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.

Gas for $1.88? Yespleasethankyou.

Last night Stacey asked me what the most positive thing about being in Washington is. Besides the fact that here my world is not being consumed by fire, the lower gas prices are a wonderful thing. One eighty-eight is the lowest that I have seen, it ranges between that and one ninety-nine. So yes. That is nice.

Driving here is fairly miserable, though. I am used to arterial roads having a speed limit of around forty-five. Here, on roads that look nearly the same as those faster ones (two lanes each direction, but with a middle turn-lane rather than a median), one is not allowed to go faster than thirty-five miles per hour. I am not sure how strictly this is enforced, but people follow it. On Evergreen, the road off of which my house is located, people like to go thirty, or sometimes twenty-five. It is horrid. The freeway is not much better. Through the city, the speed limit is sixty. And if you are going sixty, you should probably be in the left lane. The middle lane goes about fifty-seven, and the right lane goes about fifty-five. These people would die in California - not so much from accidents, but from fright at the cars going seventy-five or eighty.

This is taking adjustment. But at least the gas is cheaper.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Yesterday

I got horribly homesick yesterday, right after church. There was the annual parish meeting, and I stayed for about half of it. And during Fr. Michael's talk, he mentioned that this weekend, at the baptism in Wenatchee, he met a couple from St. Barnabas in Costa Mesa, and then proceeded to hold that church up as a good example for us, mentioning that they generally receive about thirty new members every year at Pascha. And I broke down (quietly). Because, for one thing, two of my dear friends, Sara and Jimmy, were fewer than two-hundred miles away from me and I could have been there and I missed the chance. (edit: as it turns out, this Sara and James were not the Sara and James that I know. odd.) And for the other thing, it just made me homesick. I know about half of the people who were baptized last year at St. Barnabas. I probably know about half of the group that will be baptized there this year. These are my friends - my dear friends - and I miss them. It was awfully hard for me. It is especially difficult at church, even though they have all become a wonderful family for me, because people can not seem to comprehend that I didn't want to leave California, that I want to go back. Comments like, "great job making it out alive!" make me want to cry. But I do not want to cry, not there, for that.

I also worry, because part of me is terrified of getting too attached. I do not like being torn between places. I am scared to make friends here, because I hate leaving friends. I know that that is not right, that it is not healthy, but that is my gut reaction. I miss my friends and my life so much, I just want to go back - even with all the horror that has been happening in the area with the fires as of late.

Then, last night, my best friend came over. I can not praise Glennda enough. She has truly been the best friend someone could ask for, especially in supporting me through all of my conflicts and confusion over the past year. She is being especially patient with me right now. I apologized profusely last night, through my tears. She is so glad to have me back here, and all I do when we are together is vent about how homesick I am. Poor dear. She is so good to me. I do not deserve her, but I am glad I have her. She just smiled, and reminded me how many times I sat and listened as she poured out her own heart in mourning.

Then after I pulled myself together I started trying to convince her to move to LA with me. As always. I will not understand how someone would move to Russia in a heartbeat, but would not even visit California when her best friend lived there. Not that I do not understand the wanting to move to Russia part, just the not even wanting to ever set foot in California part. But, as I explained to her, it would be much easier for me to move her down to LA than for me to move my whole life from down there to up here. She mentioned how then she would be in essentially the same position that I am in now, except worse, because no family there. Which is true, but I pressed on: "You'd get along great with my friends. I have excellent taste in friends." At which point we both collapsed laughing, and I wrote down what I had said in order to post it later. It is a conversation we have had many times, too many to count. She will not move to California, and I will continue to try to convince her to do so. I am so glad for the times that I have with her.

Then we kept talking as I sorted through some boxes of old things, from high school and before. I found my collection of her letters, from summers she spent in Oregon and I at camp, and read them aloud to her. Then I found some pages ripped out of an old journal, from my sophomore year, and read some of the entries to her. Highlights: "Glennda is my best friend in the whole world. I can tell her almost anything." Then, from a later one, "Confession - I am totally and completely in love with [name]. No one knows. Not even Glennda." We laughed so hard over that. Apparently that was where the 'almost anything' came up. She was confused: "Really? I didn't know?" I am pretty sure she did not, until after I was over it. Or if she did, she never said anything, because she is just an awesome friend like that. It was good to laugh with her, and remember.

My day ended much better than it began. But I am still sad. Sometimes I dislike the complicated emotions that come from being human. Why can't I just only be sad about being away, or only be happy to spend time with my best friend? Well, that is likely enough for now. I have survived three weeks.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

2. Gatorade

I have decided to start writing intermittently on those topics listed below. I am starting with Gatorade, because it is easy and unemotional. Mostly amusing observations. Right now, I am on my laptop in a lovely little cafe with free wireless. I don't particularly like using my parents' computer. It is an old PC, with awkward keys and an old internet browser. I don't have administrative privileges, so I can not download any programs, and my dad won't...I think that he thinks it will slow the computer down more. Which may or may not be true. Anyway, it is always nice to be somewhere where I can use my own computer. This cafe is especially nice. There is a large television with Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade playing, which, while distracting, is rather fun. Good movie.

Anyway. Gatorade, yes? I never have cared much for the drink. But two things are on my mind about it. First is a series of commercials that was on television a while ago. I do not remember when...it may have been a few months, or a few years. Each commercial would have one or several athletes being athletic, and they would be...oozing neon liquids. It was strange. And then, at the end, it would say on the screen, "is it in you?" And all I could ever think was, "Oh goodness, I hope not."

The other thing was more recent. One day, when I was collecting recycling, I came across an energy drink can. This is not at all uncommon. In fact, it is tragically very common. I do not understand how people consume these things, really. There was often one half-full in a trash can, which I would have to dump out, and I simply can not imagine drinking something of that color. Anyway, this particular can had written on it, "By the makers of (Gatorade symbol)" If you don't know, the Gatorade symbol is an orange lightening bolt. So a normal person should have read it as "By the makers of Gatorade." But I, of course, read it as "By the makers of lightening." And then my associative mind jumped to Zeus, and the idea that he would make energy drinks, which suddenly made sense of them, considering all of games the gods always played with the mortals.
My mind? Random.

Blessings on your travels.
Emily

JobJobJob.

That is to say, I got one.

I am now officially a "seasonal sales associate" at Bath and Body Works. Minimum wage, variable/non-guaranteed hours, but much better than nothing. It will keep me busy and out of the house, help me to start saving to move back to California, and give me time to look for something more permanent. Plus, a thirty-percent employee discount. So, um, family will be getting lotion for Christmas.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Grief

Hello again. Thank you for your patience.

According to dictionary.com, my constant source of definitions, grief is keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret. a cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow. I wondered, because I have been thinking about grief a lot over the past week.

I wanted time away, to grieve, as I mentioned below. Last week was difficult in this, as my mom's boss was ill so she was home from work for the week. I did not really have any time alone. My parents want me to be happy, in the they are upset that I am not sort of way. And I want this situation to not be entirely miserable, so I do my best to not upset them. So I did my best through the week. I even went out one evening, by myself, which seemed to please them. After all, if I'm out at a ballet, I must be all right, right? (I saw the Moscow Ballet perform Sleeping Beauty, which was wonderful, despite the idiot behind me who seemed to think that one comes to a ballet for the plot and would not stop whispering about how there were too many dances. Idiot. And despite the music being recorded rather than live. And a few other annoyances. And my being alone.)

Anyway, I waited out the week, looking forward to this past Tuesday. I had decided that that would be the day where I could grieve, good and proper. I fully planned on lying on my bed in the dark, listening to angry music and crying a lot. I went out to the store Tuesday morning and got bread and cheese and ice-cream, because those are good and proper grieving foods. It did not last very long. As it turns out, you can not induce those sort of days, however much you think you need them. I have decided that my idea of grief is vastly Romanticized. I had this picture of what I ought to look like at this time, and wanted to fulfill that. Which, when you think about it, is rather silly. Of course, I am a rather silly person, so I suppose nothing different should have been expected.

I think that it is likely that that sort of thing will happen, eventually. The lying in bed all day, not wanting to move or do anything but cry. Just not yet. And I know that I need to allow that. I am grieving, still, although I am not staying in bed with my blinds shut and refusing all social interaction. I do cry, I do wish dearly to come back home, back to where my life is. I grieve that I have been torn away from the places and people I love. I grieve in the way that is natural for now, because foremost I need to survive, so that I can return.

Tuesday I ended up getting back up after about an hour, getting dressed, eating some bread and cheese, and then going for a drive. Driving is very therapeutic for me, especially on fairly empty, familiar roads. It was raining, which helped. I drove out to Camp Four Echoes, my Girl Scout camp, where I spent several weeks every summer for ten years, and many weekends in between. I love that place, and I love the drive. It has been driven so many times that it was all automatic. I needed that - the familiarity of something beloved, familiar enough that I did not even have to think about it, I could let my mind stay on my grief without having to worry about the road or traffic, just winding through the countryside.

So, for now, I am back online. I will be in touch, and write more frequently than I did when I was in California (since now I am not seeing my dear friends every day, so updates are more necessary). But do know that when the grief does hit harder, as I expect it will eventually, I may disappear again for a time.

I miss you all so very much.

Blessings on your travels,

Emily