I guess I haven't written lately because I don't want to sound depressing. No one wants to read ad nauseum about some chick's quarter-life crisis angst. Heck, I don't want to write about it. It's broken recordesque. "Oh, my life is blah blah blah, I cried last night about blah blah blah, I don't know what to do about blah blah blah, I feel blah blah blah about blah blah blah." An unoriginal tragicomedy. lol. So instead, I offer you this:
What I'm supposed to be doing right now: Reading a 50 page introduction on Latin American Romantic poetry before my class in 30 minutes. In Spanish.
What I've finished reading not too long ago: Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami. I need to review it for Collideoscope. Note to self: Do not read Murakami when you're melancholic. He's a brilliant writer, but everyone at some point in his novels are drenched in this haunting, aching aura of loneliness. Geez, Haruki. Can you please offer more than measly crumbs of hope next time?
What I'm going to read soon: An Amazon ordered book recommended by my go-to book guy called Never Eat Alone by Kevin Ferazzi. And I got Amazon-suckered into buying a "people who bought this book also bought this" book. Urban Tribes by Ethan Watters. Interesting-seeming stuff.
Why my stomach is growling like a big dog: I've only had a caramel latte the whole day so far today. That's it. Maybe that's part of why I'm so cranky. Maybe I need to try to put some meat on my bones or something. Make the older folks who know me happy.
My Spanish professor is really . . . happy. A little flighty. She worried me at first, but she's definitely grounded. Homegirl knows her stuff. And she's more hardcore than I expected. So, I'd better get it together.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Confessions of an Impatient Person
I'm impatient. Yes, I'm coming clean. If I were cast in a Shakespearean tragedy, impatience may be my tragic flaw.
Well, not about everything. If I were hard core impatient, I would have lost my mind as a teacher by now. Elementary + Middle School kids - Patience = Insanity. But in other things, especially recently, I've been maddeningly reminded of how impatient I can be.
While I'm driving, for instance. I have conversations with all the cars around me. "What were you thinking, Mazda?!" "Don't even think about it, Expedition. You gas guzzling landmass." "Aaargh! Just because you're a Volvo doesn't mean it's cool for you to cut in front of me and then go 5 miles per hour!" I hate extra long red lights too. "Oh, come ON!" Usually I drive around by myself. But now that my aunt is here for the summer, I've been driving around more with her. She looked at me kind of funny after one of my outbursts, and though she didn't say anything, I felt checked. I realized that I really do need to chill out and be a more patient driver.
I was also near tears when I couldn't print out my paper yesterday. I know that is ridiculous, but technology is something else I get disconcertingly impatient with sometimes. I was yelling at my dad's computer, "You stupid computer! Why won't you print? The CD worked fine on my laptop, and now all of a sudden there's an error when I try to pull up my paper? What did I do wrong? All I want to do is print out my paper!"
In the end, I brought my laptop to campus, connected to the wireless connection, emailed the paper to myself, and printed it out at the lab. It wasn't the end of the world. Through this "trauma," I also realized that impatient people are usually the most frustrated people. Because things don't happen their way. Because it's not done how they want and when they want it done. That's an exhausting way to live life.
Well, not about everything. If I were hard core impatient, I would have lost my mind as a teacher by now. Elementary + Middle School kids - Patience = Insanity. But in other things, especially recently, I've been maddeningly reminded of how impatient I can be.
While I'm driving, for instance. I have conversations with all the cars around me. "What were you thinking, Mazda?!" "Don't even think about it, Expedition. You gas guzzling landmass." "Aaargh! Just because you're a Volvo doesn't mean it's cool for you to cut in front of me and then go 5 miles per hour!" I hate extra long red lights too. "Oh, come ON!" Usually I drive around by myself. But now that my aunt is here for the summer, I've been driving around more with her. She looked at me kind of funny after one of my outbursts, and though she didn't say anything, I felt checked. I realized that I really do need to chill out and be a more patient driver.
I was also near tears when I couldn't print out my paper yesterday. I know that is ridiculous, but technology is something else I get disconcertingly impatient with sometimes. I was yelling at my dad's computer, "You stupid computer! Why won't you print? The CD worked fine on my laptop, and now all of a sudden there's an error when I try to pull up my paper? What did I do wrong? All I want to do is print out my paper!"
In the end, I brought my laptop to campus, connected to the wireless connection, emailed the paper to myself, and printed it out at the lab. It wasn't the end of the world. Through this "trauma," I also realized that impatient people are usually the most frustrated people. Because things don't happen their way. Because it's not done how they want and when they want it done. That's an exhausting way to live life.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
A scramble of stuff
is jumbled in my brain. Okay,
#1. Why does it seem that things are so weirdly connected? For example, I'm going to be a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, and in the comic For Better or For Worse, Elizabeth is a bridesmaid in her friend's wedding. Yesterday, I went to look at apartments and the girl drove me around in a golf cart to show off the different features of the complex. Today, I went to visit with the lucky gal so she could show me the dress and all of the little details of the wedding, and her parents have a large property and we went around in a golf cart. Comics, weddings, golf carts? Weirdness.
#2. I think I saw band director on campus. I heard his voice and saw a little glimpse of him as he walked past a room where I was sitting. But I wasn't going to jump up and scream out his name or anything.
#3. There is a difference between admiration and appreciation. I think I've finally hit the nail on the head. I have been admired in my life. It is a great feeling to be admired by someone. To know that someone has affection for you, thinks you're beautiful, would do anything to make you happy. But that is not the same thing as being appreciated, and I'm not sure if I've ever truly been appreciated. (I'm talking about by a member of the opposite sex in the context of a relationship or potential relationship.) Appreciation carries a connotation of understanding. You can admire the way a Rachmaninoff prelude sounds, but do you understand the technique? Can you appreciate the skill and expertise it takes to be able to play one flawlessly? It takes more than being attracted by a person's looks, ability, personality, or whatever to appreciate them. Appreciation demands the answer to this question: Do you "get" me? No, really, do you have any idea of what is involved in me being me? What I've worked for? What I long for? What I'm passionate about and why? What makes me laugh or cry? I think that's what I crave. More than to be admired, I want to be appreciated.
#4. The lucky guy had the lucky girl's engagement ring made. Did you hear me? He got it custom made. And get this: He's been saving since he was a teenager to buy whomever he would ask to marry him in the future a nice ring. I'm just struck with the curious blend of practicality and romanticism of the idea. His dad told him when he was a boy that that's what he was supposed to do. And that's exactly what he did. Thanks a lot, lucky guy. Now my standards are hopelessly high.
#5. I totally hate having a cut on the inside of my nose. Do you know what I'm talking about? What happens is you have allergies or whatever and you're constantly sneezing and blowing your nose. Then your nostril lining gets so dry it cracks, and voila, inside nose cut. It's not like you can just put a Band-Aid over it. I've been applying Vaseline and the pain relief type of Neosporin all over that sucker with a Q-tip, but to no avail. When will the madness end?
#6. Tonight was the last night of the Alabama District Camp Meeting, and almost every year, it seems, some old lady that I don't know tells me something spiritual. I don't mean to sound irreverant, really, it's encouraging that these random old ladies are senstive in the Spirit and feel moved to pray with me and speak a word to me. But I wonder, is it just me, or is the unknown-old-lady-tells-you-something-at-camp thing a Pentecostal phenomenon?
Scrambled ramblings from a jumbled mind.
#1. Why does it seem that things are so weirdly connected? For example, I'm going to be a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, and in the comic For Better or For Worse, Elizabeth is a bridesmaid in her friend's wedding. Yesterday, I went to look at apartments and the girl drove me around in a golf cart to show off the different features of the complex. Today, I went to visit with the lucky gal so she could show me the dress and all of the little details of the wedding, and her parents have a large property and we went around in a golf cart. Comics, weddings, golf carts? Weirdness.
#2. I think I saw band director on campus. I heard his voice and saw a little glimpse of him as he walked past a room where I was sitting. But I wasn't going to jump up and scream out his name or anything.
#3. There is a difference between admiration and appreciation. I think I've finally hit the nail on the head. I have been admired in my life. It is a great feeling to be admired by someone. To know that someone has affection for you, thinks you're beautiful, would do anything to make you happy. But that is not the same thing as being appreciated, and I'm not sure if I've ever truly been appreciated. (I'm talking about by a member of the opposite sex in the context of a relationship or potential relationship.) Appreciation carries a connotation of understanding. You can admire the way a Rachmaninoff prelude sounds, but do you understand the technique? Can you appreciate the skill and expertise it takes to be able to play one flawlessly? It takes more than being attracted by a person's looks, ability, personality, or whatever to appreciate them. Appreciation demands the answer to this question: Do you "get" me? No, really, do you have any idea of what is involved in me being me? What I've worked for? What I long for? What I'm passionate about and why? What makes me laugh or cry? I think that's what I crave. More than to be admired, I want to be appreciated.
#4. The lucky guy had the lucky girl's engagement ring made. Did you hear me? He got it custom made. And get this: He's been saving since he was a teenager to buy whomever he would ask to marry him in the future a nice ring. I'm just struck with the curious blend of practicality and romanticism of the idea. His dad told him when he was a boy that that's what he was supposed to do. And that's exactly what he did. Thanks a lot, lucky guy. Now my standards are hopelessly high.
#5. I totally hate having a cut on the inside of my nose. Do you know what I'm talking about? What happens is you have allergies or whatever and you're constantly sneezing and blowing your nose. Then your nostril lining gets so dry it cracks, and voila, inside nose cut. It's not like you can just put a Band-Aid over it. I've been applying Vaseline and the pain relief type of Neosporin all over that sucker with a Q-tip, but to no avail. When will the madness end?
#6. Tonight was the last night of the Alabama District Camp Meeting, and almost every year, it seems, some old lady that I don't know tells me something spiritual. I don't mean to sound irreverant, really, it's encouraging that these random old ladies are senstive in the Spirit and feel moved to pray with me and speak a word to me. But I wonder, is it just me, or is the unknown-old-lady-tells-you-something-at-camp thing a Pentecostal phenomenon?
Scrambled ramblings from a jumbled mind.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
My New Abode?
Thursday mornings I have off (before my class in the afternoons). I had to get an oil change, and I wanted to check out the apartment complex I had been thinking about moving into. It's very convenient because it's right up the street from where I work, right next to my favorite park, and actually, off of the same road of the subdivision where I live with my parents now.
Everything looked fine, they have pools, tennis courts, all of the little amenities. In the model I plan to move into, they have a little fireplace and built in bookcase, which is really nice because I have hordes of books. The walk-in closet is also super needed--space is one of the reasons I feel I need to move out. I felt really good about it, filled out the application, and paid the security deposit.
But why do I feel so weird about it now? Why do I doubt my ability to be on my own? That is so confounding. There is no reason why I shouldn't be able to manage. I don't get myself. I'm not moving to another country or another state, or even across town. Mom and Dad will be literally down the street. And I'm 25! In five years I'm going to be 30. Like, if someone had a baby right now, the baby would be going to Kindergarten by the time I turn 30. I'm going to be 30 in the amount of time it took me to graduate from college. (And that didn't seem very long at all.) Isn't it time for me to do something on my own? Seriously.
I have to snap out of it and stop worrying all the time. Perhaps part of it is that I don't know what I'm going to be doing a year from now, around the time the lease will be up. Stay in Montgomery? Move to Auburn and finish the Master's I've started by going full time? I hate how everything is so uncertain. It's really draining. It's like, give me something to go on. Give me some assurance that something is going to work out. Being in a constant state of not knowing really starts to wear on you. I know I'm probably exaggerating things. (I'm really good at that.) But that's how I feel a lot of times, and I really am trying my best not to let it get to me.
Everything looked fine, they have pools, tennis courts, all of the little amenities. In the model I plan to move into, they have a little fireplace and built in bookcase, which is really nice because I have hordes of books. The walk-in closet is also super needed--space is one of the reasons I feel I need to move out. I felt really good about it, filled out the application, and paid the security deposit.
But why do I feel so weird about it now? Why do I doubt my ability to be on my own? That is so confounding. There is no reason why I shouldn't be able to manage. I don't get myself. I'm not moving to another country or another state, or even across town. Mom and Dad will be literally down the street. And I'm 25! In five years I'm going to be 30. Like, if someone had a baby right now, the baby would be going to Kindergarten by the time I turn 30. I'm going to be 30 in the amount of time it took me to graduate from college. (And that didn't seem very long at all.) Isn't it time for me to do something on my own? Seriously.
I have to snap out of it and stop worrying all the time. Perhaps part of it is that I don't know what I'm going to be doing a year from now, around the time the lease will be up. Stay in Montgomery? Move to Auburn and finish the Master's I've started by going full time? I hate how everything is so uncertain. It's really draining. It's like, give me something to go on. Give me some assurance that something is going to work out. Being in a constant state of not knowing really starts to wear on you. I know I'm probably exaggerating things. (I'm really good at that.) But that's how I feel a lot of times, and I really am trying my best not to let it get to me.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Methinks She Doth Protest Too Much
I'm not worried about it. Naw, I'm not even worried about it. No, really, I'm not worrying about it at all. Seriously, it hasn't even crossed my mind . . .
I'm going to be a bridesmaid this summer. Next month. I am so excited about it, I almost feel like I'm getting married! I've known the lucky gal since we were in junior high together, and I knew the lucky guy when he first met the lucky gal when we were all attending the same college and the same church together. So, I know the ins and outs of how they got together. I knew that it was going to be a sure thing. I saw it coming from a mile away. This will have been the first time I've ever been in a wedding. Well . . . there was that time I was a flower girl when I was 5 or 6 and instead of gently tossing the flowers, I ended up throwing the flowers so forcefully that people were ducking as I made my way up the aisle. But that doesn't count. I'm going to be a bridesmaid!
Another special thing about the wedding is that the bridesmaids' dresses are my all time favorite color. Lavender. That beautiful, soft, light pastel purple. Nearly everything I own is lavender. Desk lamp, pajamas, toothbrush, hordes of articles of clothing, shoes, bedsheets, journals, scarves--if it is something commonly owned, chances are I own it in lavender. During the fitting, I ended up being the model. I stood on the block while the seamstress pinned and poked and tried to help the bride decide how she wanted the trimming to go, and how far she wanted the sleeves to be hemmed. Everyone oohed and aahed and told me how great I looked in the dress. Inner monologue: This is not your wedding! This is not your wedding! Oh, but the dress is beautiful.
I love the lucky guy and lucky gal. They are so made for each other. They balance each other out perfectly. It's like, God really knew what He was doing when He brought them together. That is how I really feel, and I am so happy for them. But the lucky guy seems to be almost as eager to see me get married as he is to get married himself. He nearly prophesies to me every time we start chatting about the wedding that God has someone for me too. Actually, he mentioned that his best friend is a groomsman. And it seems that we're the only ones in the wedding party who are not related to the bride or groom. And I think I'm supposed to be matched up with him in the procession. The lucky guy playfully mentioned that he was single, attractive, educated, very available . . . I laughingly waved him off. I'm not worried about it. Naw, I'm not even worried about it.
But, oh, once a seed as tantalizing as that one has been planted into the mind, one can't help but think about it. Wouldn't that be hilarious? What if "the one" were your escort at your friends' wedding? While you were wearing your favorite color walking down the aisle? Oh, the mirth. Geez, I hate that. Unfortunately, I'm "a victim of circumstance," a friend told me after I related to her the situation. "It's perfectly natural for an English major to think that way. You know, to romanticize things. But people meeting at weddings? It happens all the time." Why must I get all Jane Austen about everything? Blast you, English major side of my brain! But my Spanish major doesn't help out much. Daydreams about the curly-haired Spaniard in my class is enough proof of that.
No, really, I'm not worrying about it at all. Seriously, it hasn't even crossed my mind . . .
I'm going to be a bridesmaid this summer. Next month. I am so excited about it, I almost feel like I'm getting married! I've known the lucky gal since we were in junior high together, and I knew the lucky guy when he first met the lucky gal when we were all attending the same college and the same church together. So, I know the ins and outs of how they got together. I knew that it was going to be a sure thing. I saw it coming from a mile away. This will have been the first time I've ever been in a wedding. Well . . . there was that time I was a flower girl when I was 5 or 6 and instead of gently tossing the flowers, I ended up throwing the flowers so forcefully that people were ducking as I made my way up the aisle. But that doesn't count. I'm going to be a bridesmaid!
Another special thing about the wedding is that the bridesmaids' dresses are my all time favorite color. Lavender. That beautiful, soft, light pastel purple. Nearly everything I own is lavender. Desk lamp, pajamas, toothbrush, hordes of articles of clothing, shoes, bedsheets, journals, scarves--if it is something commonly owned, chances are I own it in lavender. During the fitting, I ended up being the model. I stood on the block while the seamstress pinned and poked and tried to help the bride decide how she wanted the trimming to go, and how far she wanted the sleeves to be hemmed. Everyone oohed and aahed and told me how great I looked in the dress. Inner monologue: This is not your wedding! This is not your wedding! Oh, but the dress is beautiful.
I love the lucky guy and lucky gal. They are so made for each other. They balance each other out perfectly. It's like, God really knew what He was doing when He brought them together. That is how I really feel, and I am so happy for them. But the lucky guy seems to be almost as eager to see me get married as he is to get married himself. He nearly prophesies to me every time we start chatting about the wedding that God has someone for me too. Actually, he mentioned that his best friend is a groomsman. And it seems that we're the only ones in the wedding party who are not related to the bride or groom. And I think I'm supposed to be matched up with him in the procession. The lucky guy playfully mentioned that he was single, attractive, educated, very available . . . I laughingly waved him off. I'm not worried about it. Naw, I'm not even worried about it.
But, oh, once a seed as tantalizing as that one has been planted into the mind, one can't help but think about it. Wouldn't that be hilarious? What if "the one" were your escort at your friends' wedding? While you were wearing your favorite color walking down the aisle? Oh, the mirth. Geez, I hate that. Unfortunately, I'm "a victim of circumstance," a friend told me after I related to her the situation. "It's perfectly natural for an English major to think that way. You know, to romanticize things. But people meeting at weddings? It happens all the time." Why must I get all Jane Austen about everything? Blast you, English major side of my brain! But my Spanish major doesn't help out much. Daydreams about the curly-haired Spaniard in my class is enough proof of that.
No, really, I'm not worrying about it at all. Seriously, it hasn't even crossed my mind . . .
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Way Weird
I was driving by a local Pentecostal church and saw this on their sign! Who would do such a thing?! I was flabbergasted! I mean . . . like, the church okayed this? I mean, did they think it would bring in the harvest or something?
Okay, okay. I did it. At www.churchsigngenerator.com.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Which Sports Car Are You?
I'm a Mazda Miata!
You like to soak up the sun, but your tastes are down to earth. Everyone thinks you're cute. Life is a winding road, and you like to take the curves in stride. Let other people compete in the rat race - you're just here to enjoy the ride.
Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.
I must give credit to Jay at I Write the Blogs for this cute little quiz.
Joy
My aunt came down from Philadelphia to get a change of scene, and in her words, to get her life together. She was hungry, seeking, and open.
Tonight at church, she was filled with the Holy Ghost. Soon afterward, her brother, my dad, baptized her in the name of Jesus Christ.
It was pure joy. The way it happened so plainly. A woman, tired of her life, reaches out to God, and He fills her and gives her a new life. It's the beginning of a beautiful story.
Tonight at church, she was filled with the Holy Ghost. Soon afterward, her brother, my dad, baptized her in the name of Jesus Christ.
It was pure joy. The way it happened so plainly. A woman, tired of her life, reaches out to God, and He fills her and gives her a new life. It's the beginning of a beautiful story.
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