25 cent crisis

I have been drinking wine, so if this is sort of jumbled, blame castell del remei and Seth. Here's the thought: there is more than just the midlife crisis. There's the quarter-life crisis. Around the early 20s (Say, 22 or 23) those who are college grads suddenly realize three things: (1) the real world does exist, (2) they are unwittingly a part of it, (3) the only way out of said sucky real world is to die, get rich, or go back to school. The latter two seem the only viable possibilities, since your student loans/credit card debt may be so high that you would get to heaven and the capital one guy would be standing there, making sure you don't get in until that sucker is paid off (or your parents would get the bill, see how high it is, and have heart-attacks themselves).
But seriously, where has all the motivation gone? Like there was a time when I would have 147 things to do in a day, and all would be done by 3am. Now I'll have 3 things to do, and I won't do any, but will stay up till 3am, just to make sure it still exists. It just doesn't seem worth it anymore. The only person watching is me; this is the first time in my life when the only person I really have to answer to is me. And frankly, I don't kick my own ass nearly enough. But regardless, it leaves me depressed to see how little I have accomplished in the short amount of time I've had. And what do I have on my agenda? Nothing. I got nothin'. Grrr. I guess this is the first big test of grown-up-hood: the concept of pulling yourself up by your boot-straps, merely because you know, regardless of the apathy and carelessness around you, that you can and will do bigger and greater things. Now if only I could find my boots...

Opening a Can('t) of worms

Long-term phsysical pain hits twofold: the first is the intial and obvious physical discomfort; the second is the perception of your abilities by your peers. Last night I went to a halloween party (I was Inspector Gadget, complete with the go-go-gadget arms, which were quite the hit I'll have you know) and a friend of mine, in telling a story, let it slip that she had gone kayaking the week before. Now her version of kayaking and mine are very different, but that is not the point. See, she had intentionally not told me, because she knew how much I loved the activity and how much I missed it. She also knew I was frustrated at my inability to do the activities that I love so much, so out of kindness she neglected to share with me her experience. However, her omission was double-edged. It made me feel blaringly and hopelessly handicapped; as if my disability was permanent and so the activities I may have enjoyed in my 'past life' were now unmentionables; like mentioning an upcoming marathon to a paralyzed runner. And it has made me all the more obvious of the activities I cannot do currently, and increases my dispair that I may not be able to do those things ever again. The pain will be terrible, but the limitations and perceptions may be the final blow. I don't want to walk around defeated, but I fear that's the direction my can'ts seem to be taking me.

"Do You Want to be a Polyester Bride?"

Ok so typically I wouldn't allow my blog to be a rant about anything seriously musical, because most of the time those people who do that need a good swift kick in the nuts for even delving that deeply into something, but today I feel like being that asshole so here I go.
First and foremost, I love Liz Phair. 'Exile in Guyville' is just awesome. It's not a collection of singles; it's an album. It's hard to pick out one song over another, because they all seem so connected. I mean clearly such standards as 'The Divorce Song' and 'F*ck and Run' are memorable, but it doesn't mean the rest of the album is soft. 'Whipsmart' is a decent followup with 'Supernova' and 'Cinco de Mayo' and I personally have been in love with 'Whitechocolatespaceegg' for the past few weeks for some strange reason. Anywho, being on such a Liz Phair kick, I decided to spit in the critics faces and pick up her new album. Hmm. I'm bummed. If you were to play 'find the singles' on this album, it'd be like trying to find pink Easter eggs in snow, or shooting fish in a barrel. It's that easy. Oh Liz...why? I mean seriously, do you really want to be Avril when you grow up, because the rest of the world knows it should be vice versa. You made one of the best debut albums of the past 25 years, and 10 years down the road you are working with people who call themselves 'The Matrix' making singles for pop radio stations. If it was about the money, you should have just sent a letter to previous fans that said, "Dear fans: I'm broke and if you don't' help me out, I'll release a pop-rock album like Avril." and you know what? I would have sent you my savings account. And we all know what a good songwriter you can be, you're wonderful. But this whole album is about you getting laid, trying to get laid, reminiscing about getting laid, being mad about not getting laid, having your son see you get laid, cheating on someone so that you could get laid, and anything else about getting laid that I haven't mentioned. It could have been called, "Help Liz get laid" and maybe then you could tie it in to a whole theme but come on now. At least before you could disguise it a bit. You even crossed the line into something only rappers and Craig David usually do in their songs: You mention yourself. "Your record collection don't exist/you don't even know who Liz Phair is..." Hon, THAT WAS PART OF YOUR APPEAL. You weren't as recognizable (and thus as dispensable) as the Celienes, Shanias, Sheryls (but she's another issue too), Avrils, Vanessa/Michelle Branches of the world. Of course we can't be too surprised; she did release the song, 'Shitloads of Money' on WCSE ("It's nice to be liked/but it's better by far to get paid...") so selling out did seem like the next logical step. And in her defense, Liz has never really sold herself as an ideological, indie queen a-la Ani DiFranco that she's been made out to be--she's always just been a gritty girl with guitar sorta thing.
WHY DID YOU SELL OUT LIZ, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, WHY???
See? I am that asshole. But at least I know it. Now I'm gonna go mope.

Nietzsche Must have Been a Sox Fan

So the other day I was repeating my most recent mantra, and no it's not "Anyone but the Yankees, Lord, anyone but the Yankees" but it is close. (Wait, let's dwell on that. What the crap is this? Both the Cubbies and my Sox can make it to the championship games and yet both can choke so we get 'World Series that 8 people outside of New York care about, round 42'? There is no hope for baseball. That's it, that was that aside. Expect more, I'm in a ranting mood)
Ok now my real mantra has totally been superseded by my sarcastic mantra and to really dwell on the topic I had envisioned is to need a drastic mood change. That being said, we shift. Serious faces, kiddies.
It is terribly arrogant to be angry as to where I am in my life. Think about it: If I believe that God is in control of my life (check), and if I believe that his plan will ultimately bring about the most happiness, success and joy in my life (that I do), THEN who am I to say that where he has me right now isn't just one step towards his ultimate goal in my life? Isn't it just preparing me for that next step? Shouldn't I be a bit excited to realize that I'm in prep? Well for one thing I'm happy to know if I am being prepped then I won't look like a total putz once he puts me where he'd have me go. But that kinda puts a damper on control freakishness, eh? So much for my plans. That is not to say that my reliance on the will and timing of God is to be complacent; rather it is to be sensitive to nudgings, and it is to accept those nudgings in faith, excitement and a bit of nervousness, but never fear. And also it's to have a positive and almost joyous outlook as to where God has me now; I finally understand why Paul was able to praise God while in prison: he couldn't see the whole picture of what was going to happen next but he was in a great one-on-one with the guy who could. And it's always nice to know that someone not only has your back, but your front--not just your present, but your future.
Is this bordering on cheesy faith? I dunno, but to me it seems so logical that the potential for cheesiness is totally lost. It now seems totally fine to openly admit that I do not (and never have) been able to tell my ass from my elbow and any success I have can most likely be attributed to others, to blind luck, and to my God above.

By the way: Nietzsche was the philosopher who first wrote, "God is dead" hence the title of this post. See you learn something new everyday.

Recollection

"Should the tears that always coming
Be for actions unrepented
Cause I know the burden placed on me
Is more rebellious than relented
So it is one more 4am
One more recollected
One more silly song that's
More fortune than reflected..."

What do I have to say today? What do I ever have to say--so much recollection that projection is forgotten. What did I want to be when i grew up? I wanted to be that girl: the fearless one, the well-traveled one, the confident one. But I'm not, and I reflect on this to such a degree that forward progression may be hindered. But I digress--
the story of my life.

The Sound(s) of Music

So there's only a few things in the world that excite me to such a degree that I lose sleep; music and God tend be the biggest ones. And cheese, but I digress. Tonight I went and saw Rose Polenzani in concert for the...oh...3rd time this year. It was the best Rose concert I've seen so far (out of 5 total...it might be 6, I can't remember right now) because she had an ensamble cast and seemed so relaxed and happy to be there...and Jammin' Java is such a cool place for shows. I've had the pleasure to spend time with her in the past, and I must say that her music is fantastic but I enjoyed her much more as a person, simply because there's an intensity to one-on-one conversation that cannot be mirrored in melody. Interactions wins out anyday against monologues. But she's kind of become a friend in passing, ya know? But again, I am way off track. It got me thinking about music in general, because of how emotionally high and exhausted I get after concerts. Music is such an unknown--I feel like exploring the depths to lyrics, melodies and harmonies is as much of an adventure as exploring the tombs of Egypt...even if what is being found resides within oneself. It requires such preciseness in some forms, but also contains the unpredictability and volitality that a stick of dynamite would add to the previous metaphor.
I myself write songs--not necessarily for any commerical success, but rather for the release of it. Some people exercise to release stress; I write songs. I should correct myself: I write lyrics. I am terrible at writing music. However my friend is good at that and terrible at lyrics, so we see the begining to a beautiful friendship. Last week I gave her a "few" songs to work with--I believe I ended up giving her something like 30 songs, but it just provides choices, right? Either way I'm adjusting slowing to someone else pouring over my words to the degree that I do--I never feel like a song is done so it's difficult to show a work in progress to someone. Regardless, I am rambling and there appears no end in sight.
Moral of the story: Music is in itself a great and powerful mystery, a Rose by any other name is a friend, and I'm a control freak even with my own creations.

Generation Why?

I wanted this blog to be about generational preparation by God--I was in a bible study tonight and we started reading Ruth and I was struck as to how much preparation by God went into Ruth and Boaz meeting and falling in love. How if Rahab hadn't helped the spies and thus been spared from the fall of Jericho then her son Boaz would have never met Ruth, for he would have never existed. If Ruth hadn't lost her huband and then decided to stay with her mother-in-law instead of her family for 10 years she too would have lost out. How much detail goes into the makings of the right moment and person! Have I ever even considered that what is directed or placed or decided now can have such a profound effect on my family; how much those decisions from 50 years ago can manifest themselves today?
But what has been in my head tonight is forgiveness. God can plan into the infinate future, but yet he is so good at forgetting the past. How am I to be like this? How am I to take the shortcomings, misundersandings and personality quirks of those I love and, with grace and patience, love them anyway? God has a standard that we are to live up to, yet he knows we cannot do it alone. Do I have a standard in my life that I hold others to, yet do not show mercy when they undoubtly fail?
Where are those decisions and directions in my life that I stumble over now, and only later will see the complete plan of he who made it so? I am at a loss for words, realizing that something as minute as my lovelife may have had generational preparation...and generational consequences.

You Have Two Hands For a Reason: A Women's Understanding of the Beauty of Multi-tasking.

Now one of my guy friends feels the need to constantly poke fun at a female's uncontrollable urge to multi-task; I find this entertaining, since he must halt all other activity (including breathing) in order to present such a comment. However i may walk, chew gum, flirt, fix my hair, check out the people around me and possibly hold a rather lively conversation, all while thinking of what I want for dinner. This is a beautiful thing. Life would be boring if I could not multi-task; it's the most productive sort of ADD out there. It may be a biological phenomonon how women may know where 4 kids, 2 pets and 1 husband are located, what is cooking at that moment, who's getting into what and still putting the finishing touches on that meal for the PTA bake sale. I mean multi-tasking should be an olympic sport.
Most men simply cannot multitask; if they are eating, there must be something there to remind their bodies to continue respiration, at least to some degree. The only time I have ever seen or even heard of a man multitasking involves the release of bodily functions. Men become wonders while on the john. They may talk on the phone, read a large novel, play a video game, brush their teeth, eat, it doesn't matter. They can do it all right there. I heard that LBJ used to bring his assistants into the bathroom with him, as he would make important decisions there (Does this explain the gulf of Tonkin Incident? who knows. Bad bowel movements can cause a bad day, but a major war, we cannot say.) Women multi-task everywhere else; this may explain why we tend to be worse drivers. Driving and multi-tasking are not a good mix. Mascara should not be applied while driving, nor should changing shirts, eating cereal, applying eye-liner, etc. Driving is not like cooking; if we take our eyes off of it for just a sec, it does matter. But I digress.
I am only a medicore multi-tasker; I tend to start 47 things at once, and forget about 46.5 of them so that my pants are half sewn, the laundary is half done, the pets are half-fed and i only picked up half the groceries. I will hone my skills. But seriously--if women ruled the world, so much more would get done b/c we can do it all at one time--congress would be passing laws, attending social balls and visiting foreign lands at the same time...just as long as they weren't driving.
(BTW i was multi-tasking while I was writing this, so if it's not rational or complete I apologize I was doing......

A Month of Sundays!

Well it's been quite a while, ain't it? My last post found me in Syracuse, eager to graduate from college and anticipating my summer spent in New Hampshire with the folks at Winni Kayak. Well here it be, the end o' August, and wouldn't you know it, I never made it to New Hampshire. After some serious cramming I somehow fit myself and (most) of my stuff into Roy the Raging Tempo and made the 7hr drive to Virginia, where I have promptly stayed ever since. My back problems have worsened to the point where standing and even sitting for a long period of time causes minor back spasms, and those just really aren't conducive to kayaking instruction. So suddenly my Summer of Too Many Opportunities turned into the Summer of Injured Reserve. Being back here--in my father's house, with fragments of my family around me--has brought joy and insight, but also so much frustration that I may need to rip my hair out before this expereince is over. I feel as if I'm being forced to learn a bit of patience, and I clearly do not have the attention span for such a lesson.
How else to summarize almost four months of activity? Idyllic. It was wine tours, bonfires, cowboy hats, concerts, movies, minigolf, dinners, stars, latenight walks, beers, brewery tours, shopping trips, books, guitars, songs, friends and rediscovery of those around me..some of whom have been standing there all along.
So what does this fall hold? Hopefully a fixed back and a fulltime job, but one need not be lofty at a time like this. Right now it holds a new guitar buddy, new friends in unexpected places, more concerts, and hopefully some definition in those who've stuck through the rodeo ride of my life.

Twenty-somethings

So I graduated from college this weekend. La De Frickin' Da. Now granted it is a huge event in my life, one that I will will forever recall with whimsy and fondness, but it is a college graduation; it's not like I won the Nobel Prize or something. I think that most of the events in the lives of 20-somethings are like this; they are incredibly interesting to those living them, but rubbing in the face of those who've already passed that age are long for the youth and vigor of those non-wrinkled, independent years. They always say, "Oh college and the years afterward are the best years of your life! Enjoy it while you can..." as if a man is going to ring my doorbell,shove a box of responsibility in my hand, and run away laughing as soon as I hit 30. I have no idea what they are talking about. I mean, a clue as to what I'm supposed to be doing with my life would be nice, as would the idea of a steady, non-seasonal income that does not involve food service or living in a tent.

Motha! Tell Your Children Not To Walk My Way

Yesterday my advisor came back from maternity leave to show off proudly what 9 months of serious bitching may produce. Her name is Katie; she's 11 days old and is an absolute mystery. The delicacy of her features; the size of her hands--it was as if she was too perfectly doll-like to possibly be real. It's amazing the instant love and affection we humans exhibit for the young of certain creatures, like puppies, kittens, cows, bunnies, lambs, etc. Soft, fuzzy delicate miniatures of the parents, so cute in such a way as to obviously show that they need our constant love and attention. But what got me most as I was sitting there, meeting Katie White for the first time, was the look on her mother's face. It completely floored me. As I sat there with the sleeping mass in my arms, Julie had this look of immense pride and unequivocal, unconditional love, a look I had never seen on her face. In that moment, around those women, I caught a bit of an insight into the mystery and power that women have in bearing children. For men, they do not go through a physical change to create this child, then afterward the marathon-run of the attempt to expunge the largest crap-like thing of your life; they do not have this random creature constantly attached to their chest for the next few months, as women do. They do something, then nine months later or so (long enough to forget it) this thing appears and then they have to do something about it. But this is not about knocking men, this is about childbirth. I guess I never realized that amazing initial connection between child and mother, and the burning love and pride that a mother has for her child. It's truly a secret club, one that no man could ever infiltrate, no matter his drive, for it is bound by an unspoken connection to that little alien creature that took over your body for a few months, punched you from the inside out and made your ankles swell.
I think I have a different opinion on mothers at this point--when does that pride and unconditional love fade into nagging and distrust? Probably around the stratosphere that is the early teens, I wager. In my own life, when did it go from that love to this distant casual behavior and disapproval? Motherhood is a great and worthy charge in life for any woman, unlike I have ever viewed it, I however never want to answer that call. I do not want my own children; I am just not the motherly type I guess. If I am happily married and get pregnant then I will keep it, but that decision does not come without its reservations about my abilities as a person and as a mother. The proverb, "Do not judge, lest you be judged" pops into mind when my own mothering comes to the forefront of a conversation. I fear that being so critical of my own mother's abilities has made me susceptible to my own pediatric critics.
And besides, I heard the yearly dues to stay in the motherhood club are KILLER.
Aunthood is soooo much cheaper, and the benefits package includes the "give them back to their mommies" clause.

100% Pure

Here's a notion that's been floating around a bit lately in the serpentine stream that is my thought process... Purity--it's something that I've been strangely desiring lately. Being callous and hardened is appealing at times, but the vunerability to be pure is so fascinatingly foreign that it is possible that it is a new desire, simply for curiousity's sake. Regardless, it's there.To be pure--what is it? My dictionary says it's "freedom from foreign admixture or deleterious matter, freedom from foulness or dirt, freedom from guilt or the defilement of sin; innocence; chastity; as, purity of heart or of life; freedom from any sinister or improper motives or views." Wow. Now I believe that every human is born with a sin nature; so in a way, even as a new infant one is not pure. They may be innocent, but not pure. I've always thought purity was something one lost, but I've come to understand that it is something to be gained. That is an amazing insight. It shouldn't be waxed in nostalgia as a portion of lives lost; it is a gift to be found--it's moving forward in your life. And it's rooted in freedom! It is not navite, or settling, or shackles like it is so often considered--"Oh if I'm pure I can't have fun, etc" but even the dictionary considers it freedom. Is it possible to be complex and pure? I dunno. This is just a jumble of thoughts--taken me 4 days to write this blog and it still makes no sense! Your thoughts?

Street Schwag!

So yesterday one of my personal heroes came to perform on campus, which was a dream come true, a total delight and otherwise an absolutely fantastic expereince. We took at walk for dinner and during that urban hike we came across a desk in a pile of garbage. Rose announced that she needed a desk, so we decided we should stash it for later. It was a perfectly good desk; why do people throw this stuff out? Makes no sense. Dumpster and dorm diving should be an olympic sport of sorts--it's kind of like that final challenge on "Double Dare" where the contestants had to rummage through those giant waffles to find the flags. It takes some tactic and planning, but is well worth it! I am dismayed that I can no longer dumpster dive this year, as I am the one discarding anything unnecessary, though I fear my garbage will not be as exciting. I question the understanding of the energy that goes into those objects that are so easily discarded; value has ties to investments in time, love and money. If it's setimental value it's love, if it's a personal craft it's time, if it's a purchase it's money. Regardless, I cannot fathom what possesses an individual to throw out such easily sellable thing. Laziness I guess. Stupid people.

A Fresh Face

Amelia is the person I am closest to from my high school days. She is much, much more insightful and wise than I; she is graceful, funny, humble and compassionate. I envy her immensely. We've only seen each other a handful of times in the past two years, the last time being at her wedding last May. We communicate though email. The only benefit of this is that I have four years of correspondence saved in one folder--it's fascinating to see our growth over that span of time; track from one August to another to another; from one crisis to another. Anyway, I'm off topic. (The story of my life!)
Today I got an email from her that was a response to my elated "We made it!" signature to my last email--she asked if I meant as individuals or as friends. It harkens back to all these tidbits of memories over the past few years, and how much we didn't know then and how little we know now. But how that little that we know is serving as a base to whatever we are supposed to learn in 5 minutes, in a week, in 5 years. Too often I look back and shake my head at my naivte; will I ever cease this practice? Such distain for my reactions to daily trials!
Amelia pointed out one thing that got me--we know so little about the immediate future or about how it will end; we can only know how we will live it. Being Easter sunday I have thought a lot about this--how the duration of time on earth isn't half as important as the quality done. That observation gives me some peace about where I will be in less than a month--regardless of what I cannot control that is to come, I can consciously control how I will face it.

The Math of the Mustard Seed

Hebrews 11:1 says, "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen." (NKJV). In other words, it's being sure of what's hoped for and certain of what we can't see (NIV paraphrase). Now I'm not going on a biblical tyrade, this is just a thought that probably stems from too much time reading way into bibilical verses. My senior thesis is searching for a biblical basis for an environmental ethic, and what surprises me is how much this one verse can be tantamount to so many less-religious environmental beliefs.
Environmental ethics, and even the environmental movement in general, is rooted in the idea that one individual has the ability to make a difference--that the impact of an individual's choices can be felt on an almost worldwide scale. After all, why bother fighting for something if there is no belief that one's own voice or own action holds no power? In Matthew 17:20 Jesus says, "If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can say to that mountain, Move from here to there' and it will move," (NIV). It is the idea that a small amount can do great things, and it is the exact idea that the environmental movement grasps so tightly. Is this concrete evidence that Christianity has the best enviornmental ethic? By no means. What it does suggest though is that faith is not just a spiritual notion, but a lifestyle change. It is the basis for protests, civil disobedience, petitions, volunteerism and personal recycling efforts, in addition to whatever spiritual decisions are to be addressed. I do not think faith is given the credit it deserves; it is something that is not discussed to the degree it should be. Faith holds power, hope holds promise, and when added to passion, will create something unstoppable.

Words Worth.

An interesting question was rhetorically posed to me the other day: Is there anything that simply isn't worth it? I immediately answered yes. My friend looked at me, smiled and said, "What?" And so I thought, again such a dangerous activity to provoke...it all depends on one's personal definition of worth. Is it furtherment in one's life, either socially, emotionally, physically or monetarily? Is it improving the standing of an object or individual? Is it both? Neither?
If I count worth as experience, then yes there is very little that just "isn't worth it," when experience is defined as gaining a better understanding of oneself and the world surrounding them. Every interaction, be it for the better or for the worse, has the ability to teach us something about ourselves, our actions, our interpretations, the way we love, etc. So just about anything we do can fall into the category of being "worth it" because, as hindsight increases, the full implications of that action/interaction becomes more clear.
But what if worth isn't just experience, but experience with purpose, like committing to something knowing full well what the consequences or outcomes are going to be? If that idea holds true then mistakes can never garner enough value to ever warrant being considered worth it; a flub and the consequences of it are totally random and thus whatever worth they may have was just a random byproduct. In that case, hardly anything is worth it.
Regardless, I'm still milling my way through this idea: what in my life was simply not worth it? If by denouncing the worth of whatever experiences fall into that category, am I condemning myself by not being content with where I am currently? Obviously those experiences had some sort of influence on me; am I rejecting that impact? Ugh this makes my head hurt. Going to go play outside, and live to not regret it later.

Much Obliged

I was talking to a dear friend of mine today who was expressing frustration over a current realtionship; I echoed with problems with friends and discovered our mutual predicament. More then failure, more then lonliness, more then scandal, more then almost anything--the one thing I do not want to ever be is an obligation to another person. I don't want to be the relationship that exists because it always has, I don't want to be the friend I hang around with simply beause I'm too tired to meet anyone else. I don't think there are too many people in the world who stand up and say, "Oooh ooh can I be an obligation, PA-LEEZE???" and so I see no overarching need to discuss such a topic ad nauseam; however my inner monologue is bursting forth in such a form that I cannot quell it unless it can be captured elsewhere, and that elsewhere is here. If it's boring, skip to the next one.
ANYWAY---
When a close friendship/relationship gets to that rocky time when it seems that the option to go or stay much be weighed carefully, what makes someone stay when it is clear that they should let go? Is it their own fear, or is it their percieved obligation for that other person? Perceived obligations can rapidly become wellsprings for the ego. Is that other person "too weak" to take the news? "Too broken" to heal from another wound? "Too needy" to be able to let go? "Too angry" to ever take it constructively? Regardless of the reason, it is more damaging to stay and ride it out till its last breath than it is to give up the ghost and walk away with a bit of the empathy still intact. Bitterness is more the jagged pill to swallow then honesty ever will be. But then again, when should one stick it out, tough up and stay? How does one distinguish? Can the problems be talked out, or are they best left unsaid, untouched and unopened, filed into the Archives of What Could Have Been? I don't know, but I do know that clarity brings to light the burdens we so often did not consider ourselves obliged to carry.

Heaven??

Today walking home from taps week i dropped a quarter. "A quarter from heaven!" My friend joked. I cynically shot back, "It's a quarter from my F$@kin' pocket, there is no heaven, goodnight." and marched into my house, my cynisim driving the wheels of my geography. When did I start to think this way? I know there is a heaven; each day I regard such a place and such a proper noun with regard and reverance...yet lately I begin each day with a plea for purpose--for a reason to get up, for a task to be completed, for anything. Each day is a floating island, not admonishing or encouraging, merely pulsating. I am so tired. I have job offers; I am a lucky one. But my job offers are not in careers, merely enjoyments. They will be sick of me, be rid of me and be erased of me within two years, I shall bet money on it. I am a two year type of person--people find me delightful for the first 24 months, then disgusting for the 24 after that. It's just the way my life has panned out; I have no reason why. I want so desprately to know heaven--to know what is expected, what is desired and what is directed; but no words come. I am alone in this regard. And I am tired to the point that denouncing seems more reasonale then defense. Not a good situation to be in!
I shall write more when my head is attached---

1,000 Steps (4.3.03)

The first time I was here
18 turns and we just saw "Deliverance"
And we walked
I didn't know where
He did--he was older
Older and wiser
I was Doe-eyed
So proud of it--oysters everywhere
But the lights seemed so optimistic
Like flight was expected
If you could just clear the trees.
The second time I was here
We'd lost our one token friend
Who should have been a block away
But wasn't.
And no arms held on
I knew where I was
Cause I was older
But he wasn't.
The third time I was here
With a man I could not love
I don't know why
But that night sky
Speckled snow with suggestion
of reflection
Like my memory--
Not wise, just going
Like 1,000 steps to the daily trek
Of 1,000 know-it-alls
That I somehow bypass.
The fourth time I was here
I am now
Not 22 and still no deliverance
And I pace
To I don't know why
I'm not--but I am--older
Jaded
Squinty, shifty and still more trusting
Then four years could have seen
And so ashamed
I'd lie to gain just a bit
of that doe-eyed back
But the lights still seem oh so optimistic
Like flight was expected
If I could just clear these trees
But how far are the trees west of here?
I crush out my 3rd smoke
(and I don't smoke)
Cause it is always me
I didn't clear the trees.
And I never said goodbye
I couldn't love him back
And now I'll never cross
the Continental Divide
with you.
1,000 steps to the daily trek
Of knowing nothing at all
About me.

You Suck!

So today's thought...I absolutely hate being terrible at things. Most people would agree with me on this, except those who may be machoistic or just weird but they are another subject entirely. I just cannot stand to be a rank beginner in anything, and it's to the point where I'd almost rather not participate or try the activity then face my inabilities/inexperience with it. This came to the forefront last weekend when I attempted snowboarding for the first time (a hilarious event, rest assured. My knees and butt will never be the same). I became so frustrated at one point that I was seriously ready to quit--not because I was not enjoying myself when I was successful, but because I was so tired of not being good at it. My friends (all of whom were rank amaturs with me) and I started taking about it. When did this loathing of beginner-hood set in? When did I go from eagerly attempting (and failing) countless times to this belief that if I am not naturally the best at it then I should not be doing it? Lord knows that if I ever had to learn something complicated like riding a bike now I never would get it, much less walking. I think about guitar, an instrument I have been playing for almost ten years (!). I sucked at guitar, I mean royally sucked for a solid three years. And I'm still not the best but I can find my way around it. What motivated me to stick with it, and where is that motivation now? Are we as a people so absorbed in our own accomplishments that to yield to beginner-hood often loses out to voluntary ignorance? Yup. I am. And it's something I want to consciously lose. I want to be fantastic at sucking. I want to fall on my ass, crash into the tree, wet exit a ton, miss a power chord, hit the wrong note, translate incorrectly and basically embarass myself so that I may one day glide down the mountain, fly over the tree, get that roll, nail that power chord, find that perfect note and have that lively conversation in another language. If we are to be like children, then we must understand that being a master at something is not natural. Sucking is natural. This is gonna hurt right now, but it'll be great later.

A Wider Lens

So control freakishnes...still on that topic. This characteristic in me may be my biggest weakness when it comes to relationships, because of the tie in between control and vunerability. The dreaded V word! I had a conversation with a friend of mine the other day about broken relationships--regardless if they are with a significant other, a friend or family they have one underlying thing in common--they can all teach you something about yourself that you could not have learned from any other person at any other time. It's a unique and extremely personal lesson and thus seems almost worth the pain such breakups saturate upon an individual's psyche. I should be quick to note that such insights into those more subtle of life's lessons are not immediate--rather, time filters emotion into objectivity. I firmly agree with my friend--that each relationship has a personal lesson to teach and a potential path to effect growth--and that growth can be positive or negative. Do I fear relationships? A bit yes. Do I desire a relationship? I don't know. I guess. I'm not burning in anticipation and the timing is off, so it's the perfect time to fall for someone. I will remain on my course and see what pops up--and in the meantime keep learning from those who are around me.

awwww FREAKOUT!

My best friend divulged a major observative revelation she had seen in me today: I am a major control freak. I know those of you who know me well are thinking, "Well...YEAH. DUH." but bear with me. She explained her reasoning for that conclusion and for the most part I wholeheartedly agreed (and chuckled). However I want to say that the reason I am the way that I am is not because I am a product of a certain family environment or hostile experience but rather that it is part of my personality--it is nature rather than nuture. But then I think about that desired influence and think, "Is that just another characteristic of my control freakish nature, or do I acutally believe that? Is it both?" I wish I could pinpoint the watershed of control in my life, but I cannot. It seems to deep and vast to possibly trace back to its source!
But I enjoy my control freak character--it fits me well, and does me well. It looks good on a resume, tends to leave a pretty positive first impression and gets me places on time. It's given me my hobbies, my collections, my tastes and my humor--it has done me well in all realms but the relationship department. There is where it needs to back off and let whomever is behind that fortress step out and brave that portion of the world. I am not there yet, so I am single. What will it take? I don't know now, but I sure hope I will.

Cold as Ice

A thought for the day: The subzero artic is considered a desert because of how little precipitation falls each year; it gets the same as places like the African Sahara. The amount of usable water is so limited, however the land is located under multiple feet of ice and snow. Acutal land is buried under these feet upon feet of frozen water! It has an overwhelming source of forms of the valuable water, but it (the climate and megafauna, etc--the ecology) does not have the resources to access that source in a way that would be usable. Because that ability is not there, that source is deemed virtually useless. How many times do I feel like that? That I may have the resources, talent or ability to do something, achieve something or try something, yet I lack the ability to access that resource is a useful way. Does personal fear work to hamper my use? Probably. But I'm waiting for my heatwave to come along. Or must I start it on my own? Bust out of my own ozone and melt out what I could be? I know I left an aerosol can of CFCs around here somewhere...

"I Know What Kind of Love This is..."

My Valentine's day was nearly perfect...and I am single. Now Valentine's day for us single folks usually falls under such endearing titles such as "Black Friday", or "Singles Awareness Day" but this year the day seemed entirely different. It was not a time for self-consciousess to the point of paranoia or an atmosphere of lonliness to hang unbearably heavy on my shoulders. Rather, it was fun. I had to be at work at 7:30am w/Margie and Caroline, and working with two of my favorite people can make even Friday mornings enjoyable. Then I run to the writing center to work for a bit, then to the Symposium on teaching and learning with a roundtable discussion with various department heads, professors and grad students. Beneficial for me to see and experience. Then a meeting with Leah and Caroline for a workshop we are teaching--that was fun because Leah is in a new relationship and its still at the cute and elated phase, so the dozen roses in her office sent all of us into a tizzy. Headed home to pack for the weekend trip when Caroline asks if I own a blender. This question sprials into Dylan, Caroline and I (the ultimate non-sexual trio--I mean with each other we are non-sexual) heading to Johnny's for a large pizza then back to Caroline's for what turned out to be maple whiskey milkshakes, which tasted a bit like Kaluaha. We had one each and left there feeling full and happy. Then it was time for the Vagina Monologues at SU. We ran into several friends and had quite a large, rowdy group of us in the middle back. Reading the pamphlet Caroline and I discover our mutual friend Sam is also in the monologues, an observation that delights me greatly--I haven't seen her in almost a year. The lights go down and the play begins. It was wonderful--I'm not typically a huge vagina discusser, but it did elicit various emotions, of which sheer delight was the most prevelant. Highly recommended, to women and men alike. Afterwards I went home, finished packing and went to sleep.
What Valentime's Day did was show how much I value the time I have with my friends here. Instead of spending it with just one person who mattered I got a slew of those I simply adore, and that was a blessing. I got a Valentine's Day card from my father, and it almost brought me to tears. He sends me one each year and that little gesture means the world to me, it's amazing to hear or see that someones loves you, and to actually know that its totally true. I am a daddy's girl, through and through.

The Frustrations of Being Human

Romans 7:15,18 says "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do (follow that?)...I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out." I guess recently I have fully felt the frustrations of being human--of messing up, of embarassing myself, of miscommunication, of other people's shortcomings, of setting a standard in your life that you could never reach on your own--on my own. Again and again this struggle arises, and again and again I seem to stumble and fall over it. Situations I have not properly dealt with in the past pop up again--and again I realize how much my heart and actions seem to conflict. So much recent stuff reminds me of struggles and fights with my parents and so my reaction wants to be eerily similar. It cannot be, and it terrifies me how it reverts back there so easily--I feel almost like a trapped 16 year-old, and fight or flight takes over.
In recent times my religious beliefs have been slandered by others who wanted to incite something in me (it worked), and only in hindsight did I realize what a testament that was--they knew it was important enough to me in my life and was big enough to bother them that they verbalized that! wow! that's almost awesome! It caused an ephiany--thoughout college I've felt pressured to be as complacent and quiet about what I believed, for fear that I may offend others with my personal expressions (by this I do not mean soapbox tirades, but small expressions like verses in my AIM profile...minor things here) so they have laid dormant for the sake of acceptance and peace. And that dormacy is not quietly standing for something but in a way it's claiming to stand for nothing. It's fear. And I've realized that if I will stand up when my God is mocked outright, why will I not speak up when he is belittled in daily conversation? I dunno. I am human, and that pisses the heck out of me more often than not. "But for the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace in me was not without effect." -1 Cor. 15:10

Integral Integrity?

Webster's dictionary describes integrity as, "fidelity to moral principles; honesty." It essentially has its ties in honor, which is the idea that there is fidelity tied to principles or obligations, or being noble, upright and truthful. So again, its based in honesty.In high school history all of our assignments had to be completed with a complete honor pledge on them, stating that by us signing it we we had done our own work and had not cheated--our signature was a symbol of our honor. And that meant something. I guess I've just assumed that most people have a high level of personal integrity, at least the people that I know, but have recently discovered there to be many who view integrity or honesty as optional qualities that should only present themselves in those situations of personal betterment, and that is not integrity at all. But what is someone if they have no integrity? How do they have any self-worth if they prove countless times that they do not have personal standards of self? It's downright pathetic; a person is worth very little to others if they have not integrity. They are a shell, a body for actions and not for compassion, they are the ability to speak but not communicate, the mind to think but not to feel; a cold and hopeless form. I pray I may always retain my integrity--I may lose my temper, may regret many things, but yet I still may have my honor, for I was honest about it all. And for me, that makes me ok. What about you? Have you your honor, or do you think that an ancient relic of another time when "my name is my honor" meant something? If your name--your word, your signature, whatever you like--if that is not held to your own standard, what are you held by? Nothing. You are full of nothing if you are not secure in that.

"...to the Whorehouse!"

I know I know that sounds bad, but it's not what you think! Today was a loooooooong-A day: covered a shift at the Gallery from 7:30-11:30, worked in the writing center from 11:30-1:30, committee meeting from 2-4:30, then to the library to study till 6:30 or so, when Caroline walked in and sat down. I welcomed the distraction from the excitement of the innerworkings of the National Environmental Poilicy Act and we talked a bit and determined both of us had one of those mediocre days. At that moment we decided we needed an emergency trip to the Spaghetti Whorehouse (Warehouse, but who wants to be normal?) for some spinach and artichoke dip, a bottle o' wine and lots and lots of good food. So that's what we did. I am in pain from eating so much! We split a bottle of red wine, two loaves of bread and the dip, and I myself had a large salad, a bowl of seafood pasta, a slice of cheesecake and a large water as well. It was beautiful. Just another night with a good friend and a good conversation at the Whorehouse.

On a completely separate note...one of my ex-boyfriends and I have kept in pretty good contact since thanksgiving or so, and it's been benefical b/c he's had some family problems. We were friends for a long time before we dated, so I was kind of privy to all the background of situations that still exist--just kind of the history that exists between people. Well I sway as to whether exes can be close friends--is it possible? I don't know. We tried once and it failed terribly. But now? Who knows, I hope so. We do care deeply for each other as people, and I value his input. I may go out to see him for a day or so this spring, i just need to make sure those lines are definite the whole time. I am resolutely single this spring--it's not a validation for being single, rather it's a chosen lifestyle right now. Too many other things happening/changing/growing/ending that to try and get involved in anything seems utterly pointless. I already have too much on my plate! Either way, this situation with my ex boils down to the premise of the wonderful movie "When Harry Met Sally": is it possible for men and women to be just friends? My question is is it possible to go back to being friends?

Behind Closed Doors

On a much more childish and selfish level....my five housemates and I had a 'house meeting' tonight, our third in the four semesters we've been living together--we tend to get along fine, with no real reason to meet. However, this time four of my housemates were calling the meeting because they had already decided we were having a party, set a date and started inviting people well before they felt inclined to let the other two of us know about it, because they knew that Katie and I were opposed to the notion. In fact, two years ago when we signed the lease, we signed on the condition that there be no big parties in the house--we wanted a nice house that didn't reak of beer, a notion that the other housemates echoed. Jump to two years later and there we were, sitting in the living room, making an agreement about what could and could not happen at said party, which was already happening being that people were already invited. I was livid about them going behind our backs--I'd had a higher opinion of them than that; it was surprising and disappointing. And I admit, I definately started to lose my temper with one of my housemates, but hardly got bad about it. So the compromises were set, the meeting was over and we went to respective rooms, until the four party-throwers were suddenly all in one room, behind a closed door speaking in hushed tones. I did not desire to listen in, but what I heard in passing was enough to know that I was happy I didn't hear the rest. Personal attacks just seem to come in waves, don't they? And I struggle with my reaction to it--maturity says, "Don't let it get to you, just watch what you say, who you say it to and wait it out--you'll be out of the house in 90-some odd days. Till then, keep to yourself, don't put yourself out there for them, don't trust 'em, just ride it out." but my more childish side wants to go out, start a fight and play mean, drag it out, etc. Be snappy, sassy, bitchy and generally very much the angry female. I have a terrible ability to rip people apart with words, a talent I struggle to control. The bridges are there for the burning, ya know?
I guess I'm more hurt and surprised--it's a wound to the pride for sure, a wound to friendships and a wound to trust. It's these times when I remembering the "honor one another above yourselves' and the "better to be a nobody and have a servant than pretend to be a somebody and have no food." but where the rubber meets the road I struggle to put them into practice. I guess that's my prayer this week--that I will be able to approach this in a more mature way than it's being presented from the other side. Whew. A daunting task.

Not Again

On January 28th, 1986 I was a few months shy of my fifth birthday, being babysat by my friend Timmy's mom. This is the only real memory I have of my stay at Timmy's or of his mom, or even who Timmy even was. We were watching the Space Shuttle launch, the great and powerful Challenger lift off the platform with the two booster rockets and the huge Orange fuel tank attached. Then it suddenly was gone. Like that. Gone. And even at four years old I understood what that meant, what had happened, who was gone. It was the pretty teacher with the brown hair and big smile. It's seventeen years later and it is one of my earliest and most vivid memories. Then yesterday, it seemed repeated. Columbia, the flagship, the old reliable shuttle, was gone. It went from the majestic black and white space traveler I've watched in awe my whole life to a cloud of multicolored dust particles on a NOAA radar screen. How?
In elementary school it was drilled into our heads just how special and amazing the space shuttles were. The space shuttle program was started a year before I was born, so in a way we grew up together. I remember watching Discovery take off in 1988, the next launch after the Challenger disaster of two years prior. I remember when NASA had the "name the shuttle contest" for students all over the US (I did submit a name but I don't remember what it was) and thus Endeavor was born. I remember watching the "the training of an astronaut" movie reel in school. I had the patches, I had the space suit, I had the models, the Lego kit, everything. I never wanted to be an astronaut but I sure did want to know one. It was idealistic, it was pride, it was adventure, it was wonder, it was beyond comprehension--and it was a part of what made me who I am. It was saying not only wonders about the US or about science, but wonders about humans in general that we could send these explorers into the heavens and have them touch down again.
But Columbia, 39 miles over Texas? Where did it go? How did they let it happen again?

Cognitive Crossroads

When I went back to Virginia for Christmas I was amazed to discover that my baby sister was calling me on the phone, wanting to 'hang out.' It was difficult for me to fathom that my little Katie was capable of making conversations, decisions, jokes and discussions. She's nine, but I have such a clear memory of her being born, of changing her diapers and watching her take her first steps that to see her concerned with her style of clothing (Old Navy) or with the music she likes (apparently a Beatles fan) blows my mind and fills me with pride. It's kind of strange realizing that yes, she is a cognitive human being instead of a reacting child! Yet I worry about her daily. Will she make the right choices? When the time comes to choose rebellion in success or in destruction, which path will she take? The other four of us took vastly different roads to get where we are; I pray she takes the most positive one. I want to be a big sister that she is close to, but being seven hours away for the past four years has put a major damper on the time I do get to spend with her--she grows and learns and changes and chooses and I am away, blind to the metamorphasis. It has an impact on where I want to go when I graduate. If I am far, am I able to be there for Katie when she needs me? And knowing how middle school is reassures me that yes she will need me soon...I do not want to sacrifice my dreams and ambitions, however I have a sister that may need my physical presence to be just a local call away. I don't know.

Standing Correct or the Best out of n?

In my communications workshop on friday my professor gave us a sitation. "Suppose that you are in a relationship," he said. " and suppose that you really liked this person and one day you asked them, if you were their best decision or the correct one. Which would you want to hear them say?" Hmm...toughie. I immediately wanted to say "why the best decision of course!" but then I realized I needed definitions before I could make a decision--what was the difference between best decisions and correct ones? I guess to me a correct decision suggests a finite outcome--either A or B, not degrees of it. You are either correct, or you are incorrect. That simple. Best decisions, however, are on a spectrum; there are varying degrees of A, B and endless others. But what would I rather be: the cut and dried correct one, or the best out of a possible pool? To me, best suggests that the search continues--that I could be correct for now, but I'm not Correct (as in The correct one). I never want to be in a committed relationship where I am the right now and not the right one. However to be the correct decision suggests that it is all logic that brings my significant other to that point--that rationally I make sense, but emotionally I may be subpar. Reminds me a bit of arranged marriages--it might be the correct choice for that woman to make when thinking of her family, her future, etc but does not leave room for the decisions or inputs the heart might suggest. Not that I ever listen to my heart when it does speak up, but that is a sidetrack. So would I rather be a correct decision or a best one? I don't plan to settle until I'm both. Just because I'm not searching now doesn't mean that I'm not going to settle at some time. What would you want to be? How do you decide? I am a logic person--a "correct decision" type of person, and it has protected me numerous times and brought me safely to happiness. But that is what it has been: safe. And ultimately, extreme safety brings the feeling of regret. Just a thought.

Repressing our Oppression

In conjunction with Diversity week at SU/ESF the Office of Residence Life put on a program called "The Tunnel of Oppression". My advisor got tickets and I hesitantly signed up to go. I've heard it all before,ya know? How could I learn anything--it's probably the same message I have heard over and over. We met on campus and walked over to SU's student center and waited our turn.
I cannot describe what the tunnel of oppression is--I can only say that it had a profound effect on my own counsciousness in dealing with others. The group was taken though the presentation by a guide, who stopped us at various points to witness powerful scenes acted out by students, or seen on video screens. I am not usually effected by such things, but it rendered each of us speechless.The thing that got me about those portrayed in the monologues was that each one felt totally alone in the situations that they were stuck in--each lacked the hope (or maybe the energy) to fight, probably because it was sucked out of them. I guess it makes me see how more and more people need God's love, as cheesy as that sounds. They need unconditional love to be real in their lives; I need it to be real in mine. Dunno...still processing. I highly recommend it to anyone who can go. Afterwards a few of us went down to Marshall St. for pizza, and got to talking about how we were raised, what we were taught, etc. I realize more and more how vastly different those raised in NY are from myself, raised in a family that believes itself to be much farther south than it currently is geographically. A surprising day that brought more thought at its end then seemed possible at its beginning.

"We Smart Enough to be Bored?"

There used to be an old 'Ren and Stimpy' skit where one cowboy says, "I'm bored" to which the other responds "You smart enough to be bored?" and I have been thinking about that lately--are we? Are we smart enough to know when we are no longer entertaining ourselves but rather just following an old routine or an old habit? Do we have the consciousness to make such a decision? I think it takes a concerted effort, no doubt. I guess this has come to the forefront of my thoughts because of the repetetion of weekend activities in college. No one ever seems to do anything new or interesting. There are always keg parties with the same bad beer, same games of beer pong, same songs on the stereo, same drunken conversations; same outcomes to the same actions. Rare are the students who dare to challenge that with alternative avenues. I had a good friend who lived near me last year who was fantastic at it; she knew where all the local artists/bands were playing, knew all the people downtown and elsewhere and could make the weekends a time for exploring rather then for complacency. Now I know many feel that the parties are always entertaining and always different but I can almost guarentee that they are either a junior or younger and that they are most certainly under 21. Not to be elitest, but by the fourth year of it the redudency becomes sickenly obvious and the option to go elsewhere under the might of 21 has its draws.
So why aren't people going elsewhere? Why aren't more students finding the open mikes, the tiny karaoke bars, the blues bands in smokey bars, the traveling troubadours at the coffee houses? Laziness? Fear? I don't know. Maybe it takes too much energy to search out the fun rather than take what's spoon fed. I just don't want to regret missing all the facinating opportunities that this place might have to offer because I was simply too caught up in the little shallow song and dance of the rager scene.

Walkin' After Midnight

Wow I haven't posted in a while! Happy new year! Been too busy getting the flu right after returning from the Lynchburg trip, New Years plans (went out with my dear friend Seth, we had a wompin' good time with the adults--cuban cigars, good champagne, fun games, a VT bowl win, etc), last minute visits with friends/family, then finally the trip back up to the frozen wasteland of Syr, pre-class prep, winter orientation help, one wild night at a local karaoke bar ( I got to sing Patsy Cline's "Walkin After Midnight" right before I did a duet on Salt-N-Pepa's "Whadda Man" talk about a jump in genres!!) and now classes. Took my mother and my 9-year old sister caving--that was interesting. It seems my relationship with my mother will always be tense and rocky, something I've learned to accept.~~~
Well it's my last semester of college, a notion that is both fantastic and frightening. We will see how it goes! Well I hope. Anyway, it's 14 degrees out, my bed is warm and I am tired! I will post a more developed blog later!!