The Spice of Life

I am a firm believer that basil is the spice of life, despite everyone else insisting that variety has that title.

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Pandora keeps telling me that I can add variety to a station, wondering if they might be permitted to show me how to do so. I already know the process, and am simply not interested. But it does cause me to wonder what strange combinations might be found by merging some of my stations.

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Byzantine Chant with Iron Maiden, perhaps? Or Journey with Beethoven? Merging my Coldplay station with my The Killers station would be fairly anticlimactic, I am sure. But some others might prove interesting.

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Perhaps when I am feeling more bored and adventurous. Possibly when unable to sleep some late night, tired of playing solitaire, I shall add some spice to my apparently drab stations.

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Blessings on your travels,

Emily.

Winter is Apple Pie Time

I have never associated apple pie with summertime, although many people seem to do so. Summertime is too hot for much cooking - heating up the oven does not make much sense when the air conditioner is trying its hardest to keep the house cool. Winter is when we bake. It has always made sense to me, even when I did not understand about utility bills.

My mother makes the best apple pie crust I have ever had. I make a fairly decent one, following her (incredibly simple) recipe, but she has the touch. Her crust recipe makes a little bit more than needed for the size of pie pans we have, and so part of her making an apple pie was always to also make a cinnamon pie. Cinnamon pie is essentially pie crust rolled out on a cookie sheet, sprinkled with cinnamon sugar, and baked. It is delicious.

It is also very messy. One of the house rules was that cinnamon pie was to be eaten on the front porch. In the winter. I remember standing out front, all bundled up and shivering, eating cinnamon pie with my sister. Because it was worth the cold.

My mother made apple pie last week, and a cinnamon pie to go with it, of course.

I sat carefully at the table, leaning over my plate and biting ever so gently, and then thanked her for not making me stand outside.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Five Things

One: Facebook tells me that today is Josh's birthday. My engagement calendar tells me that Wednesday the ninth is. I am not sure which to believe. My impulse is to believe my engagement calendar, because I have had friends who put down false dates for various reasons. Of course, I do not know why Josh would do that. I also do not know why I would have the wrong date written down. I am more likely to make a mistake about this than Josh is, though. Happy birthday, dear friend.

Two: I have seven school days left until the end of the semester. In that time, I have two days of classes (though only one left of research methods. and the people rejoiced.), two sessions of clinic, one session of APD diagnostics, two final exams, two final projects, and one final presentation. I feel much less overwhelmed than one might expect from that list. I actually feel that that is adequate time for everything and that all will be well at the end of this next week and a half. I certainly am looking forward to break, though.

Three: I am frustrated at my Dad and his constant refusal to try new or unfamiliar things, especially food. "Oh I love Thai food! But I do not like peanut sauce. Or coconut milk. Or curry." "Well, Mexican's all right when your mom makes it," (which means chicken burritos) "but I do not really like Mexican restaurant food." Gah. I love trying new foods and it makes me upset when he will not.

Four: It is freaking cold here, and I miss California. I am all for winter, and snow. But right now it is too cold and too dry to snow, so it is mostly just miserable and windy.

Five: A coworker wants to set me up with another coworker (whom I have met once). I am not sure how I feel about this.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

It is good that I love my job.

I had a hellish day yesterday. It seems that every time I think that things are evening out and looking up, everything crashes down again. I do not want to post all the details, but essentially I got pulled out by two professors during lunch and told that I am unteachable, have anger and confrontation issues, and that I will not make it in the professional world. Needless to say, it was a lovely conversation full of fluffy bunnies and rainbows and butterflies. And lots of tears and stuttering, too, but that is usually a given with me. So it destroyed pretty much my entire day.

And then I had to go to work at five thirty.

I was not looking forward to it. After my lunchtime discussion I nearly called in and told them I was sick. But I went.

And, wonder of wonders, it made me feel better. Because I love my job. I love the store itself, I love being surrounded by books, I love the music, I love my coworkers and managers, I love (most of) our customers, I love that I get fifty percent off items in the cafe (hot cocoa for a dollar and thirty cents? yes, please!), I even love straightening up at the end of the night.

I realized again last night how grateful I am not not be at Albertson's anymore. It would have destroyed me to have had to go work in the deli last night. I probably would not have made it through. But being at Barnes and Noble gave me energy and some happiness where I had none.

Praise God for small reliefs such as that.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

I Worry Too Much, Probably

Esmeralda will not eat. I have not fed her since the week before I went to California...May sixteenth? Nearly three weeks. She should be hungry by now. But on Sunday she sat in the bathtub staring at the rat (who was fairly freaked out) for about four hours. Then she finally decided she was bored and started to climb up the faucet. I kept the rat overnight in my small carrying cage that I use when I take her to the vet, and tried again on Monday. Same story, except she started climbing in only about one hour rather than four this time. By that time on Monday, the pet store where I buy rats was already closed, so I kept it overnight again (my goodness, rats smell horrid! it slept outside that night.) and took it to the store in the morning.

I explained what was going on, and asked if I could have an "IOU one rat" or something, since I did not have anything else to do with it, and was fairly ill-equipped to keep it until Esmi was ready to eat. Luckily, the gentleman working knows me by now (since I come in every week or two to buy a rat) and was willing to do just that. So now I have an IOU for a rat, which is amusing to me.

And I have a snake who will not eat. I do not know what is wrong. She is not due to shed for another month or so. She is not having any digestion problems. She is being fairly active, and looks healthy. She has never refused food before. My mom thinks that maybe she is finally full - I moved up to rats from mice about two months ago. Perhaps I will not have to feed her as often now. They are rather large. I will try again in a week. I am not sure what I will do if she continues to not eat at that time. But I likely am too worried, and she is probably fine. We shall see.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

Rambling

As I was driving to campus tonight, Led Zeppelin's Ramble On came on the radio. The first ten lines particularly struck me:

Leaves are falling all around,

It's time I was on my way.

Thanks to you, I'm much obliged

For such a pleasant stay.

But now it's time for me to go,

The autumn moon lights my way.

For now I smell the rain,

And with it pain,

And it's headed my way.

Ah, sometimes I grow so tired...

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Both my identified readers know that I am leaving, moving back to my parents' house. I am full of pain this autumn. The initial shock has worn off a bit, these few days, leaving me fairly numb as I tell the few people I hadn't yet talked to. But smaller things are hurting, as I think of them.

I won't be able to see the TTC play. I was really looking forward to it - to seeing one for the first time that I didn't already have memorized from a semester of involvement.

I will be missing the senior art show of a dear friend from my Torrey group.

I will be missing the dead kitty party at Christmastime, which is somewhat silly, but was something I had thought of happily when I made the decision to stay here for the year.

I just bought groceries, and now only have a week to eat them. What am I going to do with several packages of frozen vegetables?

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Biola HR called me today. "We were wondering if you could come in for an interview." "Oh, for what position?" I asked, half-hopeful. "Oh, no, just an initial interview, the next step in the process." "Oh. Well...you see...*explains that I'm leaving, trying not to cry*" "Okay, we'll withdraw your application then. Thanks for letting us know! (*way too cheerfully*)" If only the HR department wasn't so horridly slow.

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If onlys plague me. If only I had started applying to jobs sooner. If only I had applied to more places. If only I had one more month. If only I...I don't even know. I have a bad tendency to live in the past, and am trying hard to not do so right now. Several people have reminded me that I have not failed. This is not a step back, it is the next step forward on my journey. I'm in too much pain to really see and understand and believe that right now, but I know they are right. It feels like my life is over, but it isn't. I will live through it, and perhaps become stronger. Or perhaps it will break me, but I will not die of it.

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I am tired of moving. Since graduation, I have moved from the apartment into storage, from storage into the crazy lady's house, from there into the house where I am now, and now will be moving from there. That is four times in five months. Too often. I thought that I would not have to move again after graduation, now that Biola isn't forcing me out of housing every few months. And, horror, I plan on moving again within the year, back down here as soon as I can. But I do not look forward to bundling up all my things yet again, forcing them into my car (the poor dear, she has been so patient with me these few years) and driving them 1500 miles away. And each of these (aside from the moving into storage) has come with change of address notifications for everyone who sends me things, closing and opening post office boxes, calling magazines, letting Biola know my forwarding address has changed yet again. I just got settled in and fully unpacked - it simply isn't fair that I have to move again. I get more weary just thinking about it.

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And leaving is such tiring work, even before the packing begins. My agenda is filling up quickly with seeing people. Having all of my friends wanting to take me out to meals doesn't do much for getting those groceries consumed, however wonderful it is to be able to see people before I go. And seeing people is so bittersweet. I have never been good at goodbyes. I do not like change, and saying goodbye is so definite, even though I will be back. I said goodbye to the IT desk this morning. Stayed up too late baking cookies to take, and didn't have enough time to spend talking there. I want to hang on to every last moment, I don't want to walk away. I hate it terribly. The gentlemen there have been so dear to me for the past two years. It is like this for everything and everyone I have to say goodbye to...it is just that that was particularly hard for me today. Next Wednesday, Bible study/alum discussion group will be the same, although for that there will at least be cake. *half-hearted smile*

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Well, I think I have rambled on enough tonight. I do still plan to write about the things in my list below, but for now, I have enough on my mind.

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Blessings on your travels,

Emily

Comfy clothes?

I like clothing. It interests me. And so, as might be expected, I was very happy at the homerathon this past weekend, when Joi, Dr. Reynolds, and I discovered a very important theme of clothing and appearances running through the Illiad and the Odyssey. As is usual after the homerathon, I do not really remember most of what was said. But...it was important and interesting!

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After four homerathons, I have learned to come very prepared. After having spent my first, freshman year, cold, hungry, and in pain, I now bring a change of warmer clothing, a good amount of food, and drugs (among other things such as a sun-hat and cough-drops). It is a testament to the weather lately that I did not have to change into my warmer clothes (jeans and a t-shirt and a sweatshirt) until about two in the morning. When I did emerge from the bathroom after changing, the girl waiting said, "oo! comfy clothes!" This puzzled and somewhat amused me. To me, these were the sadly necessary, non-comfy clothes. My idea of 'comfy clothes' includes the sun-dress out of which I had just changed. Jeans are not comfortable. They do not allow for movement. They are not twirly, and do not blow in the wind. Long skirts/sundresses are all of these. And they are also pretty! If jeans were comfortable, I would have worn them in the first place. Why dress up for a homerathon?

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I do not believe, and never have believed, that there is a single way in which all people should dress. I have never been an advocate for all girls wearing dresses and skirts. I do believe that people should wear what is comfortable to them (within reasonable limits, without scandal to those around them, of course). I feel most myself, most comfortable, in dresses and skirts. I understand that this is not true for many women, and that is fine.

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That night, we talked a lot about proper clothes for different times, and what clothes say about a person or situation. But I think we forgot to even think about comfort, and what that says. I think that while we were right in thinking that what a person wears influences them (I do not recall what led to this, or how to rightly explain this idea), but we also forgot to talk about how what a person wears reveals them. If all people wore what they found comfortable, you would likely be able to tell much about a person. It is an interesting thought, anyway. I shall likely think more on it.

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Blessings on your travels,

Emily

Moments in time

"I love having you stay here - you're so fun."

As Nicole says this and hugs me goodnight, my heart melts and the frustrations that had built up this evening don't seem so important. Semi-nannying for a ten year-old is mostly easy: she is pretty self-sufficient, and my job mostly consists of making sure she eats dinner and goes to bed at a reasonable hour. Sometimes, though, it can be difficult. Tonight, she wasn't hungry, and I was exhausted (having danced for four nights and three days straight). My patience was at its limit, toward the 'you know, I don't even care' end. I finally got her to eat some scrambled eggs and a cup-o-noodles. *cringe* Being a traditionalist, I hate that that could be considered a 'dinner.' By that point it was nine-thirty. I told her she could relax for an hour, then lights out at ten-thirty. Ten-thirty hits, and she has ten minutes left in the movie she was watching, so I let her finish, then said, 'okay, bedtime.' But she asks to call her mom to say goodnight, and of course I have to let her. She talks to her mom for about fifteen minutes, then asks if she can take a bath. Sometimes I have trouble getting her to take a shower or bath, so I say all right - somewhat frustrated at how late it's getting, but also glad that this one was voluntary. Twenty minutes in the bath - it is now eleven-fifteen. Then she disappears into the other bathroom. I think she is changing, brushing out her hair, &c. Fifteen minutes. "Nicole, what are you doing in there?" She opens the door, holding a bottle of mouthwash and her mouth full. I nearly roll my eyes. Now I know she is just begging for more time awake, she just doesn't want to go to bed. This is the child who regularly complains about having to brush her teeth. "Bed time. It's really late." She apologizes, says she 'wanted her teeth to feel good.' As the daughter of a dental assistant, I have the immediate supportive reaction to that, but again, I am frustrated that she is stalling. I'm tired - I barely slept this weekend, and I need to go to bed as well! (although, as you can see, I haven't yet...) I've almost snapped. She asks if it's okay with me that she has music on at night (she has taken to sleeping with her radio on. I understand - I went through that phase when I was about her age, too.) and I say yes, but it is a bit loud, and maybe she could turn it down some. And then the hug, and those dear words: "I love having you stay here - you're so fun."

I feel in a tricky position sometimes. I am technically in charge when her mom is gone, but she calls and appeals to her mom a lot. I will say "bed at ten." Mom will drop by around nine forty-five and tell me that she's going to let her read until ten-thirty. I say bed at ten, and then she still has to brush her teeth, call mom, take a bath. I know I need to talk to her, explain to her that bed at ten means taking care of these things before ten, but it is so hard, especially when she says something like, "I love having you stay here - you're so fun."

It is moments like that, a short moment in time, a moment in the middle of all of the frustration and exhaustion, that make me glad that I took this position, that makes it so that I love staying here, too.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

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.