The Rule of "Good enough"

I realized yesterday that I mostly live by the rule of "good enough".

My clothes are always in piles on the floor or the bed, according to how dirty they are...
it's not a perfect system, but it's good enough.

There are always dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, but I do put away the perishable food...
it's not a perfect system, but it's good enough.

I always do the readings for class, but don't make the writing portions to my own standards (which are quite high), only to the point where the prof will think I have...
they're never perfect, but they're good enough.

...and so on, and so forth. In Spanish it's called "la ley del mínimo esfuerzo," and teachers and elders used to throw it in our faces all the time: you do just what you need to get by, not an ounce more. It's taken me three years away from that to find a good translation for it, but I finally have (though I didn't realize it 'til I started thinking about what I meant by it):

The rule of "good enough"

It's ok, I think, to live by this rule in some areas of our lives. But there must be areas for which we find it unacceptable, for which "good enough" just is not enough.
What is it for you?

over 'n out.
E.O.


The above is merely one example of the results of me being really, really good at paper-avoidance strategies. xD

You found me a what??

Thanksgiving. My parent's car pulls up at my aunt's house with all four of us in it. We gather our things, step out, get the stuff from the trunk. My sister and I transfer Christmas presents from our trunk to my Grandmother's, who has come out onto the front porch to give directions. We finish, she smiles, gives me a hug, we exchange greetings... and then she drops the bomb.
"Honey, I have something to tell you."
"Oh? What's that, Jojo?"
"I've found you a boyfriend!" She smiles again, friendly, innocent, almost solicitous, as my brain reels with what-did-you-just-say-to-me????? clamoring. "Do I need a boyfriend?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "I don't know." She rejoins, and then proceeds to tell me a long rigmarole about how she met a woman at my great-grandmother's nursing home (as usual) and they were making small talk about their grandchildren ("because you know, we were signing in at the front desk and just started chatting, and..."), and they discovered that this woman's husband and my grandfather used to have lunch together at the hospital where my grandfather worked (how they determined who sat with whom in the hospital cafeteria is still a mystery, but they did) and her husband just died of gobbledygook, and it's terribly sad, and now she has to watch her mother die in a nursinghomebutANYWAY, what she was trying to say, honey, is that this woman has a grandson who just graduated from Blah-blah university and he is into XYZ, and he's outdoorsy, and she told her, you know, that she had a granddaughter who wasn't frilly, wasn't very girly (I must have looked slightly defensive at this point because she started to say that she had never been that way either, and she'd never even had a manicure, she just hated people messing with her) and anyway, I should just meet the young man... and on and on it went.
I just laughed at her, and took her arm and told her she was cute. She continued to try and convince me, and I laughed (I am still laughing, in fact) But I also couldn't help but cringe inside, because my GRANDMOTHER tried to SET ME UP with the grandson of SOMEONE SHE MET IN THE NURSING HOME while taking care of my DYING GREAT-GRANDMOTHER. Does anyone else see the flaw in this reasoning?!
It's kind of scary, because, knowing my grandmother, this is only the beginning. The first inkling of the fact that she now considers me an "adult" who ought to be looking to find "a nice man from a godly family, sweet pea." It's the first indication that I'm moving up in the world, to places that have new and different kinds of small talk that requires new defenses. Hopefully I will be able to acquire them fast enough, and hopefully I will keep laughing throughout.

over 'n out.
E.O.

Prolific

I have looked it up. Every year so far I have written more posts in November than any other month. Go figure. I guess the stress of finals + life-readjustment + being cooped up inside again makes me want the creative outlet? Or maybe it's just the change of the seasons. I love autumn. I also love the word autumn and do not understand why it has gone out of fashion. Bring it back! It's so much prettier than "fall," if a bit less literal.
Anyway, in keeping with this observation of mine, I have decided to write a post to officially note it - and thereby make this the month with most posts EVER on this blog. w00t.

Autumn. Autumn. Autumn. Are there any other words with "mn" in them? Mnemonics. That's all I can think of. Mn?

clearly this is degenerating. I will stop before something truly unfortunate happens.
over 'n out.
E.O.

Writing Whiz?

People keep telling me that if I ever wrote a book, they'd read it. I say, great, I don't have much of anything to say, but if I ever do, you'll be the first to know.
How did I ever learn to write? Sometimes I wonder. My mom asked me yesterday how it was possible that I, growing up as many places and in as many different languages as I did, not learning how to read in English 'til I was 6? 7? - how it was possible that I should have enough mastery of the English language to be able to help other people write academic papers?
At first, I didn't know. I cited my English prof from Spanish HS who offered, out of the blue, to train me for the English lit O-levels. Then I realized - I used to read like crazy. I read so much I got sick of stories - nothing could surprise me anymore. Good stuff, classic stuff, stuff that was too old for me, mystery stuff, fantasy stuff... whatever I could lay my hands on, really. And I wrote. I wrote blogs, as has been previously noted, and journal entries, and not much more. I wrote to please myself. Did I have anything to say beyond things that were happening in my own little life? Hah! Guess. I'll give you a hint- I still don't! I don't know why you're reading this stuff, seriously. But did I learn from these things, or merely develop? (watch out, chicken-and-the-egg-problem at twelve o'clock!) It's possible that I just engaged in those activities because the written word has always spoken to me in ways that other artforms never revealed.

But anyway - *end of pointless introspection* - now, here I sit, waiting for my next pupil to walk through the door. Life is truly strange.


I'm not gonna be an author, y'all. Not unless I seriously have Something to SAY. And if that ever happens, the world better watch out, 'cause come hell or high water, it'll be said, and my intended audience will listen.

list of...

...things I don't want to deal with:

1. the pilot light on my heater being out (with no hint as to how to light the stupid thing again, not to mention where exactly it is located).

2. my dryer being broken (and my landlord's home warranty company being veeery particular about contractors and also conveniently closed-mouthed about it)

3. my project for literacy class (surprise, I don't want to do my work for literacy class. Who'd've thought?)

it may not seem like it, but those three things are pretty, um... large.

yikes!
____________

P.S.: Fortunately my dad loves me and helped me deal with the pilot light. That's one thing off the list? Maybe? - maybe 'cause he told me to call my landlord already and get the thing checked. =(
haha, I thought I had good news to add, but... well, maybe not. :P

Post-movie thoughts

From "The Young Victoria":
In the end credits it says:
"In memory of her husband, Victoria had his clothes
laid out every day until her death at the age of 81"

And that's how I want it: only one. I don't want to try on guys like I try on clothes, to see if they fit.
I want to pick one and go for it, and if it's not perfect, that's ok. Just one, for my entire life. Granted, it prob'ly won't be the fCA - that's pretty much laid to rest. But if I have it my way, there won't be more than 3 tries.

I'm also really intrigued by the portrayal of Queen Victoria, and sort of wish they hadn't focused quite so much on the Albert/Victoria storyline. It would have been interesting if they had made it like... twice as long, with more facets of her life... if they had elaborated on her relationship with her mother, for example, and how she had handled parliament, etc. I kept wondering how she would interact with the cabinet members socially and such.
The whole thing reminds me of a book I read a year or two ago, called something like "The Queen and Essex". It was dull, but I think if they'd mixed this movie with that book, it would have made what I'm imagining. :P Of course, the book was about Queen Elizabeth, not Victoria, but still. You get the gist of my idea, right?
anyways. Good movie. For sure.
over 'n out.
E.O.

fresh from waking

I woke up twice today. You know how it goes. You wake up the first time to your alarm clock (you vaguely remember hearing it) and then decide, what the heck, you'll just sleep out today. You have time. And then you *try* to go back to sleep.
The first time I woke up, I remembered nothing. It rarely happens to me that I'll wake up and not have a few thoughts about either what I was dreaming about or what I have to do that day. But this time... nothing. My first thought went something like "where are all my other thoughts? what day is today?" So that was strange.
Then I realized it was Friday and I could sleep a little longer if I wanted to, so I did...
and proceeded to dream that most frustrating of dreams, the one where you can't quite get your eyes open, even though you really want to because something is happening around you that you need to see.
And I woke up the second time frustrated, determined to keep my eyes open, and see my house as it was, not as I had dreamed it. Ugh. My waking house is much nicer, especially in the morning. But my roommate isn't here (she did have to get up this morning) and so it's kind of eerie... almost as if I were still in a dream. (a dream within a dream! inception style! noooo!)
ahem. so I had to remind myself of what is true about my life & real, by writing it out.
hopefully that is effective. The sunshine streaming in my window is certainly pleasant, and my room is just as messy as it was when I went to sleep. So.
over 'n out.
E.O.

Moments

This post is dedicated to remembering moments this weekend that were satisfying in one way or another.

J not only openly told me about her relationship developments, she apologized for letting me guess before telling me - and then showed me a dinosaur of a digital camera and let me play with it, asking me to tell her, if I could, how it works.

Cc and I had a moment bonding about feeling awkward not knowing anyone at the party we were helping host, as none of our guests had arrived yet, and hoped her and my guests would arrive at the same time, so we wouldn't have to desert one another.

B had a legit conversation with me about Real Things after the service.

J2 tapped me on the shoulder from two rows back, just to say hi.

R is comfortable enough with me to let me walk with her arm in arm, and chat merrily, even though we've only met twice.

Standing in front of the stage, almost the only one on the floor, E comes up, takes my arm, and stands with me, swaying.

G: "You're a white guy magnet!"
G: "It's like you're trying, I can tell you're trying, but you're trying to be charming, and you are charming, and guys like you"

me: I could live in Southern California. I could do it.
G: I could too. Let's do it.
me: You want to move there after graduation?
G: Yeah.
me: Let's do it.
G: Let's do it, for real.
me: Deal.
(we shake hands. short pause.)
G: Do you mind if my mom lives with us?
(both nearly die of laughter)

I really love my friends.


This weekend was beautiful. I went and jammed with a friend of mine from SG, and it was TOTALLY different from jam sessions I've been to before, when I was still my most defensively shy self (and felt like I wasn't worth listening to). I joined in, and was appreciated as a member of the jam session or whatever. =)
I had a girls' night, watching two good, classic movies with some friends, sleeping on a couch, waking up to think.... We held a wonderful pre-thanksgiving thanksgiving party, full of good food and dear friends....
I am full - in stomach, but also in spirit. I am beloved by God and I have a community, and I am not only not crippled by my social ineptitude, I am reaching out to people and adding joy to their lives like they add joy to mine.

How it all started

The internet obsession.
For me, it all started with a blog. Well, e-mail, really, but the real fascination came when I somehow got going writing a blog. It was wonderful. I could write things, like I always did, but instead of those things being just for me, my friends could read them. They wanted to read them.
I lived for the comments; for the knowledge that someone out there (almost always someone that I knew) had read my thoughts and wanted to respond, had understood, had validated what I had to say. I started to read their blogs, and comment, and learned to stay in contact with people that way, the people I loved who were far away. No longer did you have to be family, willing to pay the exorbitant prices of long-distance phone bills, or a grown-up with their own e-mail account to have a say in my world; all you had to do was have an account on a blogging website!
When I first heard about facebook, I wasn't convinced. I was introduced to it on a trip to the States, right before moving back. I was hanging out in a hotel with some high schoolers who were positively dying to "check their facebook." I had no idea what that meant, but when I found out, I was not impressed. Where was the exchange of ideas, the dialogue with your friends? I made an account anyway though, to keep up with the kids I'd met on that trip.
And really, that's what the internet has always been for me. A way to keep up with (stay in touch) the people I would otherwise lose sight of completely. I have gotten used to using it in that way, for that purpose. So it really baffles me when I come into contact with people who really... don't. They just don't use the resources at their disposal. I don't get it.
My dad likes to talk about how my generation are "digital natives." I guess we are. He likes it because it means he can call himself a "digital immigrant," which is ridiculous, because if anyone's been right at the forefront of developing technology with eyes as wide with wonder as the proverbial kid in a candy shop, it's my father.
Still, it's an interesting idea. There are definitely people in my generation, though, who don't live as if they are digital natives. They just don't have to- all their people are right there, around them, and always have been. And in a way, I'm jealous. I'm pretty sure I'd happily give up my digital nativity for a security in community like they seem to have. Instead, I have somehow developed this mindset of looking for comfort and affirmation in comments and friendly notes on my wall. How much more ridiculous could life become?

over 'n out.
E.O.

Some nights...

Some nights, you just have to bake cookies.

Tonight, my kitchen is inundated with them.

There are 72 so far... but there are at least two more batches to come.

My roommate and I organized the ones that we have so far all onto one plate. I call it "the cookie-mountain at half-mast" - 'cause obviously we're not done yet.

It's a normal-sized plate, of the variety you'd eat off on any regular night. We used our combined geometry and chemistry knowledge to make a "compact crystalline structure," or something of the sort. All I know is, it's a LOT of cookies, and they're mostly piled onto one plate (one batch wasn't out of the oven yet when we made it)

Some nights, you just need to bake cookies.

In Spanish, one way to say that something is easy is to say "no tiene misterio" - in other words, it has no mystery, or there's no mystery to it. As if for complicated things you have to be inducted into some impenetrable secret. I've been thinking a bit about mystery lately... you know how kids love fantasy, and then as they grow older, it loses some of its charm? I've been wondering if there's a way to keep that sense of awe and magic. I have one or two ideas.

There is no mystery to making cookies, though. You just chuck a few ingredients into a big bowl, mash them all up, slide little globs of the stuff onto some metal trays and slide said metal trays into an oven for a bit. Take 'em out and ta-da! Cookies.

Once I taught some friends of mine, a Galician friend and her mother, how to make pancakes. They were astonished. It actually was like I was revealing a mystery to them. They were particularly flummoxed by the idea that you were not supposed to stir the batter until all the flower granules dissolved. They thought it was the weirdest thing. So I guess there is some mystery, some apprenticeship in baking after all.

Cooking however, I don't understand at all. Cooking is more of an art, I think, than baking. There are so many more different ways to do things, techniques and such. I don't know. Cooking baffles me, I'd much rather bake...

So on some nights, I just have to make lots and lots of cookies. It's good for the soul, freeing for the mind.

I leave you with a picture of the mountain at half-mast:










Over 'n out.
E.O.

p.s.: the final number of cookies is 109. Not including the ones we ate. xD

Literacy Log 3

Love Him in the morning when you see the sun a-rising
Love Him in the evening 'cause He took you through the day
And in the in-between-time when you feel the pressure coming
Remember that He loves you and He promises to stay

I only ever knew the chorus to this song. It's encouraging to know that there's really only one verse, and that the chorus (above) was the really important part, when it was being written.

On a different note, it is time, yet again, to write a literacy log.
Let us examine whether or not my feelings on the subject have actually changed. On the surface of things, my first instinct is that it hasn't, but it's always worth a look. So. Literacy. The class has finally admitted that yes, literacy does in fact have to have something to do with texts. Hear my huge sigh of relief. At least there is that. They also claim that it has to do with being able to manipulate many different contexts and capabilities to do with the texts, and these spill over into live interaction. So. If we're being honest, all of this hurts my head. I can't catch hold of it properly. But. I am supposed to explore another aspect of "literacy" (oh how I hate those scared quotes, and how I wish that it were immediately obvious that I use them in an annoyed tone that mocks the doubtful one my prof usually uses). So yeah. Literacy. Um....
I'm gonna focus on "language use that has become naturalized," in the context of christian jargon. Am I? Or would I rather focus on "The effect of practicing discourse analysis on your own language use or the language of others – recently we suggested that one definition of being literate is being an independent discourse analyst. Is this a helpful way of thinking about literacy for you, and to what extent do you see yourself able to analyze the discourse around you" ? I might have something to say about that. After all, all I do these days is discourse analysis. Or perhaps I'd do better to talk about "Cultural models that you draw upon or that you encounter" Argh.

Dear AT&T

dear at&t: thank you for the internet service. I think you should know, though, that your bills don't make any sense. I passed both algebra and calculus (not to mention 5th grade) with flying colors, so I promise you I can both add and subtract. However, I cannot make heads or tails of your calculations, even with the help of a calculator and my roommate, who is a chemistry major. Please explain yourself.
sincerely,
E.O.

Things I am thankful for today:
that my apartment feels so much homier than a college dorm.
that I don't have to smell pot on a regular basis.
that I don't have to eat Sodexo all the time and can buy my own groceries.
that I have friends who are very happy with me crashing at their place on a weekend.
that there are grander stories to long for than just "living in the moment".

and on the note of that last one, lately whenever someone asks me, "so how's your day going?" I have to stop. and think: wait, what DID I do today? - Which is not ok. That, I think, is living TOO much in the moment. I'm so busy I've taken to just letting go anything that is past as not-nearly-as-important-as-the-fifteen-things-I-have-to-get-done-next. Which is also not ok. I would like to restore a sense of connectivity (and peace) to my life, and to do that- well, I'm gonna come up with something, very soon.
hah.
anyways.
over 'n out.
E.O.

Lies SOMEbody must have told me

Sorry to be cryptic. Some things just need to be in Spanish. Please don't go trying to translate- it's more for my own sanity that I've written this than for your entertainment.
-----
De alguna manera me es inconcebible que yo sea jamás la amada de nadie. Eso tiene que ser una mentira, verdad? De dónde la he sacado?
Pero aun y así, a mi parecer, suena verídico. Después de todo, yo no me veo nada que atraiga a un hombre de verdad, de fiar. Claro que también dudo la existéncia de tal hombre, pero eso es una cuestión para otro día. Quiero, si alguien me llega a amar, que me ame entera- no sólo el corazón, ni sólo la mente, o la sonrisa, no. Me tiene que querer toda enterita, y si no, nada. Y yo a él también, claro está.
(No sé por qué me siento más capaz de eso que el tío fantasma que me estoy inventando... otra mentira será.)
Me dolía menos el alma cuando ignoraba que era posible que atrajera a nadie, punto. Será que yo no se ser íntima con alguien?
Éstas son las preguntas que me pasan a menudo por la cabeza, y no puedo estarme de entretenerlas... ojalá hubiese alguien con quien pudiera hablar de estas cosas, quien me sabría aconsejar, tal como yo supe aconsejarle a mi amiga anoche (por la gracia de Dios, no por nada que yo sepa d'estas cosas).
No diré que quisiera que nunca hubiera conocido a ese chico. Eso sería mentira, porque me ha hecho mejor persona y mas feliz, el conocerle. Sólo digo que quisiera que me doliera menos el despedirme de él tan lentamente... es como intentar abrir una bolsa que se cierra con velcro en medio de una clase o algo... por más lento que lo hagas, mas se nota cada- pe- que- ño- so- ni- do. Ecks. Ojalá él hubiera sabido decirme, querida, de momento no soy capaz de ser ni novio ni amigo tuyo. Déjame que me vaya de tu vida, por ahora. Ojalá yo hubiera sabido escucharle, cuando intentó decir algo remotamente parecido.
Pero enfin. Ahora sé que nos hemos dicho adiós. No me gusta, aún me duele, pero el saberlo me- bueno, me ayudará.
Seré una persona capaz de amar y de ser amada?
Supongo que ya lo veremos.

hasta la próxima.

_________
Y claro que el muy puñetero me escribe diciendo que quiere que hablemos JUSTO DESPUES de yo escribir lo de arriba... no tengo palabras, no sé qué estoy sintiendo.
Me saca de quicio, eso sí lo sé. Pensamientos: Si te despides, despídete de una puta vez, idiota! Y si no, escríbeme mas a menudo, que estamos en el siglo XXI! Tenemos internet y SMS y cosas d'estas.
...
Ahora que me lo pienso, quizá debería calmarme un poco... No soy lo suficientemente madura para esto.

Unwell

Excuse me while I go throw up a few left-over friendships that were in my system last night. I just realized they went bad, and it's seriously upsetting my stomach. Just a moment -.

Aftershave

To that kid who was sitting in front of me:
Next time, please go easy on the aftershave (or cologne, deodorant, whatever). Like, 999/1000ths easier. Don't force the rest of us to compulsively hold our breath for 45 minutes until, not being able to stand it anymore, we are compelled to get up in the middle of lecture to look for seats further back (by AT LEAST two rows) just so we can get away from your stench. Next time, please just brush your teeth or take a shower with actual soap instead. I guarantee you, that will do better at both a) removing any stench from this weekend's partying/camping/other adventures and b) getting you in good with... well, I was going to say ladies, but with anyone you want to actually think well of you, really. Whatever pheromones they are telling you is in that stuff, it cannot possibly help you out if you lay it on like that.
So. I hope its clear. Don't be that kid. Don't suffocate your classmates. And if you absolutely HAVE to use that much scent, at least have the decency to muffle it by keeping your sweatshirt on.
Thank you.

over 'n out.
E.O.

For the moment

I miss you, you turd.

I wish I could forgive you for being gone, and ignoring the fact that you live in the 21st century. I'm working on it, if for no other reason than it will be better for my own spirit to be rid of this hurt caused by missing you, wishing you would remember me fondly in a way that communicated itself to myself, somehow. I'm trying, now, to forgive you.

But right now, until God kicks in, I really only have one word for you, turd.

I had another one, but it floated away, because turd just fits so well.

Turd.

There.

____________

On a different note, there is something else I would like to say, not to the aforementioned, specifically, but to everyone.

Don't let wishful thinking influence or interrupt your goodbyes. If you must say goodbye, be strong and just say it: Goodbye.
That is the kindest thing you can do.