Thoughts of this week: A rambling post.

Monday.
Done with Fluency. I think I will get an A. Fairly sure that I did a decent job on the final - the essay question may have been a bit lacking, but other than that I did all right. It is nice to be done with a class, but that was not one of the ones toward the end of which I have been looking forward.

I went dancing for the first time since August. It has been an especially hard semester, and I think that not going dancing added to the emotional difficulty. It was nice to be back, nice to see people again, and move again. An added bonus, I danced with Bill Nye. As in the science guy. For real. Twice. (which means that he enjoyed dancing with me enough to ask again!) He's a very good dancer. I was somewhat giddy afterwards, and that giddiness has been slow in wearing off. I mean...his show was an integral part of my childhood. And I just danced with him. And after the dance he held out his hand and said, "I'm Bill." *giggle* (no, I didn't giggle. I said, "I'm Emily. Nice to meet you." and didn't really let on that I knew who he was or was at all very excited about what had just happened.) *giggle*

I love Christmas time, but get tired of the over commercialization of it. Especially annoying to me are gaudy decorations. I like lights - they are pretty. I remember that when the "icicle" lights began showing up, I disliked them. What is wrong with a single string? Why must we take something that is beautiful in simplicity and destroy it by going too far? Same for those deer composed of wire and lights...especially the ones that are motorized. However, driving at night on Monday, I realized that these two categories of decorations seem simple and nice now, compared with the gaudy monstrosities decking many lawns. Those blow-up things. They come in many shapes and sizes, some worse than others, but all horrid. They make me want to sneak around at night with a pair of scissors - vigilante justice for the destroyers of beauty. Now I appreciate those who stick to simple icicle lights and automated deer - those at least are still beautiful, if a bit much.

Tuesday.
Done with bowling. Patrick and I scored our highest game yet this semester - 452 - and yet it counted for nothing. We finished in last place. It doesn't really matter; neither of us care for pride's sake, although I am a bit sad about how league/class standing affects one's grade. It was a fun class.

I am so overcomitted, and yet always seem to add even more. I had not wanted to be very involved in the ASL chapel songs, but ended up in a library study room for several hours making a video with Jay and Jordan and Ryan to put up for the rest of the class to practice to. Because 1) Jay and I were the best at signing the songs, and 2) I didn't want the whole performance to suck. We had fun, even though it took way too long.

I broke down and bought a MilkyWay ice-cream bar out of the library food court ice-cream machine. Bliss can be purchased for a dollar, although it does not last nearly long enough. One less dollar with which to go to Europe. *sigh*

Wednesday.
Everyone else is done with clinic now. I still have next week, since I had to cancel once this semester. The others were really sad. I am sure that I will be next Wednesday. I'm going to miss my client a lot. I will probably see him next semester, though, since he will be coming at the time that I will be seeing my new client. I'm somewhat jealous of whoever gets him - I hope it will be someone who needs an easy client; I hope my new client is not too difficult.

Dinner at Tonya's replaced didactic. It is so nice to go to a real house and have a real meal in a real dining room/kitchen. They have an aquarium in their wall, with a shrimp that cleans things, and a bright orange anemone that apparently killed most of their coral. Oh, and there were fish, too.

Chapel came and went. I think it was all right. I screwed up one line, but no one seemed to notice. It was toward the end and we were all getting fairly tired.

Auditions. Amazing, really. A few weeks ago, I was so glad the play was finally over, so glad for a break from theatre. And now I am so excited that it is starting up again. I got to sit in on the readings, which is always fun. So much talent. I am looking forward to next semester a lot. I love being involved, and do not think that I could have made it through my time here without it. I would not be able to give it up even if I wanted to.

Thursday.
Friendship is odd. Something like a bunch of people almost falling over, and leaning on one another to stay upright. We need other people. We need them to keep us from falling, but we also...need to be needed, I suppose. People become closer during crises, more than they do during times when all is going well. The needing does not even have to be during a major crisis. It can be as simple as a run to the store to get some soup and jello for a sick friend. It is something that she needs, something that I can do for her. And also, doing something for her is something that I need, as she has done so much for me. But not in an "I owe you" sort of way. Debts should never be counted in that manner. Rather in a way akin to 'I love you, so I want to do this for you. I am grateful for how you have helped me, and now I am taking the opportunity to show that gratitude by giving help to you.' And in this way, in a loving friendship where help, not debt, is the focus, it becomes a cycle of helping and leaning, fulfilling needs on both ends. We can not survive without others.

Most of the guys in my gymnastics class are taking the advanced class next semester. I'm not. Many of them keep telling me that I should. Would it be fun? Probably, for the most part. But not fun enough to warrant taking it. The class has left me exhausted and often in pain. Another semester of it might border on masochism. Done now. I am glad that I took it, and glad that it is over.

I am weary of the library. In a lot of ways, I do not want to work there anymore. But I would not be able to work as many hours any other job that I got (if I could even find another one), and I need the money. One more semester. I remember that for a while when I was little, I wanted to be a librarian. The children's librarians at my local public library (Wilma and Ruth) were so wonderful, and opened many doors in literature for me as I grew up. It is common, I think, for children to want to follow the professions of those adults who have a great influence in their lives. That may be why it is so common that an elementary school child will declare that they want to be a teacher. No more. I would not survive, at least not sanely, were I to follow that path. No, I know perfectly well where I am going, and am looking forward to getting there. It really is a good student job. I'm just tired of it, that's all. I'm tired of everything, really.

Meeting for the Europe trip. I have decided to go, for certain. I will find the money, somehow. I need this, to be at only fourteen units next semester. I need to take care of myself, I really do. It is hard. The meeting was good, though. Good to see people, good to get me on track of what I need to be doing. Get stuff figured out.

Second night of auditions. Fun, fun. I love hearing the directors' thoughts in between readings. I love running errands and making things easier for them. I love being guaranteed a place in theatre without having to audition.

Friday. Today.
I am so tired. I am tired physically, mentally, and emotionally. I have been so stretched and strained this semester. I am ready to curl up in front of the fire and sleep for three weeks.

I filled up my car with gas today (a plague upon my wallet!). It took a really long time, because apparently you should fill on the slowest setting so that you get more gas per gallon. Sounds odd, but if you fill on the faster setting you get a lot more fumes/it evaporates more quickly. So it took a long time. While I am standing there, my hand getting sore, a man walks up to me. He looks nice, I suppose, about fifty or so. Silver hair, clean cut, smiling. Comes up. I'm nervous; I don't like strange men approaching me, even if they do look nice. He says hi, I say hello. He says, "I'm pumping gas way over on the other side and I looked up and saw you. And I noticed how the cold has turned your cheeks all rosy pink, and I had to come over and tell you how lovely you look." I must say, I am a bit taken aback. Where is the catch? No, no catch. Just a smile and a compliment. I'm sure it turned me a bit more pink. I smiled back and said, "Thank you. Thanks." It might be the first time I actually felt bashful. He went back to his car and drove away. It made my day. This summer, I watched Firefly (the whole...one season) with some friends. I forget which episode it is from, but my favourite quote is an exchange between Kaylee and Wash:
"Wash, do you think I'm pretty?"
"Were I unwed, I would take you in a manly fashion."
"'Cause I'm pretty?"
"Yeah. Because you're pretty."
Sometimes a girl just needs to hear it, you know? People tell me that I am cute a lot. I generally think it is because I am little, not really taking it as a compliment - I'm used to it and the word is overused, it carries very little meaning. But for a total stranger to come up, tell me I am lovely, and then leave, wanting nothing in return. That was wonderful. I needed that.

The weather has been nice. Finally semi-autumnal (just in time for winter). Raining at night, sometimes during the day. Cloudy and blustery. A good change for the constant sun and heat. Looking forward to going home, even if there are things there to which I am not looking forward. Break is needed, and will be good overall, I think.

Saturday. Tomorrow.
My finals next week still seem so far away, but I need to study for them. Tomorrow and Sunday will be especially important for me to get things done. Five quizzes to take on blackboard, and three finals to study for (sign will be easy, voice and aural, not so much). A quick and easy paper to write for sign as well, but I need to find someone already done with it so that I can borrow their book. Sell back my aural books. I can't wait for that class to be over.

Now.
Off to the library, to collect recycling before they close. It is amazing how much money people throw away. Some people think I am silly, picking bottles out of garbage cans, for only a nickel a piece, but they do add up, and each one puts me five cents closer to Europe.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Arise, Shine...

For your light has come,
And the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.

My final convocation was this evening. I am officially a senior. I am not entirely sure how to handle that, honestly. The ceremony was more emotional that I had expected. I knew that I would probably cry; I had not anticipated the extent to which that ended up being true. For this to be coming to an end...it is really unfathomable. I do not know what my life will be like without this community: this, my family of four years.

So I cried.

I cried as we, the seniors, lit our candles. I cried as I watched the Juniors (especially the johnson housers) light theirs. And I cried as I looked on at the new freshmen, aware of how little I will ever get to know them as I have everyone else. I think I was the only one there (at least, the only student there) who cried. And right in front, at that, with all of the new freshmen and parents looking on.

Certainly, this week has been overly emotional for me, and were it not for that, I may not have broken down as much. But that is mere petty excuse.

Now my roommates, and most of my classmates, are out celebrating, as is tradition. Denny's for Olympia; Bonfire with s'mores for Augustine; Bread and cheese for Gregory. Then all together (by now, I am sure) at a house where some of our men live. I am glad that I chose to not go out this evening. My decision to stay in was influenced by several factors. The one that everyone who asked got to hear was that I am weary, and need to rest. This much is true, though, as always, there are certainly more. But as they were not related to people, neither shall they be related here. Suffice it to say that it is better for me to remain.

I sit on my couch, eating mashed potatoes (my comfort food) and listening to Simon and Garfunkel (though only the quiet songs), in the darkness except for my computer screen and the small, white Christmas lights strung in our living room. So peaceful, so restful.

I tell the Newmanites and Homerites that they are not allowed to be juniors. Not all lies and jest, I assure you, in that. If they are juniors, then they are no longer my freshmen. I am a senior now, and it is a terrifying thing. They claim they are ready, that I can let them go. Alas, it is not all for their sakes that I cling on so.

I look back (crying) on my freshman convocation. It seems so long ago, and yet, paradoxically, like it was yesterday. I was confused (as I imagine most freshmen generally are at that ceremony) and desperate to be liked - all alone here without knowing anyone, one wants to make a good initial impression. This preoccupied me, as things such as this are wont to do, and I really remember very little of the entire thing. But I remember the candles. The 'ring' went perhaps halfway up each side. This year, we could all barely fit in the full circle around the auditorium. I wonder how they will fit next year, when my class, the smallest class, is replaced in the ring by the new freshmen class, the largest class. I wonder if I will make it down for that. How I long for it, already. I am clinging to the past when I have not even yet left it behind - why is that?

A senior I am, whether or not I like the fact...and I suppose that I do, essentially.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Possible Hypocrisy

Every day I come to my blog, here. And every day I click on each of those links over on the right hand side of my page. A few of my friends (Amanda Mae, Becky and Caitlin, &c.) almost always have something new to say. Most do not. And it makes me sad, and I often wish that people would post more often.

And then I realize that I rarely post either. Sorry about that.

My trouble with blogging is I keep a paper journal. I do so for various reasons:
- I like writing in cursive
- It is safer/more private
- It is rather more romantic than using a computer
- and so forth...

So when I really want to say something, it is usually said there. I rarely have coherent opinions on things about which I could blog, as some people do, which prevents me from posting those sort of things. However, I do not want to end up like a junior higher on myspace, only ranting about what emotional trouble I have been going through, and about how horribly hard life is. *shudder*

The problem, I suppose, with avoiding that scenario (of becoming akin to a junior higher) is that people often only want to stop and write when things are not going well.
If my life is wonderful (as it is a fair amount of the time, like everyone, I suppose), then I do not want to put my living it on hold as I type about it for my few readers to see. People in general, I think, follow this principle, and it is probably why those poor junior highers received the reputation they did.

On another (related) tangent, I think that this is also why there are many more sad or depressing songs (or poems) about love than happy songs (or poems) about love. (This is based off of a discussion with my friend Katy, to give credit where due.) When people are sad about or disappointed with love, they have time to sit and write sad, disappointed songs (or poems) about it. When people are happy about love, they do not have the time to write happy songs (or poems) about it, because they are busy being happy with their beloved. Which I like, although it would be nice for more happy love songs (or poems) to be written in general. Er...quality ones, to qualify that statement.

So, that is my apology for not writing often. Either I am too pleased with life to be bothered with recording my thoughts (a deficit of my soul, more than likely), or I record said thoughts in my paper journal.

Perhaps what I need is more frivolity. To be unconcerned with having something important or thoughtful (or long) to say. To simply say.

Perhaps.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Funny, I don't feel very different...

Twenty-one and strong as I can be -
I know what freedom means to me,
And I can't give the reason why
I should ever want to die.
Got no cause to be afraid
Or fear that life will ever fade,
'Cause as I watch the rising sun
I know that we have just begun.
I might spend my life upon the road,
Just tryin' to add to what I know.
Then someday I might settle down,
And all my friends will be around.

This Time is the Last Time

I am now nearly moved out of Hart. The next time that I move will be away from Biola forever. And for that, I am so glad. I am sick of moving. Almost all of my possessions are in my apartment, although walking into my dorm room one probably would not guess it to be so. All of my drawers are cleared out, my wardrobe is empty. However, it still looks like I live here (if one does not look inside said furniture), due to lots of things lying about still. Soon they will all be stowed away in a box labeled 'random junk' and also hauled off to the apartment. And then I will take my table, my hutch, and my refrigerator. And then I will be truly gone from Hart, from on-campus housing, from dorm-life forever.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Getting Dangerous

So, I still have not read the final Harry Potter book. Have not even started it, actually. And that is getting dangerous for me. It seems like everywhere I go, people are talking about it or writing about it or referencing it. Spoilers abound! I have had to be so careful just to avoid hearing or reading things. Because, you see, it is not that I do not care or am particularly waiting to read it until later. I used to be fanatic about reading a new one the second it was released - spending five or so hours on the couch, not moving until I was done with it.

.

But we must also remember that the first of these books came out nearly ten years ago. I was eleven, the same age as our heroes were in the first book. Now I am in college, and honestly, occasionally have better things to do than read a seven-hundred page novel (however amazing) in one setting. Mostly, the better thing that I have to do is read a(n amazing) one-thousand twenty-one page poem for my Faerie Qveene class in the fall.

.

But be that as it may, I really do need to get a hold of a copy of Harry Potter VII before I hear too much more about it. One can not cover one's ears and hum for very long, nor can one avoid reading other people's blogs forever. One part of me is sad that the series has come to an end, but another part of me is happy about it. I expected the end to come three years ago. It has been too long coming, and I will read it soon.

Just...please do not spoil it for me!

.

Blessings on your travels,

Emily

My Sister Got Married.

On Sunday. It was beautiful and wonderful and magnificent. Maybe some pictures to come?

Reflections Upon Moving, Yet Again

On Sunday I moved back to Hart. It was strange - it certainly felt as though it had been longer than a semester. Coming back onto the hall was like walking through a ghost town, except it being one where you had lived only six months prior, and then it had been full of life. Oh, dear. Shame on my confusing similes. Anyway, it was empty and faded. There was no one about. All of the decorations were still there, but rather dilapidated. It felt like a shadow of what I have known for three years (minus the last semester).

Soon, of course, more people came, and it came a bit back to life. But it was still not the same. If anything it may have been even more strange. You see, because it is the summer housing dorm, everyone on campus who is staying for the summer has to live there. Which means that people who belong in Sigma - who have lived in upper campus for three years, and perhaps have never even been to Lower Campus - are living there. Weird. Just plain weird. There is really no other term for it. Well, maybe another term is amusing. But only in the weirdly amusing sense.

I suppose that what I don't really understand is why the school makes us move so often. Okay, so it was my choice to move at the semester. And really, having to move again this week almost made me wish we hadn't - because then I could have just stayed in my room for the summer, and not had to worry about packing until the fall. (Although it really was worth it to get into the apartments.) Why, though, can't we all just stay put? Or at least the apartment dwellers? Why squeeze us back into the tiny dorm rooms, when we were just getting used to our spacious freedom? Oh, it is so small. So, so small.

On the plus side, it isn't Sigma : )

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Blessings on your travels,

Emily

On the Subject of Hair (Part two of two)

I really like my hair. I never understood (nor do I now) why girls with curly hair want to straighten it. This was especially so in junior high, when the perm was such a phenomena. People would ask me if I ever straightened my hair, or would say that I ought to. But I simply responded, quite rationally, if I may say so myself, that people paid a lot of money to get hair like mine, so why should I ruin it?

It is not that I have never wanted straight hair, or that I think everyone should want curly hair. I actually look good with straight hair. But I look good with curly hair as well. There have been times that I claimed to want beautiful straight hair, like that of my sister. But that was more an "I am so sick of having to brush out all of these knots" sort of wanting. A desire for less work, rather than for the look. I wouldn't get rid of my hair for the world. Maybe for a lot of money. But it would have to be a whole lot. And tax free.

I like my hair a lot more now than I did in junior high and high school, and even early college. You see, for my last birthday, my wonderful sister gave me a book about curly hair. It happens to be called Curly Girl and it is wonderful. A transcript of an online interview with the author can be found here. She advocates an incredibly unorthodox treatment of hair, which I will not reproduce here. But I will say that if you have curly hair and are sick of it being so much work, let me know and you can borrow the book. I have been following its instructions since last September, and my hair has never looked or felt better. I do still have to vigorously fight the dreadful locks, but one must persevere to win the prize.
Blessings on your travels,
Emily

A Dread-ful Situation? (Part one of two)

Recently in a conversation, one of my friends wondered aloud, "how do you start dreadlocks?"
I half-jokingly answered, "well, if you're me, you just don't brush your hair for a week."

I am not sure how normal people start dreadlocks. Honestly, I am not sure why anyone does. But every few days in the shower I vigorously apply conditioner to one or two 3-or-so-inch sections of my hair that have managed to work themselves into a dreadlock sort of state. My mind fluctuates between wanting to give up and just grow dreads, and disgustedly wondering why anyone in their right mind would do such a thing. Of course, my being in my right mind is still something of a debate, so the two are not necessarily irreconcilable.

Perhaps in our search for understanding, we should look at the word itself: dreadlocks. A compound word. Locks, obviously, refers to one's hair. This is not to be confused with lox. Occasionally, this word is preceded by an adjective. For example, see Goldilocks. She had yellow (gold) hair. Or maybe she had the new iHair from Apple, available in a multitude of colours, including but not limited to gold! pink! black! (Actually, it turns out, after a brief search [yay for google!] that iHair is not an Apple product at all, but a hair-loss solution. Apple should take over their business, if only for the name's sake.)
ahem. I digress.
Now: the word DREAD. According to dictionary.com, dread means "to fear greatly, to be in extreme apprehension of." Does not exactly sound pleasant.
Hair that is to be feared. And I do, oh I do...
Blessings on your travels,
Emily

This is why I read Scriptorium Daily.

"Let’s just take moment to celebrate the circle of life. And butterflies. Armed to the teeth."

: )

And you?

A plug for my new favourite webcomic, Savage Chickens.
This is totally what happens to me when people ask.

Any Way the Wind Blows...

So, with the season premiere being last week, I have been thinking a lot about the television show “American Idol.” Ever consider trying out? Even toy with the idea? Someone please say yes so I do not end up feeling so idiotic as I am about to here…

I have. Well, toyed with the idea, that is. I would never really consider going through with it. I hold no illusions of grandeur about myself and my singing voice or stage presence. I have never had training or feedback of any kind, mostly because I fairly refuse to sing (by myself) in front of most people – the people have to be trustworthy or it has to be very late at night. Or both, in which case I am probably at theatre rehearsal.

However, despite my own knowledge of my likely lack of skill, would not it be amazingly cool to get on television? Yeah, yeah. I know. You think that I would most likely end up being one of those abysmally embarrassed individuals who leaves crying. Actually, the only reason that I have toyed with the notion is because, gosh, I must be better than some of those contestants. In fact, I would probably be so average that I would not even get on to television.

Seriously, now. Some people come into their audition, and swear that they love the show and have watched every episode since season one and yadda, yadda. If that were true, don’t they know that screaming/shrieking, trying to impress with your incredible “range,” and adding in all of those ridiculous vibrato moments does not exactly sit well with the three illustrious judges? That is to say, I have watched the show enough to know how to not make a fool of myself, but said knowledge would actually decrease my chances of ever getting on said show, because I will tell you now: my voice is not going to get me anywhere.

So as I watch, I remind myself, I am better than the worst, worse than the best, and incurably average in my singing voice. Which is a little bit depressing, when I dwell on it much. Luckily, I also have an incurably short attention span.

Hey, look! A butterfly!

Blessings on your travels,
Emily