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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

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.

Trouble

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

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...

-

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?

-

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.

-

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.

-

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.

-

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*

-

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.

-

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.

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