Welcome to Insanity

Maybe it's because I'm a teacher and have learned the value of it.  Maybe it's becuase I'm a perpetually confused student.  Maybe it's because I care enough to do it. 

Lately, I've been wondering about my propensity to question things.  As a teacher, asking questions is one way to force my students to think, even if it is just "Oh, crap, what can I come up with in case she calls on me?"  As a student, it's a way to take up time and hopefully get an understanding of things.  As a person, it's a way to either broaden my philosophical horizons or destroy my self-esteem.  It's all in the mark - maybe it's the mark of the beast.  :)

Really, what is the power in a "?"?  It ascertains understanding, witlessness, and ability to successfully bullshit an answer together.  It can tell me when something doesn't make sense and it needs further consideration.  Something is unclear, illogical, and randomly picked for scrutiny.  Is it my fault that the communication has broken down, the thought has jumped the train and is lying broken, bleeding, and probably dying on the tracks.  Is it the fault of the reader as I am clearly too comepetent to earn or deserve that mark. 

The beastliness of the mark comes when it takes a sinister turn, the happy little curve enters the shadow and morphs into a scythe, complete with a droplet of blood from the carnage to come.  What were you thinking?  How could you be so stupid?  Why do you even bother?  How could you say/do/think/believe that?  Each and every time it gets worse, the unseen damage except for that fairly innocuous-looking droplet growing until the self is drowning in hatred and pain.

How do I keep this angry side of the mark down?  Maybe it's a mantra, something so repetitive that comes to the tongue easily so to beat back the shadows.  Maybe it's a cry to God, the Lord of Light and Beauty, to banish the bleak disaster into the recesses of forgetfulness, shining healing and forgiveness onto the battered self lying helpless on the floor. 

It's time I remember the healing, the inquisitiveness, and the positive expansion of the mind inherit in the mark, instead of the fear of the knife.

Currently listening : Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse Of The Black Pearl By Martin Tillman Release date: 22 July, 2003

4:41 PM - 1 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

I’m not a morning person...

And yet I'm really kind of liking being up early and having quiet time in the house to work on the internet (as we FINALLY have high-speed at my house!  woot woot!), watch a little food network, eat a leisurely breakfast, put my face on, do my hair, etc.  I swear...when did I become a girl?

It's amazing--me, the night owl who hates going to bed before 2am is now curling up with my pillows at 10 or 11 (depending on when Iron Chef/Throwdown with Bobby Flay/Dinner Impossible/Emeril Live ends, of course). 

So what am I doing this extra-special morning?

I'm thinking about all the changes in my life.  I'm starting my fall semester as a grad student today, and I teach for the first time tomorrow.  After a hellish week of orientation that nearly drove me batty, I'm so ready for the first day to be over...and yet I'm also kind of dreading it.  I have an appointment with a new doctor today as my old one moved away, which means another strange man I have to be vulnerable around.  Those who know my past know that's not easy or fun for me. 

It's one of those days that I'm concentrating on taking one breath at a time, one minute as it comes.  I'm not going to flip out and crawl under the desk in my office.  I'm not going to scream because this new nail polish on my toes is more gummy than painty.  I'm not going to worry about what the scale will say this time - I've lost a lot of weight this year so far, and I really don't want that to stop anytime soon. 

I'm just going to pray, and maybe read a little Bible for once in a long time.  I'm going to make something remotely healthy for breakfast.  I'm going to finish my girly-girl prep and chase my cats around the house with a can of kitty treats (quiet is highly overrated).  Then I'll veg out with a vegetarian cooking show.  Can't hurt.

My wish for today:  that God would give me peace, understanding, and security today and for the rest of the week.

That and being productive.  That would be a good thing.  :)

Currently listening : Be Not Nobody By Vanessa Carlton Release date: 30 April, 2002

6:07 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Is this really me?
Current mood: disoriented...again

I look in the mirror each morning, usually more than once.  It's not just my new 'do that's causing me to be slightly surprised at first glance - then again, purple and blonde hair that's several inches shorter than it used to be will do that to ya.

I just can't quite fathom how I got here...and what exactly that makes me.  I'm the unpopular nerd, the one who's a bit of a couch potato, the reader.  I'm the one who shakes when she's the center of attention yet feeds on it (only if I'm on a sugar high, though).  I'm the disorganized one, the perpetual student.

Now I'm going to be a teacher.  Not just any teacher, because I've been that before.  I've taught preschool for years and have done more than my share of tutoring.  Starting this weekend, I'm under contract at my university as a professor. 

I look in this mirror and see a woman.  She's wearing make-up, her hair is done, and her clothes are dressy-casual with an emphasis on professional.  She actually paints her nails and spends valuable sleeping time on her appearance.  She carries a planner around with her everywhere and actually uses it.  She's me...but a side I didn't really know and rarely saw for the past 2 decades. 

I grew up, somehow, somewhere, and that fact kind of escaped me.  Being the eternal student you sort of extend your adolescence.  Yeah, I have bills to pay, a car to care for, but somehow even these big responsibilities escaped me.  The fact that I am now on the first real step of assimilating into "career" me instead of "student" me is disorienting...and truthfully, a little frightening. 

My first "faculty" meeting is this Friday.  It's going to be very interesting, especially because I'm a student meeting past, present, and future professors that are now my co-workers.  It's really odd - like having your sister as a boss - where do you draw the lines?

I've e-mailed some of my favorite teachers, and these were some of their big advice to me.  Some of them are applicable anywhere; others are just a little humorous.

1.  Never reveal your age (especially as you are a girl!)

2.  Keep your personal cell phone and home address private - drunk students often play pranks

3.  Avoid squeaky shoes, tottery heels, and uncomfy stilettos

4.  If you like to sit on the edge of the desk or other "cool" positions like that, avoid slick pants or you'll end up in a heap on the floor.  (I could see myself doing this...)

5.  Double-check zippers, hair, teeth, and cell phone before each class.

6.  Never eat beans or broccoli for dinner if you have a morning class.

7.  Always over-plan -- you don't want to end up with nothing to do, and you can always trim away things as you go.

8.  Breathe.

9.  They're college kids, not preschoolers, so save "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" for emergencies only.

10.  Pray before every class and trust God to get you through.  Even if you mess up, He planned it so you'd have something to laugh at later.

9:41 PM - 2 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Crazy woman invades university!!!
Current mood: complacent

Today was picture ID day for faculty, as our IDs are changing to a new system so you can use it on campus and also as a debit card with a local bank.  Nice.  I'm not getting my hair done until Thursday, and as I just had a new pimple pop up big'n'angry on my cheek, I decided to hold off on the photo.  No use having one to rival my last ID.

***

I was hired during the summer to work at a child development center through the university (now disbanded - grr!!!!) two years ago.  My first day was very entertaining.  Within an hour of showing up, I had been propositioned by identical twin four-year-olds, had witnessed "swordfights" between two naked younger boys, and had my first significant medical problem.  I had a little girl on my lap and was reading her a story in the classroom's sole rocking chair while two other little boys played with matchbox cars to the right of me.  I was keeping an eye on them as I read when I saw one little boy crash the end of a car onto the other boy's head...and a fountain of blood began streaming out of the little boy's scalp.  Moving at lightning speed, I put the girl on the floor, grab the screaming boy, clap a hand over his scalp to stem the flow, and run to the program director.  My voice was unearthly calm, "Where's the first aid kit?"  The director's eyes went huge and we spirited the boy to the kitchen where we put guaze on his head, tried to clean up the blood he had smeared all over his face, hands, and arms (as well as my face, hands, and arms).  Talk about being thrown in the deep end.

I wasn't too horribly bloody, but my beige shirt had streaks and spatters of blood on a shoulder.  Technically I should have gone home and changed, it being a biohazard and all, but I had to settle for swabbing the area down with clorox wipes and praying it would come clean in the wash later (it did, somehow).  The stains were still pretty visible, but it wasn't too bad.

A few hours later I was getting off work.  On my way out the door I asked the director where I could get a parking permit so I could park on campus instead of hightailing it four blocks from the nearest empty side street.  She sent me to the public safety office and they sent me to the ID department.  I walk through the heavy glass door of this department and am greeted by the slightly raised eyebrows of the student worker there. 

"Hi!  I need an ID picture, please, so I can get my parking permit."

The girl asks for some routine information to find my file on her computer and I try to soothe my frizzy, wind-blown hair back into a half-ponytail.  I hate pictures.  Her computer is slow so she tries to make a little small talk.

"Freshman?"

"No, I'm a senior.  Transfer."

"Oh, ok.  Are you living on campus?"

"No, I'm commuting."

"Ah, blue parking sticker.  Only better parking lots are the faculty/staff ones, and that isn't saying much."

"Oh, I know!  I'm actually working at the university as well, so I really wanted one of those stickers, but they said I had to have a commuter one.  I actually just came from work."

"Really?  Where do you work?"

"The child development center."

The look on her face made me flashback to the program director's earlier today.  Can't blame the girl, really...if I saw a somewhat breathless, messed-up haired woman smeared liberally with blood claiming she had just come from a place where children are supposed to be well-cared for, I'd be a little suspiciously shocked as well.

Long story short, I got my ID and promptly presented it to the public safety officer to get my parking permit.  The officer smiled when she saw the picture.

"I see your bloody shirt showed up nicely in this photo."

Yeah, it did - you can see the faint streaks of blood droplets on my right shoulder leading, out of the frame of the picture, to the bigger bloody mess. 

***

So now that I'm going to get that coveted parking permit at last, I have to get a new ID.  I am tempted, however, to continue the tradition and find some bloody kid somewhere to pick up and cuddle before I head over to the ID department...

3:06 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Don’t Bug Me...Literally
Current mood: They’re coming for me!

I have this thing about animals.  I usually love them, unless they fall into a certain category:  more than four or less than two legs with the exception of most fish (Dolphins and whales especially) and worms.  This means that your average centipede (more than four) and the common garden snake (less than two) are on my poo list and I'm usually scared silly of them.

Yes, I'm a girl.

There are times when I'm around other people and, instead of being scared, I end up thrown into "protector" mode and find courage I never knew I had.  Case and point:

My ex-boyfriend, back when we were dating, had come over to my house in the country.  We were hanging out in the backyard and walking towards the driveway when I stopped to pick a leaf out of my shoe.  While bent down, I hear this unearthly high-pitched scream reverberate around the yard...again, and again.  My head snaps up and I see this big bad country boy flailing about and leaping onto the top of his Toyota with all the finesse of a one-winged flamingo.  At first I'm puzzled, then I see what's wrong - there's a large snake weaving through the grass not far from where he had been.  Instead of laughing uproariously at him, which I probably should have done, I sprang into action - white knight(ess) action.  I stomped around, scaring the snake away from the car and then took a shovel from the garage and chased it into the back shed where the wild things belonged.  When the snake hissed at me once in supreme irritation, I didn't take the pure white mouth and throat into consideration - snakes were snakes, and since we are often overrun with garden snakes, what was the big deal? 

During my relocation project, the little boy screeching on top of his car had reached a frantic pitch nearing the range that probably only the nuisance beagle the next farm over could hear.  I walked back up the yard towards him to realize he was actually screaming intelligible words...and they were not, "My hero!  Thank you!  Let me pay you with a steamy kiss!"  Rather they went more like this, "You idiot!  How stupid are you!  That was a fucking cottonmouth!"  I probably would have been more incensed at his cursing of me if the word "cottonmouth" hadn't slammed into my brain.  Missouri doesn't have a lot of poisonous snakes, and the cottonmouth is the most common, at least in this area. 

That was one of my biggest fears in the local animal kingdom and I pissed it off with a shovel.  Steve Irwin is rolling in his grave right now, I'm sure.

So, you would think that I had learned my lesson - save bravery for an audience that appreciates it, like my preschool class.  At least then I get offered half of their cookie.

Last night I went into work at 11pm.  Not unusual - I've been working overnight shifts for over two years now at this house.  I walked into the house and was shutting the door when I heard this odd sound, like there was a rock or a crackly wad of leaves stuck in the doorjamb by the hinges.  When I pulled the door open a little to investigate, I was attacked by a huge black flying thing that brushed the bridge of my nose. 

I screamed.  Bloody murder.  But I'm allowed - I'm a girl, right?  And seriously, if something big and black shot past your face and brushed by your nose, wouldn't you scream out of surprise at least?  I thought so.

The co-worker I was relieving comes running out of the bathroom with our consumer as I clutch my chest and eyeball the estimated landing spot of the mysterious varmint.  After ascertaining that I wasn't being brutally murdered by a Freddie Kreuger wannabe, my co-worker returned to the bathroom with our charge and leaves me summoning up enough courage to hunt down the creature.  I'm allowed to sleep some during my overnight shifts now and there was no way I was going into Vulnerability Land with that thing in the house.  My co-worker returns to the living room and I fill her in while rustling the curtains and shoving the furniture around a little.  I just about gave up when I saw it, blending in almost perfectly with the carpet.  The head was huge, like a moldy and decomposing giant gumball, and you couldn't see a body at all under the nearly-clear wings joined at the back of the head.  It was ginormous.  A freaking big bug.

I didn't scream this time, but I did back up until I was nearly out of the room while my nature-loving co-worker investigated.

"Aw, it's just a cicada!  Nothing to worry about!"

"KILL IT!"

"Why?  It's harmless!  A herbivore!"

"KILL IT!  KILL IT!"

"Seriously, you're such a wuss."

Great, now I'm a wuss for proposing unmitigated murder on some huge malevolent creature.  She grabs a cup and paper towel, all prepared to take the bug outside and relocate to some peaceful place.  The woman can massacre big ants with glee but she's saving a bug that would have made a T-rex wet himself?  I head off to my consumer's bedroom to check on her, thinking it was over.

You know, there's a reason you never say that in horror movies...or at work.

I'm just about to walk into the bedroom behind my consumer when I hear a cheery voice behind me.  "Hey, (consumer's name), would you like to see the bug that scared Tamara?  He's really cute!"

I do a half turn and see her, cradling a cupped cicada and holding it out for our consumer to see.  The beast rifles its wings menacingly at me and I scream, fly through the room (nearly trampling my consumer in the process) and hide frantically behind the door.  My co-worker just shakes her head at me, calling me ridiculous.  Yeah, you're coddling a bug that looks like it crawled out of a radioactive lagoon and you're calling me ridiculous?

The bug is released out the front door and I come out, making it very clear that I think my co-worker is a creep and a complete lunatic for chasing me through the house with that freaking bug.  She objects, saying she was just trying to show it to our consumer as they had been talking about cicadas before.  Yeah, right. 

At our house we have something called "office time."  It's our way of saying that the staff members need to go out on the front porch (or hide and whisper in an empty bedroom if it's nasty weather outside) and chat about the consumers in relative privacy.  Usually it means there have been behavior problems that, if discussed in front of the person doing them, could cause even more problems.  Tonight, of all nights, I was told by this vegetarian tree-hugging co-worker that we needed office time. 

"Ok, but I'm not going out there."

My co-worker rolls her eyes.  "Oh, come on!  It's gone!  I released it!"

"Yeah, right out that door!  It's probably out there waiting for me!"

"Oh, whatever!  I'll even check for you!"

You know that moment when the girl is walking down the hallway, and her hand is reaching towards the door and you know the freaky monster/serial killer/bloodthirsty ghost is on the other side just awaiting her?  And you scream, "DON'T OPEN THE DOOR YOU IDIOT!!!!!"?  And like all stupid girls in the horror movies I'm too scared to watch, she turns the knob and ends up a shish-kabob? 

"I'm NOT going through that DOOR!"

My co-worker goes out, pooh-poohing me like we do with our consumers when they are being utterly ludicrous and frantic over nothing.  She reports no beasties or buggies are around.  Needless to say, I'm nervous and edgy as hell, trying to remember exactly what that sound was like in the door so I can run first and kick her lying arse later when the creature returns.

After a little staff chat, my co-worker turns to go to her car.

"See, no cicadas.  Told you you were being silly."

"Yeah, but aren't those things like locusts?"  I shiver.  "They, like, fly in hoards or flocks, right?  Where there's one there's a million freaking more bent on mass destruction?"

Uh-oh.

Currently reading : All Things Wise and Wonderful By James Herriot Release date: 15 July, 1998

7:03 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Never Doubt...Even Though You Wanna

Hey God...how many times have you heard the word "sorry" from me?  More than YOU can count?  Uh...yeah, that sounds about right. 

Why is it that we doubt God?  I mean, He created the world and all its intricacies, made sure that we had free will, has guided every action we have ever done, protected us from so much…so why do we think He has forgotten us?  

Nasty trick, Satan, that's just plain NASTY.

As you can probably tell from my blogs (or lack of them…hehehe), there's been a bit of a trust issue between me and God.  I've felt for a long time that God just isn't listening much anymore, He only provides now and then, and He's not really getting me.  If you needed more proof that I'm a fallible human being, that statement should suffice.  

Despite what I feel, God has really worked wonders in my life.  He helped me heal from huge scars from an abusive situation three years ago and other scars from my ex's bad choice of words two years ago.  I didn't want to take out more loans for college to go to graduate school, but when my funding fell through, I instinctively (or more like through subconscious faith) went ahead and enrolled – and ended up getting my tuition paid for through the GTRA program.  My parents nearly took a job in Columbia, which would have left me alone in the house with big-time expenses and no chance to really save up my extra funds to pay off my car – but they're staying home now and my financial plans are back on track.  My last blog about my job…I was really frustrated and nearly hopeless about that one, seriously considering cutting my hours way down so I'd have a budget with more stretch marks than me but would avoid most contact with the consumers.  Thanks to me getting hurt, however, I was able to influence the powers that be to finally get my consumer the help that he/she needed, and peace restored to the house (or at least as much peace as you can have in a house that I work in…hehehe).  

God has done so much for me, smoothed out the wrinkles, and is leading me where I need to go.  Why, then, do I still feel lost and alone?  I mean, dude, He has NEVER left me, and although I couldn't see it at the time, He had it under control and nothing really terrible happened.

It made me think about what a pastor told me years ago at a church I (and he) no longer attend:  truth isn't in the feelings, it's in the knowledge.  When God said, "Heaven and Earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away" (Matthew 24:35), it means that whatever is physical or of this world isn't eternal – it's the knowledge of God, His word, His love that lasts and is eternal.  My very human emotions aren't reliable – my understanding of God is.  I know God is with me, He loves me, He's preparing the road ahead for me to make me a better person in Him.  I don't always feel that.  It's my dependence on the Earthly, my untrustworthy emotions, that's sabotaging the great life I could be having.  Instead of working on how I feel, I should be living on what I know.

Remember the parable of the house built on the rock or sand?  Knowledge and faith is the rock, feelings and human tendencies are the sand.  No wonder my world is shaky and easily toppled by the winds and weather – I'm depending on a sand castle to keep me safe from the hurricane.  I need to head for real shelter.

Is it easy?  Nah.  God never promised us easy – in fact, he promised us hard.  A Christian has so much more to lose than a non-Christian, so Satan naturally wants to make our lives a living Hell, maybe as "punishment" that we won't go to his Hell.  The thing I have to remember is while my time on Earth may feel like Hell, I know it's not, and after this life is over I know that I will be safe for all eternity in Heaven, far away from the reaches of any Hell.

So…what do you know today?

Currently listening : Dismiss the Mystery By Salvador Release date: 29 August, 2006

8:08 AM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Who are YOU living for?
Current mood: contemplative

My mom sat down in the living room.  "Can I talk to you about something?"

This is never a good sign.  Usually I'm in trouble, or my character/behavior is bothering her.  It's a bad way to start, like saying, "Now, don't get mad, but..."

"Sure."

"Where are you in your relationship with God?"  Her eyes immediately filled with tears.  I knew where this was going, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Whenever my mom cries, I cry.  It's something I just can't help.  I don't see her cry that often and when she does, it's like an instant tear-jerker for me.  I sob with her, no matter my emotions at the time.  Two weepy women trying to converse obviously has a few glitches in the system. 

My mom and my sister are also what I have called "End-times obsessed."  I love them to pieces, and while they have very good points about being concerned about the end of the world, it's not something I like to think about, let alone talk about.  It always gets me really upset.  I get e-mails taking about the ever-increasing "birth pains," the deteriorating situation in Israel, and all of these articles about Revelations' prophecies being CURRENTLY fulfilled.  I sometimes read them, but I don't delete them, saving them instead for a time when I think I'll be in a frame of mind to handle the information - something that rarely happens.

I tried to explain to Mom why I don't like talking/thinking about this - it's so easy to get hopeless, especially for me.  If God's coming tomorrow, then why should I do anything today?  Why should I bother with my education, future plans, hopes for a family of my own and children calling me "Mama"?  My personal history makes this kind of thinking not just hard, but very dangerous.  I have learned that I have to keep my eyes focused forward, that there will be a tomorrow, that it will be good if I take it that way, that I can make a better future for myself and the next generation.  Getting wrapped up in Rapture Fervor usually has me feeling, "What's the point?"  So while I know it's coming and I'm prepared, I don't fuss about it.  I have enough problems in the present to worry about - why go ga-ga over something that might happen in five minutes, five months, or five hundred years?

I have always known there was probably a big flaw in my philosophy here, but why worry about it?

My conversation with Mom really helped, though.  I finally heard something that God has been asking me for years, but I didn't hear because I didn't want to.  A small voice asking, gently, lovingly, "Who are you living for?" 

Being out in the world, amassing an incredible education, coming in contact with new ideas, cultures, philosophies, etc...independence and opportunity met and left me whirling in "Now it's my turn" land.  A few books on Amazon that I wanted?  If I had the money, I bought them.  Study abroad in Mexico?  Let's go!  My self-sacrificing nature had met the hiding self that liked things her way, a bit selfish.  I wanted what I wanted, and if it was realistic, I got it.  This was especially evident in my food choices and my subsequent weight gain.  Impulse-control has always been a problem for me - I saw that slice of chocolate fudge cake, I wanted it, I rationalized it, and I ate it.  Now I'm struggling with those old urges again after nearly seven months of slowly changing habits.  I admit that I've failed a lot and often, especially lately when stress was high. 

But who was I living for?  Nearly a decade ago, when I really figured out what my faith was all about and the true nature of God, is this where I thought I would be?  Is this who I thought I would be?  Obviously, the answer is no.  That says a lot to me.

So now I have a choice - I can continue in my selfish ways in private, or I can refocus my life on Who it needs to be really focused on.  It's not going to be easy, but living in the reflection of perfection never is.  God forgives.  Now I need to forgive myself, move on, and never look back.

Currently listening : Untitled By The Benjamin Gate Release date: 22 May, 2001

8:04 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Think student life is hard...try being a teacher!

I'm finished with my first-ever grad class.  Thank God.  Please don't let me take another 4-credit summer class in 5 weeks.  I did 8-10 hours of homework A DAY.  It sucked - as one professor told me when I informed him of this, "You just can't learn and process information when it's that concentrated.  Your brain needs time just like it needs water."  I like that.  Still, the class was really interesting and, despite the workload, I learned a lot - and not just about memoir/autobiography, which was the focus of the class.  I learned a lot about teaching, which is a good thing.

I'm terrified about teaching this fall.  I've been told over and over that I'll be fabulous.  "You get so excited when you learn something new," "You care so much for other people, and are always willing to help."  My biggest problem will be overcoming something I hated in professors but that I somehow unconsciously do myself - believe a little too firmly in "my way."  Apparently I'm so excited about how I know things, my strategies, my theories, that I tend to push them on people a little instead of letting them find their own way, writing things in their own style.  What's harder is that my way is very sound, secure, and creative, which are all desirable things.  Something a professor told me this morning opened my eyes a little - the classes that she taught where she felt like she wasn't needed at all or was just a participatory member (not a lecturer/teacher) were the best classes.  Students taught each other, figured things out, were active and learning.  I could easily see myself feeling dejected in this case - if I don't feel needed, I tend to bow out or get a little down.  In this context, though, I saw that I would have to change a bit of my self-image as a teacher.  I am not a know-all, be-all kind of person, yet I like to feel important and useful.  Sometimes, it would seem, the most useful thing I can do is let it go and have the students figure it out on their own instead of always giving them the answers.  It'll be a hard switch, but I think I'm learning enough to handle it. 

I think that being a teacher is going to be the most educational experience of all, more so than when I was teaching ESL or preschool.  Granted, those aren't that similar to teaching grad classes, but we'll see.  :)  I can always make them play "Head, shoulders, knees and toes" if they get too sleepy in class!

Currently reading : All Things Bright and Beautiful By James Herriot Release date: 01 August, 2004

10:02 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Pyromaniacs and Disappearing men...

Did that title get your attention?  Good.

I'm sitting in someone else's living room, surrounded with the sounds of at least a dozen too-close neighbors shooting off various fireworks.  It's a cacaphony of sharp sounds - I'm getting an inkling of what civil war soldiers heard at Gettysburg.  It normally wouldn't bother me, but tonight I'm in a lot of pain, I'm cranky, and I think I'm getting sick.  Wonderful.  So what I want is some peace and quiet, not the soundtrack for the Rice Krispie Movie.  What strikes me the most, however, is how fireworks are supposed to be part of a celebration of a long, arduous, much-sacrificed-for journey towards freedom.  It wasn't instigated for a mass of pyromanics to shoot at the tires of passing cars, torture small animals, or scare the poo out of me.  Amazing how we get really patriotic when we get to blow things up...and yes, you can take that to mean what you like.

In all honesty, it's not the lack of patriotism or reckless behavior that I'm bothered by.  I'm really upset about losing someone really important in my life.  He didn't die, but he moved away and now a huge, gigantoid section of my support system has been cruelly yanked away without warning.  I'm told three days before I'm supposed to see him that he's "no longer here."  It's not a romantic thing - he's married with kids, and I just got along with him really well on a professional level.  Still, I trusted him, and he knew I needed him to help me with this huge two-year project I started.  I couldn't have gotten as far as I have right now without him...and I'm not sure I can get through this on my own.  I'm really scared about what I'm going to do now - I have to have that support.  I can't do this alone.  I just wish he would have talked to me personally, told me something, anything...  Yeah, I bawled.  I was tempted to slam my fist onto my desk, but I'm already in pain and I don't usually deal with anger physically.

So how am I dealing with this?  I tracked him down and left a message for him to call me first thing Monday morning.  He told me over and over for the past 9 months that if I needed anything, anytime, to just call.  Let's see if that offer is still valid...or ever was.

ya'll, be prepared - sometimes the people you think will always be there won't someday, and you need to have some sort of ability in yourself to get through it. 

Have a safe and happy fourth of july...and for God's sake, don't spend all your money on the pretty gunpowder.  It's one of the only ways in the world you can see your cash literally go up in smoke without actually tossing the greenbacks in the fireplace.

Currently listening : Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse Of The Black Pearl By Martin Tillman Release date: 22 July, 2003

7:36 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Lynda Carter and me...

In my early adolescent years, my mother's younger sister came to live with my family for a few years.  I adored Lynette.  She was cool where my mom was not, explained so many of those mysteries of womanhood to me, and passed on a love of jewelry, crochet, and musicals.  Those who know me know these are an enduring and intrical part of my personality.

Another introduction was the wonderful world of 70s and 80s television, namely The Bionic Woman and Wonder Woman.  Feminist shows with a grand dose of fantasy.  What more could you want?

I loved Wonder Woman.  Back then I didn't realize how horrible the special effects were, or that many of the plot lines were ridiculous and contrived.  I now own the entire show (all three too-short seasons) on DVD...yes, I'm a nerd.  I learned not only to dive into and relish my little fantasies, but believe that through my womanhood I had a power, an ability, that can help me do anything, from leaping over buildings in a single bound to forcing my adversaries to tell the truth to wrestling with a guy in a really bad gorilla costume. 

The problem with this ability, this knowledge of seemingly invincible power, is this notion that you not only can do everything, but you should.  I began implenting this into my life, adopting more roles than a desperate actress.  I was a college student, full-time worker without benefits, daughter, sister, roommate, writer, and general suck-up.  My schedules were so jam-packed with activities, organizations, volunteer work, and obligations that I became hard-pressed to fit in schoolwork, time for my job, and a little leftover for my family.  I knew that Wonder Woman could do it, juggling identies and roles with such ease.  There was no reason why I couldn't be just as busy, just as successful.

Problem was, I wasn't then and am not now a Hollywood starlet with a decidated staff to make me look good, a stellar body, and fans out the wazoo.

I'm me.  A girl who wants to help everyone.  A girl who likes being busy, but often does so at the cost of her health, friends, and family.  A girl who takes on too much...and rarely wants to give up anything.  I fight hard to get what I have - why should I stop doing everything?  Why can't I save the world?

It's taken years of hard knocks to get that message just slightly into my brain - I was never meant to save the world.  Someone was...but that's another story.  I can't be Lynda Carter, Wonder Woman, Lindsay Wagner (the Bionic Woman), or God.  I have to be me, flaws and all.

So this fall, I'm not volunteering for Hablantes Unidos, although I really want to.  I'm probably not going to do Swingers this year, either, although I love to dance and never get a chance to otherwise.  I'm just going to teach, take my classes, and work enough to pay the bills with a little left over for my book addiction from Amazon.com.  That, and maybe I'll renew my passion for myspace...ya never know...

So, my question for you today is...are you living up to a superhuman standard?  Do you know when to quit?  Or have you even started yet?

Currently reading : Bento Box in the Heartland: My Japanese Girlhood in Whitebread America By Linda Furiya Release date: 30 November, 2006

4:30 PM - 3 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment