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.

On Starting Again

My orientation for my graduate program starts in an hour.
I am excited and nervous and scared to death.

...

I was going to write more, but that about sums it up, and I do not think I can put the rest of my thoughts and emotions into words right now.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Labeled

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

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

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

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

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

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!

.

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?

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

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 : )

.

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

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

Oh, the Cleverness of Me!

Or of my parents, really, I suppose.

HowManyOfMe.com

There is: 1 person with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

One person - that's ME! Hurray!

Finality

As the end of the semester is drawing near, I am about to say goodbye to my home of two and one-half years. Next semester I will be leaving Hart Hall and moving into the Lido apartment complex, with my dear roommate and her two dear former-roommates. I was surprised, but greatly pleased, to be told that we were the only people who had entered our names into the lottery for the particular apartment into which we will be moving. It is a ridiculously complicated affair. We have to be out of our rooms and into the apartment by Friday. However, the girls in the apartment are graduating Friday evening, and are thus not required to be out until Saturday. At the same time, two other wonderful girls will be moving into Hope and Elizabeth's room. It's like a big dance, and I dearly hope that I will not trip over anyone else's feet in the process.

.

Hart has been good to me, for the most part. Although I never fit in, it did feel as much like home as I can imagine anywhere on campus feeling. The community is a good one, being small enough to be able to get to know nearly everyone. There are always people about, and activities or conversations into which you can join. This semester has been different for me. I am a junior now, and need more sleep than I have the past two years (goodness, I feel old). I have to spend more time at my studies than socializing. Most people on my floor are sophomores and freshmen, and, as I was at that point in my life, are rather loud most of the time. Nothing horrid about that in itself--they get on just fine--but the time has come for me to move on. I do love Hart, and will remember the good times more than the times I lay awake at two in the morning wishing for some peace so that I could sleep : ) The poorer memories will fade away, but the memories of joy and pleasantness and rearranging furniture will, I hope, remain always.

.

God bless Hart Hall, the best dorm on campus.

God bless Lower Campus, for if you can't make it into Hart, I suppose Stewart will do.

.

And Blessings on your travels,

Emily

Intellectual Frivolity

Last night, during the Republic Metathon, I made a run to Eagle's with Marlene. I do not remember how the topic came up (it must have been quite quick, for the walk to Eagle's is not very long, and we were deep in our discussion by the time we got to the fountain), but the effect and thoughts of it were rather interesting to me. Actually I do not remember most of the conversation (like oh so many discussions in which I have taken part). However, the important bit is the content and conclusion. Ahem.
I think that the conclusion is that there are two types of fools, or those who behave in a foolish, or frivolous, manner. The first type is your stereotypical fool, who does not comprehend anything in the world, especially not his own particular ridiculousness. He might be also classified as a sort of idiot, I suppose, though I ought to run that by Marlene to see what she thinks.
The second type is where we classified ourselves, and the majority of Torrey students (mind, not that the rest of people are of the other sort - most people simply are not frivolous at all). Be as that parenthetical amendment may, we sorted ourselves among those that one might call the "intellectual frivolous." We see the universe. We think about and discuss and wonder at the universe, and life, and all that we encounter. We desperately attempt some semblance of understanding of it all. And this bit of understanding at which we grasp leads us to the realization that the universe (and life and so forth) is a wonderful, marvelous place, and what better thing to do with our slight knowledge of it than indulge in frivolity?
It is when we do not understand things that we (all humans? well, at least my friend and I) become serious and, dare I say it, formal. But, in the middle of this great conversation about some of the biggest ideas a man has ever put forth; after a giant breakthrough on both our parts; after rationality and solemnity had brought us to some degree of understanding, we were delighted to skip arm-in-arm giggling through campus - and yet, still able to not lose that spark of rationale, discuss frivolity in a quite intellectual manner, even as we partook in our sacred share.

Hurrah for friends, and books, and a cultish community where the two may be perfectly combined into near utter bliss.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily