Spring, here

Two things about spring in the inland northwest.

One thing that I missed very much in California: clouds. We have lovely clouds in the spring. They make the semi-cold often-rainy passive-aggressive weather fairly worth the frustration of never knowing how to dress.

One thing I did not miss at all in California: fish trees. We have these horrid trees. They are pretty, with nice, white flowers. Nice, white flowers that smell like rotting fish. These trees are everywhere, and they bloom for about a month. Wretched.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Small things that make me happy in a somewhat depressing existance

1. Light on the river as the sun is just rising on my way to work
2. Being cut off in traffic only to discover that said vehicle has the next license plate number for which I had been looking (one-hundred-five)
3. Hummus
4. Small children lighting candles in church, especially those who are just barely tall enough to reach, and so insist on doing it all on their own without assistance
5. The space heater in my room

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Not sure when that changed.

So I just checked BUBBS. Not generally something to report. Except that this was the first time since...mid-February. I never imagined that I would stop checking it. I used to be dependent on it. At the peak, I checked about one-hundred and twenty folders on a regular basis. As in, more than once a day. Not all these folders had posts every day, but I checked them. And read them. And posted in them. Even through my senior year and for a few months after graduation, I checked the folders I was still reading (probably down to about thirty or forty - all the THI folders, and some others throughout the Conferences) at least daily. I even came to Torrientation in August and gave a BUBBS talk to the new freshmen, because it still mattered to me. When did I stop caring? I have no idea. Today, I went into my mailbox, and it was all Meridius notices, and an accidental email from a former professor (she sent information to the wrong mailing list, then sent another message apologizing). I glanced through THI Chatter, Newman Chatter, and Lewis Chatter. I read through the major thread in Alumni Chatter. And then I left. Because I do not care anymore. BUBBS used to be so very important, and now I can not remember for the life of me why. I will probably try to remember to check more often, particularly for the Alumni Chatter folder, but the rest just does not seem to matter much.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

One Hundred

If you thought that the title reflected that this was my hundredth post on this blog, you were mistaken. This is my fifty-eighth post on this blog. The hundred is is in reference to a game that I play. It is called, like so many others, the license plate game. It consists of looking at license plates, and counting up from zero-zero-zero to nine-nine-nine. California license plates are #LLL###; Washington plates are ### - LLL; Idaho plates have no recognizable pattern to them. This game was stolen from one Timofy Carroll (and I have no idea if he kept going after the few times that he mentioned it on his old blog - his last post about it was on April seventh of two-thousand seven). I began playing right after Timofy's first post about it, on July twenty-first of two-thousand six, and today saw one-zero-zero. It was quite happy.

It will get very frustrating for a while, when I can not find a number for a long time, but then when I do it is so very exciting. Also, some numbers that I see which are already past have associations in my memory with images or events or people, since I have a very associative memory. Zero-five-zero (fifty) I associate with Biola facilities, because one of their vans has that number. I remember particularly because I was looking for zero-four-nine for perhaps two or three months, and it drove me toward insanity because I would see the van on campus nearly every day. Of course, once I did find forty-nine, I was able to move onto fifty-one rather quickly. Zero-zero-seven makes me think of Lindsey, because she was riding with me when I saw it, and she got excited as well because her youngest brother also plays the game (though he goes backward, beginning at nine-nine-nine). This is one of several things I do that border on obsessive, but I do not think that that is necessarily bad.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Itsy-Bitsy Pieces of My Life

Esmeralda is shedding, which always frightens me a bit. I have a rough spot on my neck from scratching it while I had a cold last week, and wondered this morning if I were due to shed, as well. When I was at the optometrist's office today, there was a girl in the waiting room named Esmeralda, and it startled me when they called her. I jerked my head up, and ended up making very awkward eye-contact with her for a few seconds. This was the first time in my life, in all my many years of eye exams, that the assistant was able to perform the glaucoma test on the first try. I hate that test. The blue light coming toward my eye and pressing against it, even though the drops numb the nerve endings so I can not feel it, terrifies me. I was quite pleased with myself for making it through this time. Being there made me keep thinking about Blindness, which I finished reading last week. An excellent book, perhaps the best I have read in a long time. I was fascinated by the author's use of punctuation, which did as much for the pace of the book as the plot itself did. I miss reading a lot. I used to read several books per week, and now it takes me a week to read one. But I am trying to continue reading new books, rather than becoming one who only reads books she has read before. My other new book that I finished recently was If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, which I liked decidedly less. But it seemed to me that part of the author's intent was that the reader should feel the unease I felt at it, so that was somewhat consoling. Next is The Master and Margarita, which my sister has wanted me to read for several years. I had no time or energy to do so during school, but I plan to pick it up starting tomorrow. The trouble I find with reading a lot is, of course, that which so many discover they have. That is, I do not lack time, but I do not feel like reading during that time which I have. I am working eight hours a day, and while I am not working I would like to be mindless. Television is more attractive for that reason, although I dislike television in general. I do not want to lose that mind which was cultivated so carefully over the past four years. My job is horrid at times. We are still in training, having just entered the second week. The hours are awful, and it is a noxious environment to be in. But I have hope that things will improve after training is through, when I am actually in a small, colorless box answering and selling phones. Hard to imagine that that would be a step up, is it not? My soul aches, here. I had thought that I was doing so well, finally getting used to being here again, but tonight after work, my soul started hurting for California again. For my friends, for the places and people I love so much. Oh, how I dislike change, when it is change away from what is good. But I can see ahead. This is not the end. This horrid position is a means to an end, and I will not be there forever. All my applications to graduate school are in, and now I have only to wait. Some say that is the hardest part, but I think it is much easier than agonizing over essays. It is out of my hands; there is a certain ease that comes from that, a sigh of relief. I hope to get into Fullerton. I hope to move back, to finally live with Adria, to study and relax with friends once more. I have few friends here. I hope when I return I will still have many friends there. I am so awful at staying in touch, I fear I may be losing people. My main problem is that I never know what to say. So I say nothing, and they do the same, and we fall away in our respective silences. The underlying issue here is that it is not the conversation that I miss, but the silent presence. I miss most those with whom I can sit quietly, or walk quietly. I miss those with whom there is that quiet understanding that silence is okay, and the silence of not being in contact is so very different than the silence of two people sitting and reading, knowing that the other is there if something does need to be said. I miss that so very much. That is all I can write for now, not because there are no other small pieces of my life I can think of about which to write, but rather because that last bit can not very well lead into any of them.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Post-Script Edit: In re-reading this, I realized the ambiguity of one of my sentences. In the sentence I miss reading a lot, a lot should not be taken as the amount that I miss, (eg, reading. I miss it a lot) but the amount of reading I miss (eg, reading lots of books. I miss that).

JobJobJob (take two)

Employment comes to me, yet again. Finally. I will begin working on Monday for ICT. I actually do not really know what I will be doing, specifically. That is, I know I will be answering phones in a call center, but beyond that I am not sure exactly what the job entails. However, the first three weeks are training (a long training, for merely answering phones!) so I am sure I will learn what to do before I actually begin the real job.

The hours of training are a bit horrid: two in the afternoon until ten at night, monday through friday. I have no idea why it is at that time. I like not having to get up at five, but being at work until ten? That is something I had hoped to leave behind me at the library. After the initial three weeks of training, though, I will get a different schedule, five days per week (either monday through friday or tuesday through saturday; I have requested the latter) with hours sometime between six in the morning and eight in the evening. (What is the limit between evening and night? I feel like five o'clock starts evening...and perhaps that nine or ten begins night. Though I have a tendency to say five in the afternoon, and ten in the evening, because in college sometimes midnight still feels like evening.)

It has full benefits (after ninety days), and pays rather well (considering that it is answering phones), so that is nice. Really, any money will be nice. Being able to pay my student loans off would be lovely, as would being able to continue to afford my telephone, and to buy a good heat lamp for Esmeralda's tank (it is too cold, here), and to save money up so that I can perhaps afford to attend grad school in the autumn.

I will, of course, update you when I find out more what exactly the job entails, and whether I will survive it without going insane. I certainly hope I will be able to. It would not be much use saving enough money for grad school if I went insane in the process, rendering myself unable to attend after all.

Blessings in your travels,
Emily.

Labeled

Well, since I have done all I can for my Eastern and WSU applications, I went through and labeled all my posts. There are an awful lot of them, as you can see over on the right hand side if you scroll down. I think it is mostly helpful if a reader reads the post and says to himself, "self, what other things has Emily said about labels?" And then he can click on "labels" under labels at the bottom of the post and see for himself.

The lady at Eastern's grad office called me today to let me know that she received my transcripts today. She is wonderful and lovely. I am sure she is beautiful. Actually, in the image I have of her in my mind, she looks exactly like Marty, the math/comp-sci/comm.disorders secretary at Biola. Likely because she has a similar voice and shows a like care for a small person's troubles.

The person who answered the phone at WSU, however, sounded like a disinterested student employee who does not really know anything, or care that she does not know. Which is fine, I suppose. I have been there at times. But I do hope my transcripts got in there, as well. I am both terrified and hopeful, for various reasons, that I will not be accepted anywhere at all.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Twenty-five

There is another (I suppose one could call it a) chain letter going around facebook. The instructions are to write a note with twenty-five things about yourself in it, then to tag twenty-five of your friends. Those friends are then supposed to do the same.

I have a gut reaction against these sort of activities (I hate using the word thing. I have a reaction against these sort of things, and activities or any other word does not really express what I mean by that. grr), and I am not sure why. I never do them, on principle, but I realized lately that I have no idea what that principle is. There is not anything wrong with them. They are quick to do, and I have enjoyed reading the ones other people have written, but something keeps me from doing them myself. (is that a correct usage of myself? I get so paranoid about misusing that word that I end up never using it at all.)

This is a trend in my life not limited to facebook notes. I have never liked doing that which many other people are doing, even if there is nothing wrong with the activity. The earliest memory I have of this (though I am sure there are examples from earlier in my life that I do not remember) was in junior high when all the other girls were obsessed with makeup and boys. I never was, but not so much because I was not interested. I think it was more that I did not want to appear interested because everyone else was so very interested. I wanted to be different. I do not know how direct a correlation this has to the facebook notes, but it is surely related.

I am not opposed to telling people more about myself. I have a general policy that I will answer any question asked of me (within reason). As I read the notes that others have posted, I have thought of many more than twenty-five things that I could write/tell. But I still cringe at the thought of following this trend, becoming just another person who does the same note as everyone else. Part of me very much wants to write one, but part of me screams and recoils in horror, and I honestly do not know why.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

My Wretched Day

It started out not so badly, you see. Got up, showered, dressed, had breakfast, made tea. Realized that my interview was in twenty minutes and that it takes ten to drive there, and so did not get to drink my tea. The first bad thing of the day.

The interview was not horrid, but I was nervous. Also, the ladies interviewing me were very casual, which was a bit off-putting for me. That is, I was not entirely sure how to interact with them, because it was very different from the atmosphere one usually encounters in an interview. So that made me more nervous. They said they would be making the decision today, and that I would hear back by five.

I came back to the house, and called EWU to check on whether they had received my transcripts yet. I had faxed Biola with my transcript request ten days ago for EWU, WSU and CSUF, and none had received them yet. Eastern confirmed that they still did not have it. The lady I spoke with was so lovely and nice, she made me feel as though everything in the world would be all right.

So then I called the Biola Registrar. They did not answer their phones. I called again and again, finally left a message, and then continued to call about every ten minutes. Finally they answered. I asked whether my transcripts from my request on the twelfth had been sent. They are very far behind, so nothing on my account has been entered into the computer. She leaves me on a soundless hold for about ten minutes while she (supposedly) rummages through papers. I had to check my phone about once every two minutes to make sure that I was still connected. Could they not at least have had some horrid music or something? No, just dead silence. Anyway, she came back, finally. (I realize I am switching back and forth between past and present tense, but I really do not care at this point.)

"Emily? Your transcripts to San Diego State got sent on the seventh." I know that. Ye gods, did you not listen to me at all? "No, the request I sent on the twelfth." ... ... "We never received any other transcript requests from you. Are you sure you sent them?"

At this point I started crying. I am so frustrated with life and already emotionally unstable this week from having to come back to Washington, and from being worried about my interview from that morning. Yes, I sent them. Yes, they went through. So essentially, they lost them, but refuse to take responsibility for it. Now, my EWU and WSU applications are due on the first of February. I had my requests turned in in plenty of time, but now they make me re-fax my requests, and I have to rush-order them, which costs ten extra dollars per transcript. Forty extra dollars, just because the stupid Registrar people lost my paperwork. I know that I am not the only person to whom this has happened. My mom drives me, sobbing, to her work to re-fax.

I do not have the money for this. My credit card is nearly maxed out, my savings account is dwindling, I have loan payments due on the first, and a phone bill coming up, and other stupid expenses. Stupid Biola, I can not wait until I am no longer dependant upon you.

I finally manage to calm down. But then five o'clock comes and goes, and I still have not heard from the credit union about the job. So I stress until seven-oh-five when my phone rings. I am sure you have guessed by now that I did not get the job. And if so, then you guessed correctly. I really wanted it, too. So that sucks. Anyway, anything more I would say here would just be whining, and I do not like doing that. So I will close.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Addition

I had another thought while planning that last post, which I forgot as I was caught up writing about whack-a-mole. My other thought which I had planned to type out follows.

Four syllable words, especially food names, always fit into my head as "the San Francisco treat." This is true of not only rice-a-roni (the actual San Francisco treat), but also of guacamole, Oklahoma, cherry Pepsi, alligator, and other such words. Make of that what you will.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

NomNomNom

I made guacamole today.

If you right-click on the picture, and select 'open link in new tab', it will come up very large, and looks like...I am not sure. Some image of a horrid disease from a medical textbook.

It is a funny word, guacamole. I feel like it should be a near homophone of the old arcade game, whack-a-mole. "Gwack-a-mole!" Silly English, trying to assimilate Spanish words. Anyway. Guacamole is yummy. Nom, nom, nom. And it is also very easy to make, and very flexible in the making. I searched on google for how to make it (that is an awkwardly-worded sentence), and there were many options for the recipe. I scanned several, and then made up my own based on what we had. Avocados (obviously), a Roma tomato, a very small portion of a red onion (perhaps about a quarter of a cup, after being chopped), some sweetened lime juice (thanks to my sister and brother-in-law), and a small bit of salt and pepper.

I hope that it tastes better than it looks, because honestly, it looks fairly disgusting.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

An Amusing Facebook Status

(name) has erased the fine line between genius and insanity, and replaced it with a small trout.

I am not sure why, but this really caught my fancy.
I inquired to the poster as to whether having a small trout placed one in the former or latter category, but she denies knowledge regarding that, claiming that small trouts add ambiguity.
Fish usually do, you know.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Trouble

Trouble, oh trouble set me free.
I have seen your face, and it's too much, too much for me.
Trouble, oh trouble can't you see
You're eating my heart away and there's nothing much left of me

I've drunk your wine, you have made your world mine,
So won't you be fair? Oh won't you be fair?
I don't want no more of you, so won't you be kind to me?
Just let me go where, I'll have to go there -

Trouble, oh trouble move away.
I have seen your face and it's too much for me today.
Trouble, oh trouble can't you see?
You have made me a wreck, now won't you leave me in my misery?

I've seen your eyes, and I can see death's disguise
Hangin' on me, hangin' on me.
I'm beat, I'm torn, shattered, and tossed, and worn,
Too shocking to see, too shocking to see.

Trouble, oh trouble move from me.
I have paid my debt, now won't you leave me in my misery?
Trouble, oh trouble please be kind.
I don't want no fight, and I haven't got a lot of time.

(Yeah, okay, so I have not done the whole 'entire post of song lyrics' thing since I partially abandoned my xanga. But this is mine, and I can do what I want with it.)

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Labels and Applications

I admire people who use labels well on their blogs. I feel like since I often touch on topics several times over, I ought to use that function as well. I think that when I am done with my grad school applications (about a month from now), I am going to go back through my archive and apply labels to my posts.

I dislike grad school applications. They all require something to the effect of, "Write a three page essay telling us why you are so much more awesome and wonderful than the other hundreds of students applying here." This is not a good exercise for someone who thinks that she probably is not more awesome and wonderful than those hundreds, and that she probably should not be accepted to a graduate program anyway. Except for the fact that she desperately wants to go to grad school, wants so much to continue in her field that it hurts. I wish I could just take a snapshot of my soul, and give that to them instead. Perhaps then they would see, and understand, and allow me to come.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Driving, Part Two

Remember when I said that drivers from here would not survive in California? Well, I have realized lately that this probably goes both ways, at least at this time of year. Driving in the winter is difficult, and, amazingly, people around here seem to become better drivers in inclement weather. (Whereas in California people freeze up when it starts raining.) For one thing, lines on the roads denoting lanes become meaningless in heavy snow. A road that is, in the summertime, two lanes each way with a center-turn lane becomes a road with one lane each way. Through the tire tracks, you can sometimes see a white dotted line, or a yellow line. But you simply have to follow along where the newly defined lane is. Sometimes this road will turn back into two lanes, only to have the right lane end abruptly in a bank left by the latest snow plow. You need to be on your toes to drive, around here.

Side roads are awful during the winter. They get plowed, but last. By the time they are plowed, the snow has often already been compacted quite a bit. I am not really certain how it happens, but after the plow comes through, the road ends up getting very bumpy. A combination of factors, I suppose, including traffic, plow, and weather. But driving on this type of road is tricky. The best way to do it is to not try to steer at all - idle along, not really even holding the wheel. Oh, of course, you have to have a hand on it, in case of emergency, but you can not do too much in the way of steering anyway. It is somewhat fun, once you get the hang of it. But I would be willing to bet that most Southern Californians would rather walk than try to navigate our roads right now.

In other news, gas is down to about one forty-five.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Starfruit and Pomegranates

Merry Christmas, all!
Christ is born - Glorify Him!

As was anticipated, it was an extremely white Christmas here. So very white. A very good day, overall.

Many children, I am given to understand, receive fruit in their stockings on Christmas morning. An orange or a grapefruit is probably usual, given the season. Growing up, I always got a starfruit, and my sister always got a pomegranate. It was wonderful and special, and I always looked forward to it. These fruits only came at Christmastime.

My sophomore year of college, during the spring semester, I had a revelation regarding this. One day, the cafeteria had two large platters piled with sliced starfruit. I was excited, and loaded up a plate with them. But something I could not quite put my finger on was gnawing at the back of my mind, bothering me about the occurrence. As I was eating, trying to convince my friends, none of whom had ever had a starfruit, to try it, it hit me.

I realized that I had this belief of sorts in the back of my mind that starfruit and pomegranates grew at the north pole. Now, this is not to say that I still believed this. But I think it was one of those childhood beliefs that is fairly minor, so it never really gets disproved or actively disbelieved, but rather is just put away in the back of one's mind until such a moment as I had. Thinking about it, it does seem a reasonable explanation for a small child, to explain why those very special fruits only came at Christmas. Of course - Santa grows them!

I do not know if I came to this conclusion by myself, or if I was told it. I asked my mom about it and she says she does not remember saying anything like that. My inclination is that my sister convinced me of it at some point, because it seems like the sort of thing she would have told me. (Do you remember anything like this, dear sister?)

So, this Christmas as I pulled a pomegranate out of my stocking (sadly, no starfruit for me this year), I wondered if anyone else had a similar story, of a minor childhood belief, inconsequential to most of life, that was realized years later. If so, please share!

Wishing everyone a most glorious Nativity feast.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

One Day of Freedom

I got out yesterday, after being house-bound since Wednesday. I actually had not left the house since Monday, simply because I did not have any reason to go out on Tuesday, and I had no reason to suspect I would not be able to leave after then. It took a lot of work to be able to leave. You see, my house is situated at the end of a one block road, off of the main road, that comes to a T at our driveway. (See diagram. It is not to scale. Sorry about that.) So any traffic that had barreled through the massive amounts of snow down the road either turned left or right, pushing even more snow toward our driveway and not giving us any help on getting cleared out. And even if we could leave the driveway, our cars were too low to the ground to make it out in the tracks that had been put in the road, because they were all made by trucks, which have higher centers than our cars, so we would have gotten stuck anyway. Make sense? Following so far? Good.

So, on Saturday, three neighbours got out their snow-blowers and snow... -blowed? -blew? a lane clear down the one block road. They did not clear out the front of our driveway, but at least now if we got out of the driveway, we would be able to get out to the main road. So Dad worked really really hard Saturday night, and I was able to leave on Sunday. I went to church, and had a five hour shift at work. It was very very nice to get out of the house.

But then last night, the stupid plow people came along and ruined everything. You see, they plowed our road. We had it fine! It was accessible, people were getting in and out; it was hard, but doable. But then the plows came. And where do you think all the snow from that one block in from the main road ended up? If you thought "why, the magical snow faeries must have magicked it away!" than you thought incorrectly. It ended up right in front of our driveway. There is now a barrier about four feet high and five feet wide blocking us in. We have it much worse than the neighbours, being right at the T of the road. From what I could see, they have maybe a foot high, two or three feet wide. Stupid plow people. And it is snowing again, lots and lots. We have gotten perhaps nine or ten more inches.

I have another shift at work tomorrow, and I hope I will be able to get out for it. And I have Christmas presents to mail, which will be rather late. I do not know that that is so bad, though, since it extends Christmas for people. I have always enjoyed late gifts; I have an aunt who was usually two or three weeks late on birthdays. But I also have to mail out two books that were bought from me on half.com, and I am supposed to mail them within a week of their being ordered. I will likely email the buyers and apologize profusely for being snowed in and unable to get to the post office. Mostly I am just worried about making it to work. I really need the hours, and the money that comes from them. On the plus side, snow is very beautiful. Here are some more pictures that I took before this latest storm:
















































































Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Snow, Snow, Beautiful Snow

It has not stopped snowing in over a day.

Last night we set a record for most snow in a twenty-four hour period.

When I woke up this morning, there were over twenty inches on the ground.

Here are some pictures. They are not very good, because they are from inside my house, but later I will go out and take some better ones and post them.




The SUV parked across the road.













The fir tree in my backyard.
And part of my backyard.
You can see, down at the bottom, a bit of the walk.
My dad has shoveled three times this morning, starting at three o'clock am.















Our dogwood tree in the backyard.
And the itty-bitty baby maple tree, off to the right there.
And most of the rest of the backyard.












I do love snow.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

I wish I could write like this.

Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's the funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.

It is passages like this that make me so glad to be a part of Lewis group.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Discipline and Procrastination

I tend to be one of those people who put off a ten-minute task for days or weeks at a time. For example, I finally just updated my blogroll list on the right side of my page. Silly and small, perhaps, but something that I thought about doing every day, but always put off. Other things are not so silly or small. I have no discipline in my life, and I need it desperately. Even college did not provide enough structure for me. I need maximum structure in order to really be productive. High school was good for me in that way - nevermind that those providing the structure did not really teach me anything. Two separate issues, there.

Other things that fall into this problematic category:
- cleaning my room
- applying for jobs
- applying for grad schools
- prayer
- reading
- eating (sometimes. like now, for example. I am hungry, it is nearly two hours past lunch-time, but I do not feel like putting in the effort of fixing and eating lunch)
- blogging and/or journaling
- staying in touch with friends
- shopping for Christmas presents (two actually valid reasons for putting this off are my lack of money and my dislike for shopping)
- buying a mouse for Esmeralda to eat
- filling Esmeralda's water dish
- responding to emails
- figuring out student loan stuff

Pretty much everything I ought to be doing in my life, when I look at it all typed out there. Tragic.

So, what am I actually doing with my life, then?! Not much. Sitting around thinking how I ought to do things. Playing solitaire and/or minesweeper. Reading through archives of comics. What a sad, sad existence.

Every once in a while I do actually get something done. I applied for four jobs this morning, and now I am updating my blog. And I do plan on eating sometime today...sigh. I really need to get my act together. But I do not know how to start having discipline in my life. With no definite deadlines, I lose my motivation. With no bells and schedules and teachers, I have nothing to keep me on track. I have an agenda that I try to use, but it requires internal motivation. As I mentioned, that is lacking. Blah. Off to find lunch.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

I...do not understand.

So, I continue to torture myself by reading the housing classifieds folder on BUBBS (for those non-school folk, that is our email/message board system). And, because old habits die hard, instead of having the housing folder on my desktop, I have the general classifieds folder (even though I do not really read that one anymore). Today as I was passing through there, there was a post titled "adorable mouse." I was curious, mostly because I have never really viewed rodents as being worthy of adoration. So I opened it, and was greeted by this this text:

I have a beautiful Albino mouse that needs a home. I'm looking for someone who is loving and gentle and prefers calm electronic music, that is what my mouse is used to. Also, I will only sell the mouse with the condition that you promise to keep it's birth name "The Dog". She is really quite sweet and well behaved and loves it when you open doors for her so if you are interested in purchasing The Dog please contact me. She has alot of personal and emotional importance to me and she is so well trained so I am charging $45 or the highest offer. Please don't argue over her with your friends if many of you want her, she's a one man mouse and so you will have to figure it out via a gentleman's dual, that is how The Dog would prefer it.

Um...what? I have read this over several times, and honestly can not figure out if this person is being serious or not. BUBBS does not always allow for sarcasm to come across very well. My inclination is that it is a joke...but what if it is not? Would someone actually pay forty-five dollars for a mouse? A white mouse? You can buy a white mouse at PetSmart for about two dollars. I should know. I do so once a week. To feed to my snake. Goodness. I hope this is not serious.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Quick Update Time!

Well, I survived (and even enjoyed) Thanksgiving.
And I survived the day after, opening at Bath & Body Works. I nearly enjoyed it, but it was insane and crazy. I now know that I can manage working retail, but it is certainly not what I want to do for the rest of my life.

I finally got all caught up on Alien Dice, which is happy. One down, twelve to go. Plus, you know, various videos/tv shows I'm supposed to be catching up on. Three of those, I think?
I changed my desktop background on my computer for the first time in two years. Does this mean I am starting to move on and heal? I hope so. Besides, Swiftpaw is just so cute!

My room is still a mess, and while it bothers me, I can not seem to find the energy to clean it up and get more organized.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

3. Recycling

This subject, like several others in my list, is somewhat obsolete in my life right now. But I may as well write about it, because it is something I thought about a lot over the past year or so. In California, they give you money for recycling. The way the system is supposed to work is that they charge you an extra five cents when you buy a bottle or can (water, soda, &c.) (or ten cents, for larger containers), and then reimburse you this money when you turn the bottle or can in for recycling. However, most people do not bother to turn in their recyclables. The thought process seems to be something like, "oh, it is only five cents. it does not matter that much." But, you see, five times twenty is one hundred (one dollar). And there is a lot you can buy with a dollar. And if you do not spend that dollar, but save it, and get more dollars, you can buy bigger things. Like gas. Or rent. Or a trip to Russia.

I started collecting recycling from the garbage cans around campus last October, in an effort to make money to help me go on the Russia trip. It did not fully pay for it by any means, but I ended up getting about two hundred dollars from it. That is a lot of money, pulled out of garbage cans a nickel at a time. I wish I had kept better track of how much I collected. I continued my collections this summer, to off-set the price of gas, and to be able to buy food, and so forth. Usually I would only collect from the library. I know where every garbage can is in that building. I know what route to take to maximize the efficiency of my time. I kept my receipts for a bit in October, once I decided to write about this. Between the third and the thirteenth, I collected $42.47. (They go by weight, now, rather than exact count, which is why the number is not divisible by five.) That is a little over four dollars a night, from the library alone. My rounds took me about half an hour, so I was making about minimum wage for this. Not too shabby.

I got quite a few weird looks from people, especially when I started. After a while people got used to my coming around in the evening. A few people would even save their bottles out on their table for me, instead of throwing them in the trash cans. Those people made me happy. Some people laughed at me when they thought I could not see/hear (from within the study rooms). Those people made me sad and insecure - but not enough to give up. Once I encountered two people in a room (yes, I was shameless enough to collect from the study rooms while people were in them. most were very kind. no one ever complained, even if they thought I was strange.) who were very excited about what I was doing. The girl exclaimed, "Oh! I am so happy you are doing that! I was looking at the cans in the trash and thinking how sad it was that no one was doing anything about it, and then here you came!" And then the boy made up a song about how happy they were. It pretty much made my night.

Fun times, overall.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

{Insert Witty Title Here}

I wandered around Wal-Mart for about an hour tonight. I needed to get out of the house, and everything in town was closed, except for Denny's and Wal-Mart. And it is cheaper to wander Wal-Mart than sit around at Denny's. And more distracting, which was good.

On the front of the store, the lights in the 'M' were out, so it said Wal-art. This amused me.

They already have a giant Christmas decoration section. This makes me sad. I do not like the over commercialization of Christmas, nor do I like how overlooked Thanksgiving is. Thanksgiving was always my favourite holiday growing up. Mostly because I like autumn, but also because gatherings tended to not be as big then as at Christmas and Easter. I am an introvert, and my parents never allowed me to be reclusive when family was over. Santa was in the mall, today. I think the commercialization has made me cynical about Christmas, which I also do not like.

The craft section of Wal-Mart is my favourite. I do not particularly like crafting (I have boxes filled with projects begun and never finished), but I love craft supplies. Especially paper. Paper fascinates me, as does cloth. So much beauty (for only a small price). I also like parenthesis (and those are free).

I bought a pack of Mike-n-Ikes (Mike & Ikes?). I was interested by the man at the checkstand. I think his name was James. It started with a 'J,' anyway. He was an older gentleman, and seemed nice. He had a fairly thick country accent (different from, though similar to, a southern accent), quite the drawl. The type of accent that makes people think that a person is uneducated - a silly assumption, in my opinion, but a common one nonetheless. I wondered if James was happy with his life. Is he content to work the night-shift at the checkstand in Wal-Mart? How would I feel, in that position? I think that there was probably a point in my life where I could have taken that route, and have been perfectly happy. I am not sure when, though. I could not do it, now, and be happy. I think too much, now. I wonder if James is happy. The world needs those people. If the world were only full of philosophers, we would never be able to get anything done. What separates me from James? Is it just an education (assuming a lack of one on his part. actually, I am using him as a symbol now, less as a person. forgive me, James. I wish I knew your story.)? Or is there something inherent in a person that sets them apart for their particular path in life?

It is cold here. I had frost on my car this morning, it had to warm up about fifteen minutes before the windows were clear enough to drive. I need to remember that on Thursday night, and plan accordingly for the morning - I start work at five.forty-five on Friday. I am nervous about that - my first experience in retail is opening on the day after Thanksgiving. I am sure I will get trampled, small as I am. Perhaps I will wear heels, give myself a couple of extra inches.

I went to the grocery store with my mom tonight after dinner. The checker there was nice, as well. Mom thinks it was because of me. She says they are never that friendly when it is just her. I wonder if he was flirting. I wonder if I flirted back. I never can tell (Emily:flirting :: Winnie-Ther-Pooh:bees). Harmless, I suppose, when it is a person I will likely never see again. But what happens when I inadvertently flirt with a new acquaintence? What if it is mutual flirting and I do not even realize it? I certainly do not have time or emotional energy for something like that. Goodness, I do not even have emotional energy to worry about something like that. My mom bought me a pomegranite at the store, which was lovely.

My mind is random, and I am essentially typing my train of thought right now. I find it vastly amusing. Usually I think things through before typing, and go back and edit. But not tonight. Tonight you get something that is somewhat akin to what you would get if I handwrote you a letter. Or what you have gotten if I have done so. A glimpse of the workings of my mind, I suppose.

I am tired, but not sleepy. I have been having trouble sleeping lately. I am stressed about several things which I will not detail here. Perhaps I should go to bed. I have been reading a lot - rereading good fiction books, always fun. I am cold. Autumn is gone, now. The leaves are off the trees and it is frosting at night (but I already mentioned that, I suppose). I miss warmth. Not really, but in my mind I do. I do love winter, but to make the jump rather than easing into it does make a difference. I have a space-heater in my room, though, which helps quite a bit. I have also been playing a lot of solitaire - a good mind-numbing activity. I miss California.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Please not Haley, Please not Haley...

Ok, so I know that it is not totally healthy to get as emotionally attached as I do to characters in a webcomic. But Order of the Stick has a very special place in my heart, and I am very emotionally attached to the characters. Especially Haley. And the author is really good. And today's update...terrified me (the first one. it seems that there were two today...). On the other hand, the second update is excellent (and continuing in the terrifying category as well). I love Belkar. Not as much as I love Haley, and in a different way. But he is excellent. The author seems to be on a rampage today, as in his other comic (Erfworld), I think the main character just burst into dust? I am not really sure what happened, though, and I am not nearly as attached to him as to Haley.

I like webcomics. I follow too many already, and I have more of which I am currently reading through the archives. I do not add them to my 'others of interest' list until I am caught up on them. I made a list to keep track of what I am/ought to be reading, and I think there are seven or eight that will eventually be added to that list. And by the time those are added, there will likely be more to add.

My latest is Alien Dice. It is wonderful. Yay for that.

I do not think I could even choose a favourite among them. There are certainly ones that I like more than others, but within the group that I like more, I could not pick an absolute favourite, or order them in any way. They are all so good! Oh well. I guess I do not have to pick a favourite. It is just that I like order so much, I feel as though I ought to. Lists are happy. But not as happy as Girl Genius.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.