One Day of Freedom

I got out yesterday, after being house-bound since Wednesday. I actually had not left the house since Monday, simply because I did not have any reason to go out on Tuesday, and I had no reason to suspect I would not be able to leave after then. It took a lot of work to be able to leave. You see, my house is situated at the end of a one block road, off of the main road, that comes to a T at our driveway. (See diagram. It is not to scale. Sorry about that.) So any traffic that had barreled through the massive amounts of snow down the road either turned left or right, pushing even more snow toward our driveway and not giving us any help on getting cleared out. And even if we could leave the driveway, our cars were too low to the ground to make it out in the tracks that had been put in the road, because they were all made by trucks, which have higher centers than our cars, so we would have gotten stuck anyway. Make sense? Following so far? Good.

So, on Saturday, three neighbours got out their snow-blowers and snow... -blowed? -blew? a lane clear down the one block road. They did not clear out the front of our driveway, but at least now if we got out of the driveway, we would be able to get out to the main road. So Dad worked really really hard Saturday night, and I was able to leave on Sunday. I went to church, and had a five hour shift at work. It was very very nice to get out of the house.

But then last night, the stupid plow people came along and ruined everything. You see, they plowed our road. We had it fine! It was accessible, people were getting in and out; it was hard, but doable. But then the plows came. And where do you think all the snow from that one block in from the main road ended up? If you thought "why, the magical snow faeries must have magicked it away!" than you thought incorrectly. It ended up right in front of our driveway. There is now a barrier about four feet high and five feet wide blocking us in. We have it much worse than the neighbours, being right at the T of the road. From what I could see, they have maybe a foot high, two or three feet wide. Stupid plow people. And it is snowing again, lots and lots. We have gotten perhaps nine or ten more inches.

I have another shift at work tomorrow, and I hope I will be able to get out for it. And I have Christmas presents to mail, which will be rather late. I do not know that that is so bad, though, since it extends Christmas for people. I have always enjoyed late gifts; I have an aunt who was usually two or three weeks late on birthdays. But I also have to mail out two books that were bought from me on half.com, and I am supposed to mail them within a week of their being ordered. I will likely email the buyers and apologize profusely for being snowed in and unable to get to the post office. Mostly I am just worried about making it to work. I really need the hours, and the money that comes from them. On the plus side, snow is very beautiful. Here are some more pictures that I took before this latest storm:
















































































Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Snow, Snow, Beautiful Snow

It has not stopped snowing in over a day.

Last night we set a record for most snow in a twenty-four hour period.

When I woke up this morning, there were over twenty inches on the ground.

Here are some pictures. They are not very good, because they are from inside my house, but later I will go out and take some better ones and post them.




The SUV parked across the road.













The fir tree in my backyard.
And part of my backyard.
You can see, down at the bottom, a bit of the walk.
My dad has shoveled three times this morning, starting at three o'clock am.















Our dogwood tree in the backyard.
And the itty-bitty baby maple tree, off to the right there.
And most of the rest of the backyard.












I do love snow.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

I wish I could write like this.

Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's the funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.

It is passages like this that make me so glad to be a part of Lewis group.

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.

I...do not understand.

So, I continue to torture myself by reading the housing classifieds folder on BUBBS (for those non-school folk, that is our email/message board system). And, because old habits die hard, instead of having the housing folder on my desktop, I have the general classifieds folder (even though I do not really read that one anymore). Today as I was passing through there, there was a post titled "adorable mouse." I was curious, mostly because I have never really viewed rodents as being worthy of adoration. So I opened it, and was greeted by this this text:

I have a beautiful Albino mouse that needs a home. I'm looking for someone who is loving and gentle and prefers calm electronic music, that is what my mouse is used to. Also, I will only sell the mouse with the condition that you promise to keep it's birth name "The Dog". She is really quite sweet and well behaved and loves it when you open doors for her so if you are interested in purchasing The Dog please contact me. She has alot of personal and emotional importance to me and she is so well trained so I am charging $45 or the highest offer. Please don't argue over her with your friends if many of you want her, she's a one man mouse and so you will have to figure it out via a gentleman's dual, that is how The Dog would prefer it.

Um...what? I have read this over several times, and honestly can not figure out if this person is being serious or not. BUBBS does not always allow for sarcasm to come across very well. My inclination is that it is a joke...but what if it is not? Would someone actually pay forty-five dollars for a mouse? A white mouse? You can buy a white mouse at PetSmart for about two dollars. I should know. I do so once a week. To feed to my snake. Goodness. I hope this is not serious.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Quick Update Time!

Well, I survived (and even enjoyed) Thanksgiving.
And I survived the day after, opening at Bath & Body Works. I nearly enjoyed it, but it was insane and crazy. I now know that I can manage working retail, but it is certainly not what I want to do for the rest of my life.

I finally got all caught up on Alien Dice, which is happy. One down, twelve to go. Plus, you know, various videos/tv shows I'm supposed to be catching up on. Three of those, I think?
I changed my desktop background on my computer for the first time in two years. Does this mean I am starting to move on and heal? I hope so. Besides, Swiftpaw is just so cute!

My room is still a mess, and while it bothers me, I can not seem to find the energy to clean it up and get more organized.

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

Please not Haley, Please not Haley...

Ok, so I know that it is not totally healthy to get as emotionally attached as I do to characters in a webcomic. But Order of the Stick has a very special place in my heart, and I am very emotionally attached to the characters. Especially Haley. And the author is really good. And today's update...terrified me (the first one. it seems that there were two today...). On the other hand, the second update is excellent (and continuing in the terrifying category as well). I love Belkar. Not as much as I love Haley, and in a different way. But he is excellent. The author seems to be on a rampage today, as in his other comic (Erfworld), I think the main character just burst into dust? I am not really sure what happened, though, and I am not nearly as attached to him as to Haley.

I like webcomics. I follow too many already, and I have more of which I am currently reading through the archives. I do not add them to my 'others of interest' list until I am caught up on them. I made a list to keep track of what I am/ought to be reading, and I think there are seven or eight that will eventually be added to that list. And by the time those are added, there will likely be more to add.

My latest is Alien Dice. It is wonderful. Yay for that.

I do not think I could even choose a favourite among them. There are certainly ones that I like more than others, but within the group that I like more, I could not pick an absolute favourite, or order them in any way. They are all so good! Oh well. I guess I do not have to pick a favourite. It is just that I like order so much, I feel as though I ought to. Lists are happy. But not as happy as Girl Genius.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Gas for $1.88? Yespleasethankyou.

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

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

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

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Yesterday

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

2. Gatorade

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

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

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

Blessings on your travels.
Emily

JobJobJob.

That is to say, I got one.

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

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Grief

Hello again. Thank you for your patience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss you all so very much.

Blessings on your travels,

Emily

Beginning of the Beginning

I made it back to Spokane, managing neither to drive headlong into an oncoming truck, nor sneak off in the middle of the night to drive back south. I do not want to be here.

The end of one chapter? Yes, I suppose so. So that makes this the beginning of the next. But that does not mean that I have to like it.

I am going to take some time away from the computer. After some thought, I decided that I need time away to grieve. The past two weeks have been so filled with people and emotions - it was beyond draining for such an introvert as myself. So I need time. I will be back. My word on it. But for now, I am going to disappear for a bit.

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

A list.

So, apparently, Jane now reads my blog. (Hi Janegirl!)

And, apparently, this means that I ought to post more.

Which I suppose is legitimate, since as far as I know, she is the only person who does read my blog, due to the fact that NO ONE EVER COMMENTS. (bitter? me? what?)

-

Along with my having the problems with posting detailed in an earlier post, (goodness, was that already over a year ago?!) this week has been somewhat preventative on the posting front. Ever since Jane told me that I need to post more, I have been thinking of things to write about. I have come up with quite a list, as you will see. And it is not that I lack for time, not having a job and all. I simply have discovered why I have trouble writing. I have magnificent thoughts, ideas about which to write. And not magnificent ones as well - even quite plain ones at times. But I find it difficult to get them down on...computer screen. I have explained to a few of my friends this trouble I have, where I have what seems to be a full thought in my head, but once I attempt to put it into words, I can't seem to do so. This is even giving me trouble as I type right now! (I nearly put as we speak, but was prevented by the fact that neither of us are currently speaking. Well, you might have been, as I typed this, but I will probably never know.) So, anyway, actually writing things down that are swimming around in my (apparently liquidey) mind gives me trouble.

-

My other problem this week is that I seem to have lost my wit. I don't like writing without my wit, or even carrying on conversations. It is so dull (or perhaps terrifying?) to interact with people without a proper defense mechanism to retreat to. It has been a very long week, quite emotionally straining, and I just do not have the energy for wittiness at the moment.

-

You see the trouble I have with putting down thoughts? The title of this post is "A list." That would seem to imply that there will be a list here, but I have not even touched on it until just now, four paragraphs in. Goodness. Anyway, due to my two difficulties that seem especially aggravated this week, I have decided to give myself a to-do list. Or rather, a to-write-about-and-post list. Here is my list of things, deep and otherwise, I have considered blogging about over the past week:

1. Belonging
2. Gatorade
3. Recycling
4. Gmail/Facebook
5. Photography/Art
6. People in Oxford
7. List of things to write about (I suppose I can check that one off!)
8. Religion
9. Defense mechanisms
10. Coupons
11. Trust

So, I can not promise that I will get to all of these. Just know, dear Janegirl (and others?), that I do not write for a lack of topics, simply for a lack of...ability to write about them.

Yes.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Last night I dreamt of snow.

Well, it was actually more this morning, as I was dozing after my alarm went off. I rarely have dreams, so it stuck in my head particularly. I dreamt that I woke up and looked out of the window and that it was snowing. There was already perhaps an inch on the ground, and it was coming down at a moderate pace. And it filled me with such happiness.

And then I woke up for real, and could tell even with my blinds closed that it was another ridiculously sunny day.

I miss seasons. California is silly.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Lately...

The past few months have been rather crazy for me. I haven't really had time to write, although I often want to. This won't be an exhaustive post, but a quick update of my life. The semi-nannying job got more and more difficult as I came to the realization that my employer was insane. So this past Friday I moved back up toward the school. Now I am renting a room in a house from a nice couple, who seem to be sane so far - a plus in my books. However, renting costs money, which I don't really have. I barely have enough to last through October, whatwith rent, phone bill, insurance, and foodstuffthings. Nevermind that Isabel (my car) is overdue for a check-up, and is leaking oil. I desperately need a job, but can't find one. I was promised my entire life that once I had a college degree, I would be able to get a job, no problem. Seems that this is no longer the case, whatwith the economy downturn, and with everyone having been told that and subsequently going and getting a college degree. It nearly makes me wish I weren't taking the year off of school. I know that once I get my master's degree, I will have no trouble finding a job - SLPs are in high demand right now. But until then...notsomuch. I put in at an employment agency, and am hoping for a call from them...right...now. *sigh* Alas. Hopefully within the week. Also applying to jobs listed on craigslist.org, but that is somewhat discouraging, as I usually don't even get called, and have not had a call-back after any of the few interviews that I have had. So I am discouraged on that front. And attempting to not spend any money at all until I find something. This is difficult.

One thing that I worry about is gas money. Of course, who doesn't nowadays? I'm spending less than I did when I was living in RSM, since I was driving in two to three times per week. So that is good. However, when I was living there, I left my church and began attending a church in San Juan Capistrano, a few miles further south from RSM. I have fallen in love with it, and in the two months that I have been there I have felt so welcomed. I do not want to stop going there. But again, it is about thirty-six miles each way. Isabel gets maybe twenty-five miles per gallon on the freeway, so that is about three gallons per trip, or a little over fifteen dollars per week to drive to church. Right now I feel like since that is the only extensive driving that I am doing, it is okay for now, but I might have to skip a few weeks. We shall see, I guess.

So the job-hunting and lack of money is mostly what has been going on lately. I am glad to be back near Biola, back near my friends, though. It seems that most of them are fairly happy about that, as well.

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

Mixed Emotions on Two Subjects

It snowed yesterday, with more in the forecast. Probably warming up to mid-sixties by the weekend, though! On one hand, I'm happy, since I missed the best winter that we have had in goodness knows how long. (well, the weathermen and statisticians probably know, but that is beside the point.) On the other hand, however, it is June, and there really should not be snow in June.

I visited my library yesterday - the one in which I grew up, learned to read, learned to love reading, checked out so many books at a time I could barely carry them all, &c. This summer they started an adult summer reading program. I have not been in a summer reading program in a really long time. Even a 'goodness knows how long' time, with no caveat this time, since my librarian (Wilma, whom I love and who was the one who got me into reading and encouraged me and gave me more books than I could carry) said they do not have records of past years. The deal is that if you read three books between June first and August thirty-first, you get a two-for-one entrance coupon to the Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture. Which is pretty great, really. So Wilma got me to sign up. Here is my mixed emotions on the subject:
On the one hand (let us say, my left hand), I feel sort of silly signing up for it. I read anyway. I read lots and lots and lots. I sort of feel like this type of program is to encourage those who do not usually read to read a bit. On the other (right) hand, I feel somewhat slighted. See, my first book on the list will be Crime and Punishment - I am currently about one hundred pages from the end. The next one will be Nicholas and Alexandra - again, about eight hundred pages. Most people, I am sure, will be reading short books with little content for the same prize. And, on top of that, I will be finishing all in June, as I am flying back to California on July second. I hope that I will finish in time to actually use the coupon to the museum.
I like reading.

Thoughts of this week: A rambling post.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Arise, Shine...

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

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

So I cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Possible Hypocrisy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily