The Bee

Yup.  The busy one.

It's that time again.  Oh, yes, honey.  That time when the candle starts burning at both ends.  How dare I be this calm?  I should be freaking out . . . frantically writing proposals and bibliographies and stuff.  I mean, I'm going to eventually have to hunker down and grind it out, and it's not going to be fun, but, hey.  This is the fourth time I've done this.  And the last time.  At least as far as classes are concerned.  The scrambled egg thoughts in my brain:

1. Cuba.

2. Reading lists for comps.

3. What the heck am I going to do this summer after I get back from Cuba?

4. A history paper that is going to kick my tail (for a rather dashing Puerto Rican professor).

5. My veggie babies.  I went to visit them today to plantwateringcanfeed them.  I have to supplement their rainfeeding with the watering can.

6. How much I hate it when people know my name but I don't remember theirs.  It's happened to me several times this week, and it makes me feel awful.

7. The gorgeous weather.  Stay like this forever!

8. And . . . (well . . . ) a guy.  Sort of.  He remains, for all intents and purposes, in the friend zone, but he's been slowly inching a little toe over the line.  And I'm fine with that rate, for now.  And that's all I will ever say about that unless something changes.  I've learned my lesson about overblogsharing.  Yezzir.

(Sigh.) Back to the grind.

Prophet

I need to be reading The Suns of Independence right now, but I'm going to take a break to talk about something that's really stuck with me this week.

The Lazarus story in John 11.  The entire time, Jesus knew how it was going to end up.  But no one else knew.  No one else could have known.  By the time Jesus gets there, Lazarus had been dead for four days.  Four entire days.  People couldn't wrap their heads around it.  "Jesus, why did you wait so late to get here? If you would have just been here, he wouldn't even have died!"  Jesus.  Dude.  What are you doing?  You're dragging your feet.  You let Lazarus die.

But he knew the whole time what he was doing, he knew the whole time what he was going to do, and he knew the whole time how it was going to end up.  He sees what we can't see.  He knows what we have no ability to know.  He's our Savior, but he's also our Prophet.

In verse 22, Martha's like, "I know you have the power to do whatever you want," but she still didn't believe He would do it.  Even after Jesus point blank tells her, "Your brother will rise again," in verse 23, in the next verse, she's like, "Suuuure he will . . . in the resurrection in the last day."

Part of me is like, Martha, you are off the chain!  You have Jesus standing right in front of your face telling you He's about to bring your brother back to life, and even you yourself admitted that He has the power to do it, but you still don't believe He will!  Sit back, girl.

But then, the other part of me realizes that I am like Martha every single day.  Yeah, God, I know you have the power to do blah, blah, blah.  I get it.  You're almighty.  I know.  But my reality is a dead Lazarus.  A Lazarus that's been dead for four whole days and seriously reeks.  And not only that, a Lazarus that didn't even have to die, because it could have been prevented.  That's all I can see.  I'm just like Martha.  So, maybe I need to sit back.

This whole time, God has been listening to my cries and accusations.  Shoot, He's even broken down and cried with me (see verse 35).  But this whole time, God has been like, "You can't see what I see.  You don't know what I know.  In just an instant, a dead, stinking Lazarus can become living and breathing and walking and alive. Just sit tight."

The whole time, Martha was like, "I know you can resurrect him," and Jesus was like, "Um, hold up.  You thinking about this all wrong, honey.  I am the resurrection" (see verse 25).

I want to stop repeating this mantra to myself about what I know God can do, and rather start focusing on who God is.  And in addition to many other things, He is a Prophet.  He can see waaaayyy ahead of the game.  He already knows its outcome.  He knows what He's doing and what He's about to do.  And it is good.

Birthday Weekend

When I turned 30, people asked me if I felt any different.  I said that I didn't.  And the truth is that I honestly haven't felt any different since I turned 25.  (Well, I have to be honest and say that maybe one difference is that I seem to have acquired an increased propensity for gaining weight.  So, no more cake for dinner.  I'm gonna miss those days.)  Anyway, what has changed about this new decade of life is how I will henceforth refer to my age.  Instead of saying the number, I will refer to my age as a phrase that implies it.  For example, last year, I was "the new 20."  And, as of Saturday, this year is my "Baskin Robbins" year.  (Next year will be "Magic Johnson."  And I can't wait to turn 95, so it will be my "Martin Luther/Protestant Reformation" year.)  Ahem.

This was the first birthday (outside of the times I spent my birthdays abroad in Spain and France) that I didn't go home to celebrate.  It was the first time I didn't spend it with my parents with pre-made plans and a pre-arranged cake.  This year, I bought my own cake.  (And it was to die for.  I'm serious.  Layers of moist cake with custard and strawberries and whipped icing . . . stupid good.)  This year, I arranged my own dinner party.  What I'm saying is that I finally realized that I have to make my own place.  Foster my own community.  I finally realized that I have to make home wherever I am.  I finally realized that there are people who love and support me where I am.  I don't have to go home in order for my birthday to be a "real" birthday.  I can forge a family and depend on a network of supportive people wherever I am.

I'm a big sister.  I will always be one.  My brothers, who are now grown men, will always be referred to as "the boys."  I will always be in big sister mode with them.  Bossing them around, being "responsible" and all of that.  Some things never change.  This year, my brothers came to spend the weekend with big sis for her birthday.  And I realized this year, more than I ever have before, how much I depend on them.  As much as my brothers are annoying and at times total uncouth guys around me, I love those dudes.  I realized how much I depend on them for moral and emotional support.  No matter what, they are my brothers and I know that they love me and have my back.  When they left this morning, I couldn't help but tear up.  They really helped to make my birthday special, and I appreciate them more than they know.

There's something else about birthdays.  Guys.  It's when they come out of the woodwork.  It's the one day people you haven't heard from in a minute come out of hiding.  It's the legitimate excuse to hit ya girl up (if you are privileged enough to already have ya girl's digits, that is).  And I can't say that I mind.

My Baskin Robbins year is definitely getting off to a sweet start.

I Sent a Handwritten Card to Cory Booker

I've already talked about my love for Cory Booker.

He is my fake future husband in my mind.  He's the mayor of Newark, New Jersey, and he really has captured my heart, so to speak.  He seems to really care about his constituents and is a genuine public servant, utilizing easy-to-access ways to communicate with his constituents and responding directly to people's concerns.  It's just rare and refreshing and rather charming.  He's a social media genius and has tapped in to the power of the Internet and the media to the benefit of his city on so many occasions.

I had a moment this weekend that kind of spurred me on to finally write him, and today, I did.  I have a whole box of blank note cards to write my heart out to people.  I believe there's something special about the handwritten word in this world of almost exclusively electronic communication.  To me, getting a handwritten card communicates something genuine, lasting.  It wasn't anything gushy and ridiculous.  It was heartfelt, yet formal and to the point.

Now, I'm having fantasies of him writing me back and inviting me to some formal governmental event.  I will be his escort to the mayoral ball.  Is there even such a thing?  The girlish 14-year-old in me really hopes he responds in some way.  He just seems like a nice guy who goes out of his way for the little things that make a big difference.  

Your Hair Blues Ain't Like Mine

Shall I go into the intricacies of doing stuff to my hair?  Nawl, ya'll aren't ready for that.  Let me just give you a few facts.

One of the main things that dries my hair straight (when I want it to be straight) after I wash it is a Conair 1875 Styler.  It comes with one of those volume brush attachments.  I don't use it at all.  It's just like, boo, I don't look at you, I don't need you unless I want to get my wet black girl hair all matted and knotted up in you.  No, ma'am.  It also comes with one of those wide-toothed detangling comb attachments.  That's what gets the wet hair dry.  And then there's the fine-toothed comb attachment.  The smoother and finisher of my hair faith.  It's what transforms the dry(ish) sponge/poof into sleek(ish).  Yezzir.  And this is where we have problems.

My attachment comb's fine-teeth keep getting knocked out.  It has constant fights with thickness and the thickness often wins.  A couple of missing teeth here or there doesn't stop the sleeking action.  But then my comb got bucktoothed.  Unacceptably so.  So, the search began.

Sally's Beauty Supply was like nawl.  I bought some non-Conair attachment combs out of desperation, praying in the name of Jaysus that they would miraculously fit.  Like I said, the answer was nawl.  But I refused to buy a new blowdryer just because of a bucktoothed fine-toothed comb.  So, I struck out into the magical world of the Internet.

I was getting desperate.  I even hit up Amazon.  When I went to the Conair site proper, its attachment accessories didn't include a fine-toothed comb for my blowdryer model.  But I did find an important number.  Conair customer service, son!  By golly, I was going to get my fine-toothed comb attachment.

Dial 1-800-WAIT-FOR-EVER.  I was going to listen to that loop of canned samba music interspersed with "All of our customer service representatives are busy.  Your call is very important to us, so please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order it was received" until the cows came home.  I was going to go the distance.  I finally struck gold.  A saccharine sweet voice picked up, cheerily asked the right questions, and in the end, I paid $3.50 (S&H included) for the prize: a single fine-toothed comb attachment for a Conair 1875 Styler.

When I saw that little box sitting outside my apartment door days later, one thought scrolled through my mind: Somebody's hurr is 'bout to get did.

Another Rainy Day

This is the first Saturday in a while that I've slept in. What adds to the cuddle-in feeling is the rain.  Chai tea, plum-scented candle burning.

There are things I must do today.  Yes.  I've already made out my to-do list.  But the quiet, the calm, the birds.  Lazy in my leggings and robe and monkey slippers that have definitely seen better days.

Pensive, wondering, reviewing, reevaluating.  I have a personal journal.  It seems that I've only been writing in it once every two to three months.  I wrote in it today.

I bought a box of 50 blank note cards.  Well, one of my resolutions was to write an encouraging note to someone at least once a month.  I actually sent one the other day.  But in making my updated to-do list, I rediscovered an address that I had found and written down in a flight of fancy.  Mayor Cory Booker.  Should I really write him?  Then I turned on NPR and "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" was on in the middle of a question about Cory Booker getting free Hot Pockets coupons to his constituents in the Hurricane Sandy aftermath.  I think I shall.

Taxes.  Oh, taxes.  Today I will complete you.  For real.

And my potential veggie garden.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  (Planting a garden was another one of my resolutions.)  I staked out a spot, but in retrospect, I wonder if it's too shady of a spot.  I did a little bit of checking and growing veggies like tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant need lots and lots of sunshine.  I guess I should go out there when the rain slows and reconsider.

(sigh.)  Time to break out of my rainy Saturday slowness and get to it.

Ugly Cry

I'm feeling pretty buoyant and productive today.  Got all my reading done for tomorrow, finalizing Cuba plans.  Getting the student panel together for this semester.  Walking briskly across campus and hearing the staccato of my boot heels with every step I take.  I started the morning out with a free cup of coffee because I had 10 stamps on my Jittery Joe's card.  You better believe I wanted whipped cream on top.  I had a free Indian buffet lunch because the department had funds to treat a few students to lunch along with a potential PhD student to answer questions and share our experiences in the program and I was asked to join.  I'm back on that track.

But flashback to Monday morning.  I had the ugliest cry I'd had in a while.  I can say these things and look back with a smile because now, a couple of days removed from it, it seems absurd, how a particular moment can feel so incredibly despairing and absolute.  I am dramatic. I own up to it.  What adds another dynamic to these despairing moments is when they are shared with an equally dramatic person, my dear mother.  I love this woman so much.  But put the two of us together in a heightened emotional state, and you have an instant drama fest.  Me, crying like my soul was being wrenched from me.  At the same time, my mom, sitting beside me and reading out loud a letter she wrote to me in response to a little tiff we'd had the night before.  Me, wailing and snotting harder at hearing lines like, "I'm sorry if your rest through the night was not peaceful.  I know mine wasn't.  I chose to stay up and play Angry Birds until 2:30 a.m." and "Don't you know your father and I won't be here always?  In a moment's time, life changes can happen that would make us being here not a reason anymore except that we would be laid to rest here."  Really, mom?  A mother-daughter melodrama.

But somehow, once I started breathing evenly (instead of those sharp, hyperventilating breaths you take when you have an ugly cry), once the flow of fluids and other unsightly secretions slowed, I felt cleansed.  A calm washed over me.  A warm, maternal presence beside me, speaking soothing words, regardless of whether they were relevant or the "right" thing to say, was enough.

I am thankful for these cathartic moments.  I am thankful for my mother.  Unattractive and dramatic and absurd though they may be, I am thankful for cleansing, ugly cries.

One Man's Demur is Another Man's Blow Up or Boat Floating for Dummies

de·mur /diˈmər/ v. Raise doubts or objections or show reluctance.

versus . . .

blow·up v. [slang] Overwhelm with calls or messages, usu. in reference to phones or inboxes.

So, what can a girl do but lament the fact that she can't hit a reverse switch?  One guy must increase while another guy must decrease.  I mean, not really.  I've resigned myself to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.  I know what reality looks like.  Still, I'm constantly amazed at what floats some boats but not others.  How some boats are so easily and uncomprehendingly floated, while others remain resolutely unmoved.  I'm also baffled when the boat I thought I could float is like "nawl," and the boat I wasn't trying to float or even thought would think I was their floating type at all suddenly transformed into a speed boat.  Hombre, te lo digo de verdad.

Delay

I cried when I realized I was going to be stuck at the airport for two more hours.

I had a great time with friends this past week, but I was looking forward to seeing some other friends and then seeing my family.  The delay meant that I wouldn't be able to see my friends and that I wouldn't be seeing my family until much later.

For some reason, this particular flight delay made me start to think about other times when I felt stranded, thwarted, delayed without a true explanation.  What else is left to do but accept it, adjust your plans and wait?  Knowing the details does not change one single aspect about the fact that you will, regardless, have to wait.

I thought about things that I hope for that I have no control over.  No matter what I wished, what I desired, how badly my friends felt that we'd miss each other, it's nobody's fault.  It's beyond anyone's control.  And still, I have to wait.

Timing.  Is timing really everything?

It Is Finished

I finally finished reading my Bible again.  I won't say how long it's taken me this time, but I'm glad I finally instituted consistent Bible reading in my life again.  It was off and on . . . usually according to my emotional and spiritual state and/or degree of "busyness" at the time, which is a very poor rationale for determining Bible reading habits.

I think another thing that has encouraged me this time around is that I started reading in the New Living Translation instead of the good old King James Version.  I think the King James will always be with me in some degree.  All the verses I have committed to memory are in majestic, archaic, Shakespearean English.  But reading in a version that is much more accessible, thereby helping to avoid misinterpretation, but still provides "literal" translations in footnotes has been a great idea.  There were so many things that stood out to me or made more sense to me reading the Word in the NLT.

So . . . it begins again.

A Good I Don't Know

Okay, so I made it through today despite my lethargy last night.  I got done what I had to get done, and I still have time to get done what I didn't get done.

There are things that are up in the air right now.  I was informed of the possibility of some things today that, frankly, sort of blew my mind.  Things I never imagined would be even a remote possibility.  It's exciting and frightening and exhilarating and overwhelming.

I can't divulge right now because it's still up in the air.  But I will know in a couple of weeks.

Regardless of the outcome, I know that God is showing me favor.  He is opening doors for me that no one but He could open.  And it is such a wonderful feeling to know that I have nothing to worry about.  Absolutely nothing.  He is 100% in control.

But I have to be honest and say I am scared.  I'm scared of being disappointed if it doesn't work out, and I'm scared of being in over my head if it does.  I feel like I'm in this swirling vortex of possibility and I'm being caught up in it, giddy with expectation yet terrified at the prospect of change, once again.

Oh, I don't know.  I don't know.  I don't know about a variety of things right now, to be honest.  But it's a good I don't know.  I'll have my answers soon enough.

Motivation. Lack thereof.

And it's only Monday.  Ugh.  

I have to get it together.  For real.  I can't just check out.  Why are you trippin' over writing a measly 2-3 page paper?  Are you insane?  And this book for my History class that I've barely started reading.  What is wrong with you?

You cannot do this.  You have a paper proposal (plus bibliography) due Thursday.  Have you even lifted a finger?  You have a presentation to give Friday.  Don't forget about that.  Friday's class is going to majorly suck.  Nobody is going to want to be there.  It is the worst class at the worst time ever.  Friday from 1:25-4:25.  That's bad enough.  But that same class at the same time the Friday before Spring Break?  Just forget about it.  Who's really going to be listening to me talk about Travestismos culturales?  Really.  Mestizaje is the last thing on people's minds when you're trying to get out of town.  

Ugh.  And that reminds me, traffic is going to majorly suck that day too.  ::shudders:: I don't even want to think about it.

You cannot afford to flake out right now.  You need to get your act together and not wait until the last minute.  Not this week. You can't.  You have to get stuff done as soon as possible.  

I just feel like a big, fat, already tired and energy-sapped, lazy, time-wasting complainer.  I want to roll up into a ball and sleep the rest of the day away, but I can't.  Get. Your. Life.

Shopping at New York & CO: A Parable

So, I still had money left on a New York & CO (my store of stores) gift card my little bro gave me for Christmas.  Something was leading my car to go to the mall after church instead of back to my apartment, so I followed.  I had in my head what I wanted, and I just knew I was going to find it: a black sweater with beige polka dots.  That's what was in my mind to get.  It had to be there waiting for me.

When I got there, I scoured the store, but did not find one black sweater with beige polka dots.  I was disappointed, to be honest.  I glumly went over to the clearance rack.  And then I found it.  No, not the polka-dotted sweater, but a beautiful beige and black lacy top.  It was originally $49.95.  It had been marked down to $16.99.  And now it was on a 50% off clearance rack, so I would only pay $8.50 for it.  When I picked it up, a wave of recognition washed over me.  A few months ago, I was in the same New York & CO.  And I remembered seeing that top.  I remembered wishing that I could get it because it was so stylish and versatile.  You could dress it up or dress it down.  You could wear a shirt underneath it or a cardigan or blazer over it.  And I remembered not being able to justify spending my money on it, because, at the time, it was $49.95.  So, I left it.

Fast forward to today.  I went into New York & CO today not even thinking about that top.  I had something else completely different in mind.  But it was only until I accepted the fact that my original desire, what I thought I wanted, was not to be that I was prompted to explore the clearance rack.  And once my attention was directed to the lacy black and beige top, I realized that it was actually what I wanted all along.  It was a hope I had given up on because when I was first introduced to it, it was too expensive.  It was too soon.  But today, the timing was just right.  What I truly wanted was indeed there waiting for me. I only paid $8.50 for it, with a gift card at that, and I still had money left.

Busyness. Business.

Can some one gallop up on a white horse and save me?

Whisk me away to that far away land, where papers, readings, meetings, panels, presentations are all irrelevant.  Where the very idea of them melt away like a lone snowflake on my outstretched tongue.

I want to wake up as a queen on a canopy bed, well-rested, enveloped in the decadence of silken sheets.

I want to look in the mirror and find my eyebrows perfectly tweezed, my skin flawless and glowing.

I want to open my door and look outside to see a field of bright, wild sunflowers.

I want to take my guitar out of that gig bag and let every chord I strum be perfect, melodious, sonorous.

I would like to be able to speed read, no, even better, just place my hand on a book, close my eyes and telekinetically soak in the contents in a matter of seconds.  I want Microsoft Word to be a mind reader.  I can just lean my forehead against my laptop screen, and Word will write my papers in professional, academic, grammatically impeccable Spanish by absorbing my thoughts.

I want to do everything, get it all done, but I can't.  I have to blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, and then I have to yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda, after that I'll still have this and that and the other left to do. It's not even worth enumerating.

Last.  Semester.  Of.  Coursework.

And don't let me get dengue fever if a mosquito bites me in Cuba.  And don't let a sinewy, rum drinking, cigar smoking, cafe con leche, curly-haired Cuban with fire in his dark eyes and sugar cane sweet words seduce me.

Tomorrow (well, seeing that it is after 12:00 a.m., today) let me see my life with a cherry on top even if it's rainy and cold.

Healing Is Here

Sickness can't stay any longer

Your perfect love is casting out fear

You are the God of all power

And it is your will that my life is healed

I'm in the choir and every time we get to the bridge in "Healing is Here" I just get overwhelmed with the presence of God.  I guess it's because "sickness" is not just physical sickness.  You have to get to a point where you really believe that whatever your sickness is cannot stay any longer.  It's God's will that our lives are healed.  Not that we live in fear, not that we live in sickness, not that we live believing that we have to shoulder the burden.  If you really believe God, not just in God, then you know He has all power.  And you know that there is nothing too big for Him.

Those Days Where You Take Too Long of a Nap Therefore You Can't Get to Sleep at Night

I deserved a nap though, for real.  Well, kind of.  It was my fault.  Conference presentation Saturday morning in Atlanta, didn't finish self-translating (since I originally wrote the paper in Spanish and planned on presenting it in English) until late, late Friday night.  Well, early Saturday morning.  So late, that I got chained into the parking lot.  I had to honk down the campus police to unchain it when I saw one of them roll by.  I should really put their number into my phone.

So, presentation went okay.  My major professor even came, which was very sweet of her.  I need to get better at answering questions afterward, though. Ugh.  It brings out the nervous rambler in me.  Don't ask me a question that it would take me writing a paper to answer.  Dude.  And then this girl gonna come up after it's all over and begin a "question" she had for me by telling me, in sum, that she wanted to ask it during question/answer, but didn't because she didn't want to call me out.  As if to say, "I could have embarrassed you, but I didn't."  I get it.  How could I say that a character in a Peruvian novel followed a Yoruba herbalist tradition when there is such a strong herbalist tradition in indigenous culture, particularly in a country like Peru with a strong indigenous element?  Point well taken.  However, the purpose of the novel, written by an Afro-Peruvian writer, was to highlight the African element in Peruvian identity that is often overlooked.  If we're talking about Peru, the indigenous thing is kind of a given, isn't it?  The things I don't think of to say until afterward.

There was a young professor who presented in the panel with me, who, in retrospect, I think was trying to holla at me.  I was honestly intrigued by his presentation and we were chatting about it afterward and I mentioned I was going to Cuba this summer.  He went to Cuba as well and gave me his card to contact him if I needed any info on researching, places to check out, etc., in Cuba.  His interests include Jewish identity, but when discussing my presentation he mentioned that he was also interested in black female sexuality (part of my paper talked about sexual exploitation of female slaves).  Really?  Is that like a nerdy way of telling a black girl you wanna see what's up?

Afterward, I met up with a friend who now goes to the university where I gave the presentation who I met when we were both studying abroad in France.  It's always so good to see her.  When you go through the experience of being foreigners together in another country, there's something about it that makes you feel like family.

There was something about the dreary drive back that made me want something comforting.  Something like home.  Something akin to an Italian panini sandwich with olive oil.  (Yes, the paninis at Panera Bread are fake.)  I realized something.  What we used to call prosciutto piccante is actually sopressata.  It's like salami, but isn't.  It looked close enough, so I bought some along with a baguette and cheese.  When I got home and opened up the package and smelled it, I knew it.  That was it.  It almost brought tears to my eyes because it was a part of that idealized life on Via Mare.  That life when I used to go across the street and order from the deli at the alimentari in Italian.

Three Scriptures

1. I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well (Psalm 139:14).

2. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding (Proverbs 3:5).

3. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths (Proverbs 3:6).

Focus, ol' gal. Focus.

Okay, ridiculous things are needing to come together, stat.  What am I thinking?  Monday started out so well.  I knocked out so many things on my to-do list.  Passport renewal off in the mail . . . can you believe I've had a passport so long that that bad boy is expired?  It was issued in 2002.  Right before I went to Spain for the first time.  It expired in 2012.  I don't want to think about the amount of time between those two dates.  If I had had a baby before I went to Spain, that baby would be in 4th grade right now.  No . . . I can't . . . the oldness . . .

Then I got stuff cooking for applying for one more grant that's due Monday.  Narrative with budget, check. Transcripts sent off (with that 4.0 GPA in yo' face, son!), check.  Letter of rec from my illustrious major professor on the way, check.  Language verification, check.  Tomorrow, I'mma scan that application cover sheet and send it in.  Bam.  You know you wanna give your girl some plane ticket money to go to Cuba.  Did I mention that I was awarded $1000 from a previous grant?

On top of that, I attended and set up meetings to start gearing up for comps.  Which I'm supposed to take in the fall!  And then I read an article right quick and got enough coherent thoughts together to write a response paper.  I rocked it on Monday.

But today?  Productivity has gone back down to 0%.  I have to self-translate and slash down a paper I'm presenting this weekend, and I need to read so that I can write another response paper, and I don't want to wait till the last minute.  Oh, plus I have to finish this article on blogging that's being published in a ladies' magazine.  Ahem.  In other words, I need to get my life together.

But my brain is traveling. It won't stop doing it's own thing.  Here I am like, Brain . . . come on back down to Earth . . . I need you, and my brain is like, Psshhh.  You on your own.

Every time I look at my calendar my stomach screams.  I can't believe this month is almost over and next month is almost here! Not only will I be on the other side of 30 at the end of next month, but in-between now and the other side of 30, I'm, well, I'll just say that I'm embarking on an adventure of sorts.  And the prospect of this adventure is turning my stomach into an adrenaline-laced acrobat.  It's turning my brain into the winner of the Indy 500.

There are times when you need to just take a chill pill and bring it all back.  Take it all down a thousand.  Breathe.  Do what you gotta do.  That's what I'm trying to do.

Another Difference Between Then and Now

Then, I used to despise going into a store by myself to buy feminine products.  Especially when the cashier was a guy.  I used to hate it.  It was the most mortifying experience ever.  But my mom used to make me do it.  I guess she thought it was like, character-building or something.

Now, I can't even express how much I do not care.  It's like dude, you work here, I need this, thanks, goodbye.

I guess that's how it always was, but I was too young and self-conscious to realize it.

Things Making Me Want to Cry This Weekend

Every darn thing is making me tear up.  I'll get over it.

1. A classmate invited me and two other classmates over to his place for dinner last night.  It was really nice.  We were sitting there talking and having a great, open, honest conversation, and it made me want to cry.  It made me feel like I was a part of a sincere moment that would only exist in that moment.  And then, before we left, our host gave us each a pretty little post-Valentine's Day gift of chocolate.  It was very sweet and made me feel like I was a part of something special.

2. My brain crush invited the class over today for empanadas and class discussion.  In the middle of sitting in that circle of colleagues/friends, a wave of longing washed over me.  I wished that one day I could be a married professor with a cute little girl and a nice place with enough room to invite my students over for a meal and casual conversation.  I was just sitting there, soaking in the conversation and suddenly struck with how beautiful a scene it was, how thankful I was to be a part of it, and how I would like to re-create it one day.

3. I've been working on a manuscript for another professor, the same professor who asked me to co-author an article with her, and the same one whose little boy I babysit twice a week.  There was a little problem with the manuscript, so I went over to show her how to fix it.  Just coming over, seeing her son's face light up  when he saw me and giving him hugs and kisses when he jumped into my arms almost brought me to the brink again.  He likes to spin things on top of his little plastic table . . . little balls, wooden beads, anything that spins.  While the toy is spinning around, we place our hands around it to make a casita, a little house for it, so that it will be happy.

Valentine's Day or Super Duper Day

First of all, I was cute today.  I was.  At least, people told me that I was.  I did a little som'n som'n to my hair, wore red and polka dots and had a flower in my hair.  It's Valentine's Day.  I wanted to look Valentiney.  I had a presentation in class and plus, well, it's Valentine's Day, so I brought cupcakes and chocolate.  But then I got a call that I had a delivery, but the delivery man wasn't able to find my apartment!  Who was the mystery Valentine's Day gift-giver?  I ended up going to the place, Edible Arrangements.  And I had a box of chocolate covered strawberries, a balloon and a teddy bear.

I read the card and saw that they were from this handsome guy right here . . . my brother.  Awww!  He really made my day.

And then I got a call from my professor.  The amazing one that I wish I could be like.  She didn't have time to talk to me after class, she said, but she wanted to tell me that I did a good job on my presentation.  Then, to make a long story short, she asked if I wanted to co-author an article with her!  I was so overwhelmed that I started to cry!  If you're in academia and can get an article published before you finish grad school, it's a huge deal.  But not even that . . . just the fact that she asked me.  That she thinks I'm a good enough scholar to want to attach her name to something that I would be partly responsible for.  That she would even consider me.  I'm excited. And today has been a super duper day.

I Hate WalMart

I only shop there out of poor graduate student necessity.  I hate it.  It takes forever, it's always mad crowded, I always end up going in circles trying to find stuff, wasting time, always dodging people in the aisles, trying to avoid the ogling of dirty old men, getting lost by the non-advice from people who work there.  No ma'am, matches are not with groceries, and those little long neck lighters are not just between registers 15 and 16 with all of the last-minute junk.  Matches AND long neck lighters are with the kitchen utensils in housewares.  Yes, ma'am.  I found that out after I wandered the store struggling with a bootleg cart that wouldn't stay on course, full of groceries.  I was NOT leaving without my long neck lighter.  A girl has candles and a girl will light them and smell them.

Don't look at me crazy if I ask you to slice my honey cured ham thinly, neither.  Lady, it's what you do.  Sir, I know you're just a lost middle-aged man, I'm not annoyed, but if you're looking for cranberry sauce, um, it might be with canned fruit, you know what I'm saying?

It's just so tiring.  And this is just for ONE person!  I mean, I guess for that reason, I only go what I call "big shopping" once a month.  And I talk about wanting bundles of kids.  How you think them kids are gonna be getting fed?  If thou hast run with the footmen and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses?

I, having no free tickets to the moon, / I'd love you

It's a line of poetry (well, two lines, actually) written by my poetic friend.  It's one of those things that reminds me of those undergrad days.  It's one of those things that reminds me of the headiness of possibility.

I have no free tickets to the moon.  This is not some splashy, flashy, ostentatious bling-bling of an offering.  This is not some jackpot-winning, Lamborghini-driving pass abroad.  I have no free tickets to the moon.  All I have to give is myself.  And my love.

It doesn't say "I love you."  No.  It's not a fact.  Not a sure declaration.  It says "I'd love you."  I would love you.  If you only knew how capable I was of loving you.  If you only knew what I had to offer and could appreciate it.  If you only opened yourself up and allowed me to, I'd love you.

I'm going to be productive today . . .

but I must take a few minutes to sort of, um, blogularly express my heightened sense of, shall we say, expectation?

I don't do well with uncertainty.  I'm woman enough to admit it.  I know this about myself.  It tends to send me into emotional extremes.  One minute there's sunshine, and the next, there's nothing but clouds.  I know this about myself, and I'm not afraid to own up to it.  But I'll also say that, through the years, I've learned how to rein it in.  What I'm saying is that even though my brain is processing and reprocessing scads of unnecessary data at 1000 rpms, even though there are successive interchanges of sunshine and rain, I don't actually do anything that would show my hand.  In other words, I don't do anything impulsive that I would regret later.  Thank God.

Having said that, I think I'm also learning how to enjoy the uncertainty.  It's great when you can learn how to do that.  Because even though the fact of the matter is that there are many factors that are beyond your control, acknowledging that and deciding to take it a day at a time somehow increases your sense of agency.  And yes, I mean "agency" in the way that students of postcolonial literary theory mean it.

Sometimes things work out exactly the way you envisioned them, and sometimes they don't.  And sometimes, either one can result in dizzying, giddy satisfaction or crushing, disheartening disappointment.

One particular time that something happened exactly the way I had arranged it in my head was many years ago, when I was in Spain and I had a hopeless crush on a boy.  I had this mental scenario of us both going to a birthday party, both declaring that we weren't going to stay, and since we were both going to leave early, I envisioned him asking if I would like him to walk me home.  And as God is my witness, that was exactly what happened.

But one other time, quite recently, I applied for a teaching assistantship to go to Cuba.  I had it all worked out in my head.  But I didn't get it.  I was bummed.  But now, I'm still going.  Not as an assistant, but as an independent agent supported by a combination of research and travel grants.  In fact, I was recently awarded $1000 by one of them.  There's still another I'm applying for due later on this month.  In any event, I can say that I'm definitely going.  It definitely didn't work out the way I envisioned it, but this way is dizzyingly, giddily satisfying.

However this one is going to unravel is still a mystery.  But I know I'm in good Hands.

Sunny, Sunny Sun

Today is happy.

I haven't finished reading these articles yet and I need to.  I'm sort of giddy right now, to be honest.  I think it's the sunny weather.  Here are things that are making me smile:

1. I was told that my professorial brain crush mentioned me several times this past Wednesday in my absence.  (I'm auditing the class and he knows that I won't be able to attend each session.)  It even became a topic of discussion in class yesterday.  I think I might be a teacher's pet and bring him a cup of coffee next week.  Just thinking about the prospect of doing that is making me girlishly giggle.

2. I am in love with Newark, New Jersey Mayor Cory Booker.  He is my new hero and fake future husband.  I am considering writing him a card and sending it.  Hee, hee.  I know I could just Twitter him or whatever since he's really big into social media, or I could email him, but I want to send him a card.  I love sending people handwritten cards.  I think there's something special about it.  In all seriousness, though, I would absolutely love to meet him one day.  Not just because I have a crush on him, but because I truly believe he's a great example of an energetic, engaged leader.  This is what I think is going to happen:  He's about to run for US Senate to take over from this 89-year-old man who's seen better days.  I think he has a great chance of winning. Then, for two years, he's going to be a rising star in the US Senate, doing all kinds of awesomeness.  Then in 2016, he's going to get the Democratic nomination for President, and run against Chris Christie in the GOP.  A NJ mayor and governor going head to head.  It's going to be a fantastic, hard-fought election, but he's going to pull through.  And I'll have some extra time for getting my wish of having children while a black president is in office!

3. I'm going home this weekend, and my mom informed me that she got free tickets to see Macbeth at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival.  Did I want to go?  Heck, yes!  I LOVE Macbeth. (Well, my Shakespeare fave is Julius Caesar, but Macbeth is up there.)  I still remember the first time I saw a production of Macbeth at the same theater.  I was in high school and we had read the play for English.  This is how it began: All the lights suddenly went out.  It was pitch black, no sound for like 10 seconds.  Then all of a sudden, a booming, awe-inspiring drum beat began to sound.  Boom!  Boom!  Boom! Boom!  And then, suddenly, the high-pitched wail of a bagpipe pierced the darkness along with the drums and the stage lights slowly came up.  It gives me chills just thinking about it.  Ahh!  I can't wait.

4. On my way back to GA, I'm going to stop and visit one of my grad school buddies, back from being out of the country for a while.  I love this guy and can't wait to see him.  We might even have a guitar jam session.  He's a million times better than I am, but it would still be cool to play together.  He's a . . . well, let's just say he's a non-believer.  I think he would prefer the term "secular humanist."  I, of course, am a holy rollin' born again believer in the liberating power of Jesus' name. We were joking around saying if we formed a guitar duo we should call ourselves Cognitive Dissonance.  I love it!  I really do think it's a great name.

Here's to a great weekend!

Dreary Morning or Getting My Hopes Up

It's a dreary Wednesday morning.  I have lots to read and lots to write.  Most likely, I'm going to stay holed up in my apartment until I make some progress.

There's something about these mornings that causes me to have tunnel vision.  I look outside and all I see is gray.  I can't count on my rainbow maker to brighten things up.  There's not enough sun.  Not today.

Can I be honest and say that I'm frustrated?  There is a single, solitary, seemingly fixed reality existing out there, and every time I think about it, it bothers me.  It's a minuscule example, but it sheds light on why, precisely, I am afraid to get my hopes up.

That's it, isn't it?  There are so many of us who are afraid.  We refuse, out of habit, out of pride, out of a need for self-preservation, to be vulnerable.  Vulnerability refusal will only get you so far.  You can start out carefully constructing this dainty world of exchanges, but ultimately, if vulnerability refusal isn't kept at bay, it comes to a standstill.  Or collapses.

On this dreary morning, there's one thing I know: as frustrating as it can be, there's something in me that always chooses hope, irrational as it might be.  There's something in me that won't allow me to be jaded.  There's something in me that can't hold back, try as I might.  That's why every disappointment feels so fresh to me.  Because I'm not used to it.  Or rather, it's never something that I count on, that I expect, so that when it happens it confirms what I already knew.  It's always a surprise.

Despite how this dreary morning feels, despite being afraid, I know that I will always continue to get my hopes up.

My Friends, a Man in a Wheelchair, and Trying to Make Sense

My Friends
I alternate every other Sunday with another young lady teaching Sunday School for 3-4 year-olds.  I call them "friends."  Hey, friends!  Are you ready to sing? We always start out by singing.  I love my little friends.  Today, one of the moms was like, "Now, this is not a reflection on [the other girl who teaches], but I just wanted to tell you this morning my daughter said, 'If Miss Chantell isn't there, I'm gonna cry.' She loves you!"  It made me tear up. They know that I love them.

Man in a Wheelchair
Once a month a group from church goes out to visit a nursing home.  We sing songs, read scriptures, talk with them and pray with them.  I brought my guitar today and played a couple of songs.  A man in a wheelchair near the front played air guitar and air drums along with me.  Afterward, when we were telling them all goodbye, he had a big smile on his face and held his arms open wide for a hug.  He told me I did a good job and he said he used to play a little bit of guitar, but drums mainly.

Trying to Make Sense
Okay . . . this isn't going to really make a lot of sense.  But I'm going to try.  I don't like it when it seems like God might be trying to set something up that you don't want to happen.  There was a time when I wanted it to happen.  But that time is past.  Why couldn't it have happened when I wanted it to?  But then there's something else that you might like to happen, but it seems like God wants to obfuscate it.  God, why even drop that tidbit into my lifespace, thereby positioning me to expend mental energy on it, if You didn't want me to have it?  The idea that God knows the desire of my heart more than I do makes me feel uncomfortable.  I know that He does, so I just have to live with it and trust Him. But I don't like thinking He's going to have to do some God-like thing to change my heart so that I will want this thing that I don't want.  If that makes any sense.  Which it doesn't.  Because if God knows the desire of your heart, it means you actually desire it, right?  Or that you will desire it.  Nooooooo.  See?  That's what makes me feel like lukewarm grits inside.

Psalm 84:11

For the LORD God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The LORD will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right. 

Sometimes I'm afraid I'll miss out.  Should I have done this differently?  Should I have said that instead?  Maybe if I would have done this, I'd be in a better position.

No more of that.  No more.  There comes a time when I have to sit myself down and ask myself a couple questions:

1. Do you believe God?  Not just do you believe in Him, but do you believe Him?  Do you believe He will do what He said He would?

2. Are you doing what is right in your life?

Well, if you answered "yes" to both of those questions, you have nothing to worry about.  Stop fearing that you might miss out.  Stop wondering if you should have done anything differently.  If you're doing what is right, God will withhold no good thing from you.  If you're doing what is right, it's impossible for you to miss out.

I need to stop overanalyzing and keep doing what is right.  If anything is meant for me, God will ensure that it doesn't pass me by.

My Professorial Brain Crush and My Power of International Connectivity

My Professorial Brain Crush
There is a professor who exudes this magnetism.  It's like my whole self is arrested and overwhelmed when he speaks.  It's like this rush of knowledge comes flowing out of him, and I can do nothing but let it wash over me and bask in the afterglow.  He is passionate, he is animated, he is moved by beautiful phrasings of things, he gets caught up in it, and I soak it all in, this spectacle of intellectual charm.  I've never officially had him as a professor.  I'm just auditing his class this semester, so I'm not there every week, but my brain has fallen, hard.  He's roguishly handsome, has that absentminded professorial air, and speaks Spanish with an Argentine accent seasoned with a Chilean mumble.  This semester, he is my brain's baby daddy.

My Power of International Connectivity
I have a Norwegian friend that I met in France.  She's since gone back to Norway and is now a middle school teacher.  Of course, as a former teacher, I got them secondary education connections, youknaaimsayin?  She emails me today telling me that she and a colleague want to do a little cultural exchange activity with their students and American students via Internet, and they have already tried getting in touch with an institution in New York that her school's principal visited in the past, but to no avail.  Could I help?  So, I forwarded her message to the Head of School where I used to work back in the day (way back in the day, my first real job after undergrad) and she forwarded it to the Middle School principal, and in a matter of hours, a 7th grade Geography teacher volunteered!  So, I got the two of them all nice and connected, and voila!  Instant North American - Nordic alliance.  Ya girl's working that international mojo, son!

Fingerpainting, Pot, and Both Sides of the Paper

Fingerpainiting
I can't remember the last time I used finger paint.  It brought me back to those days when I had my heart set on being a painter.  I babysat my curly-haired, dimpled little boy today and he wanted me to paint dos gatos especiales con cara contenta.  Two special cats with happy faces.  So I did.  One was purple and one was orange.  And they were both very happy.

Pot
One of my buds asked to borrow a pot yesterday . . . kind of random, but he wanted to make pasta last night, and he didn't know whether his pot was in one of his yet unopened boxes or in another location of boxes yet to be transported (he just moved) and he didn't want to buy a new one.  So, I let him borrow my pot.  I know, so, like . . . medieval or something.  When I saw him today in the hall at the department, he said, "So, I have your um, item."  And I was like, "You mean my pot?"  And he was like, "Yeah, I didn't want to use that word or say it too loudly because . . . you know, I wouldn't want anyone to overhear our conversation and get the wrong idea."

Both Sides of the Paper
There's a certain departmental tech guy who gets on my nerves.  Dude, your job is to fix computer related stuff in the department.  If there's a technology issue, and I bring it to your attention, don't look at me like I just asked you to fix me a plate of beef carpaccio.  There's a lab where all the TA's print stuff out.  There's usually an option to print things out on both sides of the paper when we do so, and I noticed as of Friday that some options or some setup or some default or something was changed because it didn't have the two-sided printing option anymore.  I didn't say anything then because it was after 5 o'clock and the staff had already gone home for the day.  But today, I noticed that it was still the case.  That is MAJOR paper wastage!  All of my colleagues usually print on both sides of the paper, and that Friday as well as today, people were complaining about it.  It wasn't just one particular computer.  It was the print setting on all the computers in the lab.  So, I took it upon myself to mention it.  And old dude (actually, he's a young guy) was like, "Well, nothing has been changed in there for like, the past three months."  As if I'm making it up!  And I'm like, "Um, yeah, something has changed because before we had the option to print on both sides, and now we don't."  And then he's like, "So, what do you have to print out?"  And I was like,"20 pages."  And he was like, "20 copies of like 20 pages each or . . . " And I'm thinking, dude, what the heck are you talking about?  What does it matter?  But I said, "No, just 20 pages.  But it's a real waste of paper, like, we'll be using twice as much paper than normal if it's not changed back."  Him: "Okay, well I'll, uh, take a look at it."  And then proceeds to put his headphones back on and goes back to doing whatever.  I went to run some other errands, and later he still hadn't budged. It was just enraging.  Acting like I'm making something up, and all of this paper is being wasted and I had to print from the printer upstairs because the connections to the printer in the lab were all whack?  Nawl, son.   Yes, I went and passionately told the department head my story of woe.  And I emphasized the "wasting paper" part.  Especially a department which has already had to make some cutbacks?  She said she would handle it.  I'm trying to be resourceful and conserve and this joker who acts like someone peed in his Cheerios every time someone has an issue is going to sit back and not do his job?  Yup.  I told.  Sho did.  WHAT?

In My Head

I dislike how I create entire worlds in my head.  Unnecessarily.  For no reason.  (That was redundant.)

I dislike how I create these tests and situations and expectations.  I feel like I set myself up.  If I become disappointed or disillusioned or whatever you want to call it, it's entirely of my own doing.

As one who always complains about how stifling binaries are, one who is dismissive of people who conceptualize everything in stark black and white terms, I am actually quite guilty of setting things up in the same ways I say that I positively can't stand.  Do or die.  All or nothing.  Sink or swim.  If you're not "down," then you're out.

I balk at the very idea of anyone daring to try to fit me into some kind of mold.  But then I find myself doing the same thing to others.  I want people to fit into my mold.  Be the way I want them to be.

But it doesn't work that way.

Rain

It was rainy this week.  Thursday it rained and rained all day.  

I went over to babysit my sweet little boy and he wanted to be held.  I picked him up and we went over to the window and listened to the sound of the rain.  I told him in Spanish that when I was a little girl, we used to sing a song every time it rained.  

"What was the song you sang when you were a little girl?"

Then I sang (in English): Rain, rain / Go away/ Come again some other day/ Rain, rain/ Go away/ Come again some other day.  He smiled his dimpled smile and his eyes lit up.

"Again."

So, I sang it again.  And he asked again.  So, I sang it again.

It was a lovely moment.  Singing to a beautiful little boy in my arms, looking out of the window and listening to the rain.

Nothing But the Blood of Jesus

Manic

My friend used to call me "Manic" in undergrad.  I often become a ball of nervous energy that cannot just stop.  Is it the K-cup coffee?  Geez.

Today I met with a professor who invited me to a "working lunch," which was very sweet of her.  She wanted to give me further feedback on a paper and show me the catalog of an exhibition I really wanted to go to in Baltimore on images of blacks in Renaissance Europe.  I get nervous around this professor because I think she is so awesome, and also because she insists on speaking Spanish the entire time.  I'm sure the waiter was like, "Huh?"  This blonde white lady and this black girl speaking Spanish.  Anytime he came around, we reverted to glaringly American English to address him, and then went back to Spanish.  Anyway, I was so nervous, even from the moment I walked into the little restaurant.  I was early and so I was feeling awkward already.  I think I walked in just looking hyper/awkward.  "Um, hi, I'm um, meeting someone, but I'm early, and so, um, yeah she's a professor and I don't have my cell phone so, she's a petite lady who, uh, so could I, uh . . . "  Too much, just too much!  Why couldn't I have just said, "Hi, I'd like a table for two," and left it at that?  I always give too much information, giggle nervously for no reason at all, and create this unnecessary verbal world to fumble around in.  Just stop.  Why can't I just stop?

So, two Americans speaking Spanish, my professor asks for non-alcoholic beer (?).  Why not just go for the real deal?  Too early in the day, I guess.  So, I'm sitting there eating french fries with raspberry ketchup (?) (I chose it because it sounded weird), and half a roast beef sandwich.  Trying to look dainty and speak Spanish correctly (fail on both points).  Wanting to sound definitive on my research plans, make her glad that she extended the courtesy of inviting me to lunch and took the time to invest in me as a student.  Why can't I just be myself and stop being manic and worried and trying too hard?  Just breathe.  Just be.  Just stop.

Me with my old school purple binder with filler paper writing down notes, her with her smart phone, sending me links left and right.  She took 6 years to finish.  And she's awesome.  Noooooo!  (But the last year was spent in Spain, so . . . )  How could eating raspberry ketchup-laced fries in front of my genius professor make me start wondering if I'll ever get married and have kids?  See?  That's too much.  There's no need for that at all.  It's extra and manic.  And it needs to stop.

Walking here, walking there with my cowboy boots on.  Mind racing in the uncanny heat in January.  About to go do 30 minutes of core work for $1 at the rec.  I want fab abs.  I want fab abs, I tell you.  I want to channel this energy into something positive.  I want to get reading done.  I want my brain to stop worrying about things I have no control over.

Hopeful

I submitted my grant proposal for funds for Cuba.  There's another one due in February, but this one is more competitive.  Everyone was super supportive in giving me feedback, and I think it ended up being a very strong proposal.  I'm hopeful that I'll get it! (Oh, and the Cuba program director said he got additional funds from another grant, so he'll be able to help me out more than he initially planned.)

I babysit my professor's adorable little boy.  I'm just in love with this kid.  He has dimples, curly hair, beautiful, deep-set eyes, olive skin, and long dark lashes.  He's a gorgeous child.  He doesn't watch any TV, rarely watches any DVDs and all of his toys are simple and non-electronic.  This must be why he is amused by simple things and has such a vivid imagination.  He's so full of wonder and innocence.  On my way to class, a school bus passed by and a pretty little girl on the bus spotted me and smiled and waved furiously.  Of course, I smiled and waved back. I'm hopeful that I'll have children of my own someday.

Apparently, my as yet unneeded wedding dress is nearing completion.  Why am I so excited about it?  I can't wait to see it and try it on.  I just know I'm going to love it.  I'm hopeful that I will need it someday soon.

I just have a great feeling about this year. I think this is the year all my wildest dreams will come true . . .
 

Check.

Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt from Madrid?  Check.

Old school iPod mini with ghetto earbuds?  Check.

Refilled for the umpteenth time bottle of water from the fridge?  Check.

New Balances you've had since high school, but are still in great condition since you're not a runner?  Check.

Alabama Institute for Education in the Arts tote turned "gym bag"? Check.

Elliptical machine for 30 minutes while you watch close-captioned CNN?  Check.

Achy legs and long, hot, luxurious shower?  Check.

Oatmeal (add hot water)/Pumpkin spice muffin (made by yours truly)/K-cup coffee (Christmas present)?  Check.

Continuing to read the psychodrama of the descendants of David in I Kings?  Check.

Trying to revise your grant proposal before your 2 pm meeting which will probably result in additional suggested changes?  Check.

Read the Indicative Chronology and the first chapter of the Cambridge Companion to Postcolonial Literary Studies (Ahead of time.  Heh, heh.)?  Check.

Determined to have a great rest of the day?  Check.

Metacognition

Thinking about thinking.

I think way too much.  And I think about the way that I think.  Way too much.  I overanalyze.  I wish I could do auto-brain surgery and excise the part of my brain that does this.  I think I'd be much calmer and carefree. A friend said I'd be lobotomized.  Lobotomized me sounds quite awful, so maybe I should lay my surgery fantasies to rest.

There's a feeling at the base of my throat.  It's a feeling that threatens to turn into crying.  It's the realization that I'm heading back to Georgia to get back to the grind.  It's not that I don't want to go, necessarily.  If I stayed here in the Gump with my family indefinitely, I'd go crazy.  It's a new semester, my last semester of coursework.  A brand new, freshly-washed academic slate.  I'm looking forward to getting back to work.

It's the knowledge that I have a responsibility to follow through.  I'm not in this program just to enrich my Spanish vocabulary.  To create more student panels with transgressive titles in academese.  I'm in this program to get the credentials to get out there and get a job as a professor.  That's it.  I'm trying to enjoy the process, but the end goal is still in mind, and sometimes it weighs on me.  This is not for fun.  This is not a phase.  This is my life.

I also wish I could force my brain to stop making me feel stupid for reasons that simply have to do with being human:

Dear Brain,

I can wish and hope and feel.  I can be curious.  I can wonder.  I can allow my interest to be piqued.  I can enjoy.  I can want.  I can also refuse.  I can not want.  I can be uninterested.  I can be unattracted.  You are not allowed to make me feel stupid for any of these reasons and you are not allowed to make me feel obligated to feel any certain way for any certain reason.  I allow that many times I need to sort of reign things in.  Tone things down.  You're great at helping me do that.  I appreciate it.  But this constant emotional criticism needs to stop.

Sincerely,

Me

Note to self: Please relax.  Your brain just thinks it's in charge.  You can let it think that as long as it doesn't overstep its bounds.  You know Who's really in charge.  Take comfort in that.

2013: Consistency

Happy New Year!

Wow.  This is the beginning of my 9th year blogging at Where You Can Find Me.  It's kind of unbelievable.

When I started this blog in 2005, I was about to graduate with my bachelor's degree(s) in Language Arts and Spanish Secondary Education.  Here I am, 8 years later, in the thick of yet another university stint, still wondering and hopeful about what the future holds.

2012 was a good year.  Did I rock it, or what?  It was a year of growth, academic as well as spiritual.  It was a year of increased confidence, in God and in myself.  It was a year of gratefulness for all that God has done for me and where He has led me.  It was a year of confirmation that I am where He wants me to be.  Despite the uncertainty of many other things, that knowledge is what I hold on to and what keeps me going.

This year, I my resolution/theme is "I will be consistent."  Consistency is something that I struggle with. (Don't we all?) I find myself committing to something, but not following through with it.  I find myself beginning something and not finishing it.  I find myself talking about wanting to do something, but never taking any steps to accomplish it.  I want to try to change that this year.

To be able to say that you've done something, no matter how small, every day for an entire year, is amazing to me.  It's not that I want to accomplish some grand feat.  I simply want to accomplish something doable that will stand as a testament to commitment.  To putting one foot in front of the other and constantly maintaining a certain state of mind.  The hard part is not doing it.  It's doing it consistently.  Here are a few things that I've thought of that I want to commit myself to doing consistently this year:

1. Every morning when I wake up, I will say "Thank you, Jesus for a brand new day" before I get out of bed.  Maybe a small thing, but I see it as starting every day out with keeping a positive, God-centered frame of mind.

2. Before I check my email, read the news, log on to Facebook or do any other media related thing when I begin my day, I will read my Bible.  I often find myself rushing out the door in the morning, but somehow still having time to check all of the aforementioned things on the Internet.  If I have time to look at Facebook, I have time to read the Word.

3. I will work out for at least 30 minutes for at least 3 days a week.  This one might be a little tougher, but in the big scheme of things, it isn't that bad.  I'm not necessarily trying to lose weight (despite my slight weight gain rants) I just need to take better care of my body and that requires discipline.

4. I've always talked about how I've wanted to garden.  My apartment complex has a community garden plot and I'd like to take advantage of it this year.  Helping something grow takes consistency.  I have to decide what I want to plant.  (As much as I love sunflowers, I'd like to go for veggies this time.)  What about eggplant?  Then I can make home grown eggplant parmesan.

5. I want to write one encouraging note to someone per month.  Either via email or, my personal favorite, via a handwritten card sent through snail mail.  I think it would be a good idea, not just for consistency's sake, but to get out of my own head every once in a while and think of others.

Here's to a brand new year!

Laugh

I laughed so much last night on the phone with my friend.

My laugh is boisterous.  It is reckless.  As a person who is still so caught up with how I might appear to others, with trying to wash myself of the stain of awkwardness that I can't seem to ever rid myself of, my laugh is the one thing I possess that honestly, purely, 100% does not care.

Someone told me that when I laugh, it looks as though I might be about to cry, and interestingly, it is sort of a thin line.  I guess we laugh for some of the same reasons we cry.  It's that spark of recognition, of human recognition, of truth, of absurdity, of the interchangeability of the two.

I'm just thankful for those people I can laugh with until my stomach hurts.  Uproariously.  Freudian dream interpretations.  Domestic squabbles.  Pride-hurt poets from the past.   ("You were young and in love, I was old and not."  Even though you don't know the context, isn't it obvious?  Isn't it side-splitting?) Men thinking that fulfilling their responsibilities is bestowing a favor.  Girlish fantasies of a Regency-era relationship born of correspondence.  ("Dear sir, I pray my letter has reached you in good spirits.")  This just a few of the things enveloped by my unfettered laugh.

No matter where I am in life, my laugh will always remind me of my inherent joie de vivre.  I'm embarrassed by it, but I'm thankful for it.

Noooo! Didn't you hear me? I said "pleasant" surprises.

Ugh.  My worst fear materialized today.  Of course, I have to write about it without giving too many particulars.

Part of my reason for getting out of this town, as in, the town I'm in at the present, the town to which I go to visit my family, was to get away from people.  This sounds cold-blooded and absolute, but if I could, I would unequivocally banish certain people from my life.  I would put a real life Facebook block on them.   You cannot see me, you cannot see anything that I'm doing, you cannot contact me, I cannot see or contact you either.  You unexist in my life.  But real life doesn't work that way.

I know I'm dramaticizing this.  But it's just maddening, in a way.  I'm sailing on, doing my thing, in a 100% better place, and here you come to try to get your manipulative little paws back into my lifespace.  The few times that I've dared mention him, I've referred to him as Lord Henry.

This is what was shocking:  Not that I saw him, but that he was the same.  Exactly the same.  Looked the same, smelled the same, said the same things, explained away the same kinds of things.  Not one iota of him had changed.  That's what unsettled me. I guess I thought that if I happened to run into him one of these days that he'd be arrogant and imperious, try to belittle me, show me that he'd moved on too.  But no.

That unbelievable sameness is what I wasn't prepared for.  And it hit an emotional trigger that brought me back to that same place, just for a moment.  That terrible place that I never wanted to revisit ever again.  That's what unsettled me.

In the end, it's fine.  I think I handled myself pretty well.  I am not the same.

Pleasant Surprises

I'm me, and the me I am can be quite sentimental.

I know it isn't much.  I know it doesn't really mean anything, but at Christmastime, sometimes you hear from people you don't normally hear from.  And it's a pleasant surprise.  It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling to know that someone is thinking of me.

And, I've mentioned this a really long time ago, way back in the day: my wedding dress.  Well, the lady who volunteered to make it for me has been working on it off and on for several years.  She called me and said that it's almost finished.  She said it will definitely be done before classes start back up in January.  I'm so excited!  I can't wait to try it on.  Not that I'll need it anytime soon, but . . . who knows?  I'm always up for a pleasant surprise.

Not My Christmas Wish List

1. Got my hurr did yesterday, so I'm looking fresh to death.

2. Sipping some English breakfast tea.  Delightful.

3. Finished shopping.  I guess I need to wrap stuff now.  I might go out one more time to just make sure I'm done.

4. Better send off those Christmas cards and quick.  It won't really matter to my European friends . . . their Christmas lasts until Jan 6.

5. Cake balls.  If you haven't had a cake ball (proper name: chocolate truffle), you haven't lived.  Bake a chocolate cake.  Dump it out in a bowl.  Mix in a can of chocolate frosting.  But it in the freezer for a minute until it gets firm enough to mold.  Form balls out of the mixture.  Dip the balls into melted chocolate.  Put sprinkles on top if you like.  Stick it in the fridge and voila!  Instant holiday decadence.

6. Going to a Christmas wedding tomorrow.  That should be lovely.  I don't know if I would want a Christmas wedding, though.  I guess it takes a lot of the work out of decorations and finding matching colors, etc.  I want an end of summer/beginning of fall wedding.  I want a sunflower harvest wedding.

7. This is all I really want for Christmas: scarves, tights, pajamas and stuff that smells good.  And maybe some gift cards on the side.

8. I've been calling all those people I've been meaning to call.  It's nice to have time to do that.

9. I'm so glad I haven't had any awkward run ins while being home.  It's honestly one of my worst fears.  That I'll be out shopping somewhere and run into a blast from the past that I'd rather not have to interact with.  I really do thank God that hasn't happened.  I'm not even going to add 'yet.'  lol.

10. A friend asked me about New Year's resolutions, and I told him that instead of a list of resolutions, I've begun a tradition for the last few years of just coming up with more of a singular resolution/theme.  2012 was "I will rock it." And he was like, "Yeah, I can totally see how you've accomplished that this year."  Yes!

More Moments

What it means to be six
An adorable boy: honey-skinned, gap-toothed smile, hazel eyes, wheat-colored hair in cornrows.  He runs up to me because even though I hadn't seen him in a very long while, he remembered me.  Clinging to me like a koala, burying his face in my neck.  "I miss you!"  Moving him side to side in a bear hug.  "I miss you, too!"  When I put him down, a crowd of women (who are marveling at how big he's gotten) hover over him as he announces the following: "I'm six!  I'm big! I can do a front flip and a back flip!"

Iceland
Pandora is a mixed bag.  It thinks it knows what you like, and sometimes it does.  Sometimes it doesn't.  But this time it did.  Of Monsters and Men.  An absolutely charming folk group from Iceland.  I fell in love.  And I was reminded about Iceland and my curiosity about it.  It's my secret place I want to go, a place to which no one would imagine going on their honeymoon, but that I do.  I imagine it as lovely and strange, darkly romantic, full of charm and haunting, rare beauty.  A lonely, cold, wistful, sweetly melancholy place that would welcome you with open arms to explore it.

Post-symposium blues
A(nother) professor who lights up the nerd center of my brain.  Symposium at the new rare books library. She's presenting with a collaborator, come if you're interested.  At 9 a.m. on a Saturday, most of my classmates weren't.  But I had to.  The reasons boil down to a special concentration of uber-nerdiousness, professor worship, and knowledge that she was presenting on a topic on which I was writing my final paper.  The Battle of Lepanto.  The epic poem writer in Latin, the black former slave Juan Latino.  I went.  She didn't use a microphone so, "Let me know if you can't hear me back there, Chantell."  (Another way of saying, "I noticed your presence"?)  All bodies and eyes momentarily bent towards me.  A fleeting feeling of wanting to disappear, but onward.  Wonderful, well-done, footnote stories of research and collaborations and rooting through obscure archives and getting published by the I Tatti Renaissance Library of Harvard.  Impressive.  A tearful drive home because I listened to something telling me that I would never be able to do what she does.

I guess I should wear my hair up more often, but . . . 
We were having a Christmas celebration Sunday night.  Invite lots of people!  (I invited someone and he was set to come, but a few hours before, texted his regrets.)  We were wearing our choir robes that night (a rarity, a specialty), so hair up, ladies!  I guess it had been a while since I took the time to curl and twist and pin my hair in an up-do, but I did that night.  When I walked in, you'd think I had worn a neon green burqa because of people's looks of surprise.  Your hair!  It's SO nice!  Wow, I didn't even recognize you at first!  You look SO pretty with your hair like that!  I mean, thanks, guys.  Wow.  I was very flattered.  I guess I'll wear it up more often.  But . . . I couldn't help but wonder, was my hair just looking to' up pre-up-do?

Moments

Sometimes missing the bus isn't that bad
Fantastic. As soon as the bus stop is in sight, the bus pulls away.  Then I have to wait another . . . oh, wait here's a city bus.  That wasn't too long of an extra wait.  I step on, swipe my card, and who do I see with an empty seat beside him and a smile?  The handsome Brazilian.  We chat, we get off a stop earlier to take a lovely walk and get some exercise.  In a charming accent: "Thank you for taking a walk with me."  So darn adorable.  If I had caught the bus I missed, I would've missed my little Brazilian excursion.  Sometimes we miss the bus we wanted to catch because there's a better bus already on the way.

Mortification in the produce section
After church, so I'm in a zebra print blouse (admittedly, a tad outside of my usual fare) a black skirt, a red belt and boots.  All I want are lettuce and tomatoes to make a salad to go along with my pasta.  But as soon as I round the corner, he spots me.  An old Southerner whose great-grandfather probably fought in the Confederate army, reduced to a stockboy at Kroger.  Old enough to be considered old, but young enough to not be senile and know better.  "I like them boots" was our introduction.  Me, thanking him sheepishly, just wanting a bag of pre-washed lettuce.  Then, LOUDLY, "Whoo-wee!  I like how you dress.  Good Lord, I'm bout to fall out over here! You looking real good.  Yo husband must take good care a you."  Me, stuck between flattered and utterly mortified, noticing the curious stares of passersby.  "Look!  Look over here at this gal!  Don't she look good?"  People actually looking.  And laughing.  Can I silently sink into the floor right now? "I'm sorry, but I'm not a shy man, ma'am."  Me, finally finding a voice, "But I am."  A million apologies, and I finally grab my bag of lettuce and get out of there, praying that I don't run into him again before I make it to the check-out line.  "Guess you better be careful bout what you wear to the grocery store next time," calls out one of the amused passersby as I was on my way to get a packet of garlic alfredo sauce mix.  Can I die right now?  Bam.  My worst fear realized.  He caught me again.  "Boy, I tell you, you could be a model.  Are you sure you ain't a movie star?"  Then he gets just a little too close for comfort, looks me right in the eye and reassures me, "You gonna be all right, girl.  You gonna be all right." And then walks away.  Um, thanks?  Did I appear as if I thought I wasn't going to be all right?  Note to self: NEVER go to that Kroger on a Sunday afternoon ever again.

She already knew what I was going to ask
Shopping at The Gap with a Chinese friend on Black Friday.  The way we became friends was quite simple, yet amusing.  In Auburn, coming home from a night of studying.  We crossed paths.  She introduced herself with the perkiness of an 8-year-old on a sugar high.  "Hi!  I have been in the United States for 40 days!" she said, proudly.  How can you deny friendship to someone like that?  Back to The Gap.  Surrounded by a gaggle of Asian kids, speaking unintelligibly (to me).  I wondered if she understood them.  I wonder if they're Chinese, too.  All I did was look at her and she said, "They are not Chinese."

Nerddom at its awkwardest
I decide to write my final paper on this art housey Argentine movie.  Not a whole lot of scholarly criticism about it, but I put my searching skills to work and rustled up an article written about it in 2011!  A rush of nerd juice to the head.  I spotted my professor in the hall and asked her if she was familiar with it.  Sure, I'll scan a copy of it for you right away.  Got my teacher's pet on, scanned the article, sent it to her, she posted it on eLC.  I didn't actually read it.  I scanned through it, though.  It was enough that it was recent and about the movie, right?  Wrong.  In class the next day.  Professor: "Did any of you read the article I posted?"  Student: "Yes, and you were cited in it, weren't you?" (Me in my head: Wait, she was? Flips to bibliography.  Bam.) Professor: "Yes, honestly, I was a little embarrassed about it because the article writer criticized me for not blah, blah, blah."  (Me in my head: Oh, snap. And I recommended it!  Awkwarrrd!) I might as well have said, "Hey, Dr. Such and Such, wanna read this article that lambastes your work?  I'll scan it for you right now!"  Note to self: READ articles in their entirety and check that bibliography right quick before that nerd rush to the head incites you to share it prematurely.  Geez.

Filing and Freaking Out

So, my end of the semester tidy-up duties are at hand.  I had papers and articles strewn about my apartment like a scatterbrained mad scientist.  So I'm in OCD mode, labeling file folders, organizing everything and putting it away for future reference.

I'm heading back to my hometown (?) tomorrow.  We're having a little Christmas banquet tomorrow, and I thought it would be fun to whip out my old bridesmaid's dress to wear and get all dolled up.  Except . . . (record scratch) . . . it doesn't fit anymore!

AARRRGH!

I feel like having a temper tantrum.  Like reverting to a 3-year-old, falling out and proceeding to scream and flail about because mommy told me I couldn't have another cookie.

Bridesmaid's dress, get your skinny butt over here right now!  Who told you not to fit me anymore?  Answer me!  I asked you, WHO TOLD YOU NOT TO FIT ME ANYMORE?  Did you ask me?  I don't think so. No ma'am, you did NOT get permission not to fit me anymore.  What was that you said?  Oh, that I could still barely get the zipper up?  I don't call that fitting, you skinny, shimmering, pool blue rag.  Yeah, it might fit if I held my breath all night, but I don't want to pass out, and I would actually like to eat at the Christmas banquet without cutting off the circulation in the lower half of my body.  I fit into you just fine three years ago, and just when I want to wear you again you decide to shrink.  Bridesmaid's dress, you ain't about that life!  You don't want this!  Girl, I will cut you.  I will snatch off your wig.  I will yank out your weave, snap off your press-on nails, call up your baby daddy and tell him to Western Union that child support check to ME!  See, you ain't ready for me!  Nawl.

I can't even look at that bridesmaid's dress without wanting to fight the air.  This. Is. Not. Allowed. To. Happen.

So, I'm back. And I'm done. Almost.

Sigh.  The hard part is over.  Finally got my final papers cranked out.  You want to know what they were about?  Aw, how sweet of you to ask!

1. A Spanish detective novel called Fácil de matar.  Easy to Kill.  Oooh.  In this genre, the detective is usually a man, in this one it's a woman.  In Spanish detective fiction, the setting is usually Barcelona, in this one it's Beirut.  How do these differences affect the expectations of the reader?  How do these characteristics (and others) reflect postmodernity?

2. A 1970s Argentine novel called La condesa sangrienta (The Bloody Countess) and a 2002 Argentine film called Tan de repente  (Suddenly).  I proposed that talking about power in masculine terms is insufficient and generalizes the dynamics of power and that we need to talk about power in ways that aren't codified by gender.  These works, in which women exercise power over other women, give examples of power dynamics that are outside of the language of male domination.

3. An epic poem in Latin called the Austrias carmen written in 1573 by a former black slave who lived in Granada named Juan Latino.  The poem celebrates the European victory in the battle of Lepanto and the exploits of the war's hero, John of Austria, the illegitimate son of Charles V.  After finally being recognized, John was continually denied noble status by his older half-brother, king Philip II.  I proposed that part of the reason Latino chose John for his epic's hero was because he identified with him due to their shared marginalized status--Latino as a black former slave in Spain, John as an illegitimate son. I focused on the ways that Latino praises John, in his language that compares him with his father, suggesting nobility, and in his comparisons of John with Caesar Augustus, borrowing imagery from the Aeneid.

My last hurdle is a project that I should have been working on all semester for my major professor, but that I must finish up by Friday.  Not nearly as intense of writing three papers, so I'll be able to pull it off.  When I brought all of my books back to the library, I think got a tiny taste of how Jesus Christ felt carrying the cross.

Anyway, there's lots I want to write about, and I have a nice stretch of time ahead of me where I can give my brain a break.  I'll probably start with reflections of amusing moments that have kind of stuck with me during my blog break.  Until then, back to finishing up this project!

Media Break

It kind of hit me today that I waste a lot of time online in general and with social media in particular.  I deactivated my FB account, and I've decided to take a break from blogging for a little while as well.

Sometimes we need to take a step back from things for a little while in order to reorder our priorities.  One of my goals is to be a better time manager, and I see that a lot of my online activities are starting to impact the way I manage my time in a negative way.  So, I can't allow that to continue unchecked.

I'll be back. :-)

God really does have something better.

I know this.  Like, I really believe it.

So . . . I got a double dose of bummer last week.  I didn't want to specify what they were because I was . . . bummed about them.  But today, well, let's say that "God has something better" when He closes a door is not mere cliche.

I mentioned the Cuba program in previous posts.  Suffice it to say, in the end, last week, I got a letter that I wasn't chosen as the program assistant.  Hence, part one of bummery.

It was just perfect for me.  It was.  I would have had the chance to finally go somewhere outside of Western Europe, and visit a country about which I've done previous research.  I was a strong candidate because of my research interests, my previous experience managing students, specifically in living situations (teacher and instructor at a variety of levels, Resident Assistant) and my previous experience in study abroad programs.  But it wasn't to be.

Until I got a call today from one of my professors who wrote me a letter of recommendation for the program telling me that she spoke with the program director.  She felt that I was a very strong candidate and didn't feel that the selection process was entirely fair.  Without any prompting on my part at all, she determined to at least bring it up with the director to see if there were any other options or opportunities available for me with the program even though I wasn't chosen as the assistant.  In the end, it was decided that if I am able to get additional funding from other sources, the program will take care of my room and board as well as securing a research visa! It's highly likely that I could secure funding for my ticket to and from Cuba and any additional travel through a particular travel grant for which I would have seniority because of my participation in the Latin American and Caribbean Studies Institute certificate program.  They are literally begging people to apply for these travel grants so that they don't lose funding.  Other funding could possibly come from certain research grants available to graduate students through a University sponsored center. So, it's not a sure thing, but it seems very possible that I could pull it off.

The reason it would be "better" this way is because I could go with the support of the program, but I would be free of the obligation to (let's be real) babysit undergrads and would have the time to devote to research.  Another reason is that if I am able to secure research and travel grants for an overseas research project, it would look awesome on my CV.

There's also the question of bummer #2, which was not getting accepted to present at a conference in Texas.  There is another conference going on during the same time at a university much closer to home which I still have time to apply for.  I'm going to go for it, and if I am accepted to this one, I'll go with expectation, hoping to uncover some "better" reason for that as well.  I don't mean to overspiritualize anything, but who knows?

Here's the thing: It always sucks when things don't work out the way you hoped they would.  No matter what it is, it hurts.  It's disappointing.  But in the end, I just have to make up my mind to believe that God truly does have my best interests at heart.  He really does have my back.  What's really great about these "better" possibilities is that they have built my faith.  If God can use a disappointment to make way for a greater opportunity concerning going to Cuba or going to an academic conference, He can do it concerning other areas of my life as well.

In sum, I have absolutely nothing to worry about.  God cares about what I care about.  He will supply my needs and He will give me the desires of my heart.  I am going to be just fine.  And I can't wait to find out what else He has in store.

Bummed. Again.

Geez, it just ain't my week, is it?  Double dose rejection up in here!  (Sigh.) You win some, you lose some.

It's always darkest before the dawn or something, right?  lol.  Tomorrow, I better get news of something awesome.

Well, actually, I take that back.  I've already gotten news of something awesome.  Baby twin nieces!

I need to be thankful for the things that have worked out.