True Ladies 1

In honor of the facebook group "The Society for the Revival of Ladylike Behaviour"
I think this particular lady should be considered, and added.

Mortenson: hero

I know I've talked a lot on here about being an mk. I've wondered, often, what the value of it is. Lately, I've been listening to Three Cups of Tea, the story of how Greg Mortenson began his career, building schools and relationships in Pakistan.
He's my new hero. I don't feel like going into too much detail, but in reading his book, occasionally when the narrator describes Greg's language ability, or his African sense of time (as opposed to American), among other things, I can't help but smile and think "mk skills" - or something to that effect. But, that being said, what really draws me to call him a hero is how he has built on who he began to be in Tanzania, as a kid. He's not just an mk. In fact, his name is mostly associated with things like "peace maker" and "schools" and "educating women," and the fact that he grew up in a country not his own seems to be only a curious side detail. I think that is beautiful: the way his upbringing has become a seamless part of his life, a building block , a background to everything else he is. It gives an important coloring to his life, but the color acts as a... a light, which shines over the person he has become, and affects the scene drastically, but without obliterating the actual picture. Does that make sense? I'm probably making it harder to explain than it actually is. :P Anyway, the point is, I would really like that for my life. I would like for my growing-up, though important to who I become, to be only a part of that person and her accomplishments.
For this reason, and for the fruits of his passion for people, for his amazing work, Greg Mortenson strikes me as worthy of the term "hero". He is what I think every missionary should be: loving people intensely, truly, in actions more than in words; bringing God's love and blessings tangibly into people's lives.
At any rate, I have blabbered on long enough. If you'd like to begin to get an idea yourself, have a look at the website about him and his work, or at his blog. =)
over 'n out.
E.O.

crafts & such

the cut-off gloves are now... COMPLETE! :D
They look much better as a pair than one by itself, hehe.
I'm definitely enjoying them though!
Next up: a scarf w/the remaining yarn. We'll see how long it gets.
over 'n out!
E.O.

ponderings

Questions:
1. how difficult was temptation for Jesus- really?
2. what does it mean to have the "mind of Christ" and how do we know/see it, practically?
3. what is God's opinion on masturbation?
4. what was my fourth question?
5. does anyone know anyone who goes caroling and would be willing to let me go along?
yeah, so... i had another good question, but i forget what it was. what a shame. good questions are so useful, sometimes. ah well, perhaps i'll re-stumble across the thought that raised it in the first place.

another thing to think about: the politics of gifts, presents, and the giving of said items.
Yes, God gave us Jesus, an immeasurable present, on Christmas. Yes, it is a time which society has set aside to remember to love one another in a Godly way. However, does that require us to give presents to one another? To as many people as society dictates? Ok, it's possible I raise the question merely because I suck at on-demand gift-giving, but truly, my motives aside, I think it's a valid question. Christ wasn't given to us on Christmas. This whole present thing has turned into something that is largely "political," if you will, a way to get into the good graces of others, or even just to fulfill their expectations. I am beginning to think that it may actually detract a great deal from the loving, family aspect of Christmas. Too many expectations and desires, too much greed and selfishness get in the way, and a family celebration of Christmas ends up being a get-together about opening gifts which were not necessarily given out of a heart full of love, but rather out of a somewhat empty pocket and in haste.
Also, on a different, but related train of thought, isn't the Easter holiday commensurately more important, since that's when the whole saving deal happened? I mean, really, in importance, Christmas should just be a build-up for Easter. So my question is, how important to the universally (across nominally Christian countries, anyway) acknowledged importance of Christmas is the fact that it has been positively blown up by all sorts of businesses? If Easter had more commercial applications, would it indeed be larger?
These, and many other ponderings are on my mind this Christmas Eve (for I suppose it is Christmas Eve, by this point).
However, please, feel free to set my cacophony of musings aside and simply enjoy your family and your loved ones, however you may choose to do so, in a spirit of love and compassion. I know I will (try to. hehe).
over 'n out.
E.O.

^ I always get mad at people who think in this way about things like going green, or politics, or Issues. But I guess I really can't say anything. :P

huzzah!

What a simply marvelous evening! Dad came home, he brought turron and Lebkuchen, I watched a splendiferamazinglywonderful movie, AND my GPA is, momentarily, until the rest of the grades come in, above a 3.5!!! :D After a year and a half's hard work to get it up there!!
As for the movie, you should definitely go find Mrs. Pettigrew Lives for a Day, either online or in your local library (books, people, books. they still exist, you know, and they work quite well. There's even an entire sub-population in the world dedicated to preserving them and making sure they are kept nice and clean. These people are called conservators. Just FYI).
Also, I made a discovery today, which feels as if I may have made it before, so forgive me if I repeat myself, but this website, is quite fascinating. The linguist in me is titillated by the prospect of so much collected knowledge about languages and their writing systems.
anyway, enjoy! Or not, as your tastes may be.
gladness.
E.O.

status update

so I... just got called dysfunctional because I am "sadly afraid of becoming my mother"... and what's more, that was supposedly a positive thing, allowing the person who said it to relate to me better, and thus be able to be better friends. in the same conversation I was told that I should not let my bangs grow out, and that it was a bad idea for me to not wear glasses- by both of which comments she meant that a) i look better with bangs and b) i look better with glasses than without.
however.
i feel the need to record this as an example of the difference between two of my particular sets of friends.
sigh.
good night, world.


in other news, i've almost given myself carpal tunnel from knitting for hours on end. for someone who hasn't knitted in a year, and never knitted seriously, that was... strenuous and slightly on the foolish side. :P but i'm well into my second glove!

the kittens' mittens

so, in an effort to not be all gloom-and-doom, i shall tell you about my past two days.
i am home. or rather, what counts as home while being in the states. we've lived here for two, going on three years now, so i guess it's "home". anyway, point is, i'm here now, with the cousins and the comfy couch and the tv and the car. i've been out shopping, buying exciting things for christmas, and a project so that i don't go bored out of my mind. =)
how i ever developed this ability to be bored so easily, i'll never know. even living in europe hasn't been able to cure me of it. so, you may call me an old lady, but i have determined to knit a pair of cut-off mittens. yep. and, just so you know, knitting in the round is nothing to sneeze at! you have to have four needles going at all times, and woe unto you if you drop a stitch! :P it's more fun than i'd have expected, and requires a great deal of concentration. anyway, i'm pretty sure i've got the hang of all the basic stitches now, so all i have to do is put 'em all together. (easier said than done? i hope not.)
we'll see how this first attempt turns out. wish me luck! :)
over 'n out.
E.O.

P.S.: I FINISHED THE FIRST GLOVE!!! :D It's lovely, if a bit small. It's keeping my hand nice and cozy right this very moment. =) I've decided that this will be a "practice" glove, as I have plenty of yarn for two more. Then I can make those two bigger, and have them fit properly instead of looking like they were meant for my 6-year-old cousin rather than me. :P Also, I'm taking a break from knitting- my index fingers are sore, and my right pinky was cramping up from trying to hold the miniscule thread. Hehe. This was a good project idea. =)

finals: what you can easily guess, but i'll tell you anyway

I want nothing more right now than to go downstairs and watch a movie.
Instead I have to
a) finish making diagrams for my paper
b) finish writing said paper
c) study for my final tomorrow at 8:30 AM,(which is also when the paper's due)
after which the horror of finals week will be officially over, and I can relax. For the next three weeks. And then a week of pure beauty and travel. And then another week or so, and then...
back onto the hamster-wheel, for another semester of college.

If I'm honest, I really love it. I love college, I love the knowledge that we get to put into our brains, and how the air is chock-full of possibilities. I find this little bubble-world beautiful.
But I really, really don't like how hard & fast finals week makes me work.
=(

it's a secret...

... so unless you read my blog, you'll never know, but...
I've been actually dreaming about cameras. I've been dreaming, concretely, about getting to take pictures with one that was almost like my old one... only slightly better.... This is getting ridiculous! :S

So my conclusion is that, in order to preserve my sanity, i'm gonna buy a camera in the after-christmas sales, if my family doesn't give me one for christmas.
cameras. psh. you'd think i would use my dreams for something more important - or rather, I guess I didn't realize just how important having a camera IS to me. scary.
over 'n out.


*note to self: don't make a douglas. don't be that cruel.

Cantare

I think sometimes that I could sing 'til the world ended. It has a different quality from photography- I like for people to tell me it's pretty, but it's not important that other people hear me. I sing because it makes my soul glad. Does that make sense? I wish I were good at improv lyrics, 'cause then all I'd ever do is sing, sing my life, my heart. So i guess I'll just have to learn all the songs in the world, so that I'll have one for every situation... =)Surely, someone somewhere in the world has thought what I'm thinking and felt what I feel before, for every moment. So, I just have to find those songs.
hehe.
Tonight's song:

the hymn "In Christ Alone"

I am redeemed. And forgiven. And loved. As are you.
PTL!

can you hear between the lines?

I don't want you to die, says the Sovreign Lord. Turn back and live!
Ezekiel 18:32.

This right after God just finished telling Israel that they were **** SINful, and they would be SEVERELY PUNISHED as in DEATH AND DESTRUCTION if they didn't shape up.
I'm so glad that he tacked that on at the end. It makes God sound more like a person who wants your best but has been through the same thing with you, the same fault so many times that they're incredibly frustrated and don't know what else to say to you. But the love is there. It's ultimately, hugely, vitally importantly there.

that's all for now.
hopefully my thoughts will get going again soon, as they seem to be pretty er... dry lately. not too many musings.
sigh.
over 'n out.
E.O.

dedication

to Dr. E, of the psych dep't:

"Birds they fly so high, and they can shit on your head, yeah they can
almost fly into your eye and make you feel so scared but when you
look at them, and you see that they're beautiful,
that's how I feel about you." -Kate Nash

Or in my words, you're scary, and annoying as heck, but you're an admirable sort of person. ...I'd just prefer to admire you from far away, outside your circle of influence.
the end.
E.O.

Kenari - part 2

So today I did some more of that thing where i stand in the store and try to make people taste and wonder about and buy that Kenari stuff.
I was outside today, which was a very different vibe from the produce section from yesterday. Sampling things outside is much less respectable and less likely to catch peoples' attention than actually being inside the store. 'Cause you know who stands outside- the salvation army, the girlscouts, the boyscouts, random people selling whatever - the people you don't pay much attention to, except to shrug them off as graciously as you can. So it's surprising that I managed to sell as much today as I did.
The other drawback to being outside at this time of year is, of course, the temperature. I had not been prepared to be out of the warm, protective atmosphere of the produce section, and so had not brought a coat/sweater. It was ok for the first couple hours, but after that, I got COLD. Not 'cause the temp was terribly low, but simply 'cause I was there, standing, losing body heat in the most efficient way possible. I think I may have even scared the last few customers, 'cause I was shaking while talking to them and trying my best to smile. Oh well. :P
Then, another thing happened today... In every store there are people who keep the parking lot and the outside of the store clean. They put the carts back in their places, bring out piles of hand-baskets, keep the hand sanitizer filled (yes, american grocery stores have hand sanitizer and sanitizing wipes, it's ridiculous, and so typically american, i know). There was one in particular today who... well, who talked to me, and took an interest. He's from Ethiopia, which I think is awesome, and he has a super thick accent. I had to ask him to repeat stuff all the time, which is unusual for me: I can usually make out what people are saying without too much trouble, even if other people find them hard to understand. Anyway, he was friendly, and seemed genuinely kind - that is, he noticed I was cold, and offered to go get me a jacket, which could be more indicative of his interest than real kindness, I suppose. Anyway, we talked - flirted, I guess. i can never tell when flirting is going on, though I really ought to be able to pick up on these things by now - and he eventually asked for my number. As that was a new experience for me, I decided to give it to him, and see what happened.
What happened was that, soon after I packed up, and he helped me wheel the stuff back inside., he proceeded to call the number I had given him. He said that someone had left stuff outside, and he thought it was mine, and was it? - which I'm quite certain was an excuse to make sure that really was my number, since he watched me pack up all my stuff.
The upshot of it all is that I met a guy, got asked for my number for the first time ever, and am giving him a chance. We had a conversation via texting after I left, and presumably might hang out next weekend. Only time will tell.
I also bought a beautiful purple scarf. Partly 'cause I was FREEZING and had lost most of the movement in my fingers, and partly to commemorate the occasion, the place, and the job. =)
the end (for now).
E.O.

p.s.: I'm not sure whether I like coming back to my family or not. But I WILL enjoy sleeping like a log in a beautiful bed, for as long as I want, without burning up because the thermostat is broken. Wahoo! Sleep, here I come!

p.p.s.: irk. what was I thinking? The guy works in a grocery store, his English is bad enough to tell me that he's either really not good at languages, or hasn't been here long enough to pick stuff up. I know absolutely nothing about him...
the experience was really more flattering than anything else.
...i think i'm just gonna leave it at that.

Kenari

So occasionally on bulletin boards and things there will be job offers. There was one in the Culinary Club the other day, and I responded. The upshot of it was that I got to stand in a Whole Foods grocery store today for several hours, pouring and handing out a locally grown and brewed herbal beverage called "Kenari"
Yep, I was one of those people standing at the entrance of a store when you come in and offering you samples.
I was surprised by how many people actually took and subsequently bought the stuff. It was CRAZY expensive for the amount in one bottle, and yet, people seemed to have absolutely no problem shelling out. Maybe it was the neighborhood, I don't know.
What I do know is that the position avails itself very well to people watching. It's almost like being a fly on the wall, or at least, as close as I've gotten in a while. There were people of all different sorts. One person was "allergic to sugar" whatever that means, another refused to touch a product if it didn't have a kosher stamp on it. There were some people who clearly came in the store just for the samples, notably this one big black lady with her little son. They walked around, she trying things as he watched, and all the while trying to convince him to try them. They were such a fun pair! And then there was another lady with one of those really infectious smiles. The kind that absolutely transforms the owner whenever they put it on. Now she could have sold anything!
It was odd, too, I noticed that if you falter in telling people the ingredients, they immediately lose interest. If they know you're not with the company producing the product, they lose interest. If there is a person at the table, making positive comments, then more people are likely to come, or if people see other people leaving your table contentedly, they are more likely to approach.
These are only a few of the things I noticed- but I also noticed my back slowly starting to ache, and my smile fading with time. It's an exhausting job, and it took a lot out of me, especially as I'm not one of those people who is energized by meet-and-greet type environments. But hey, I learned a bit about selling, I got to be in a new environment, and I got well paid: an afternoon well-spent.
here's the website... i guess i should go check out what i'm associating myself with... oh, college, how I love you with your varied experiences. Anyway, here is their official website, but you'll get a better idea of who they currently are out of their facebook page.
over 'n out.
E.O.

so...

...I'm still working on Hungarian.
and...

...I may or may not have pierced my ears for the first time since I was eleven (ten?). With awesome anodized hoops. With a turquoise-colored captive bead.
yeah.
I most definitely DID accompany G to get her cartilage pierced. Which looks awesome, but not as awesome as her tragus piercing, which I have admired since last year.

:D

Hungarian can't beat me today!
over 'n out.
E.O.

Concentration? What?

Yeah... my store of concentration has gone waaay down the tubes. I don't know what happened to it.
I am attempting to write a paper on Hungarian Phonology. We have to write a description of a language for my linguistics class and I (foolishly) thought that choosing a language I don't know would make the thing more interesting. I would like a large stamp that says "FRUSTRATING" and some red ink. If I owned such a stamp, I would print the paper, and then stamp it. I'd stamp the books I'm currently poring (read: sleeping) over to get the information, and I'd stamp the professor's face, the one who assigned this thing and encouraged us to look for "interesting" languages in the first place.
Yes, I now know why Hungarian writing has so many z's in it. I also know why "Budapest" is not pronounced (as the average European would imagine) /budapest/ but with a "sh" sound where they've clearly written an "s," and why the same goes for the town of Sopron. However. It has required of me extra hours of painstaking, detailed work and analysis, synthesis, and comprehension- and I'm not even through the phonotactics (syllable construction) of the thing! I have to describe: phonology, phonotactics, suprasegmentals, morphology, and maybe a little syntax if I feel like it.
I won't say that I'm not learning though. Did you know that, contrary to what public school taught you, words are not solely made up of syllables? No, in some languages, there are things called "edge clusters" of consonants. Consonant clusters are normal- they're things like the "cl" part of the syllable "clap". What this one book I've been fuddling through intimates is that, in some languages, there are extra consonants that just sit around on the edges of words, for no particular reason, with no particular cohesion to the word. They're "licensed by some special mechanism limited to the edges of domains and not by an onset or a coda constituent (read: the consonant parts of a true syllable) dominating them." Take a wild guess at a language that might have these weird clusters? BINGO! You guessed it. Hungarian.
This is only one of the many lovely complications and news-flashes I have encountered in the past week or two, which started with old, semi-indescipherable IPA and hasn't come to a conclusion yet.
Sigh.
Back to the slaughterhouse. If you find me wandering around somewhere, lost, with mush dribbling out my ear and nose, don't be too surprised- it'll just be my brain that finally disentigrated from a mixture of confused incomprehension and tedium.
over 'n out.
E.O.

Eschew Obfuscation...

...will never, never again go to sleep at 3:30 and then (attempt to) get up at 7:45.
But why, you ask. Other people get by on minuscule amounts of sleep. Why should you be different? I will tell you.
All I could think about when I got up was how tired I was. I went to find A & G so we could go meet E for breakfast, like we do every Friday. I had actually gotten up mostly 'cause I was psyched to see her- she's really busy, so we don't get to spend much time just hanging out like that. Anyway, I found them still grooming themselves, so I promptly curled up on A's bed to wait. And slept. Then we actually went to breakfast. We had an ok time, were almost through eating, when somehow the subject of work came up, and how A gets paid a bit more an hour than me and An, even though we do pretty much the same job. We started faux arguing about it, like we always do... and then for some reason, it got serious for me. I accused her of waiting 'til I was dead tired and not quick on my mental feet to argue with me, and asked that we stop. Which we kind of did, but then got sucked back into it, as will happen with us- at which point I decided I needed to just leave, because I was not going to be beaten in yet another argument by A, simply because I had the disadvantage of not being at full mental capacity. Also, it wasn't fair to E. I needed sleep.
So, I went promptly to the library (where I recently discovered the most amazing sofas on campus) and slept. And in my sleepy brain, I imagined that my Really Important Class started at 11:30, which is when it ends, instead of 10:40, which is when it actually begins. So I set my phone to ring at 11:15. Of course, it was only when I woke up at 11:15 that I realized what had happened. Let me be clear- this class? Yeah, it has no book, no text to study from. The professor doesn't think that any book is arranged properly. Which is all well and good, you don't have to spend book money on him. But it DOES mean that you have to be in EVERY. LECTURE. in order to ensure that you don't miss anything important. Plus, the material is detailed and somewhat complicated, so generally I have to record the lecture and listen to it twice to really cement it in my head. And this is the class that I inadvertently skipped, plus the class I intentionally skipped, dance.
So, what happened? I got pissed off at my friend for no reason, didn't get to enjoy my other friend's company, and played hookie both intentionally and unintentionally. All because of lack of sleep. Was staying up cooking for a big event 'til 3AM worth it? Only time will tell...
Never did I think I'd see this day.
Next thing you know I'll be going to parties and drinking alcohol. Yikes! (No, don't prepare yourself for that variety of stupidity- even sleep-drunk, that's not something that would appeal to me, ever.)
over 'n out.
E.O.

literalists unite!

Awesome conversation:
Friend 1 quotes: "Shoot for the moon because even if you miss, you'll land among the stars."
Friend 2: The nearest star, Proxima Centauri, is 4.2 light years from earth. So actually, if you shoot for the moon and miss, you are much more likely to wind up in the void of space than among the stars. That doesn't mean you shouldn't shoot for the moon. It just means you should probably go really really fast in case you miss.

my city

I am only just coming to realize that, whether or not i actually liked living there at the time, Barcelona is My City, and Castelldefels My Town. I generally live as if Spain had never happened, nor Austria nor Germany either. I just paste together those portions of my life when I was in the states, or take out the international aspect of my other memories. So, what does my life consist of? The first four years of my life, the second half of the second grade and the first half of the third, one year in middle school, one year in high school, and college up to the present. Everything else is... murky.

It's not that I intentionally leave everywhere else out of the picture- it's just that... well, for one thing, mentioning living in Other Countries, no matter how subtly it is slipped into conversation, immediately takes over, and then you have to make disclaimers and calm people down, and explain that it's just your life, not some amazing privilege or fairy tale. For another thing, if I think too hard about what it was like to live not in the States, I can't function properly. It throws everything into confusion. Memory puts on it's famed rose-colored glasses, and I start to think "I really liked it better there." But then I remember how often I was really unhappy, in a way that has never beset me here, and I think, well, this must be better. And then I have to go into wondering whether it really IS better, and what parts I'd like to keep from each, if I could, and wonder how valid my experiences there WERE, after all, and whether it's not arrogant of me to think I know so much more than other people because I've lived Somewhere Else.

And things just spiral downward from there. So, for those reasons, I keep them separate- this life and that. As best I can manage, they don't mix. But of course, I can't erase my past just by hiding it. So occasionally it will come through. Lately, it has been doing so in a more positive light. Examples: Yesterday I was able to help my friend with her Spanish homework without any trouble. I even knew the grammar and the terms, which I never knew when trying to help my Spanish friends with their English work. And I saw pictures of an event at my parent's church in Spain, and couldn't stop oohing and aahing over the people, and the places, and how they haven't changed but have, and saying inane things like "yep, that's my church!". And then today I saw pictures that a friend's bf posted from his trip to BCN, and to my extreme surprise couldn't help exclaiming in utter happiness "Aww! That's my city!!"


I realize that all these musings just sound exactly like other people with multicultural experiences in their childhood. Sorry if you were bored by it. But to me, this is poignant. How am I supposed to integrate where and who I was with where and who I am becoming, now? What do those experiences mean? What on earth am I supposed to do with the immense turmoil they create within me? Is it ok not to shy away from mentioning that I grew up outside the US? Am I entitled to look at the US culture from outside it? Or is that possibility precluded me because I'm not fully participant in the Spanish culture either?
Ack. See, this is why I don't think about stuff like this on a regular basis.
signed, a burgeoning ATCK.
over 'n out.
E.O.

Destiny

This weekend it was my turn to clean the bathroom. There are four of us, and each of us takes one week of the month. Convenient, right? The bathroom stays clean, and everyone has very little work. In theory, yes. In practice, not really.
See, the four of us form a sort of continuum of bathroom-cleaning assiduousness. My roomie is probably the cleanliest, then myself, then our brunette suite-mate, and the most reluctant to clean would be our blonde suite-mate. So what generally happens is that the bathroom gets a good sound cleaning once every two weeks, and in between my roomie and I grumble to one another that K and E really just don't know how to clean a bathroom. Their version of "cleaning" is sweeping everything off of the counter and swishing a sponge around the sink, despite the fact that SOMEHOW their mothers neglected to teach them how to flush the toilet after peeing, or keep said pee off of the toilet seat. Go figure. I ask no questions. (And then they have the gall to post little notes around saying things like "please don't leave your dishes on the sink counter, clean or dirty- we've seen ants and beetles!" *note: there are NO BEETLES and the ants stay strictly in our room; their vendetta is against me and me alone).
But to get back to my point. Today, I cleaned the bathroom. I cleaned it so thoroughly and with such vigor that my mother would have been proud. And that's saying something, because Mom has NEVER been satisfied with my cleaning. EVER. She has that motherly talent for finding the one little spot in the very back corner that you may have missed out of sheer reluctance to squeeze and huff and puff your sponge all the way into it. Not today, though. Today I scrubbed every tile in the shower, removed every hair, swilled out every last speck of dirt that was swill-out-able (it IS a dorm bathroom after all... some dirt just WON'T. COME. OFF. It is ingrained there for the ages to come). I even mopped, despite my roomie's protestations that there's really no need to mop (I really don't know why she's convinced of that, considering how thorough she is with everything else). And that's what scares me.
Am I destined to become my mother??
Complaining about how other people don't clean the bathroom properly, devoting an hour of my time to scrubbing every last inch of the blasted thing?
Aaaaaagh! *creepy haunting music*
the end.
E.O.

creepy crawlies

i have endured them occasionally crawling across my desk. i have forgiven them for wandering into my box of kitchen utensils. i have simply blown them off my keyboard, when they have dared to be so bold. i have simply squished the more careless explorers that somehow found a way onto my bed.
but this.
this is the last straw.
I am not a bug-squeamish person, and, as a rule, i like ants. I think they do the environment a favor by using things that people discard (like the ice-cream a kid drips on the pavement) and I like that they don't give a hoot about humans, and usually won't bite.
But THIS time! They have invaded my home and my personal space, and now they are making an ANT HIGHWAY into my beautiful, NEW coffee mug, which i used for tea the other day (and washed and then used for water).
THIS MEANS WAR!!!!

procrastination is my liiiiiiife

note to self:
~self, you should really be working on ideas for that Romanticism essay
~and the Old English research paper
~or alternately, doing some preliminary research on Twi and sending your idea for a language research paper to your ling prof.
~learn how to flirt
~find something to do in the evenings if you're going to dawdle around your REAL work. sheesh.
~don't be a lazy bum

there, that ought to about cover it for today.
over 'n out.
E.O.

Let me explain to you...

...what my body is doing to me.
This is a post about the horrors of the Nasal Drip. Those of you who are squeamish, do not proceed.
There is a tickle at the back of my throat. Persistent, insidious. It's not a big sensation. It doesn't have to be. You see, the sole purpose of this tickle is to trick my throat into thinking it has to cough. Once that is accomplished, the throat will pull the lungs and back and abdomen muscles with it in an attempt to rid itself of the foul oozing sensation. The back pulls, the abdomen moves in like a flash, air leaves the lungs in a rush, and - nothing is accomplished. Absolutely nothing. Just a dry, hacking cough; and the Nasal Drip goes right on trickling quietly, laughing to itself, and waiting for it's little scheme to have the same effect all over again.
Of course, having experienced this cycle several thousand times in the last week, I know exactly how it works. But no matter what I do, there is nothing that will stop that mucous from traveling out of my nasal cavity, to my stomach, via my larynx. As aforementioned, I can't cough. Neither can I blow my nose, or attempt to push the mucous onwards by "swallowing" it. The thing is so odious, I almost wish I COULD. I can't stop from coughing either, you see, because the whole thing is a sort of reflex. If I breathe in too deeply, my throat catches, and can't help but cough. I know I don't really need to cough. But no matter how hard I try to convince it, my body won't believe me.
The crazy thing is, this one silly, simple little thing, a nasal drip, is making my whole body suffer. My back and abdomen are sore from coughing ineffectually. My throat is raw for the same reason, sometimes to the point where I get that pin-prick sensation in the back of it that won't go away no matter how much you cough, or drink water. The skin of my nose is raw from trying to blow some of the beastly little buggers (literally) out. I LOOK sick. I FEEL sick. All because of a stupid little tickle at the back of my throat.
And that is the horror of the Nasal Drip. A small, silly horribly annoying little pest. I hope and pray that you may avoid it and never read this post and think "goodness! yes! that's just exACTly what I felt/am feeling this/last week/month."
thank you, and good night.
E.O.

brain muddle!

I am simultaneously reading A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court and Ivanhoe.
It's an interesting contrast, but... What was I thinking?

oh, retina

late at night, my bed looks lonely.
like it knows that this is the time of the day when it should have company.

Today was gray all around. gray sky, gray sidewalk, men in gray suits. The trees are still green though, and beginning to turn all those beautiful fall colors: crimson and scarlet, gold and yellow. And a while back I discovered a bush that makes berries as bright blue as a summer sky, and on the same cluster, dark purple berries, and red ones. Writing it down now, it doesn't sound particularly spectacular, but I assure you the colors are totally unexpected. I'll have to take a picture tomorrow morning to prove it to you. They're lovely. Really.
-----
and here they are!

-----

You know, when people ask me what my favorite color is, I have taken to saying that I love them all too much to pick one. I then go on to explain that I don't find colors nearly as beautiful alone as they are when juxtaposed. Side-by-side, contrasted and cooperating, colors are pure harmony. Alone, they're just... eye-numbing, if that makes any sense. Feel free to extrapolate that into whatever metaphor you wish- about diversity, about Paul's whole "parts of one body" concept, about respecting different peoples' opinions... I really just absolutely love color, and love that God put it here, and gave us the ability to see it.
over 'n out.
E.O.

Strata (or: Salad Dressing)

I just had a thought, which may or may not sound slightly delusional and exaggerated, if you think clearly. And I shall proceed to tell you what it was, and ask for your opinions on the matter.

You think, when you're in high school, that you're all divided up into groups, that society couldn't possibly be any better segregated or more clearly cut into layers. That's before you hit college and the real world, and realize that the layers have been sifted off... people have settled into their strata, like salad dressing that eventually settles out into layers of vinagre, oils, and spices. In public school, you were surrounded by everyone. Every kind of person, or rather, every developing kind of person, was, at some point, in your vicinity. You encountered all types of people, without even trying. Once you hit the end of high-school, however, the sifting begins. College applications act as the first sieve. Universities separate people out by academic achievement (a.k.a.: motivated people, smart people, and people who just know how to suck up), athletic achievement, personality type, etc. Then you go through four years, give or take, with your peers (your kind of people) and you all sort of morph and mesh into one another. This is what we call "discovering yourself" in college. Is it possible that college isn't so much about self-discovery as it's about better fitting yourself into the mold of your strata?
I imagine that the next sieve is job applications and grad school. 'Cause once you hit thirty, you're pretty much settled, as far as I can tell. Once there, it's very difficult, rather uncomfortable, and definitely awkward to move outside of your group. I'm hard pressed to define exactly what these groups are - after all, this thought just came to me about 5 minutes ago.
I shall continue to puzzle it out, and get back to you on it.
for now... over 'n out.
E.O.

funny stuff

http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=309
http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=317

Mirrored Halls & Musings

My family has lived in (hang on, let me count 'em) 10 different apartments (that I remember, anyway). The other day I was thinking about when we moved into the Reguiero place: concretely, the time we walked in it for the first time. I remember being so very confused and disoriented by the mirror-paneled closets on the left (they covered the entire wall) that it tinged the whole place with novelty and a sense of alien-ness. Sometimes, after we had been living there for a while, I would pass the hall and remember that feeling. It was so strange to me that that little, familiar entryway could ever have felt so odd. By that time, it was my place. I didn't like the entryway much, but the apartment was my home, really and truly, in the sense that everything that was important to me about home was there: my family, my things, my quilt. For my parents, specifically my mom, it has always been different. She never settled into places quite like we did, my sister and I. She would always worry about stuff like keeping things clean or not damaging the furniture. And then, when I was thinking about all of those things, that's when this thought struck me:

When you're a kid, you don't think of houses as being things people own, like toys. You don't think that people can borrow each others' houses, or have to take care of them. And it never even occurs to you that maybe people could be as upset about you smashing into their cabinet door and breaking it as you would be about someone cutting all of the hair off of your favorite doll. When you're a kid, an apartment is more like a... like a landscape. They're all around. Everyone has them. You just interact with them like an environment- a field, a cave, a mountain, a bush. Grownups, they see it differently, like my mom did.

Not too much of a leap of intelligence, eh? We all know that kids are oblivious. I wonder, though, if we don't forget in what ways.

in other news, my RA totally walked in on me having lunch today while listening to an audiobook w/the lights off (it's a rainy sort of day). he must not've seen my ipod or something, 'cause after a couple of askance looks, he wanted to know if i was ok. :P I explained about the audiobook, while chuckling on the inside. I don't think he was entirely reassured. :P
anyways,
over 'n out.
E.O.

So. ...Question.

WHY is it that I am perfectly capable of being and staying awake when I'm wasting time watching videos on youtube, or figuring out what to wear, or texting, or fiddling around on facebook (or writing silly little notes like this) - but exactly TWO MINUTES into doing real work, my body's instinct for sleep kicks in?
I'm not a person who needs much sleep. My family is always getting on my case for it. Now, granted, college has introduced me to people at new heights of sleeplessness, like people talking to me about how they function just fine on 2h of sleep, but not 4 or 5, but I still like to think of myself as being a person who is relatively immune to the effects of sleep deprivation.
So.
How is it that a simple matter of getting between 5 and 6 hours for three nights in a row has put me into such a measly mood and caused my eyes to start drying out (a severe sign of sleep deprivation in me- happens usually after all-nighters when i've been awake for 36h or more)? I'm not in the age-bracket to be losing my sleep-elasticity yet! what is this?!
=(
back to Old English...
E.O.

"Yo're a n'artist?"

Whenever I'm in the States, my parents get pretty freaked out about the fact that I don't think much of walking around my neighborhood after dark (it's a pretty safe neighborhood, not a sketchy part of suburbia at all). They also make sure to tell me at least once a semester not to go to outside ATM machines, walk around by myself off-campus, ride public transportation after 7pm, etc.
And while I realize that, for a girl in the good ol' US of A, these are right and necessary rules, as a person who has spent most of my life in European suburbs and the occasional city, I find the concept of basically being confined to my house after dark pretty weird, and not a little restrictive- especially when it starts getting dark around 5 in the winter.
Yesterday after class, two of my friends and I took a trip down into town a little ways, to a more counter-cultural part of the city. There are small shops there, a pizza parlor or two, some junk shops, and very interesting people (think like, tattoos any and everywhere, people randomly performing spoken word, or playing instruments, or selling jewellery on a sheet they've spread out on the street). Close by, about a 3-4 block's walk, there is a more traditionally american shopping center with big chains like Petsmart, Best Buy, etc- including a Target. The goal of our trip was the Target; just a routine sort of grocery/battery run.
It was late-ish in the day, probably around 5 or 6 by the time we arrived, and the sun was setting beautifully. There were some lovely purple flowers growing right on the edge of the sidewalk, next to the road, so what with the light being so perfect and all, I decided to take a picture. As I was finishing up my photos, a raggedy looking man in his 40-50's came to stand behind us, eyeing my bag and what I was doing. He had shoulder-length white hair, a worn, wrinkly face, and his left eye-lid was stretched over the socket, so it almost looked like he was half-squinting, half-winking at you all the time. When I stood up, he asked me if I was an artist. I said yes. He then proceeded to tell us (almost unintelligibly) about some amazing graffitti nearby in which the artist had apparently predicted the fall of the twin towers, in 2011. (Go figure). After that, he shook our hands, told us something about having been in the Vietnam war and losing his eye, told us he was hungry, and asked if we would buy him some food- we could even come watch him eat it if we wanted. One of my friends, the more gutsy of the three of us, told him no, she only had a gift card for Target, and he would have to ask elsewhere. She told me later that the time it took her to see the scars on his arms was the time it took her to move her "sharp object" (aka, her pocketknife) from her backpack to her pocket.

Finally, we managed to get away from him, went and did our shopping, and came back out to the bus stop to wait for our ride home. By this time it was dark, so we stood in a lighted, open area, and waited. For some reason, my other friend (we'll call her the tall one) said she felt like that old man was probably going to show up again. Sure enough, we hadn't been standing there ten minutes before he came around again.
He did a strange little song and dance, which none of us recognized, as we watched him warily. Then he asked us for money for a bus fare. I offered him instead some saltine crackers that I had bought for myself at the store (it was a grocery run, after all), to which he replied:
"Naow, yong lady. Will sal-teen crackers help me git on th'bus?"
I was flummoxed, and not a little irritated. I replied no, but since he had been asking for food earlier, I had thought it would be reasonable to offer. To which he said that he now had food, and wanted to get on the bus. At which point I said, sorry, I only had my permanent pass, and I needed that myself. I could tell that he was making an effort to contain himself and be civil, so he said "I unnerstan'." To which I said we'd see him around, and (and this part was the most horrifying to me) slowly blew me a kiss with his knotted, knarled fingers and creaky old lips and said, you never knew when you'd see him next, and walked off.

Now, I am all for treating people with respect and kindness, no matter what their station in life. A person is a person, after all, and deserves to be treated as such. At the same time, I don't know how to be around the kind of person I've described above. As a follower of Christ, how does He expect me to act toward this sector of his creation? I don't know. What I do know is, that it'll be a long time and it'll take a large group of people before I return to that part of town after dark.
(And what cheek!! The cheek of that old man! hmph. If he were truly hungry, he would've at least taken the crackers.)
over 'n out.
E.O.

Swing

I have something to say about swing, namely this:

I really enjoy the dance. I do not enjoy the people so much. Not because they aren't nice people. They are. but because they are not my friends. I do not know them. So dancing feels like a very intimidating social event of the sort I typically avoid if I can.
Wait, I've discussed this on here already, haven't I? yes? yes. Good. Then we don't need to go through it again.
It's just something... ongoing in my life, that i must deal with.
Lots of things like that, come to think of it.
*Note to self: Must learn not to complain so much. It's silly.
over 'n out.
E.O.

letters never sent

... I have tried to read Letters Never Sent by Ruth Van Reken, am still in the process of it. ... and I can't bear it. I'm literally scared of what that book will show me. Scared of it in a way I've never been scared of or hurt by a book before. I'm don't want to open it. ...but then I do. Healing? Hurtful? I don't know yet...
E.O.

for all papers...

all papers ever written, anytime, anywhere, for all students who were ever frustrated in the process:

AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Why.

grrr.

and that, friends, is my story.
I have been squeezing my synapses, trying to make them drip ideas out onto the screen... with little luck.

Now my eyes are falling shut of their own volition, my cognitive functions are going down the tubes, and i know that anything i write now will be scheisse.
But i must soldier on.
One more scream, for the road...

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!

secret... shh

i need somewhere to write something secret.
this is not it.
so i won't write it here.
ta-ta, blog-o-sphere (always thought that was such a weird word)
over 'n out.
E.O.

oh, and p.s.: I AM NOT A WRITER!!! World, Life, STOP TELLING ME I'M A WRITER. I am most assuredly NOT. So either give me something dire to say or stop being so verflucht PUSHY.

body's in rebellion

my brain is about to do that thing where it tells me, it doesn't care how much work i have left to do, or how behind i am, or how little time i will have tomorrow- it's shutting down for all tasks requiring minimal concentration; after all, my nose is running and hopping (aka, oozing and sneezing) away- why not just turn it into an elopment?

but i have to review my psych notes from friday, finish the translation for old english, and (hopefully) start on some paper ideas for romanticism (or at least re-read the passage that I'm gonna write about). then shower. then bed.
my brain is not allowed to shut down until the shower part. you got that, left brain? right brain, how about you? yes? yes? good. now.
have at you, schoolwork!

why is writing this post easier to do than getting on with my translation already?
sigh. (re-rout to the enthusiasm of that last exclamation point and continue.)
Wish me luck!
over 'n out.
E.O.

p.s.: ...it didn't work. in the end, my brain and I had to reach a compromise: it would finish OE and most of psych if I got it in bed by 11 o'clock. :P

Share the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control...

alternate title: The Wedding.

This weekend, my dearly beloved friend and mentor, A-P, got married. This weekend has been so much. A reunion with loved ones (mk's, you know who you are); a hundred thousand new people to meet; a big crowd event where i could feel small and out of place but like i belonged too (which was weirdly comforting and familiar, i haven't had that feeling in a very long time); a renewal of and challenge to faith, virtue and love; a finding out that I CAN meet new people and talk to them quite happily (not so abysmally shy as i once was); an exuberantly joyous occasion; a time to dress up, wear earrings and make-up, a dress and fancy shoes...
It's funny about weddings. The actual marrying part of it gets kind of lost in the scads and scores of things that have to be done to get it to happen. Yes, it was a weekend about these two dear people vowing in front of a whole church of witnesses to love and honor one another for the rest of their days. But there is so much STUFF involved in making those public vows possible. It's kind of mind-boggling.
That said, what I would like to do this blog post is apologize. I have a tendency to be... well, very negative. Skeptical, melancholy, even brooding at times. This weekend I have been very encouraged and challenged by those around me. My friend of years past, and a new friend I only met the day before yesterday both have such joy and compassion and faith and love... they truly show the fruits of the spirit, and it was beautiful to see.
Sigh. In case you can't tell, my mind is still whirling from the whole experience.
but in a good way.
I'll have to finish thinking about this, and then edit this post later. =)
~ E.O.

Handstand

As I sit in the laundry room, my clean clothes piled & folded next to me, listening to poetic music, time and wind swish past me, outside these walls.
My life is pretty solid right now... but with the solidity of a person doing a hand stand- their balance is good for the moment, and they can move about, but the moment something shifts they perceive the tenuousness of their situation (legs in the air, the mind making them reach for the heights up in the air, while gravity asks that they kindly return to their accustomed position).
Is this how life always feels?
One more thing I will say, namely that this tenuously solid position is teaching me a lot of things- about me, about the world, about people.
sigh. I leave you with a picture (not me or anyone I know, fyi):

I have an issue with that song about Hailey's Comet that's been on the radio forever and a day (aka, all summer).
The line "sometimes goodbye is a second chance" has been running around my head. While I understand that the phrase includes the word "sometimes" and that he is referring to a particular circumstance, I wish to say this:
Goodbye is not a second chance. Goodbye is a terribly wrenching rent in the fabric of your existence. And no matter how much time passes, no matter how well you think you've rewoven... you're never quite fixed.

i think i have decided.
lord willing, i will complete a joint major in linguistics and psychology.
there, world. now quit bothering me about it!
tentatively,
E.O.

new haunts

the smell of henna and the sound of calm spanish music fills my room....
we are back.
the halls are different, the rooms are smaller (but have less closet space, so they feel bigger) but we are the same. with my group of friends, it feels almost like a home again. as a TCK, home is a pretty fluid concept for me. i remember last year people looked at me funny for saying i was going "home," meaning my dorm. they didn't realize that "home" to me pretty much means wherever my current bed happens to be.
so, here, i have a bed, i have a family of sorts, and i have my computer.
welcome home.

last night the school hosted the movie Star Trek (which is awesome, and if you haven't seen it, there is no excuse for you, go rent the DVD!) on a huge screen- we're talking at least 3m^2, if not more. It was held on the pool deck, and it was AMAZING! The night was cool, the ground was warm from being irradiated by the sun all day long, and the stars were out (ok, so they were blocked by the lamps to the tennis courts, but the point is they were THERE and we were UNDER them, watching STAR TREK). There were people swimming in the pool, but we did not join them (having generally decided earlier that we were too prickly, and didn't want to bother going back to find our bathing suits anyway), but instead laughed and talked about the movie from our comfy pool-side chairs (of course, we carried them back to their original places afterward- what kind of college event would it be without a little mandatory cleanup?). There was a general air of bonhomie and geekiness, and we discovered, to much hilarity, that G can't do the Spock salutation. Then we came back here and started henna, which is looking surprisingly dark. =)
It's been a good night.
that's all for now, folks.
E.O.

this girl is...

...repeatedly fighting the urge to scream to the skies with all her might, bash her head against the wall, run 'til she can't run anymore, dance with all her might, break all her pencils...

college student found guilty of heinous hair crimes against humanity

the title is basically the reason for this post. that and my sadness at being incapable of getting my hair back, or getting a really good haircut, or having the will to do anything to said hair except wash it regularly and brush it occasionally.
sigh.

I hate that in America it's not ok to not be ok. IT'S STUPID!!! Everyone is not ok sometimes. Life is not a bed of roses. Life is not instant gratification. Life is TOUGH, even when it seems like it shouldn't be.
My sister accused me of not letting myself be happy, because despite her repeated assertions (and belief) that my haircut is "cute," I insist that it is a cross between making me look like a boy and like a 40-something year old woman. Also because, as she interprets the situation, i knew perfectly well walking into that salon what I wanted, and didn't tell my hairdresser- so on top of not liking my cut, it's my own fault that the cut looks the way it does. Which is true, in a way. I knew that I wanted it to be beautiful, and easy to take care of. But, you know how ideals go. They're never quite attainable. And, in the case of my hair, they're vague and unformed and have something to do with a "trained hair specialist" (insert sardonic comment on THAT title here) telling me what will look perfect with my face.
Which of course means that I walk into the hair salon every three months or so, hoping for a miracle, and walk out to disappointedly realize that I somehow managed to get the exact same haircut I had before, only shorter. Sigh.
Of course, my sister had to confront me with this gem of an insight at 1AM, so it inevitably lead to some soul-searching on my part, and an overreaction in the shape of a fight. I hate fighting (real fighting, not bickering). Particularly because I can never say what I want to say in a way that my opponent (not even my sister, whom I've known since she was born) will understand. Which is a serious problem if you want to say, win a fight, or get your point across. So I end up mostly making frustrated "grr"ing noises, leaving the room, and finding a quiet place to sort out my thoughts and write.
...you know, maybe i'll just forsake hair-cutting altogether. It seems to lead to too much trouble.
over 'n out.
E.O.

make a wish...

so according to corny-type people/movies, everyone should have a list of stuff they want to do "at least once" in their lives. Oddly enough, I have been collecting such a list. And, in order that I may not forget it, here it is.
1. Look through an electron microscope (and know what i'm seeing, 'cause otherwise, what's the point?)
2. Stand on a stage, having finished something or other, and have people throw flowers at me (carnations? roses? doesn't really matter...)
3. Have a picture of mine bought & published in some sort of public venue.
4. dangit, i've already forgotten the fourth one... *sigh* oh well, if it's important enough, it'll come back.
over 'n out.
E.O.

for the record...

i lovelovelove the movie "Les Choristes"

in contrast, it reveals all sitcoms and romantic comedies and police-spin-offs for the ridiculous time-wasters that they are.

Clement Mathieu! May others like you populate the world.

things i don't need

...and which are being forcibly taken from me.
This summer it seems that I am losing things left and right. Things I don't need, but which I really enjoy and make my life fuller. So far I've lost my camera, respect for a friend (and through it, almost the entire friend), and just this morning, all my computer's pictures and all my documents (basically, all my personal info) were erased. It's like the thing woke up this morning and decided it didn't want to be my computer anymore, it would just throw all of me away. And it did. Fortunately, like most middle-class Americans, it didn't entirely get rid of the things it didn't want anymore, it just threw them in the trash. After all, out of sight, out of mind. They are currently being restored to their original positions, as my computer is not allowed to make that type of life-decision for itself.

habits

why do I insist on staying up until I'm so tired I can't see straight before I'll go to sleep? I don't even do anything- boredom sets in around 8 o'clock, and continues until 1 or 2, and absolutely nothing gets done. no entertainment, no social connection, no work, no thinking... just emptiness that somehow makes the time melt away.
this has GOT to be an utter waste of time.
so where did this habit come from?

well well

It's a rainy Friday afternoon.
I wore my new dress for the first time today. Fun fun.
Atmospheres never fail to capture me. It's been a little rainy and a little cloudy and definitely drippy all week. I work in the main library on campus, and it only has one door that "patrons" are allowed to use. There are a couple service entrances, but basically, if you want to enter, you have to go in through the main door. A semi-enclosed patio runs around the entire back part of the building, and the lack of doors means it's pretty deserted most of the time. It's a very austere sort of place, that patio. It has wooden benches and chairs and tables, all nailed down so that crazy college students don't steal them. The library building is 11 stories tall, and very square, with a protruding roof, the last couple stories of which are supported by big, square columns.
On Wednesday, I went outside to this patio to have lunch. It started to drizzle again, so I took refuge, with my back-pack, under the columns. So I sat there.
The clear gray light, the columns, sitting on pebble-tile, feeling the breeze, and listening to the radio... it was beautiful. Reminded me so much of Europe, and sitting in someone's portal. An atmosphere.
I wonder if, as you grow older, events and people get muddled in your head because every new event, or place, or person, reminds you of one that you've encountered before? And then you have... composite images, composite memories, where stuff overlaps so that you can't quite see the original anymore? It strikes me as a sad process. Never to be able to experience anything crystalline-ly new.
Anyway. It's a rainy Friday, and now I'm sitting in my new dress, thinking thoughts that will blow away in the wind as soon as I step out my door.
Apparently not all gloom is truly gloomy.
E.O.

ursa major or minor?

So I've spent the past hour or so attempting to finally make a decision on my major/minor, just to get that pesky decision out of the way. Needless to say, my head aches with rules and requirements, courses and categories, regulations and pre-requisites.
I took a class in linguistics this summer in order to decide whether or not I want to major in it. The result? Almost certainly, yes. I could easily be happy studying various aspects of "the discipline of linguistics" for the next coupla years. The downside? There is no chemistry minor, and I haven't yet ruled good ol' chem out as a field of interest. See, no one cares what you actually TOOK in college, only that you took something, and that it resulted in you getting a degree. So it's no good me taking a bunch of chem classes because I'm interested in them if I won't get recognition for it later on, especially since chem is generally acknowledged to be more useful than ling.
This is the type of dilemma that has been raging in my head for the past loooong time, causing me to dither, and click, and read, and hope for some sort of clarity.
The thing is, I am trying to fulfill two purposes at once:
1. To enjoy college as much as possible, and take classes that truly interest me (so as not to waste my time being bored and learning virtually nothing because of it)
2. To end up with a degree that will earn me some respect and a Good Job.
Reminds me of that one bible verse about the impossibility of serving two masters. Sigh. The first option is infinitely more attractive to me, but common sense says that that attraction will pass in favor of the second option fairly soon after graduation, if not before. But in considering option 2, I have to wonder, as Imogen Heap asks in some song or other... is this it? I get a job, I work, I get paid, I have a family, end of story? It seems like an anticlimax, the petering out of a momentum I've been gathering my whole life. Isn't there supposed to be a big explosion at the end? A... a launch? Why do I feel like a rock sitting in a slingshot that's been tensed, pulled back, and is about to let go... and then robbed the rock of the upward part of it's flight?
Ok, so that was a pretty sucky and rather confusing metaphor, but sheesh, it's summer, give me credit for at least still putting my brain to use. :P By rights it should be turning to mush and dripping out my ears right now. it's july!
and i haven't seen ursa minor OR major in a long time. I wonder what's going on up there?
over 'n out.
E.O.

wine

Well, in order to explain how this post came to be titled "wine," I would have to write an entire essay of an explanation. To make a long story really, really short, I am taking a class in film this summer, concretely photography and film, and we were reproducing a scene from Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona, and I was somehow wrangled into being an actress, a.k.a. Vicky.
(insert rant about how I am in a film class to LEARN ABOUT FILM, not in drama class, and how one of the people who was just taking the class to get 4 credit-hours should have been an actress, since THEY WOULDN'T CARE EITHER WAY)
In this scene, the two girls are at a restaurant, sipping wine, when a suave, arrogant Spanish (Barcelonian, hehe) guy comes to attempt to pick them up. If you are an astute reader, you have spotted the wine. So did my classmates. And of course, as most college students would be, were all for the idea of having an excuse to bring wine to class. Me, I have never had a drink of wine in my life. Not a sip. Not a drop has passed these lips lest it be cooked into a dish I happen to be eating. In fact, I really haven't had any alcohol to speak of, ever. And I was NOT about to try it for the first time in the company of 20 strangers, on set, in class. Somehow I imagine that the outcome of doing so would be embarrassing in several ways.
So, I pretended to sip my wine, and of course, in pretending to do so, got a whiff of it. All my chem lab days came back to me in a flash. Memories of sterilizing instruments, of poisonous and/or organic mixtures, and of dissecting odd creatures came to my mind, along with the thought "people DRINK this? for FUN?" - after which I had to laugh at myself and my naiveté.
Sufficient to say, I did not join in the camaraderie-like drinking afterwards (our professor provided glasses- he's just that type of guy), and resumed my usual place in a group of people, that of being the one going against the grain in some completely odd and most often unnecessary way. Sigh. I had kind of missed it. :P
and thus concludes my post on wine. I hope you've had at least a chuckle at my expense. =)
over 'n out.
E.O.

Goals for this Year

1. Decide on a major
2. Get a better camera
3. Make some decisions about my social life and this whole "my friends live x-thousand miles away" issue.

there. now the blogosphere knows.
keep me accountable, world wide web.
yeah, right.
sigh.

songs

Kingdom, by Bethany Dillon
Thank Goodness, by the cast of Wicked

For some reason, these two songs keep popping up in my head at random, non-associated times.
Do other people wake up singing songs? Or is that just me? It's like there's a minute or so where my brain is in free-fall in-between wake-up mode and then it settles into a groove. A song appears out of the nether.
Also, rather than complete songs, i get fragments:

"I hear her soul/is so unclean/pure water could melt her./melt her!/ please, somebody go and melt her!"
"when you were first summoned/to an audience with oz/and though he would not tell you why initially/ when you bowed before his throne, he decreed you'd hence be known/as glinda the good/ officially./ and with a jealous SCREAM/the wicked witch burst from concealment/where she had been lurking/ surruptitiouly"
~Thank Goodness, or some other Wicked song.
"help me see the light/i'm reaching through the fight/Yaweh, show me the kingdom/ arms open wide, yeah, swallowed up by light/yaweh, show me the kingdom"
"why are some women barren/while the wicked's house is full?"
"teach me how to hum this/'cause i don't know the words yet"
~"Kingdom" by Bethany Dillon

in other thoughts, I REALLY need some new music. like, stuff i can grab hold of. I just realized I've basically had only a few new songs since I was 15. This is SAD. And yesterday I was singing a song I learned in elementary school. It was supposedly in Gallego, but when i sang it for my friend from Galicia a while back, she just gave me this look and said she couldn't tell if it really WAS Gallego, 'cause my accent was so bad. Also, some of those words don't exist in gallego, apparently. So, question:
Why am I still attached to this song, which I'm singing in a language that doesn't exist?
Although I am pretty certain that the language doesn't exist, I know exactly what the words mean when I sing them. How is this possible? Just how bizarre IS that? Linguistically speaking, it's a fascinating idea. It feels exactly like a normal language...
anyway, now I'm getting off-topic and into my class-related ponderings. :P
I hear it's Hannah's half-birthday, so shout-out to her! :D w00t! You made it through another six months of life mostly unscathed! Congrats my friend. You're a lovely part of my life and I have thoroughly enjoyed the past six months of being your friend. ")
but, enough of my mental ramblings. I simply felt like it was time for a new post. :P
over 'n out.
E.O.

the muffin man, among other things

So lately I've been bored silly. What being bored silly has made me realize is that, whenever I don't have anything to do, I automatically look for entertainment in the form of movies/tv shows, novels, gossipy websites (like facebook), or online chatting. These are my three staples. My question:
WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY TIME??? WHY DO I WASTE IT LIKE THIS???
You see, I'm pretty sure that there are much more interesting, profitable, adventurous things out there to do. I simply don't do them. Of course, one problem with finding Things To Do is that most of them cost money. But that's just an excuse. I could join a club, or a society, or research useless things online, or use the craft materials I already own to make something, or go to the gym/pool, maybe actually exercise my body... but NO! I do none of these things.
I'm pretty sure this says something fundamental about my nature as a person, or the nature of people in general. Not altogether sure what it is though... Something along the lines of, man seeks pleasure rather before anything else, or, I'm too comfortable with my lifestyle.
Of course, it's a rare time when I have absolutely nothing that I have to do. So, I'm pretty sure that this seeking entertainment is mostly habit, since generally if I have any time the spending of which I can dictate, I make a beeline for something I can do to relax/laugh a little.
But that's not a good excuse for my lack of go-do-it-iveness. (like my new word? :P)
Oh, I promised to talk about the muffin man. yes. Apparently, he lives in GA, because there's a Drury farm around here somewhere, so why wouldn't there be a drury lane?
This rather disappoints me, because I always thought he lived in England. Ah well.
over 'n out.
E.O.

...if i could feel the world turning

once upon a time there was a girl so sensitive to the universe that she was born feeling the earth spin. because of this, she always felt like she was rushing toward something far, far in the distance, and always in the same direction. she became really good at things like hiking and driving, because, as her mother said, it was like she had her own internal compass. of course, her mother didn't know that her daughter felt like she was constantly falling sideways- all she knew was that ever since she was a baby, her little girl had known exactly which way she was going.
for the girl, every thought was in terms of with, against, or beside. it's hard to say whether or not she realized that she was different from other people in this way. so many people think in terms of with/against, although of course, not quite as literally as she did, that she could get along with most people just fine without ever noticing the difference.

tbc.

just fyi, the idea came more from here
http://xkcd.com/417/
than from Dr. Who, although he does mention feeling the world turn. =)
Also, I don't think I'll ever actually continue this, so whoever reads this, feel free to think up the rest of it. :P

Baldfaced

The realities behind my lack of romantic entanglement. Posted here on the web for any surfer to see. I figure, tons of other ppl spill their guts here, why can't I? What I have to say is not embarrassing or private. So, the facts.
1. I firmly believe that a relationship begins in friendship.
2. I have yet to make a guy friend that I want to go out with.
3. I'm not really sure how I'd know anyway.
4. I just can't make the first move. And I seem to miss other ppl's, which doesn't really help matters much.
5. I find I need to be comfortable with most of the rest of my life before I'm willing to put myself on the relationship market. It just seems like you've got a 75% to 80% chance of getting hurt, and I need for that relationship not to be the one that makes or breaks my entire life's contentment.
6. I just don't know how. How to approach such a thing, how to enter it, how to behave within it. For all the stories and movies and books I know, for all the people I've watched go through these things, I'm still pretty clueless.
So there. The truth. I doubt more than 5 people will see it. I doubt that they will be people who would attempt to harm me with this information.
But would the world PLEASE stop bugging me about it? Contrary to popular belief, a romantic relationship IS NOT the answer to all of life's problems.
Sheesh.
over 'n out.
E.O.

no wonder...

No wonder teenagers have a reputation for being rebellious and angry.
Adulthood (such as I know it, anyway) is a rude awakening.
Wouldn't you be angry too?

Of course, I know that that's not the whole of it. It's about other things as well, like becoming your own person. But, well... this is how I see it right now.
Children are protected, made to believe they are special. No one criticizes them or ignores them, or tells them how little they really matter in the world. No, most children are the apple of someone's eye. So when they grow into the realization that, apple of that person's eye or not, their world so far has been all smiles and indulgences and kid gloves, and that they've left that world and are forbidden re-entry...
Wouldn't you be angry too?

what's weird about birthdays

what's weird about birthdays isn't the fact of passing the mark of a year, becoming numerically speaking a year older.
what's weird about birthdays is trying to figure out what to do with them. for two reasons.
1. generally people are taught to at least preTEND to be humble. so how does one act graciously in the face of all the birthday wishes and congratulations and open demonstrations of affection?
2. people are also generally taught not to openly express huge amounts of affection or appreciation for others. it's just not something we do on a regular basis. it's ok when it's a holiday like christmas or thanksgiving or something, where the entire society is geared up to be more loving toward one another. but when all that affection and attention is turned toward YOU, Emily Jane Leigh of Nowheresville Kentucky (pardon, Kentuckians, but I have to pick somewhere) it's somewhat... disconcerting.
now, whenever one of my friends expresses the wish to be ignored on their birthday, i am immediately up in arms. it's a day when others get to celebrate you, i say. they are reminded to think about how you have affected their lives, and how happy (or otherwise, but hopefully happy) they are that you're alive. It's a time for your loved ones to celebrate your birth. The idea being, that the celebration isn't so much for the person being celebrated as it is for those celebrating.
that's a nice line, and fully true when it's other people's birthdays. that is, in fact, part of why i like celebrating people's birthdays. but, when it comes to my own... well. it feels like a different matter entirely. (the cyinic in me says, of course it does.)
at any rate. in case you hadn't guessed, my birthday's coming up. it's an odd number, but that's all i'll tell you. not 'cause i'm lying about my age, but because this is the ineternet. who knows who could be snooping around?

over 'n out.
E.O.

Streetcars and Ironies

Today was a momentous day. I saw Star Trek for the second time. Still love it. And James T. Kirk still reminds me of a guy I know, John W. Which strikes me as really strange, but there you have it. I also went on a wild goose chase through the city with a friend of mine, trying to find the house where the meeting we wanted to go to was being held. I think I saw more of the city today than I have all year, and we certainly did some seriously poor navigating. :P We had fun though, getting lost and conversing for the first time in two weeks - which felt like forever for two reasons. One, we lived across from each other for about 9 months, and so were constantly in one another's lives, and two, I've not been around peers for a full two weeks - except for that one trip to the movies last week. So, despite the fact that we wandered around the city for two hours peering at streets, and saying things like "I feel like we should turn left here, don't you?" or "Hey, this looks familiar!" (which was almost inevitably followed by "...I'm pretty sure we've never been here." or, later on, "if you say 'that looks familiar' one more time...!" and "now I KNOW that wasn't on the way back to Uni." :P); despite all this, we had a pretty good time. The city was beautiful in the sunset, and we discovered some quaint little roads, and laughed a lot. :) Why this always seems to happen to me in cities, I couldn't tell you. But I'm sure some of you readers can attest to the fact that I can get lost absolutely ANYwhere, and have been with me on multiple occasions, eh, Annalisa?
In fact, I got lost in my own area just yesterday. As I think about it, it occurs to me that I've gotten turned around - which is a eupemism for lost - 4 times this week. And each time my mom has proved to be a veritable knight in shining armour, riding in with Google maps and her excellent navigation skills to save the day!
The moral of the story? Never send me out anywhere without at LEAST two sets of directions on how to get there, and at least one map, and the phone number of someone who knows the area. That is, unless I've been wherever you're sending me multiple times before. :P
Oh, and the title is from a song of Chris Rice's that I found the other day with the help of a friend, and which is running 'round my head. Here's a link, if you'd like to hear it. :) I know now that the actual title is "Punchlines and Ironies," but for some reason my brain insterted "streetcars" instead. Must be all the city scenery from today.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQ5SeObCybo

All Quiet on the Southern Frontier

And on the subject of prayer, and since there's no news to speak of, I thought i'd share with you something that occurred to me during church today.
so at my parent's church, there is a pastor. Normal, you say, most churches do. Well, at this church they have a - special - way of praying. The pianist plays sweet, albeit intermittent notes/chords as the pastor or youth pastor prays. Now, the senior pastor has this habit of imitating the piano, namely, pausing in random places. Apparently the idea is to let the congregation ponder what he just said, or add their own pleas. But all too often he'll stop after saying something like "and we pray that you- *silence* - in all your great wonder..."
Now, I don't know if you pray a lot, but the basic idea is that his pauses are unpredictable and not necessarily connected with any sort of meaning in the prayer. They're just there for effect.
And today it occurred to me that it's entirely possible that, 10, 15 years from now, when he's a bit older, this same guy will be praying up there, and the poor man will have a heart attack and stop talking... and NO ONE will notice. For a good three minutes, at least.
A somewhat irreverent thought to have during prayer, but well... there it is.
May your prayers be sincere, and your silences, if they exist, full of God's presence.

Space

I learned early on in life that, when you leave a place, things move on.
Moving away and back to one place and another various times, I caught on pretty quickly.
So why does this surprise me?
People's lives expand to fill the spot you left empty. I know that.
There are those rare people who keep a little space for you. Even if you move away, and they move on, and you travel through years of time and aeons of experiences, they are able to welcome you back. But even these people don't manage it perfectly. When you come back, both parties have invariably changed. It's inevitable.
So why did I think that my family would be an exception?
There is literally no room for my things in my house anymore. I have to move my sister's stuff to be able to unpack. Emotionally, there is more room. The three of them got much closer this year, but they still welcome me back. What's weird in that department is that they expect me not to have changed. Oh, they know that I have. But they don't know how, so they treat me as if I haven't and wait to see where I've grown new corners that don't fit the old grooves.
I guess I can't blame them. But I feel... shoved back into the past. And the past is gone. It has no space for the present.

Reflection

The other night I prayed. I prayed for Godis, whose heart has just been finally squished after a long twisting and tearing. Afterwards, I fell silent, and listened. I tried to think of other things to say to God, but I felt like it was better to be quiet. After a couple minutes, I overcame that feeling and kept praying.... it felt like I was awkwardly trying to end a conversation, like when I'm done talking to someone, but courtesy demands I stay and say more polite nothings. It was odd, because usually I don't feel like God's listening very hard to what I have to say.
Then, tonight in church, the speaker said something. What if, when we prayed, it were like a real conversation? Like, we started, and God gave us the assurance that he loved us, and then we just... talked. Were able to ask God questions and have him answer, just like that. He said that so often, it seems like we break off the conversation right after God starts communicating, and related it to a conversation in which one person came up and said "Hi, how's it going? I'm so glad to see you!" and the other "I'm glad to see you too! I'm so happy you're here!" and then the first person just walked away. He cited 1 Samuel 21, with David and the ephod and everything. And I wondered, after the other night- would that really be possible? I don't know if I'm to the level of being able to have a real conversation with him yet, but... could we? Could I?
And then he talked about God's desire to be desired, sought out by us. He talked about how our tendency to quit praying as soon as we had God's sweet reassurance of his love and presence might make Him wait to answer us, in order to enjoy our seeking him. It reminded me of something by C.S. Lewis that I'd read a couple days ago, from Screwtape Letters, about how God lets us have dry times, he lets his presence fade from our lives because the times when we don't feel him, and yet still struggle to obey him (seek him) are the times that please him most. After all, who doesn't want to feel desired? Now, I'm not sure how theologically founded that viewpoint is, but the three things spread out over several days came together in my mind, and I feel like it's God teaching me, somehow.
So, I wish to attempt to seek God out and converse with him. As crazy as that may sound.
E.O.

Atmosphere

Outside I hear thunder close by and rain on the trees. The light from the window is gray, and the air cool. in the kitchen, the light and music are warm. The wooden table is covered with my books and notes - chemistry once again. The exam is in three days, and my studying is going apace. Strewn between the calculator and textbook are some colorful m&m's to help keep me from falling into frustration.
It is Saturday. It is Beautiful.
E.O.

Plain.

I've been granted a revelation. In my group of friends here there are a couple people who, if you ask them for honesty, have no qualms about giving it to you.
You know how groups of people have customs? Quirks that are particular to a group, things that are acceptable within it, but not really in general society? Well, in our group, one of these quirks is making observations about people's character. Direct and honest observations. So today, A once again said something about my personality... and I went for it. These opportunities don't come often in life. I said that I wondered, what they really thought of me, because I didn't understand, sometimes, where the things they said were coming from. And to my utter surprise, the gamble worked. I got an honest answer.
My friends think I am plain.
Not in experience or knowledge, but in taste: food, clothing, likes and dislikes. Plain.
A couple people tried to soften the word, but I asked them, because I hate such political correctness,not to. Plain: that was the general consensus. And if I am to be honest, if this is the opinion that other people hold, it would explain why so many people seem indifferent to me after about 5 minutes of conversation. Oddly... it makes sense. I do not hold people's interest for more than a short while. And if I do, it almost always feels like it's more out of charity or obligation than anything else (excepting one or two close friends from years back).
So this leads me to wonder- is it true? After all my striving to be different, to stand apart from the mindless crowd, have I become simply... boring? My intuition tells me it's quite possible. The thought really disappoints me, because I never wanted to be overlookable. When i said, when people asked that superhero question, that the superpower I wanted was invisibility, I didn't think that I might get my wish. Passionless, without that joie de vivre that touches people, without loves, without aspirations or intensity. I am again faced with the fact that there's nothing in this life that pulls on me, a love that demands that I be and lets my personality reflect its light, gives it color. Where are those convictions that make people so interesting to be around?
There is more I could say, but... out of consideration for you, reader, I will simply think. No need for you to have to listen to my disappointment in what all my journeying and wonderful rainbow colors of people and places have produced. It'd be too awkward and embarrassing, I know. I apologize for being - who?
over 'n out.
that other drone,
E.O.

Disappointing Dance

It is time to discuss... dancing.
I was introduced to swing dancing by a GEM friend of mine last summer. It was a lot of fun, and we learned the basic step plus some really random turns and aerials (yes, aerials in the first 2 days of dancing. 'twas fun). I really enjoyed it, it was such a fun way to move.
So this year I joined the school's swing club. I've learned a lot from various club members, and even made a few friends. I can now swing out, and know some more steps that are common on the social dance floor. But I've made a discovery as well. I don't dance well with people I either a) don't know or b) don't feel comfortable with. And I really really don't do well in a big gathering of dancers.
There is something about the social dance floor. It requires a specific body language to indicate your availability to dance and amiability. I have not mastered this body language. That, coupled with my not-quite-up-to-par dancing skills lead to one conclusion: I don't dance much at a big dance. I don't know people, so I can't join them (since they don't exist) and I don't exude approachability, so I can't get to know people. And I'm not a phenomenal dancer, so that doesn't attract people to me either.
To put it bluntly: I end up feeling like a wall flower.
Some people take pity (or something) on me, and ask me to dance, and then it's fun. But there's never a repetition. I also can't seem to master the chattiness required. For one thing, talking while dancing is hard. I can either concentrate on following the way the person is leading me, or on talking. A lot of leads like talking (it is after all, the SOCIAL dance floor) and then, of course, my dancing fails. Sigh.
That said, I really really enjoy dancing when I get it. When the dance is good, it's a wonderful feeling. The movement is something like harmony, which I've talked about earlier. ...which knowledge only fuels my disappointment that I don't usually manage to dance like that.
Sorry, reader, I've just sort of been rambling some of the thoughts I had this evening at a neighboring college. I will attempt to make this post more upbeat in the morning, when I'm not quite so disappointed.
over 'n out.
E.O.

How do we Worship?

I go to a pretty contemporary church- a young church, if you will, in both senses of the word. You know the kind I mean. Their building isn't fully fleshed out yet; it has hardwood benches, you can see the rafters in the cieling, they have one projector onto a pull-down screen, and an awesome african-looking tapestry in the back. They're more invested in their ministry than their building (which I LOVE about them) and they are very mission-based.
I describe my church so that you can understand what I'm about to say. Every Sunday I go to this church, and every Sunday, the worship causes me to think intensely. Mostly, it runs along the line of "do i really mean the words I'm singing? Do I really 'adore' God? Does my love for God really overflow to the point where I can't hold it back?" And mostly, when I examine myself, the answer is no. So then I have to question, do I want to throw myself into the music, sing it, participate in it, and hope that doing so will make it true? Or do I stand quietly, listen with all the concentration I can muster, and keep analysing the music? Tonight, I chose to think.
There always comes that time in the service where the musicians keep playing, and the one who is "leading" for the night begins to talk... inspirationally. Or at least, it's supposed to be inspirational. It's the sort of thing that may or may not sound ridiculous, depending on the level of your emotion, and whether or not God is speaking to you at the moment (which non-believers take to be the same thing, but I can say with complete surety that it's not). At that point in the service, no matter how into the service I am, or how much I was pouring myself into worshipping God, I come to a screeching halt. Although I suppose you can make the argument that the words in the songs we sing are just as arbitrary as the words the worship leader then speaks, to me it always feels forced. As if they are either furthering some agenda or making things up out of their heads, maybe a composite of all the worship songs and services they've ever heard. In short: it feels fake. I know that this kind of ad-libbing sometimes speaks powerfully to people. Occasionally, God speaks to me through it as well. However, I can't help but remain skeptical.
My dilemma, the one that confronts me every service is this: I don't know how much of my resistance to what is being said to me is because what's being said is legitimately not good theology, or not true in my soul, and how much of my cynicism is too-intense doubt caused by sin. So every week i have to search my soul with this question... and every week, I dredge up- well, not much. I end up coming to the conclusion that all I can do is pray that God will help me to discern truth from lies or truth from irrelevance, and that I will learn to love him better.
Today I came to church being convicted of not having prayed really at all in the past few weeks. So I decided tonight, when the pianist started ad-libbing, that I was going to pray. I was going to pray with all my might that God would indeed inspire his ad-libbing, and that nothing that came out of his mouth that night would be "fake." I have no idea how effective that prayer might have been... but then, that's always how it is with prayer: you never know until you KNOW, I guess.
over 'n out.
E.O.

Music Minor

A friend asked me once why I love singing in harmony so much. I couldn't tell her off the bat, but the question intrigued me... so I thought about it, and this is what I came up with:
Singing is a beauty that comes easily to me... and I realized soon enough that the beauty is deepened and magnified if there is more than once voice, singing something different but... fitting. Like a puzzle piece, fitting. It is wonderful in a way I can't explain to have your voice soaring into the air with another voice (or two or three) singing a note that's different to your own, but fitting. So I look for opportunities to make that beauty in the same way an artist pursues the making of a good drawing.
It gives me joy.

I credit her with unwittingly helping me choose music as my minor. =)
over 'n out.
E.O.

Blaaaaarg

Ahem.
"My bonnie lies over the ocean.
My bonnie lies over the sea.
My bonnie lies over the ocean.
Something something my bonnie to me?"

There. A tribute both to Meredith and Wooster all in one verse.
And now for something, completely different.

I finished vacuuming books today. Huzzah! Nasty, dirty, old books they were. And I mean every word of that last sentence literally. You see, this fortnight's project was to vacuum the dust off of the book collection of a dead man in England, whose 90-year-old wife donated it to the University Library. Go figure. Now, they didn't exactly give me all the pertinent information before I got this job... my boss said that they were books, they were rare, they were dusty, please vacuum them. So I said, well, ok.
It wasn't that he didn't tell me that a) it would be very tedium-intensive (since all library jobs are, that would've been redundant) or b) that it would be really really grimy (all old books are grimy- that's to be expected).
No, what irks me about the whole thing was that I was fooled into doing the job. From bits and pieces of conversations I deduce that it was a job that everyone else refused to do- and I wasn't told I had a choice. Nor was I asked if it would be detrimental to my health (aka, if I had dust allergies) until I was already on my way up there with the suuuuper-expensive vacuum in hand.
Fortunately for me, it doesn't seem to have been too detrimental to my health, and I got to be in a closed-off space all by myself where I could sing to my heat's content. Which came in pretty handy for practicing my part in a particularly tricky song I'm trying to learn. =)
Still, though I am only a lowly work-study student, and though I DO run random errands on occasion, it bruises my pride a bit that I was asked to do grunt work without even being told it's grunt work. Sigh.
All in all, I'm glad that's over with. Though I'll miss the empty halls and the solitude, I'd much rather have sunshiny-blue-sky-and-windy outside solitude any day.

memories, thoughts, and praise

So it occurred to me tonight that I spend almost three years pouring out my thoughts and the events of my life onto xanga. So I decided to go explore it. I went back to the post I wrote two years ago today, and something caught my eye. I used to write things that I thought, calling them "Thinkingfullnesses" Two years ago today was easter, and this was my thinkingfulness...

Does life ever make you ache? Not urgently, not direly, but just a kind of ache... like hearing an un-tuned piano, and knowing the strings won't ever really be set right again. Or like when you've made a mistake in how you treated someone or what you said to a person, and you can't take it back. It is an ache of things lost... Do you know that ache? I do. I've had it for the longest time. I see it when I'm not close to God, or when I take a very close look at reality. We, as people, didn't ask for this. Not life, not love, not the pursuit of happiness, which always seems to be slipping away. But we have it. One day we were born, by God's wish, and we have grown into the realization of it. But do you know what I realized this easter? I don't know if that ache will ever go away, really. In fact, I'm pretty sure it won't, no matter where I live or who I'm around. It might be less in some places than others. At any rate, I know that even so, I wouldn't for the world wish not to have been born. I am glad that God decided to make me, that even after he saw the path that Adam and Eve had chosen, he decided not to wipe humanity out.

Interestingly enough, I had occasion, last weekend, to revisit this thought, albeit in a different form. This past 9 months, I have largely gotten away from the "ache" I talked about in the above thought... amazingly enough, my life at college so far has been... wonderful. I did not expect it. I still find it kind of hard to believe... and having only a month or so left of this school year, I find myself wondering if it could be as fulfilling as this year and just a little sad for this possibly-to-be-lost happiness. I have no idea what next year will bring... but I trust the ache of life isn't far away. Whatever next year may bring, I am grateful for this blessed respite for my constantly-twinged spirit.
...I'll post on memory another day.
E.O.