Damage report

Looking back through my journals and blogs (reading nearly back to Jul'08) has been an eye-opener, for sure. The best of my cleaning intentions ended today with me sitting on the floor, surrounded by mountains of (thankfully) clean laundry and stacks of textbooks, tracing my life through the truest course I know.

I don't usually recommend myself to a full-on review of the pieces of life I have chosen to record. For me, at least, re-reading lines from years ago is bittersweet. Admittedly, some segments are mostly just bitter. For as long as as I can remember, when life comes at me the hardest, I've tried to catch the emotions on paper, hoping to trap them in an ink-lined cage where they can be relatively harmless. Perusing them again, however, gives the emotions leeway to touch my soul again, and I find myself hurting for that girl. Wish I could tell her somehow that it gets better. That 21 doesn't feel that much different from 20. That it IS possible to get that A, the long nights are worth it. That Dr. Haluska is not only human, but also a friend. That what she wanted wouldn't have been good for her anyway.

Meh, sometimes I think I put too much stock into the written word. Of what value is it if I can write the words, but not speak them?

All this aside, I finally laid my procrastination to rest and figured up the tithe that I owe on all the money I've made since I came to Southern. A daunting task, and I can't lie, my bank account is going to take quite a setback over this. But, as I just explained to my heart sib, tithing isn't just a waste of time supporting ministers we don't like and funding a dying church. What Abbi chooses to do with my money is not my concern--I just have to make sure he gets it.

Ah, Sabbath. I love Sabbath. Welcome.

To do and die

When my hard drive crashed over Thanksgiving break and showed the ominous Blue Screen of Death, I lost lots of my personal documents...but not this one. I'm up to about 70, with only half a dozen crossed off...there's a long way to go. Sometimes I look at them and wonder if I'll ever get them done. After all, I've already botched several, and there are others, beyond my control, that I have no guarantee of. Some are wistful thinking. Some mean more to me than anything else. I figured it would be good to go through and remind myself of what's waiting beyond this next Issues paper...the one menacing me from the kitchen table.

100 things to do before I die...

38. Take ethnic cooking lessons from a master chef. 55. Skyboard. 3. Dive off of the coast of Australia. 43. Fund my mom's orphanage in Africa. 53. Own a motorcycle. Just like dad. 67. Spend a summer at Rosario. 61. Take an automechanics class. 6. Travel--New Zealand, Ireland, Greece. 20. Snowboard off some crazy big mountain. 64. Be more outgoing and stifle the reticence already/be unshy(that's a real word). 56. Do a photojournalism project in the slums of India. 18. Never again take a college class "just for fun." 19. Take a college class just for fun. 68. Publish some poetry. 30. Get my private pilot's license. 60. Take off for a few months in the mountains and "survive." Just because. 46. Blaze through my MCAT. 72. Learn to fly. 37. Learn ballroom dancing. 53. Become fluent in Spanish.

Of course, some are ridiculous. I will never be able to fly. But that doesn't mean I don't want to.

Speaking of want, I'm so exhausted that I'm really not sure if I'll be able to wake up and trudge to the pool when my alarm goes off at 5:50 in the morning. Luckily, Mr. Benge is a forgiving sort of taskmaster. Perhaps if I take a nap now...

The road makes all the difference

What a strange and twisting road
And where it leads, to what horizons
I cannot begin to guess
And yes, I have tried to arrange
The hills it passes by, the rivers
Fragments of an azure sky
But even I could not create this
Better than I would have wished
Each faint wild call, adventure’s kiss
Like echoes, all—-the journey waits
The winding curves
And another path set by the Fates
I know it’s just a dream
I know it’s just a dream—it can’t be you
But you’re standing there and oh, I swear
I wish that it were true!
I seem to have lost my breath
It’s futile now, and anyway
There’s truly nothing more to say
Just stay on this road another moment
While the moon calls to the stars
The night falls all around us
And steals away my sight
But that’s all right—I still see you
Silent shadow reminding me of what
Turns on this road were lost, and how the cost has been
More than I ever thought I’d pay
But say—this road could take me anywhere
So far, so near, but I don’t care
As long as I can hear
Your footsteps lightly by my side
My journey can begin—I feel
The ocean thrumming through my skin
Autumn wind—and isn’t it strange
Of all the ways my road could change
The call has always stayed the same?

Briers, meet legs.

My legs are scratched to pieces. I've been picking thorns out of them for the last fifteen minutes, and there are small burning places that let me know, in no uncertain terms, that my search for them is by no means complete. My shoes are muddy and my socks are wet. I'm a wreck, and I love it.

As a disclaimer, it's not totally my fault...and then again, I not only totally take credit for it but would do it again in a heartbeat. I started out with good intentions--grabbing lunch, before I delved into the fascinating world of physics--and things were progressing nicely until I stepped out of the car and into a small windstorm. There is no weather that I love more than what we have today--storm just ended, scattering of clouds and blue blue blue sky, sharp smell of rain still in the air. It tasted like spring. It looked like spring, spinning there, looking me in the eye, hair blowing in the wind, wild-eyed, with a slightly insane grin, madly beckoning. How can you stay inside with an invitation like that?

So I whirled inside, tried to collect my reluctant roommate, and then took a wild run through the woods out back. Hence the thorns, because although you may have this pretty little Disney picture of what a stroll through the woods is like, the books always fail to mention the damage that one strand of briers can do to a person--much less a whole fleet of them.

But it was gorgeous. Wind everywhere, trees going crazy, just perfect. A day for laughing. Like it was made just for me.

Thorns

I irritate myself when I have nothing useful, inspiring, enlightening, or intelligent to say.
I irritate myself even more profoundly when poetry evades me with the ease of long practice.
So, I'm wasting the space of a blog. Having deleted the last three on the basis of point one, see above.

Perspective

I hate glasses.

This being said, I'm now the proud owner of a pair of stylish, relatively attractive glasses in a coppery color I'm especially fond of. At least, the people in my life claim that the small bit of torture has all of these attributes, and I agree for my peace of mind.

I wore them today for the first time, and immediately noticed that, near the edges of the glasses, colors take on new dimensions. Sharp angles have yellow hues, and small washes of rainbow light quickly flicker in and out of my conscious vision if the angle of the sun is perfect. It's disconcerting and slightly vertigo inducing at times.

I was walking through Hickman, trying to navigate, looking geeky, I'm sure. There was a tall girl with short brown hair standing there, chatting, and I stopped near her to rummage something out of my bag. I'm ashamed to say that my first impression when I noticed her was, "She's not very attractive."

I know, I know. I'm not exactly a paragon of feminine beauty either, but in my mind I summed her up and dismissed her.

But my glasses had other ideas, and those darn rainbows flashing from her smile caught my eye and turned me around. I looked at her, then. Really looked. Like I haven't done in a while.

It's funny how, when you see somebody's soul, it's...how do I describe it? Even mine, which I know so well, is difficult to capture into words, and this stranger's soul is even harder. But it was genuine and genuinely happy, caught in her open and easy smile. Made me wonder why I'd ever thought she wasn't beautiful. And I'm wondering how many people I've looked at lately and dismissed into a catagory, stuck in the morass of my blind snap-judgement, my half-hearted efforts to put aside my prejudice and see people's potential instead of their wrapping. When did I stop looking?

Wayward rainbows can be a gift.

I still hate glasses.

Kelpie's Tale

I sincerely wish I would write in an accurate irish accent, but this is the best I can do.

Climbing about in th' rigging high
O'er the crest o' th' rolling sea
We sailed on th' edge o' th' world when
We sailed, my friend and me
And whether above the rolling deeps
Or moored in th' island's lee
Or riding the edge o' th' hurricane
Braw and singing were we.
Through the storms that brooked no voyaging
Our bonny 'wee ship sailed free
Until the morn we saw th' coast
O' living emerald and rocky scree
And the eyes o' my friend were caught hard fast
By a lassie mon' lovely tae see
Her long golden hair and her sea-green eyes
Called my frien' awae frae me
By the rising sun we saw her clear
In the bay by the edge o' th' sea
An' I spoke out a warning which he heeded not
Tae speak tae the lassie must he
Yet, my friend could no' see, alas!
That the maid was an ocean kelpie
An' after that day, 'twas no hope for it
But he must wi' th' maid tae be.
Wi' braw strong words I urged my friend
Tae coom awae, tae flee
But none o' my words could tear his heart
Frae th' lass waiting silently
Sighing by day and tossing by night
He didna sing but mournfully
'Twas a full dozen days that I cared for my friend
An' kept him frae the edge o' th' sea
For 'tis known that th' kelpies, for all they are fair
Drown sailors, yea, mercilessly.
As the thirteenth day dawned, tae my sorrow I found
That my friend was gone frae' me!
Had gone to th' kelpie's sea-green eyes
Gone down in her company.
With heavy heart I th' anchor raised
Sad prepared tae sail tae sea
But as I left th' bay, I heard
A sound which could no' be
'Twas the song o' my friend lifted loud an' clear
Frae' the sparkling depths o' th' sea
And just for a moment I saw him near
Swimming there, with his blond kelpie.
And since that day I've sailed endless tracks
And hae' done so joyfully
For above and below we still sail and sing
Together, my friend an' me

Physics.

I'm not sure if it's my personality type or a lack of discipline.
Today has been interesting...as in the old Chinese proverb, "May my enemy's life be interesting." Currently, I'm looking at the past two and a half hours of struggling with two physics assignments that are due in the morning, and no matter what I do, nearly all of my attempts are wrong.
Anger is a funny thing. I like to hold mine out at arms length and look at it, instead of soaking it in and acting as I want to. Heaven knows I would absolutely love to start shouting in my poor, startled professor's face, mainly about his decision to record his lecture for the snow day and his general unavailability when I need him. Poor man--I can see his blue eyes bugging out of his head in shock, and even in my angry imagination it makes me chortle. But, it's not all his fault. Most of it, but not all of it.
I would love to break something right now. I know, I know--that's generally a guy's perogative when they're furious, not a girl's, but my head doesn't understand that and there's rampage's worth of adrenaline flowing through my body, just aching to be used in some distructive purpose. Unfortunately, I can't work it off by running or even stomping around the apartment, since dropkicking Katie's box of books on Friday has left me with a slightly broken foot.
I'm also angry at myself, for being unable to work through what I'm sure are simple ideas, at least to somebody. And as this anger is the only piece I can take out on somebody, I take it out on myself, by continuing to struggle and waste time in my quest to finish a project which will never, I am sure, be done.
And so I sit here, frustrated somewhat enraged and tired and feeling nastily helpless, deadlines looming, colorful curses running through my head (along the lines of, "may the fleas of a thousand camels..."). And more than that, I'm sitting quietly, albeit slightly wild-eyed. Lots of anger, nowhere to put it. I just want help.

Breath

He ceased to breathe.
And the pain and sorrow which ripped through the world threatened to tear it apart. But even in his grief the father would not allow this to be, and so he wrapped his arms around the world, the filthy, wretched world that had just murdered his only son, and he held it to his heart as his tears fell.
And the earth shuddered as he cried.

ExC

For extra credit in OChem, Barnhurst has given us the option of writing a limerick based on the study of Organic Chemistry. Yours truly thinks that's pretty much the most beard idea ever.

Of all the lab rules that are worst
The wearing of goggles comes first
One day I didn't
My eye got acid in it
And I cried, "Wish I'd listened to Barnehurst!"

Water and Light

At the end of this year, the Tropical Biology class is headed to Indonesia for three weeks of scuba diving, snorkling, volcanic hiking, and chasing small, rabid monkeys through the jungle. Yes, we'll be doing learning-oriented stuff, but still. Three. Weeks. Of. Sun. And. Ocean. Pure magic, right there.
I think that, if I had my own choice, I would never leave the water. We've stayed at a hotel for the past two nights, and the indoor pool was like the icy kiss of death. And I loved it. The hot-tub was so very very warm, and I loved it. And this morning, when the sun was just streaming through the large glass walls, it caught the ripples and made them dance across the floor of the pool. And just like a two year old, I was totally enthralled with those ripples of light across my fingers. It's the only time I've ever been able to hold sunlight in the palms of my hands.
It made me think of Puerto Rico, and the first time (only time, so far) that I've been snorkling on a reef. The interplay of underwater light is like nothing I've ever seen, and it's beautiful. I wouldn't mind staying there for the rest of my life.
Granted, said life would be about four minutes long, and after the first minute and a half I don't think it would be very enjoyable. You know, drowning and all.
But still. It's lovely and I wish I could take everybody to Indonesia with me. If anyone needs 3 more biology credits...who knows? Snyder might let you in.