 minutes and 20 seconds. At some point you realize you have no idea what they just said because you are trying to analyze why they placed their coffee cup on the left side of the table instead of the right.
Then, of course, you reach the inevitable "Do you have any questions for me?"
Questions? Uh, yes. "How many employees have been murdered on the job in the past year?" What can I say? He covered everything else.
There I was, FRESH out of grad school, trying to look and be professional and all I felt was very....young.
2. Working
This is probably unique to my profession. I am required to be alone in a room with anywhere from 1 to 25 clients at a time. It is my sole responsibility not to make the worse than they were when they came in and to conduct "therapy" skillfully and ethically. While it may not seem like it, that is a tremendous amount of pressure. Nothing is worse than being in the middle of a session about fiscal responsibility and, out of no where, a client says "When I was 4 I witnessed Mr. Rogers murdering my dog with the family Bible." (*not an actual incident).
What do I do next? I follow the therapist's protocol.
-nod my head like I am really taking it in
- repeat it back, just to make sure I got it right in a less traumatic way "So you saw your dog being harmed by someone you cared about."
-State the obvious "That must have been very difficult for you"
Hopefully, by this time, you have stalled enough to consider where to go from here. There are many times my knee-jerk response is to want to say "I'm not qualified to do this." Then I would leave. (I'm not going to go into a long tirade about why I actually am qualified, the truth is I'm a brand-new therapist). I don't leave, instead I allow the client time to work through their trauma and some how leave the session with the client thanking me for helping them through it. The role of the therapist is one that is solitary. You don't have responsibilities like that when you are younger. There's always a bigger person to lend a hand. At any rate, there is SOMEONE around to help.
3. Selling yourself.
It feels like there is no end to this representing yourself to the world stuff. Whether its a job, a client, a PHD program, submitting writing or trying to propose at a conference. I have never cared to sell anything and I hope to never have a job where that's required of me. All I want to say is "Look, do you want this or not?" But no, it feels as if there is an endless stream of people and situations I'm required to convince that I have the skills, knowledge, training , talent, personality etc. they are looking for. I must precariously balance the fine line between humility and narcissism. I feel I never find the balance. I'm either saying "I guess I'm ok but I'm sure you could do better (in my best Eeyore voice)." or "I'm so awesome you're a fool if you bother considering anyone else! Revere me!"
I long for the good old days when all chick-fila wanted to know is if I was 14 and knew how to mop floors.
It feels like I've been thrust into a world I'm not ready for. Although growing is something we do within the company of others, it is also a very solitary journey. The challenge for me is to accept that perhaps it is not that I can't do these things, it's that I don't want to do them because the doing feels like a message to the world that I feel old enough to be all I'm needed to be. But I don't feel that way at all.
I feel very young.
Friday, July 8, 2011
New York, New York
The china and crystal clinked harmoniously. The restaurant was filled to capacity. I was seated at the mahogany bar lined with linen napkins and distinguished looking old men. I placed my napkin in my lap and pulled out "The Picture of Dorian Grey." Books make a most suitable lunch date. There is something inherently refined about dining in an art museum. I was dining in the Metropolitan Museum of Art no less. I ordered a desperately needed cup of peppermint tea to revive myself. Seeing the entirety of the MET in one day is no small feat. I ordered a significantly over priced, though ridiculously delicious as it turned out, salad and pursued Dorian Grey as I waited for it to arrive. I stole a few glances back at central park and breathed in the minty fragrance of my tea. Yes, THIS was the life. The older couple beside me began to shuffle around, preparing to go. They looked so sophisticated, dressed as if going to a much finer restaurant than the one we were in. His British accent added to the effect.
The waiter placed my roll on the bar in front of me, with butter. Lovely butter. I cut the role in half and began to butter it.Three swipes of the knife in I lost control of the roll and it fell to the ground. Sadly, I was seated in pub chair that, at the moment, appeared significant higher than your run-of-the-mill bar stool. I climbed my way down to locate the rogue roll. I couldn't find it. The roll had literally disappeared. "It's of no consequence" I thought to myself. "I'll just sit down and pretend it didn't happen, I'm sure no one noticed anyway." At that moment, a British voice from behind said "I believe its rolled under the counter." Well, what choice did I have at the point but to get down on my hands and knees and dig the buttered roll out from under the counter. My British friend let out a chuckle of triumph, paid his bill and departed. I was left with half a dirty roll and sting of confirming to the English,once again,that American don't belong in fine dining establishments.
Alas. FAIL.
The waiter placed my roll on the bar in front of me, with butter. Lovely butter. I cut the role in half and began to butter it.Three swipes of the knife in I lost control of the roll and it fell to the ground. Sadly, I was seated in pub chair that, at the moment, appeared significant higher than your run-of-the-mill bar stool. I climbed my way down to locate the rogue roll. I couldn't find it. The roll had literally disappeared. "It's of no consequence" I thought to myself. "I'll just sit down and pretend it didn't happen, I'm sure no one noticed anyway." At that moment, a British voice from behind said "I believe its rolled under the counter." Well, what choice did I have at the point but to get down on my hands and knees and dig the buttered roll out from under the counter. My British friend let out a chuckle of triumph, paid his bill and departed. I was left with half a dirty roll and sting of confirming to the English,once again,that American don't belong in fine dining establishments.
Alas. FAIL.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
In the closet
Ok so I know last week I said that was my last post but I ended up having to stay here for this one last week.I wasn't even going to post agian but I am sitting the closet eating a hot pocket in my Sponge Bob pajamas and it dawned on me that this is most definitely an adventure.
So I am wondering why, when I moved into this 1,000 year old building, they didn't inform me about things like, I don't know, emergency evacuation. The sirens are going off telling me that there is a tornado warning (I am terrified of Tornados, did I mention that?) and the only viable options for shelter are my closet or I can risk going into the basement of this building where there are stray Ferrell cats, kudzu growing out of the window and probably snakes or rats. Plus there are probably the lost souls of graduate students who never finished their thesis wandering around mumbling things like "Empirical data" and "The research states...".
Every time the air conditioning comes on or a train goes by I have a mini-stroke.It's times like these you think you could use a drink but, I don't drink. All I have is this non-alcoholic sangria. I already drank all of it and no significant effect was found. Ken Cook is causing me to panic and Im wondering if I should take anything into the closet with me. I grabbed my laptop and cell phone but I left my thesis notes out, hopeful that if anything goes down, that will be the first to go.
I am really thirsty and debating if I can go to the fridge and get water and make it back ok. I don't want to risk it all for water. It's like that time I went camping (legally) and we almost ran off the road when we were trying to find the guys who had all of the lunch meat in the back of their car. My best friend gasps and says "I don't want to die for lunch meat!" Profound.
There is no way I can go to sleep until all of this abates. I guess I'll hang in the closet and watch 16 and pregnant until it passes. This is most definitely my LAST night here as I will be handing in my key tomorrow. Kind of glad my last night wasn't last week's slipping into a medication induced sleep ( I was probably drooling) at 10pm but not thrilled I'm spending the last night in a closet.
Alas.
So I am wondering why, when I moved into this 1,000 year old building, they didn't inform me about things like, I don't know, emergency evacuation. The sirens are going off telling me that there is a tornado warning (I am terrified of Tornados, did I mention that?) and the only viable options for shelter are my closet or I can risk going into the basement of this building where there are stray Ferrell cats, kudzu growing out of the window and probably snakes or rats. Plus there are probably the lost souls of graduate students who never finished their thesis wandering around mumbling things like "Empirical data" and "The research states...".
Every time the air conditioning comes on or a train goes by I have a mini-stroke.It's times like these you think you could use a drink but, I don't drink. All I have is this non-alcoholic sangria. I already drank all of it and no significant effect was found. Ken Cook is causing me to panic and Im wondering if I should take anything into the closet with me. I grabbed my laptop and cell phone but I left my thesis notes out, hopeful that if anything goes down, that will be the first to go.
I am really thirsty and debating if I can go to the fridge and get water and make it back ok. I don't want to risk it all for water. It's like that time I went camping (legally) and we almost ran off the road when we were trying to find the guys who had all of the lunch meat in the back of their car. My best friend gasps and says "I don't want to die for lunch meat!" Profound.
There is no way I can go to sleep until all of this abates. I guess I'll hang in the closet and watch 16 and pregnant until it passes. This is most definitely my LAST night here as I will be handing in my key tomorrow. Kind of glad my last night wasn't last week's slipping into a medication induced sleep ( I was probably drooling) at 10pm but not thrilled I'm spending the last night in a closet.
Alas.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Goodbye
I woke up early this morning (early for me that is) wondering if the thunderstorms from last night were real or if I dreamed them, hmm maybe I just heard them on TV.
So last night was my last night staying here. I was going to say it's a bittersweet good-bye but not really. It will be nice to spend EVERY night at home in my own bed. I already know the transition back to "normal" is going to take a little while getting used to. I'm already finding it difficult to accept there is nothing due the next week and if I am just sitting having a quiet moment I get anxiety thinking I should be working on something. Must learn to calm down.
If leaving this apartment isn't bitter-sweet, leaving graduate school is. For the first time since I started school way back in Kindergarten, I am going to be DONE with school. Done. At 25 years old. School is kind of like this never-never land where you just sort of hang on to your young adulthood because you haven't yet begun your "grown-up" job. I reflect on peter pan saying "I want always to be a little boy and have fun."
In a way, I want to always stay in school and have my job be only learning. But, that's not reality. It's time to let go of these days of my youth and embrace the on-rushing adulthood.
I am going to miss some things about graduate school.As hard as it has been, I have thoroughly enjoyed it. I will miss my friends and teaching and learning. I won't miss the deadlines or the inane requirements or the stress (Gaa the stress).
And my blog, I will miss that too. I may revive it should there be a night alone in the future.
For now, my last night in this apartment was anti-climatic. Having the flu lends itself only to the adventures induced by large doses of nyquil. (Those can be fun!). I'd like to say something fun and amazing happened last night but, alas, I fell asleep watching re-runs of home improvement.
Thanks to being sick I never enacted my plan of practicing my Spanish late at night by driving around to all the drive-through Mexican restaurants in town. Anyway, since I left my debit card at home that wouldn't have worked out because then I would have had to order and drive off. There would have been a rash of order and drive offs alerting the Mexican restaurant community to some new form of criminal. Eventually they would have found me out and I would have been black listed from Mexican food forever.
It's not worth the risk.
So for now, fare well. These nights alone have been a nice, small adventure.
But, "To live will be an awfully big adventure."
L'Chaim!
So last night was my last night staying here. I was going to say it's a bittersweet good-bye but not really. It will be nice to spend EVERY night at home in my own bed. I already know the transition back to "normal" is going to take a little while getting used to. I'm already finding it difficult to accept there is nothing due the next week and if I am just sitting having a quiet moment I get anxiety thinking I should be working on something. Must learn to calm down.
If leaving this apartment isn't bitter-sweet, leaving graduate school is. For the first time since I started school way back in Kindergarten, I am going to be DONE with school. Done. At 25 years old. School is kind of like this never-never land where you just sort of hang on to your young adulthood because you haven't yet begun your "grown-up" job. I reflect on peter pan saying "I want always to be a little boy and have fun."
In a way, I want to always stay in school and have my job be only learning. But, that's not reality. It's time to let go of these days of my youth and embrace the on-rushing adulthood.
I am going to miss some things about graduate school.As hard as it has been, I have thoroughly enjoyed it. I will miss my friends and teaching and learning. I won't miss the deadlines or the inane requirements or the stress (Gaa the stress).
And my blog, I will miss that too. I may revive it should there be a night alone in the future.
For now, my last night in this apartment was anti-climatic. Having the flu lends itself only to the adventures induced by large doses of nyquil. (Those can be fun!). I'd like to say something fun and amazing happened last night but, alas, I fell asleep watching re-runs of home improvement.
Thanks to being sick I never enacted my plan of practicing my Spanish late at night by driving around to all the drive-through Mexican restaurants in town. Anyway, since I left my debit card at home that wouldn't have worked out because then I would have had to order and drive off. There would have been a rash of order and drive offs alerting the Mexican restaurant community to some new form of criminal. Eventually they would have found me out and I would have been black listed from Mexican food forever.
It's not worth the risk.
So for now, fare well. These nights alone have been a nice, small adventure.
But, "To live will be an awfully big adventure."
L'Chaim!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Coping Alone
Being a women, am I mostly a social person. If I have an issue, I want to "Talk it out." When I am at home that's exactly what I do. But when I am left alone to my own devices, I have to find creative ways of dealing with the storm of emotions I am faced with.
Typically on Thursdays I rush home to be with my husband but, he is in New York. I didn't realize how stressed, nervous, annoyed, overwhelmed and at-the-edge-of-my-emotional-stability I was until I got home.
HOME *sigh*. I love home. For some reason when I got home today all the keep-it-togetherness got left in the garage and by the time I made it up to my room I just wanted to burst into tears. Because, let's face it, graduate school for counselors is the true test of your mental and emotional health. A person would have to start off in a high state of emotional and mental stability to be able to sink to the depths that me and all my fellow sufferers have sunk to.
So anyway when I'm feeling all "rumpled in my mind" the last thing I want to do is call someone sobbing and say "I'm just overwhelmed because the biggest presentation of my life is Tuesday and my whole life is riding on it and my chair is telling me to remain calm which is just silly and i still have 8million other things to do on top of that and when will i sleep and why did i sign up to do this training tomorrow as if i have time (inhaaaaallleeee) and what if i dont pass and i need pass to get my degree to take my test to be licensed andddddddddddd...." Nobody WANTS to hear that. I don't want to hear it and it's in my own head.
So I set up netflix on my laptop to watch "The Cosby Show", I got on my PJ's (at 6pm), crawled into bed and I ate cookies and milk and laughed at Theo and his antics. I learned a new song on the guitar, I practiced an old song on the piano, I entered a poetry contest and now, I'm writing this. When I'm done, I'll take a nap and then I will awake to face the responsibilities yet to be fulfilled.
For me, life right now is more coping than living. But in just a few, short weeks the burden will be lifted. Thesis will be a thing of the past. I'll forget about graduate school. I'll learn to live again!
L'chiam!!
Typically on Thursdays I rush home to be with my husband but, he is in New York. I didn't realize how stressed, nervous, annoyed, overwhelmed and at-the-edge-of-my-emotional-stability I was until I got home.
HOME *sigh*. I love home. For some reason when I got home today all the keep-it-togetherness got left in the garage and by the time I made it up to my room I just wanted to burst into tears. Because, let's face it, graduate school for counselors is the true test of your mental and emotional health. A person would have to start off in a high state of emotional and mental stability to be able to sink to the depths that me and all my fellow sufferers have sunk to.
So anyway when I'm feeling all "rumpled in my mind" the last thing I want to do is call someone sobbing and say "I'm just overwhelmed because the biggest presentation of my life is Tuesday and my whole life is riding on it and my chair is telling me to remain calm which is just silly and i still have 8million other things to do on top of that and when will i sleep and why did i sign up to do this training tomorrow as if i have time (inhaaaaallleeee) and what if i dont pass and i need pass to get my degree to take my test to be licensed andddddddddddd...." Nobody WANTS to hear that. I don't want to hear it and it's in my own head.
So I set up netflix on my laptop to watch "The Cosby Show", I got on my PJ's (at 6pm), crawled into bed and I ate cookies and milk and laughed at Theo and his antics. I learned a new song on the guitar, I practiced an old song on the piano, I entered a poetry contest and now, I'm writing this. When I'm done, I'll take a nap and then I will awake to face the responsibilities yet to be fulfilled.
For me, life right now is more coping than living. But in just a few, short weeks the burden will be lifted. Thesis will be a thing of the past. I'll forget about graduate school. I'll learn to live again!
L'chiam!!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
The art of the sandwhich
"It is said that without the culinary arts, the crudeness of reality would be unbearable."- Leopold, from Kate and Leopold
I typically relate things that occur AFTER the sun goes down but today, my time alone most interesting was this afternoon.
I needed some food to carry me through the end of the semester when these "adventures" will end. Publix, where shopping is truly a pleasure, was beckoning.
Ok so first I have to point out one of those things that we all see but never comment on. So this man wearing a track suit was walking into Publix carrying some of those big water jugs. Bless his heart, his track suit was just a little too tight and it was obvious the poor thing had a wedgie. My heart really went out to him. I couldn't help but notice and I felt like I needed to tell somone but I could never bring myself to say that to somone in person.
Ok, I've released that. *Exhale* the air is clear.
So, unfortunately, in grad school your health becomes a casualty. You are stressed, you aren't getting enough sleep or exercise and most meals consist of a drive-through window. You don't get to eat that at home though, dining on the go becomes a way of life. I considered this as I walked into Publix. Tired of meals being only fuel of my stressed existence, I considered what non-pre-packaged delight I might indulge in. ( I should mention I had not yet eaten today).
As I entered the store, past the wedgie-man, a lovely scent of fresh-baked yum surrounded me. I made my way to the bakery where trays of lovely were being pulled from the oven. Bread. Lovely, not-a-bun, bread with textures and flavors. I fended off the older ladies hovering over said loveliness long enough to snatch some croissants before they formed an arm-to-cart barricade in front of me.
So I made my way over to the deli, considering my selection carefully. Roast beef and creamy Asiago? No, not today. I have a special gift of knowing, without tasting, how two foods or flavors will go together. I do it from taste-bud memory. That's what comes of NOT eating your dinner one thing at a time. The art of the meal is the harmony of the flavors. I rolled each imagined flavor around in my mouth before settling on spiced roasted chicken and smoked gouda. Lovely. I anticipated the triumph of my sandwich as I made my way back to my car.
It was just a great as I predicted!The spice of the chicken, the creamy smokeyness of the cheese, the flakey buttery-ness of the croissant. But nothing is more pathetic than eating lovely alone. Thankfully my friend came by and I offered her half of my sandwich. You see, the art of the sandwich is making something so admirable it begs to be shared. Consider how many times Cliff Huxtable, thinking he was alone, made a world-class hoagie, only to have to share it with his crumb-snatching offspring.
Cooking alone is an adventure (especially for me!) but eating alone is pitiful. What is the point of creating art if no one is around to enjoy it? Sandwhich art (is there another?) was meant to be appreciated.
"All anyone really wants in this life is to sit in peace and eat a sandwich. ..."- Liz Lemon (my hero!)
I needed some food to carry me through the end of the semester when these "adventures" will end. Publix, where shopping is truly a pleasure, was beckoning.
Ok so first I have to point out one of those things that we all see but never comment on. So this man wearing a track suit was walking into Publix carrying some of those big water jugs. Bless his heart, his track suit was just a little too tight and it was obvious the poor thing had a wedgie. My heart really went out to him. I couldn't help but notice and I felt like I needed to tell somone but I could never bring myself to say that to somone in person.
Ok, I've released that. *Exhale* the air is clear.
So, unfortunately, in grad school your health becomes a casualty. You are stressed, you aren't getting enough sleep or exercise and most meals consist of a drive-through window. You don't get to eat that at home though, dining on the go becomes a way of life. I considered this as I walked into Publix. Tired of meals being only fuel of my stressed existence, I considered what non-pre-packaged delight I might indulge in. ( I should mention I had not yet eaten today).
As I entered the store, past the wedgie-man, a lovely scent of fresh-baked yum surrounded me. I made my way to the bakery where trays of lovely were being pulled from the oven. Bread. Lovely, not-a-bun, bread with textures and flavors. I fended off the older ladies hovering over said loveliness long enough to snatch some croissants before they formed an arm-to-cart barricade in front of me.
So I made my way over to the deli, considering my selection carefully. Roast beef and creamy Asiago? No, not today. I have a special gift of knowing, without tasting, how two foods or flavors will go together. I do it from taste-bud memory. That's what comes of NOT eating your dinner one thing at a time. The art of the meal is the harmony of the flavors. I rolled each imagined flavor around in my mouth before settling on spiced roasted chicken and smoked gouda. Lovely. I anticipated the triumph of my sandwich as I made my way back to my car.
It was just a great as I predicted!The spice of the chicken, the creamy smokeyness of the cheese, the flakey buttery-ness of the croissant. But nothing is more pathetic than eating lovely alone. Thankfully my friend came by and I offered her half of my sandwich. You see, the art of the sandwich is making something so admirable it begs to be shared. Consider how many times Cliff Huxtable, thinking he was alone, made a world-class hoagie, only to have to share it with his crumb-snatching offspring.
Cooking alone is an adventure (especially for me!) but eating alone is pitiful. What is the point of creating art if no one is around to enjoy it? Sandwhich art (is there another?) was meant to be appreciated.
"All anyone really wants in this life is to sit in peace and eat a sandwich. ..."- Liz Lemon (my hero!)
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Country music is fer Cryin'
If there's one thing I love, it's a good cry. This may come as shock because I believe there are people who have known me for years and have never seen me cry.In fact, if you have seen me cry it's probably because I temporarily lost my self control. I believe that crying should be done in the uncontrollable sobbing and bellowing way so I believe that crying should be done in private.
There's nothing like a good, snotty cry. It's very therapeutic. I believe a cry should be fully embraced. You can't just sit down and cry when someone is talking to you or cry at a sad movie, that's for amateurs. When you want a good cry, you must set the stage. Professionals criers, like myself, get ready to have a cry. First, when the urge comes we schedule a time to cry.
"Wow, I'm really upset about that, I think I'll cry about it next Tuesday."
Then we plan where to cry. I prefer a country sunset, the Lake, the parking lot of a church that's closed. I'm normally in my car. Then, because I've probably stuffed the original feelings of hurt or sadness down, I have to dredge them back up. The only good way to dredge them back up is with the proper song.
Yes, every good cry has the appropriate sound track. Sometimes it's about identifying with the words but a lot of times it's the Feel of a song. Give me slow guitar lead and I'm a puddle in two minutes. If there's one genre of music that lends itself to crying its obviously country music. Nothing dredges up the woes of the soul like a southern accent with a sad guitar and fiddle singing about loss, leaving or drunkenness.
The obvious choices: "Tonight I wanna cry", "Tear drops on my guitar" "What hurts the most"
Less obvious but equally effective: "White Horse" "Cold As you" "Dear John" (Taylor Swift Every time!) "Someone else's star"
Of course most of these are the remembrances of my pre-married crying days. So I asked my friend what songs she cries to : "Remember when it rains" "Shiver" and "Lie in the sound" is what she told me.
Whenever I'm alone, I try to get all my cry out. These days, the cry is mostly from stress. Why hasn't anyone wrote a go-to cry song about grad school?
Don't worry, I haven't been sitting alone crying this week but I have been chuckling about the dramatized cries of the past.
Sitting on a stump by the river at sunset because someone hurt my feelings . Driving to Tennessee on a Saturday morning blaring Rascal Flatts and Avril Lavigne because somebody left me waiting for them again the night before. Hiking alone just to sit on the top of the mountain to cry over the view because that same person did the same thing, again. (Learned my lesson eventually.......). In the closet in the dark because things didn't turn out the way I hoped. (Emotional teen years much?)
One things for sure, in all my teens years and today, country music has never failed to set the stage for a good, long, ugly cry. And when I'm done, I'm done.
At the end of a long, country cry there's only one thing to do.
Bring on the RAP music!
There's nothing like a good, snotty cry. It's very therapeutic. I believe a cry should be fully embraced. You can't just sit down and cry when someone is talking to you or cry at a sad movie, that's for amateurs. When you want a good cry, you must set the stage. Professionals criers, like myself, get ready to have a cry. First, when the urge comes we schedule a time to cry.
"Wow, I'm really upset about that, I think I'll cry about it next Tuesday."
Then we plan where to cry. I prefer a country sunset, the Lake, the parking lot of a church that's closed. I'm normally in my car. Then, because I've probably stuffed the original feelings of hurt or sadness down, I have to dredge them back up. The only good way to dredge them back up is with the proper song.
Yes, every good cry has the appropriate sound track. Sometimes it's about identifying with the words but a lot of times it's the Feel of a song. Give me slow guitar lead and I'm a puddle in two minutes. If there's one genre of music that lends itself to crying its obviously country music. Nothing dredges up the woes of the soul like a southern accent with a sad guitar and fiddle singing about loss, leaving or drunkenness.
The obvious choices: "Tonight I wanna cry", "Tear drops on my guitar" "What hurts the most"
Less obvious but equally effective: "White Horse" "Cold As you" "Dear John" (Taylor Swift Every time!) "Someone else's star"
Of course most of these are the remembrances of my pre-married crying days. So I asked my friend what songs she cries to : "Remember when it rains" "Shiver" and "Lie in the sound" is what she told me.
Whenever I'm alone, I try to get all my cry out. These days, the cry is mostly from stress. Why hasn't anyone wrote a go-to cry song about grad school?
Don't worry, I haven't been sitting alone crying this week but I have been chuckling about the dramatized cries of the past.
Sitting on a stump by the river at sunset because someone hurt my feelings . Driving to Tennessee on a Saturday morning blaring Rascal Flatts and Avril Lavigne because somebody left me waiting for them again the night before. Hiking alone just to sit on the top of the mountain to cry over the view because that same person did the same thing, again. (Learned my lesson eventually.......). In the closet in the dark because things didn't turn out the way I hoped. (Emotional teen years much?)
One things for sure, in all my teens years and today, country music has never failed to set the stage for a good, long, ugly cry. And when I'm done, I'm done.
At the end of a long, country cry there's only one thing to do.
Bring on the RAP music!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tell you I'm sorry
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdBym7kv2IM
Lyrics:
"Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you, tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions
Oh, let's go back to the start
Running in circles, coming up tails
Heads on a science apart
Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh, take me back to the start
I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing our tails
Coming back as we are" - Coldplay
The science of human relationships is an imperfect one. Like Coldplay, we are just guessing at the science of making all the relationships in our day to day lives function without having them all crash around us at once (they are the proverbial spinning plates). As I've mentioned previously (many times) there's buried treasure everywhere! Coldplay's "the scientist" is a song with a deep meaning. It's the letter we want to write to the spinning plate that broke when we dropped it.
If it isn't already obvious, I'm writing this in lieu of documenting some outlandish happening when I was alone because I haven't been alone too much lately. I'm filling the hours away from home with dinners and spend-the -night and trips to the airport and long phone conversations about nothing. The snatches of alone I've had lately have given me time to reflect on little else than my thesis, stats class, reality TV (you knew that was coming!) and the science of relationships (friendships included! thanks Ravi Zacharias and C.S.Lewis).
So Coldplay had it right. Tell them you think they're wonderful, ask them to come back, tell them its not the same since they've been gone and tell them you're sorry. Sounds right. But all that comes across as the desperate plea of the borderline personality (i.e. Why wont you love me!?!). Ok so maybe we remember to keep the plates spinning by saying all of that before we drop them. Maybe we let the plates fall as they may but not without making every effort to keep them spinning. The complexities of human relationships are a phenomenon studied since the dawn of human existence. Stories,songs, poetry, all meant to narrate and explain the complexities of human interaction.
We all wish that life were as easy as "tell you I'm sorry." I know I'd say it if I thought it would help. Sometimes it does but sometimes we pass the point of I'm sorry. We cross the bridge of no return and burn it behind us. Counselors get the worst of it, our clients walk in with their relationships like ball of knotted yarn and they hand it to us, expecting us to untangle the chaos in 50 minutes when the truth is sometimes we can't untangle our own chaos. "Nobody said it was easy.....no one ever said it would be this hard"
I never invested time in a friendship I didn't care about. I hate wasting time being insincere hence my aversion to small talk. I'd rather sit in the dark then have to talk to someone about the weather (GAAA!!). I truly like so few people when friendships end..... "It's such a shame for us to part"
The few friendships that do end end because "I was just guessing at number and figures, pulling the puzzles apart." We don't always get the answers in time to save things and "You're lovely and I'm sorry" just doesn't seem to cut it and we can't "go back to the start"
When we are alone, we fail to experience the adventure of phileo love. We live in the dream-like state of appreciation love where we can only admire others from afar. But in the company of others, the adventure begins as we seek to keep the plates harmonically spinning.
(Thank you C.S. Lewis for "The Four Loves." )
Lyrics:
"Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you, tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions
Oh, let's go back to the start
Running in circles, coming up tails
Heads on a science apart
Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh, take me back to the start
I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing our tails
Coming back as we are" - Coldplay
The science of human relationships is an imperfect one. Like Coldplay, we are just guessing at the science of making all the relationships in our day to day lives function without having them all crash around us at once (they are the proverbial spinning plates). As I've mentioned previously (many times) there's buried treasure everywhere! Coldplay's "the scientist" is a song with a deep meaning. It's the letter we want to write to the spinning plate that broke when we dropped it.
If it isn't already obvious, I'm writing this in lieu of documenting some outlandish happening when I was alone because I haven't been alone too much lately. I'm filling the hours away from home with dinners and spend-the -night and trips to the airport and long phone conversations about nothing. The snatches of alone I've had lately have given me time to reflect on little else than my thesis, stats class, reality TV (you knew that was coming!) and the science of relationships (friendships included! thanks Ravi Zacharias and C.S.Lewis).
So Coldplay had it right. Tell them you think they're wonderful, ask them to come back, tell them its not the same since they've been gone and tell them you're sorry. Sounds right. But all that comes across as the desperate plea of the borderline personality (i.e. Why wont you love me!?!). Ok so maybe we remember to keep the plates spinning by saying all of that before we drop them. Maybe we let the plates fall as they may but not without making every effort to keep them spinning. The complexities of human relationships are a phenomenon studied since the dawn of human existence. Stories,songs, poetry, all meant to narrate and explain the complexities of human interaction.
We all wish that life were as easy as "tell you I'm sorry." I know I'd say it if I thought it would help. Sometimes it does but sometimes we pass the point of I'm sorry. We cross the bridge of no return and burn it behind us. Counselors get the worst of it, our clients walk in with their relationships like ball of knotted yarn and they hand it to us, expecting us to untangle the chaos in 50 minutes when the truth is sometimes we can't untangle our own chaos. "Nobody said it was easy.....no one ever said it would be this hard"
I never invested time in a friendship I didn't care about. I hate wasting time being insincere hence my aversion to small talk. I'd rather sit in the dark then have to talk to someone about the weather (GAAA!!). I truly like so few people when friendships end..... "It's such a shame for us to part"
The few friendships that do end end because "I was just guessing at number and figures, pulling the puzzles apart." We don't always get the answers in time to save things and "You're lovely and I'm sorry" just doesn't seem to cut it and we can't "go back to the start"
When we are alone, we fail to experience the adventure of phileo love. We live in the dream-like state of appreciation love where we can only admire others from afar. But in the company of others, the adventure begins as we seek to keep the plates harmonically spinning.
(Thank you C.S. Lewis for "The Four Loves." )
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Never Alone
Spoiler: This probably won't be funny unless unintentionally
Because I hold to the traditional Judeo-Christian beliefs, it would be incongruent to say that I am the reincarnation of someone who lived years ago. Even more far fetched is that I would be the reincarnation of two fictional book characters who were said to have "lived" at the same time. However, my daily life seems to want to confirm this suspicion with severity. I am a distinct mixture of Anne Shirley who had a propensity for getting into scrapes and Jo March who was awkward, strong willed and always managed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. (With the best of intentions bless her heart!)
There is hope for me however, I am not yet fully confirmed to barbarianism or anti-socialism. As Louisa May Alcott (my past life if ever I had one) would say, I am a very real girl. Jo March and Anne Shirley turned out ok in the end so I am hopeful!
The thing I love most about being alone is the time I have to reflect on the days "rights" and "wrongs." Where most men are said to live "lives of quiet desperation," I have a distinct knack for living life "Wide Open." In the openness comes the growing. Sometimes we need the alone-ness to grow. When we are constantly surrounded by others, the daily lessons that come get drowned out by the noise around us.
Sometimes though, the "adventure" of alone-ness isn't quite fun. But, you see, I am only playing at being alone and even in the quiet of alone-ness, I am never lonely. I have the luxury of saying "forget this" and going where the home lights are on, my husband opens the door with a perfect hug and my dog is happy to see me. Or I can pick up the phone and call one of many friends who get to see me fully and love me just as fully. So I am never alone, not really. And even when I am by myself, with me always is the friend that Paul says one day we will know fully, even as we are fully known. So I am never alone.
Someone said that the deepest desire of most people IS to be known fully and to be accepted anyway. In that sense, my life is pretty full.
My favorite scripture is Ecclesiates 3v11 "For he has made everything beautiful in it's time, he has placed eternity in the human heart and even still they can not see fully the scope of what God has planned."
In a big way, it relates to all creation. In a small way, I hope it to be true for me. Life is journey of coming and going, of mistakes and triumphs (C.S. Lewis says sometimes the highest highs come with the lowest lows) and of constant learning. I dearly love to learn (and laugh, so add Elizabeth Bennett to my reincarnation list!).
Adventures of being alone this week:
1. Reflecting on how to grow from the mistakes I made this week and remembering the things I managed to do right as well ( I always celebrate the small things! "Did I brush my teeth? Did I take my pill? Did I hang up my towel? Yes? Go MEEE!!)
2. I felt something on my shoulder earlier and I scratched it and it was HALF of a small worm ( I had been walking through woods) so the rest of the night will be spent wondering what happened to the other half!!
A good day!
Because I hold to the traditional Judeo-Christian beliefs, it would be incongruent to say that I am the reincarnation of someone who lived years ago. Even more far fetched is that I would be the reincarnation of two fictional book characters who were said to have "lived" at the same time. However, my daily life seems to want to confirm this suspicion with severity. I am a distinct mixture of Anne Shirley who had a propensity for getting into scrapes and Jo March who was awkward, strong willed and always managed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. (With the best of intentions bless her heart!)
There is hope for me however, I am not yet fully confirmed to barbarianism or anti-socialism. As Louisa May Alcott (my past life if ever I had one) would say, I am a very real girl. Jo March and Anne Shirley turned out ok in the end so I am hopeful!
The thing I love most about being alone is the time I have to reflect on the days "rights" and "wrongs." Where most men are said to live "lives of quiet desperation," I have a distinct knack for living life "Wide Open." In the openness comes the growing. Sometimes we need the alone-ness to grow. When we are constantly surrounded by others, the daily lessons that come get drowned out by the noise around us.
Sometimes though, the "adventure" of alone-ness isn't quite fun. But, you see, I am only playing at being alone and even in the quiet of alone-ness, I am never lonely. I have the luxury of saying "forget this" and going where the home lights are on, my husband opens the door with a perfect hug and my dog is happy to see me. Or I can pick up the phone and call one of many friends who get to see me fully and love me just as fully. So I am never alone, not really. And even when I am by myself, with me always is the friend that Paul says one day we will know fully, even as we are fully known. So I am never alone.
Someone said that the deepest desire of most people IS to be known fully and to be accepted anyway. In that sense, my life is pretty full.
My favorite scripture is Ecclesiates 3v11 "For he has made everything beautiful in it's time, he has placed eternity in the human heart and even still they can not see fully the scope of what God has planned."
In a big way, it relates to all creation. In a small way, I hope it to be true for me. Life is journey of coming and going, of mistakes and triumphs (C.S. Lewis says sometimes the highest highs come with the lowest lows) and of constant learning. I dearly love to learn (and laugh, so add Elizabeth Bennett to my reincarnation list!).
Adventures of being alone this week:
1. Reflecting on how to grow from the mistakes I made this week and remembering the things I managed to do right as well ( I always celebrate the small things! "Did I brush my teeth? Did I take my pill? Did I hang up my towel? Yes? Go MEEE!!)
2. I felt something on my shoulder earlier and I scratched it and it was HALF of a small worm ( I had been walking through woods) so the rest of the night will be spent wondering what happened to the other half!!
A good day!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Toilets, bouncy balls and shoplifting
The bathroom is a very private place. You are always alone in the bathroom. Even if you go to the bathroom with someone, you are alone in the stall unless you have kids or are weird. In the solace of the bathroom there is something I do, and often.
I drop things in the toilet. All the time infact. This is not a recent development either.
In high school I dropped my fur purse in the toilet (yep I rocked that much!). I have lost several cell phones to to a watery grave. A toothbrush (yeah.....), lotion, any shirts with strings on them are def going there. I don't know why I can't keep my stuff out of the toilet.
So yesterday half of my jacket ended up in the toilet. Its not even shocking even more. I just accept it for what it is and go on. These are the things that happen when we are alone and we don't tell anyone. Like when I was taking a urine test and I kicked the cup over not once, not twice but three times in two minutes (three times a lady, that's me).
Toilets.... adventures surrounding every flush!!
---------------------------------------------------
There are lots of things we say we will do when we grow up that parents prevent us from doing as children. Somehow though, between being a kid and being fully grown, most people forget them.
Not me!
I eat dessert before meals, I leave dirty dishes in the sink, I stay up way late, I definitely blow bubbles in my chocolate milk and I bounce balls down the aisles in the store.
That's right. Who can forget the allure of the bouncy ball? Make it a super bouncy ball and it is SO on.
At Target tonight I was making my way through the bed linen aisle (how very adult of me), thinking about the discrepancy between targets and my own definition of "clearance." On the top of the shelf was a large super bouncy ball, green and white swirled. I glanced at it, feeling the bounce in my hand. I walked on chiding myself for such immature thoughts. Two aisles away I glanced back. That's all it took.
I walked back and grabbed the ball. I bounced it all the way through the bed linens, kitchen wares and dog treats before I encountered a store employee. I realized that at 25 there are only glimpses of the children we once were. I don't always want to say "no" to me. Sometimes we need the small "yes" to remind us to relish each moment childishly or otherwise.
Tonight, I was the captain of my fate and I chose a bouncy ball. A kid may be reprimanded for such actions but, as an adult, you never regret the bouncy ball.
--------------------------------------------------------------
And finally, a prime example of the degenerates being bred in this small town (of course I don't mean that....). I went to Publix to buy my weekly allotment of milk. When walking out I saw two small boys, unattended running out the door in front of me. I looked around for parents as these boys were far to young to be left to their own devices. The following conversation proved this :
"Where did you get that magazine?"
"I found it, I left a quarter on the shelf"
That's right, the little boy stole a magazine but, in his defense, he left a quarter on the shelf in payment as if the magazine rack were one of those Brach's candy stands where you throw in a quarter and pick out a couple of pieces of candy.
The innocence of childhood. Next time I go shopping at Publix I'm bringing a bag of quarters.
I drop things in the toilet. All the time infact. This is not a recent development either.
In high school I dropped my fur purse in the toilet (yep I rocked that much!). I have lost several cell phones to to a watery grave. A toothbrush (yeah.....), lotion, any shirts with strings on them are def going there. I don't know why I can't keep my stuff out of the toilet.
So yesterday half of my jacket ended up in the toilet. Its not even shocking even more. I just accept it for what it is and go on. These are the things that happen when we are alone and we don't tell anyone. Like when I was taking a urine test and I kicked the cup over not once, not twice but three times in two minutes (three times a lady, that's me).
Toilets.... adventures surrounding every flush!!
---------------------------------------------------
There are lots of things we say we will do when we grow up that parents prevent us from doing as children. Somehow though, between being a kid and being fully grown, most people forget them.
Not me!
I eat dessert before meals, I leave dirty dishes in the sink, I stay up way late, I definitely blow bubbles in my chocolate milk and I bounce balls down the aisles in the store.
That's right. Who can forget the allure of the bouncy ball? Make it a super bouncy ball and it is SO on.
At Target tonight I was making my way through the bed linen aisle (how very adult of me), thinking about the discrepancy between targets and my own definition of "clearance." On the top of the shelf was a large super bouncy ball, green and white swirled. I glanced at it, feeling the bounce in my hand. I walked on chiding myself for such immature thoughts. Two aisles away I glanced back. That's all it took.
I walked back and grabbed the ball. I bounced it all the way through the bed linens, kitchen wares and dog treats before I encountered a store employee. I realized that at 25 there are only glimpses of the children we once were. I don't always want to say "no" to me. Sometimes we need the small "yes" to remind us to relish each moment childishly or otherwise.
Tonight, I was the captain of my fate and I chose a bouncy ball. A kid may be reprimanded for such actions but, as an adult, you never regret the bouncy ball.
--------------------------------------------------------------
And finally, a prime example of the degenerates being bred in this small town (of course I don't mean that....). I went to Publix to buy my weekly allotment of milk. When walking out I saw two small boys, unattended running out the door in front of me. I looked around for parents as these boys were far to young to be left to their own devices. The following conversation proved this :
"Where did you get that magazine?"
"I found it, I left a quarter on the shelf"
That's right, the little boy stole a magazine but, in his defense, he left a quarter on the shelf in payment as if the magazine rack were one of those Brach's candy stands where you throw in a quarter and pick out a couple of pieces of candy.
The innocence of childhood. Next time I go shopping at Publix I'm bringing a bag of quarters.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Tell The story
Last year I read Donald Millers "A million miles in a thousand years," and it totally rocked my world AND landed a spot in my top five all-times. It's all about the telling of the story, your story and the story of those around you.
So this applies in a more abstract sense to me of course but, also in a very literal way.
I am not ashamed to admit that, more often than not, I narrate myself in my head. Sometimes I do it in the Slapstick-Comedy movie way:
"And as she walked into the building for her interview, she failed to see the enormous green rug in the lobby. Tripping, she lost her shoe, spilled the contents of her purse and rolled up into the rug onto the elevator ."
Sometimes it's the existential melo-drama:
" She stopped to consider whether any tree had ever been so perfect and if there had ever been so listless a soul to stand under such a tree. She sighed for a life where her soul purpose would be to sit under a similar tree and read books. "What meaning would there be to a life of reading?" She asks herself as she leaves the tree and walks into the library. She imagines herself choosing each book and thinking great thoughts. She sighs for such a life as her soul deflates and she enters her statistics class."
And of course there is the part Animal Planet, part Calvin and Hobbes:
"The lion watches its pray as it moves slowly across the plain (AKA the room). She watches with intention but appears to lack interest. The moments pass..... The unsuspecting pray turns to find her graceful form coming down in the swift and silent attack." (yes its a bit odd, I've read my share of Calvin and Hobbes).
It gets worse when I'm by myself because, as previously stated, I am hyper aware of whatever I am doing when I am alone.
I was reading "A.Lincoln" tonight, a fantastic biography of Abraham Lincoln. I started to think about the book that could be written about my life. I actually think of that a lot. What would it say? What would I not want it to say? Sometimes, before I do something I think I might regret I think "Maybe I need to do this so when they write the book about my life there'll be something controversial, something to show my humanity, something to exemplify the personal triumphs I overcome....etc." Yeah so, ok that sounds like rationalization and I usually end those "intellectual" thoughts by challenging my own logic.
All this to say that my story (like yours) is very important. It's not for ourselves, its for others. Whatever we do, good or bad, however we feel , whether we are proud of it or not, struggle or triumph, we need to share our story. I can never be accused of holding back my honest thoughts, struggles, shortcomings because they are part of my story. And the triumph that will come (hopefully) is only half the story. Be willing to be honest, with yourself first, then others. Others need your story just like you need theirs to remind you you're not perfect, you are not the only one, there is hope, there is an answer. Don't save your narrations for yourself, truthfully share them and find there is compassion, forgiveness, love , relief and hope. Truth sets us and everyone else free to BE.
"And as she finished typing she looked around the room She regretted that she got fruit punch to drink because she knew it tasted gross after the first sip but she just kept drinking it hoping it would get better. She wondered why people always want to talk to you when you are trying to nap and considered how loud she might play her guitar before she would be considered a disturbance. She started picking her nails and so we leave her to another long, cold night in small town."
So this applies in a more abstract sense to me of course but, also in a very literal way.
I am not ashamed to admit that, more often than not, I narrate myself in my head. Sometimes I do it in the Slapstick-Comedy movie way:
"And as she walked into the building for her interview, she failed to see the enormous green rug in the lobby. Tripping, she lost her shoe, spilled the contents of her purse and rolled up into the rug onto the elevator ."
Sometimes it's the existential melo-drama:
" She stopped to consider whether any tree had ever been so perfect and if there had ever been so listless a soul to stand under such a tree. She sighed for a life where her soul purpose would be to sit under a similar tree and read books. "What meaning would there be to a life of reading?" She asks herself as she leaves the tree and walks into the library. She imagines herself choosing each book and thinking great thoughts. She sighs for such a life as her soul deflates and she enters her statistics class."
And of course there is the part Animal Planet, part Calvin and Hobbes:
"The lion watches its pray as it moves slowly across the plain (AKA the room). She watches with intention but appears to lack interest. The moments pass..... The unsuspecting pray turns to find her graceful form coming down in the swift and silent attack." (yes its a bit odd, I've read my share of Calvin and Hobbes).
It gets worse when I'm by myself because, as previously stated, I am hyper aware of whatever I am doing when I am alone.
I was reading "A.Lincoln" tonight, a fantastic biography of Abraham Lincoln. I started to think about the book that could be written about my life. I actually think of that a lot. What would it say? What would I not want it to say? Sometimes, before I do something I think I might regret I think "Maybe I need to do this so when they write the book about my life there'll be something controversial, something to show my humanity, something to exemplify the personal triumphs I overcome....etc." Yeah so, ok that sounds like rationalization and I usually end those "intellectual" thoughts by challenging my own logic.
All this to say that my story (like yours) is very important. It's not for ourselves, its for others. Whatever we do, good or bad, however we feel , whether we are proud of it or not, struggle or triumph, we need to share our story. I can never be accused of holding back my honest thoughts, struggles, shortcomings because they are part of my story. And the triumph that will come (hopefully) is only half the story. Be willing to be honest, with yourself first, then others. Others need your story just like you need theirs to remind you you're not perfect, you are not the only one, there is hope, there is an answer. Don't save your narrations for yourself, truthfully share them and find there is compassion, forgiveness, love , relief and hope. Truth sets us and everyone else free to BE.
"And as she finished typing she looked around the room She regretted that she got fruit punch to drink because she knew it tasted gross after the first sip but she just kept drinking it hoping it would get better. She wondered why people always want to talk to you when you are trying to nap and considered how loud she might play her guitar before she would be considered a disturbance. She started picking her nails and so we leave her to another long, cold night in small town."
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Cold Blacks
If Holly Golightly can make up her own mood (The mean reds) than so can I!
Today being just a horrible day, I've decided to describe this emotion as the Cold Blacks.
The Blues wont cut it for me today cause it didn't rain and I wasn't depressed.
If you've ever watched Breakfast at Tiffanys then you know that the Mean Red's happen when you are suddenly afraid and you don't know why. Thank goodness I wasn't suffering from this malady as the only known cure is Breakfast at Tiffanys and I'm pretty sure the closest thing to Tiffanys in this "city" is the jewelry counter at Walmart.
With no other suitable alternative, I decided to make up my own Color-me-emotion, "The Cold Blacks."
You know you've got a case of the Cold Blacks when everything bad that happens to you in a day is like iron entering your soul. The day is bleak before you, but the sun insists on shining. Instead of sinking into a respectable depression, you become angry at the unfolding events until you are filled with a dark and scary rage.
Thank goodness sadness and anger are expressed by me in an identical fashion. I cry. The cure it seems is ice cream, chocolate, good friends and reggae music.
This may sound extreme but when the day unfolds with one disappointment after another culminating in breaking a guitar string and suffering the unyielding torture of stats class, you come to realize there's a sinister emotion lurking deep within demanding to be named.
Last nights/ Todays adventure in being alone was realizing that I'm tired of my small adventures. I miss my husband, dog and house. I can't wait for the end of the school year.
I just hope I can keep the "Cold Blacks" at bay until then.
-Hoping for a better tomorrow-
Today being just a horrible day, I've decided to describe this emotion as the Cold Blacks.
The Blues wont cut it for me today cause it didn't rain and I wasn't depressed.
If you've ever watched Breakfast at Tiffanys then you know that the Mean Red's happen when you are suddenly afraid and you don't know why. Thank goodness I wasn't suffering from this malady as the only known cure is Breakfast at Tiffanys and I'm pretty sure the closest thing to Tiffanys in this "city" is the jewelry counter at Walmart.
With no other suitable alternative, I decided to make up my own Color-me-emotion, "The Cold Blacks."
You know you've got a case of the Cold Blacks when everything bad that happens to you in a day is like iron entering your soul. The day is bleak before you, but the sun insists on shining. Instead of sinking into a respectable depression, you become angry at the unfolding events until you are filled with a dark and scary rage.
Thank goodness sadness and anger are expressed by me in an identical fashion. I cry. The cure it seems is ice cream, chocolate, good friends and reggae music.
This may sound extreme but when the day unfolds with one disappointment after another culminating in breaking a guitar string and suffering the unyielding torture of stats class, you come to realize there's a sinister emotion lurking deep within demanding to be named.
Last nights/ Todays adventure in being alone was realizing that I'm tired of my small adventures. I miss my husband, dog and house. I can't wait for the end of the school year.
I just hope I can keep the "Cold Blacks" at bay until then.
-Hoping for a better tomorrow-
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Discoveries
Calvin and Hobbes wanted us to know, and rightly, that there's buried treasure everywhere.
It's true. There are surprises to enrich our lives around every corner. If we look for them. Today's treasure was finally finding a spot accessible to the lake from which I can watch the sunset tomorrow.
There are also discoveries to underwhelm us. Getting ready to write this tonight, I noticed that there are two pieces of packing tape on the wall above my bed. And even as I write this, I notice a piece of masking tape on the wall in between the windows my desk faces. Clearly, whoever was here before me had some sort of tape fetish. Maybe one day, when I am avoiding working on my thesis, I should make a list of everything the previous resident left here. I feel confident it would make for useless but interesting reading.
There are also discoveries to unnerve us, to disturb us, to hurt us. Yes, sometimes these involve others. The pain of disappointment in someone else is acute. But when we are alone, we have only to discover these things about ourselves. We go hunting for buried treasures in our soul and come up with dead bodies.
But enough about that.
These nights alone have brought new discoveries at every turn. I look for them in anticipation, the good, the bad, the underwhelming. The cry ones and the smile ones.
Cry- Figuring out that now is good a time as any to accept that people change.
Smile- When paying for gas tonight I realized that I have turned into a cheapskate. I tried to take two cents out of the "Take-a-penny" box and add it to what I was paying for in gas. Like that would make a difference! I laughed uncontrollably and left the cashier in shame.
I like me and that is no new discovery. The new discovery is that, when left alone with myself, I still like me.
Smile.
It's true. There are surprises to enrich our lives around every corner. If we look for them. Today's treasure was finally finding a spot accessible to the lake from which I can watch the sunset tomorrow.
There are also discoveries to underwhelm us. Getting ready to write this tonight, I noticed that there are two pieces of packing tape on the wall above my bed. And even as I write this, I notice a piece of masking tape on the wall in between the windows my desk faces. Clearly, whoever was here before me had some sort of tape fetish. Maybe one day, when I am avoiding working on my thesis, I should make a list of everything the previous resident left here. I feel confident it would make for useless but interesting reading.
There are also discoveries to unnerve us, to disturb us, to hurt us. Yes, sometimes these involve others. The pain of disappointment in someone else is acute. But when we are alone, we have only to discover these things about ourselves. We go hunting for buried treasures in our soul and come up with dead bodies.
But enough about that.
These nights alone have brought new discoveries at every turn. I look for them in anticipation, the good, the bad, the underwhelming. The cry ones and the smile ones.
Cry- Figuring out that now is good a time as any to accept that people change.
Smile- When paying for gas tonight I realized that I have turned into a cheapskate. I tried to take two cents out of the "Take-a-penny" box and add it to what I was paying for in gas. Like that would make a difference! I laughed uncontrollably and left the cashier in shame.
I like me and that is no new discovery. The new discovery is that, when left alone with myself, I still like me.
Smile.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Books, Bubbles and Bob Marley
You learn something about yourself when you are walking in between the bookshelves of the library and you start tearing up. When you think "I've lived a good life" simply because you've read a lot of great books. Passing Keats and Whitman and Shakespeare the mind thinks back to the lovely words they gave you. You pull Whitman off the shelf and read "Drum Taps." You stand there reading like you were reading the back of a cereal box at the grocery store when what you want to do is lay down in the middle of the aisle, back on the floor, face to the ceiling and read aloud Whitman's melancholy lamentations. Then you remember you are in the middle of stats class so you close the book, put it back on the shelf and cast one last longing glance back to where Dickens waits for you. *Sigh*
_______________________________
Swimming is lovely. The warm water at the YMCA is a like a gentle, rocking hug. After swimming there is nothing better than getting into the whirlpool. The one here in town is nice because the water is VERY bubbly. I climbed into the whirlpool after a recent swim and watched the bubbles collect on the side. There was just one other person sharing the pool with me. I patiently waited for her to leave. When she began to make her towards the steps I thought "A few more steps and the bubbles are mine!" I imagined myself grabbing the bubbles , jumping into the middle of them, maybe I could have made a bubble beard. Alas, just when I was about to find myself in bubble ecstasy, some old man made his way into the pool. Sharing a whirl pool with an old man fills my creeper quota for a while so, I stepped out of the whirl pool with my best Charlie Brown walk. Head down,towel dragging behind me and sigh full of "I can't stand it" as I made my way back to the locker room.*sigh*
_____________________________
The sun in my face and my little brother's Bob Marley CD were just begging to be enjoyed as I climbed in my car. I had a meeting right across the street but I might have been parked illegally. It was time to find a more suitable space. I popped in Bob and found "One Love." That Bob, he speaks to me. I followed "One Love" up with "Three Little Birds" and by the time the song was half way over, all was right with the world. I wanted to stay with Bob,driving through the country, warm sun on my face and a cold breeze making tangles in my hair. I pulled the car into a real space across the street, locked the car and walked into the meeting. *sigh* Later, when I got back into the car, Bob was there. The sun had gone down and the air was frigid. It just wasn't the same. *double sigh*
I'm trying to enjoy the simple pleasures in life but life keeps crowding them out dang it! Life in a small town (part time anyway) wouldn't be so bad if the small joys weren't consistantly crushed by the large responsibilities. If only I could just read the book when I wanted, sing along when it felt right or play in the bubbles in peace. If only life could be as simple as I want to make it. I would have all the books, bubbles and Bob Marley I could handle.
Life in a small town...... stealing my soul one less bubble at a time.
_______________________________
Swimming is lovely. The warm water at the YMCA is a like a gentle, rocking hug. After swimming there is nothing better than getting into the whirlpool. The one here in town is nice because the water is VERY bubbly. I climbed into the whirlpool after a recent swim and watched the bubbles collect on the side. There was just one other person sharing the pool with me. I patiently waited for her to leave. When she began to make her towards the steps I thought "A few more steps and the bubbles are mine!" I imagined myself grabbing the bubbles , jumping into the middle of them, maybe I could have made a bubble beard. Alas, just when I was about to find myself in bubble ecstasy, some old man made his way into the pool. Sharing a whirl pool with an old man fills my creeper quota for a while so, I stepped out of the whirl pool with my best Charlie Brown walk. Head down,towel dragging behind me and sigh full of "I can't stand it" as I made my way back to the locker room.*sigh*
_____________________________
The sun in my face and my little brother's Bob Marley CD were just begging to be enjoyed as I climbed in my car. I had a meeting right across the street but I might have been parked illegally. It was time to find a more suitable space. I popped in Bob and found "One Love." That Bob, he speaks to me. I followed "One Love" up with "Three Little Birds" and by the time the song was half way over, all was right with the world. I wanted to stay with Bob,driving through the country, warm sun on my face and a cold breeze making tangles in my hair. I pulled the car into a real space across the street, locked the car and walked into the meeting. *sigh* Later, when I got back into the car, Bob was there. The sun had gone down and the air was frigid. It just wasn't the same. *double sigh*
I'm trying to enjoy the simple pleasures in life but life keeps crowding them out dang it! Life in a small town (part time anyway) wouldn't be so bad if the small joys weren't consistantly crushed by the large responsibilities. If only I could just read the book when I wanted, sing along when it felt right or play in the bubbles in peace. If only life could be as simple as I want to make it. I would have all the books, bubbles and Bob Marley I could handle.
Life in a small town...... stealing my soul one less bubble at a time.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
In the Flu and In the Rain
No one feels like having an adventure in the rain. Especially the bitterly cold kind. Add the flu and you can forget it. The only place your exploring is your warm bed.
Driving + fever makes for a bad combination. After driving down a one way street the wrong way, I felt it was time to get off the road. The woman at CVS "there, there'd" me as I struggled to navigate the debit card machine. I asked my stats professor if there was a movie we could watch about stats or if we could have worksheets. All that to say, today wasn't a stellar day for me by any stretch.
On my way back from CVS I started thinking about Peter Pan and how the weather in never never land would change with his mood. I considered how the dreary gray and fog of the day combined with the rain were a fair representation of how I was feeling today. Then I stopped to think how narcissistic of me to consider that the weather would accommodate my mood.
But I stopped to consider that there are days, perhaps, where God feels our hearts so strongly he gives us the beautiful spring days or the rainy winter ones to let us know how important we are to him. Perhaps he asked the sun to shine away today so that I could lay in bed, exhausted in every way, free from the guilt of wasting a perfectly lovely sun. It may be childish but if God can make me so wonderfully complex, number the hairs on my head and guard me as the apple of his eye, he can surely give me a rainy day to indulge the flu and other sorrows.
I realized today that being alone more often has made me hyper aware of what I am doing at every moment. The smallest of circumstances become an adventure for me and today's was finding God's love in both the Flu and in the Rain.
Driving + fever makes for a bad combination. After driving down a one way street the wrong way, I felt it was time to get off the road. The woman at CVS "there, there'd" me as I struggled to navigate the debit card machine. I asked my stats professor if there was a movie we could watch about stats or if we could have worksheets. All that to say, today wasn't a stellar day for me by any stretch.
On my way back from CVS I started thinking about Peter Pan and how the weather in never never land would change with his mood. I considered how the dreary gray and fog of the day combined with the rain were a fair representation of how I was feeling today. Then I stopped to think how narcissistic of me to consider that the weather would accommodate my mood.
But I stopped to consider that there are days, perhaps, where God feels our hearts so strongly he gives us the beautiful spring days or the rainy winter ones to let us know how important we are to him. Perhaps he asked the sun to shine away today so that I could lay in bed, exhausted in every way, free from the guilt of wasting a perfectly lovely sun. It may be childish but if God can make me so wonderfully complex, number the hairs on my head and guard me as the apple of his eye, he can surely give me a rainy day to indulge the flu and other sorrows.
I realized today that being alone more often has made me hyper aware of what I am doing at every moment. The smallest of circumstances become an adventure for me and today's was finding God's love in both the Flu and in the Rain.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
While you were sleeping
I'm the only person I know who takes naps at night. I fell asleep around 10 and woke back up around 11:30 with a headache. I decided to stay in bed and work on finishing Don Millers "Through Painted Deserts."
Around 12 0'clock between chapters 20 and 21 I started thinking about this historical house nearby that I'd been wanting to visit. I thought about how cool it would be to take my book and finish it sitting on the porch in the cold night air.
So I got up and threw a hoodie and some jeans on over my nightgown. (Yes I am THAT lazy!). I grabbed a pair of argyle socks because everyone knows that if you are about to break the law or do something you might regret in the daylight, you should wear argyle socks. I took my keys, wallet, cellphone and my little red LED flashlight and slipped quietly out of the building to my waiting car.
I pulled up to this historical site quietly noting the surrounding houses. All the windows were dark. No witnesses. I promise there were no signs with hours posted but anyone that knows me well knows that I have a knack for being on government property when I'm not supposed to be. I got out of the car fearlessly and started to circle the building with my little flashlight (noting the sign advertising the security company proudly protecting the place). It was cold and mostly dark but, there it was, a rocking chair on the front porch, beckoning. I start reading my book on my way to the porch. I made it through the first paragraph and I hear it. "Click". I shine my flashlight in the windows. "Click." I look around. "Click, click, click."
That sealed it. I don't know for sure that it was the alarm going off but what I do know is that you can only commit so many felonies on government property before you get caught so I turned off my flashlight and ran back to the car. I didn't speed off in case any cops pulled up and thought I was driving suspiciously.
After driving off, heart racing, I felt like I was 5 again, running through the woods afraid of my own imagination. I decided to drive past the lake to watch the moon over the water. I realized a few minutes later I wasn't sure what road I was on until I realized I was on the road that takes you past the hospital, not the lake. I could have taken this as a bad omen but I decided to give it another shot. The moon was no where to be seen but the dark, inky blackness of the water reminded me of sitting on the shore in Belize, waiting for the sun to rise.
I stopped off at McDonalds when I made my way back to get some hot chocolate. Driving through town with my hot chocolate and the windows down and Taylor Swifts "Teardrops on my guitar" on repeat, I remembered the things I DID like about living in a small town. Going to Sonic at all hours of the night, knowing exactly where all your friends live in town, hanging out on the elementary school playground talking to your friends about life until 2am or to that drummer who's not so bright but makes up for it in looks. Driving to the lake in the middle of the night to pray or taking your friends camping in undesignated camping areas.
And now I am back in my nightgown, safely in my bed with my hot chocolate and the rest of my book to send me to sleep (slightly fearful that the cops will show up at my door in the morning). Midnight in a small town...... small adventures await.
Around 12 0'clock between chapters 20 and 21 I started thinking about this historical house nearby that I'd been wanting to visit. I thought about how cool it would be to take my book and finish it sitting on the porch in the cold night air.
So I got up and threw a hoodie and some jeans on over my nightgown. (Yes I am THAT lazy!). I grabbed a pair of argyle socks because everyone knows that if you are about to break the law or do something you might regret in the daylight, you should wear argyle socks. I took my keys, wallet, cellphone and my little red LED flashlight and slipped quietly out of the building to my waiting car.
I pulled up to this historical site quietly noting the surrounding houses. All the windows were dark. No witnesses. I promise there were no signs with hours posted but anyone that knows me well knows that I have a knack for being on government property when I'm not supposed to be. I got out of the car fearlessly and started to circle the building with my little flashlight (noting the sign advertising the security company proudly protecting the place). It was cold and mostly dark but, there it was, a rocking chair on the front porch, beckoning. I start reading my book on my way to the porch. I made it through the first paragraph and I hear it. "Click". I shine my flashlight in the windows. "Click." I look around. "Click, click, click."
That sealed it. I don't know for sure that it was the alarm going off but what I do know is that you can only commit so many felonies on government property before you get caught so I turned off my flashlight and ran back to the car. I didn't speed off in case any cops pulled up and thought I was driving suspiciously.
After driving off, heart racing, I felt like I was 5 again, running through the woods afraid of my own imagination. I decided to drive past the lake to watch the moon over the water. I realized a few minutes later I wasn't sure what road I was on until I realized I was on the road that takes you past the hospital, not the lake. I could have taken this as a bad omen but I decided to give it another shot. The moon was no where to be seen but the dark, inky blackness of the water reminded me of sitting on the shore in Belize, waiting for the sun to rise.
I stopped off at McDonalds when I made my way back to get some hot chocolate. Driving through town with my hot chocolate and the windows down and Taylor Swifts "Teardrops on my guitar" on repeat, I remembered the things I DID like about living in a small town. Going to Sonic at all hours of the night, knowing exactly where all your friends live in town, hanging out on the elementary school playground talking to your friends about life until 2am or to that drummer who's not so bright but makes up for it in looks. Driving to the lake in the middle of the night to pray or taking your friends camping in undesignated camping areas.
And now I am back in my nightgown, safely in my bed with my hot chocolate and the rest of my book to send me to sleep (slightly fearful that the cops will show up at my door in the morning). Midnight in a small town...... small adventures await.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sock Drawer
When you're finally alone, truly in the silence no TV or phone or friends or anyone, and not even your dog is around, you discover something unfortunate about yourself.
You are a stuffer. Your mind has become like an overloaded sock drawer with no matches. Like the overloaded sock drawer, there are one or two mismatched socks peeking out of the not fully shut drawer in the dresser that is your mind. You've been stuffing issues like you've been stuffing socks, telling yourself you will get to them later and later never comes.
There are at least two dressers in this apartment. Possibly more but I haven't explored all the closets yet (no knowing what may jump out at me, or what I may find). I generally only need two drawers and one drawer is holding my extra pillowcases. You know, in case of emergency. I decided that time alone is time enough to unload my overloaded sock drawer and neatly compartmentalize the issues I've been conveniently stuffing. The empty drawers will do nicely.
So I am changing. I'm giving myself some time laugh and time to cry over the mismatched socks that are my fears and hopes and worries and regrets. I'm matching the pairs and throwing out the odd ones, done hoping the match will show up one day (in other words, I'm done hoping I'll understand "why", I'm just letting go).
People, in general, fear to be alone for this very reason. But our overstuffed sock drawers make up the scaffolding of our lives. I think ignoring them prevents us from living fully. If Peter Pan has taught us anything it's that Living is an awfully big adventure.
So this week, I'm leaving the small town zombies and would be predators to each other. I am unpacking my sock drawer and making sense of life.
You are a stuffer. Your mind has become like an overloaded sock drawer with no matches. Like the overloaded sock drawer, there are one or two mismatched socks peeking out of the not fully shut drawer in the dresser that is your mind. You've been stuffing issues like you've been stuffing socks, telling yourself you will get to them later and later never comes.
There are at least two dressers in this apartment. Possibly more but I haven't explored all the closets yet (no knowing what may jump out at me, or what I may find). I generally only need two drawers and one drawer is holding my extra pillowcases. You know, in case of emergency. I decided that time alone is time enough to unload my overloaded sock drawer and neatly compartmentalize the issues I've been conveniently stuffing. The empty drawers will do nicely.
So I am changing. I'm giving myself some time laugh and time to cry over the mismatched socks that are my fears and hopes and worries and regrets. I'm matching the pairs and throwing out the odd ones, done hoping the match will show up one day (in other words, I'm done hoping I'll understand "why", I'm just letting go).
People, in general, fear to be alone for this very reason. But our overstuffed sock drawers make up the scaffolding of our lives. I think ignoring them prevents us from living fully. If Peter Pan has taught us anything it's that Living is an awfully big adventure.
So this week, I'm leaving the small town zombies and would be predators to each other. I am unpacking my sock drawer and making sense of life.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Fun In the Night
When I rented this apartment no one told me that everyone in the building had a hearing impairment but I discovered that was infact the case at 1:45 this morning. Were they not hearing impaired, they would have surely heard the incessant beeping coming from the hall. Maybe it was because I couldn't sleep, what with the drip drip dripping outside my windows and staying up to watch a reality show I am too ashamed to own up to, that's probably why I was the only one to hear it.
The beeping started off seeming really faint and then grew annoyingly louder with each passing second. So I wondered around the apartment trying to figure out what the sound was only to discover it was coming from outside my front door. The fire alarm box was beeping and flashing with a light that said "Trouble." I looked around to make sure I didn't see any smoke and wondered why I was the only one standing in the hall in my PJ's pushing the button that said trouble to see if it would help the situation. (turned out not to be a button after all.....).
I didn't know who to call but I hunted up the number to security and called them to report it. One of the two people on the phone might have been easily mistaken for being intoxicated...
Security: ___ security how can I help you?
Me: Yeth, I would like to report there is a giant box outhide my door that keepth beeping and thaying trouble, but thereth no fire (did I mention I still had my bite guard in when I called?)
Security: Have you been outside your apartment?
Me: Yeth but thereth no fire
Secutiry: No they've been going off, we'll send some one over. Are you in **** building?
Me: I'm in ***
Security: Yeah thats **** **** street right? Have you been outside of your apartment?
Me: I don't know where I am. Yeth I went outside. (why does she keep asking me that? Do they want me to go stand out there?)
Security:Ok were sending some one over now
So they came over sounding like the swat team, there were at least four of them and they were awfully chipper for 2:30 in the morning. The beeping ceased for a good 30 minutes and then it started back up again but they came back without another call from me. No one else in the building stirred. The beeping ceased allowing me to return my focus to drip drip dripping and the sighs that can only come from someone who knows that the hope of a good nights sleep is abandoned.
The beeping started off seeming really faint and then grew annoyingly louder with each passing second. So I wondered around the apartment trying to figure out what the sound was only to discover it was coming from outside my front door. The fire alarm box was beeping and flashing with a light that said "Trouble." I looked around to make sure I didn't see any smoke and wondered why I was the only one standing in the hall in my PJ's pushing the button that said trouble to see if it would help the situation. (turned out not to be a button after all.....).
I didn't know who to call but I hunted up the number to security and called them to report it. One of the two people on the phone might have been easily mistaken for being intoxicated...
Security: ___ security how can I help you?
Me: Yeth, I would like to report there is a giant box outhide my door that keepth beeping and thaying trouble, but thereth no fire (did I mention I still had my bite guard in when I called?)
Security: Have you been outside your apartment?
Me: Yeth but thereth no fire
Secutiry: No they've been going off, we'll send some one over. Are you in **** building?
Me: I'm in ***
Security: Yeah thats **** **** street right? Have you been outside of your apartment?
Me: I don't know where I am. Yeth I went outside. (why does she keep asking me that? Do they want me to go stand out there?)
Security:Ok were sending some one over now
So they came over sounding like the swat team, there were at least four of them and they were awfully chipper for 2:30 in the morning. The beeping ceased for a good 30 minutes and then it started back up again but they came back without another call from me. No one else in the building stirred. The beeping ceased allowing me to return my focus to drip drip dripping and the sighs that can only come from someone who knows that the hope of a good nights sleep is abandoned.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Missing Ingredients
Tonight I was reminded that you dont realize how much you miss somthing until you don't have it anymore.
I have no butter.
I was going to make pasta and meatballs for dinner , I was going to make black beans and rice and chicken. I was going to make freakin' toast when I got desperate!
Alas, there is no butter. I pondered the possibility of leaving to obtain said butter only to remember that if I leave this apartment I have to get gas immediatly. So to obtain butter I must put myself in imminet danger from small down zombies at the gas station AND the grocery store (and the only one open at this hour is Walmart). No Thank You!!
Instead, I opted to have a fiber one bar, some yogurt covered pretzels and mini cheese wheel. Yum!
If I got snowed in here I would definitely only make it three days and, unwilling to leave the comforts of my rented rooms for fear of the inevitable head injury after a fall on the ice, I would be found clinging to my last bag of popcorn hoping for somone to rescue me with a hot meal. Before I got married I used to eat popcorn for dinner and then I got married to a gourmet cook and things changed. Now that I'm riding solo a few days a week without my live-in chef, I worry that I won't be able to find the milk aisle, I wander around the store grasping at packages, fearful of buying anything that might get moldy because I can't conceptualize when food might go bad on my own.
The ice from the storm has decided to drain right outside my window so all I can hear is drip, drip , drip. When you're alone, there's no one to wake up and say "Do you hear that ?" to and them reply "It's nothing, go back to bed." It's just you in your little bed with growing confidence that it's the town strangler, coming for you.
I left my guitar at home thinking it would be a distraction. Maybe if I had brought it I could barter a song for some butter. I am VERY good at writing pointless songs. but then I would probably get a huge following and what with the crowds and the photos and the inevitable stalkers. It's not for me.
Reason #1 to never be alone - an overactive imagination.
I have no butter.
I was going to make pasta and meatballs for dinner , I was going to make black beans and rice and chicken. I was going to make freakin' toast when I got desperate!
Alas, there is no butter. I pondered the possibility of leaving to obtain said butter only to remember that if I leave this apartment I have to get gas immediatly. So to obtain butter I must put myself in imminet danger from small down zombies at the gas station AND the grocery store (and the only one open at this hour is Walmart). No Thank You!!
Instead, I opted to have a fiber one bar, some yogurt covered pretzels and mini cheese wheel. Yum!
If I got snowed in here I would definitely only make it three days and, unwilling to leave the comforts of my rented rooms for fear of the inevitable head injury after a fall on the ice, I would be found clinging to my last bag of popcorn hoping for somone to rescue me with a hot meal. Before I got married I used to eat popcorn for dinner and then I got married to a gourmet cook and things changed. Now that I'm riding solo a few days a week without my live-in chef, I worry that I won't be able to find the milk aisle, I wander around the store grasping at packages, fearful of buying anything that might get moldy because I can't conceptualize when food might go bad on my own.
The ice from the storm has decided to drain right outside my window so all I can hear is drip, drip , drip. When you're alone, there's no one to wake up and say "Do you hear that ?" to and them reply "It's nothing, go back to bed." It's just you in your little bed with growing confidence that it's the town strangler, coming for you.
I left my guitar at home thinking it would be a distraction. Maybe if I had brought it I could barter a song for some butter. I am VERY good at writing pointless songs. but then I would probably get a huge following and what with the crowds and the photos and the inevitable stalkers. It's not for me.
Reason #1 to never be alone - an overactive imagination.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
A less adventureous adventure
Apparently a hyper vigilance to small town predators comes with a price.
This morning, with hardly a minute to spare, I realized with horror that I forgot to purchase a tooth brush the night before. Granted, I should have realized that before I went to bed but I fell asleep watching"milliionare matchmaker" so my dental hygiene may have fallen to the wayside. Fail. There was no time to to run and buy one, I had exactly four minutes to be at my meeting across the street. I did the only thing I could. I grabbed three chewy mints with christmas trees on them off the fire place mantle and stuffed them in my mouth as fast as I could. I followed that with some significant gulps of water and finished up with gum. Equivalent to brushing? I think so.
Anyone who knows me well know that there are two things I could be considered obsessive about. 1. Checking my food for mold and 2. Personal hygiene. Summoning the courage the to face the world sans brushing my teeth was almost as bad as finding mold on a bagel when you've already eaten half of it.
The highlight of the day was a tie between the sandwhich I ate for lunch and walking in the rain to buy a toothbrush. Did I say adventures in being alone? How about pathetic graspings to fill up the quiet hours without sacrificing myself on the alter of reality tv.
It's times like these I regret my choice to not take up pipe-smoking.I always felt it would come in handy and bring a certain air of refinement. If I smoked a pipe I would sit in the blue arm chair by the fireplace that lit its last fire long ago and say "oh the pleasure of the pain, give me those lips again. Enough, enough. It is enough for me to dream of thee." Yes, Keats would do nicely.
Instead, I am watching sienfield on a TV that has some signficant deficits. The show appears to have been filmed in the dark after the entire cast fell asleep in a tanning booth. What is visible is partially blocked by the subtitles that are unreadable. Long black boxes appear across the bottom of the screen hinting of the subtitles that once were.
Another precious day of life ends at 8 O'Clock in a small town.
This morning, with hardly a minute to spare, I realized with horror that I forgot to purchase a tooth brush the night before. Granted, I should have realized that before I went to bed but I fell asleep watching"milliionare matchmaker" so my dental hygiene may have fallen to the wayside. Fail. There was no time to to run and buy one, I had exactly four minutes to be at my meeting across the street. I did the only thing I could. I grabbed three chewy mints with christmas trees on them off the fire place mantle and stuffed them in my mouth as fast as I could. I followed that with some significant gulps of water and finished up with gum. Equivalent to brushing? I think so.
Anyone who knows me well know that there are two things I could be considered obsessive about. 1. Checking my food for mold and 2. Personal hygiene. Summoning the courage the to face the world sans brushing my teeth was almost as bad as finding mold on a bagel when you've already eaten half of it.
The highlight of the day was a tie between the sandwhich I ate for lunch and walking in the rain to buy a toothbrush. Did I say adventures in being alone? How about pathetic graspings to fill up the quiet hours without sacrificing myself on the alter of reality tv.
It's times like these I regret my choice to not take up pipe-smoking.I always felt it would come in handy and bring a certain air of refinement. If I smoked a pipe I would sit in the blue arm chair by the fireplace that lit its last fire long ago and say "oh the pleasure of the pain, give me those lips again. Enough, enough. It is enough for me to dream of thee." Yes, Keats would do nicely.
Instead, I am watching sienfield on a TV that has some signficant deficits. The show appears to have been filmed in the dark after the entire cast fell asleep in a tanning booth. What is visible is partially blocked by the subtitles that are unreadable. Long black boxes appear across the bottom of the screen hinting of the subtitles that once were.
Another precious day of life ends at 8 O'Clock in a small town.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
First Night Frights
After dark ( which means 6pm), the population of small-town-grocery-shopping-men turns into a crowd of potential murderers/rapists/zombies. I do my best to avoid, snatching my cart of bagged groceries from the bag boy with a leery eye. I forgot to get batteries. Now I have to decide if I would rather risk my life with a potential zombie lurking around every aisle of the local walgreen's or if I am willing to walk back and forth to change the channel. Under the circumstances, I decide that grabbing a pack of AA's from a well lit store is worth the risk.
I was right.
The parking infront of my building is parallel. The day of regret for not learning to parrallel park had finally come. I summoned my superhuman strength to avoid multi trips to car. I double checked the trunk I left open to be sure no one, or no thing, had decided to climb in for the night. As I closed it shut, I realized that, inevitably, there was hooded youth walking toward me. Im pretty sure he was only texting as a way to disarm me. I grabbed the spoils of my quest and ran into a locked apartment.
So now there's one last goal to be reached. The last PHD application. Nothing is more frightening than trying to sell yourself to the highest bidder using 1,000 words or less. Minimize the borderline personality disorder (WHY WONT YOU LOVE ME!) without falling into to the narcissistic (I AM AWESOME!! ARE YOU TOO DUMB TO KNOW THAT?). Throw Paula Adul's "Live to Dance" in the mix and and you have a challenging two hours to write one paragraph. I'm pretty sure I just tried to convince GSU to let me dance for underserved populations to the tune of Pink's "Raise your glass."
The imaginary harms that are visable are far less frightening the ones that are real but exist only in the mind. There's nothing like being alone in a empty apartment to remind you that you are avoiding thinking some things out and no amount of Lifetime television can drown those out.
The scary part comes when everyone says goodnight online and your loved one calls to say he's heading to bed and you find that you are really alone. When that happens, you decide to write a blog at 10:50 at night to amuse yourself (and whoever else feels like avoiding whatever they actually have to do).
I could be working on thesis before bed, but then, I don't want to give myself nightmares. My only hope is that I fall asleep before I remember that my bed is beside two large windows, that my husband is flying to the other side of the country tommorow, that I have to turn in the next draft of my thesis on thursday and I kind of "forgot" to work on it over the break, that the feeling of missing somone isn't as strong as being dissapointed in them and that tommorow brings a whole new set of responsabilities and potential failures (also potential injuries).
Also, yesterday when I was pumping gas my heel got caught on the gas pump and I hit the side of my car face first.
Good night.
I was right.
The parking infront of my building is parallel. The day of regret for not learning to parrallel park had finally come. I summoned my superhuman strength to avoid multi trips to car. I double checked the trunk I left open to be sure no one, or no thing, had decided to climb in for the night. As I closed it shut, I realized that, inevitably, there was hooded youth walking toward me. Im pretty sure he was only texting as a way to disarm me. I grabbed the spoils of my quest and ran into a locked apartment.
So now there's one last goal to be reached. The last PHD application. Nothing is more frightening than trying to sell yourself to the highest bidder using 1,000 words or less. Minimize the borderline personality disorder (WHY WONT YOU LOVE ME!) without falling into to the narcissistic (I AM AWESOME!! ARE YOU TOO DUMB TO KNOW THAT?). Throw Paula Adul's "Live to Dance" in the mix and and you have a challenging two hours to write one paragraph. I'm pretty sure I just tried to convince GSU to let me dance for underserved populations to the tune of Pink's "Raise your glass."
The imaginary harms that are visable are far less frightening the ones that are real but exist only in the mind. There's nothing like being alone in a empty apartment to remind you that you are avoiding thinking some things out and no amount of Lifetime television can drown those out.
The scary part comes when everyone says goodnight online and your loved one calls to say he's heading to bed and you find that you are really alone. When that happens, you decide to write a blog at 10:50 at night to amuse yourself (and whoever else feels like avoiding whatever they actually have to do).
I could be working on thesis before bed, but then, I don't want to give myself nightmares. My only hope is that I fall asleep before I remember that my bed is beside two large windows, that my husband is flying to the other side of the country tommorow, that I have to turn in the next draft of my thesis on thursday and I kind of "forgot" to work on it over the break, that the feeling of missing somone isn't as strong as being dissapointed in them and that tommorow brings a whole new set of responsabilities and potential failures (also potential injuries).
Also, yesterday when I was pumping gas my heel got caught on the gas pump and I hit the side of my car face first.
Good night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)