So, I was supposed to be driving home today, but instead I left on Monday. The reason? Well, I was supposed to get Nelly back from the shop and then party on down to Nashville today...but then they said she wasn't going to be ready till Monday. Okay, so no big deal, why not just keep with your plans and go down on Wednesday anyway considering you had said you were going to work and hang out with people on Monday and Tuesday? Well, the rule with the rental is that I have to have the rental back 24 hours after the car people say that Nelly is finished or my rental will turn into a pumpkin! No joke! As it turns out, RENTALS ARE ACTUALLY PUMPKINS. Fairy Godmother, CEO is making a fortune. Anyway, I promised the 'rents a week home, so I unexpectedly left home on Monday and headed to Nashville (but not without first cleaning my kitchen, vacuuming, doing laundry, unloading the dishwasher, picking up a Rx, dropping off a book to one of my favorite people, and running around like a headless chicken (have you ever thought why people say "a chicken with its head cut off"? So redundant. Headless chicken. Get on the band wagon. Do it. Or Else.).).
The drive itself was uneventful, praise Jesus. (Yes, that is not a comma splice. Jesus deserves to be IN THAT SAME SENTENCE). The highlights include the following:
1. My iPod dock would not fit in the car so I had to listen to the few CDs that I had with me. I listened to Inara George's All Rise CD 12 times. No joke. After I realized that I had listened to it 5 times, I decided to see how many more times I could listen to it without going insane. Answer: 12. But I seriously like that CD. I have listened to it another 2 times since being home.
2. A truck blew some serious tire-age and I got "sprayed" with rubber. Uber intense. I am still a little jumpy from the drunk driver running a red and smacking me. I am pretty sure that I started crying and screaming, "Why God? Why?" before I burst into laughter. You should have been there. You missed a great moment.
3. I had to make a stop to pick up a friend in Little Rock and drive her to Memphis. I had been driving for 6 hours so, when I picked her up, I was pretty zany. It was epic. I was going crazy (especially since she bought me a MOCHA!!). She also let me spend the night with her in Memphis. Restful win.
4. I drank an entire 2 liter of Diet Coke that this person had purchased for a gathering at my domicile on Sunday. I am pretty sure that I was the only one who had some at said gathering. That is to say, I drank two liters of Diet Coke in 3 days. I am proud of myself. My liver is failing.
5. I passed 24 cop cars. No tickets. Word to your mother's mother.
(Yes, I counted. I was bored).
Home is as always interesting. I am uber stressed cause that is what home sort of is. However, today has been nice. I had a dentist appointment (my last before I become a bona fide adult off of my parents' medical and off into the uninsured abyss!). Then I hung out with a friend. What? I have friends here?! Kind of. Yes. This was one of my mentees back in the day. That is right. Yours truly was a high school mentor to middle school/junior highers. Whoa. I had 6 girls. I have lost contact with three of them, but the other three I try to see when I come to town. Ti Hee Hee. (That was just to preserve the rhyme). It is weird/awesome. It is weird cause back in the day (nearly 5 years ago!) they were my "kids." Now the older ones have just started college and the younger ones are all juniors and seniors. What?! They have moved from being my "kids" to being my friends. That is awesome but weird. I am the older woman. WHAT!? In the day, we discussed things like crushes and mean teachers. Now we are discussing sex and employers. AARP is pending my membership. It is beautiful to see them grow and change. Sadly, two of them are no longer Christians part are card carrying Dawkin-ists. I am planning on praying for them more. Everyday, in fact.
Um, I was talking to my sister and this really depressed me. She is in a homeschool group called LCA. One girl named Brianna renounced the faith. She is one of Joanna's best friends. One day Joanna was hanging with a group of around 5 LCAers. One of the girls said to her, "You aren't allowed to invite Brianna. You can witness on your own time. Don't do it on mine." The girl who said this is a daughter of a pastor and is an "exemplar Christian." AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I invite you to be righteously angry with me.
Yesterday, Mark and I did a duet on recorder and banjo. It was freakin' adorable. I am planning to record that action and post it for your viewing pleasure once I buy some batteries.
Oy! My roommate from my last post got herself a blog. You should check it out. It is deep.
Okay. So I am going to go work out. My mom invited me to her aerobics class. Whoa budddy.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
A post about my wonderful roommate who is unwittingly sitting across the room playing guitar while I write this post....
I highly recommend living with a talented musician for all/some of your life. Living with a musician has drawbacks (like violins) but it has a lot--a LOT--of perks. Like live music. All the time.
Okay, so maybe not ALL the time, and not all musicians. I mean, if they are mean or obnoxious, you might not want to live with them. I think I may need to retract that statement and rephrase it: if you get a change, I highly recommend living with a musician who is/is like Maggie.
Sure, Maggie has her drawbacks being a grenade-shaped teddy bear and all. But, oh my goodness, she is awesome. She cooks, cleans, stays up till 3am with you laughing and crying about life, and is a Christian struggling and growing in Christ. I mean, Maggie FTW!!!
And of course, Maggie is an awesome musician (though her music is maybe 2% of why she is a great roommate). Let me set the scene for you. Finals are over. We are vegging out on the couch. The only light on is the kitchen light and our computers. It casts light on her face as she stares intently at her guitar. Normally, it is the mandolin that graces her lap, and the guitar looks behemoth in comparison. Her hair falls over the guitar as her fingers graceful pluck strings and dance over chords. Every now and then she exclaims "Oh!" or "That's how it goes!" It is an awesome sight, an artisan with her craft. I wish I had a video camera cause then in 20 years when VH1 is doing a series on from where famous musical people originated, I would be able to sell my footage.
As she is sitting on the little sofa in our living room, she is learning how to play this song by Inara George called Fool's Work. The last part of the song goes like this:
She spent about 5 minutes learning the song. Sometimes I am a bit jealous of Maggie's music ability. My musical ineptitude is even more apparent in the light of someone who definitely has a gift. I guess, living with a musician has its acoustic perks and downsides. For instance, right now. I love this song and I love Maggie's voice. She has the ability to evoke such sadness with it. Seeing her play is seeing a bit of her that is hard to talk about together.
I struggle with communicating with people, ahem, including/especially people I see a lot...or live with...but it is nice to know that there are other forms of communication other than talking. Like right now, just being with a person singing her heart out. There is something holy about that.
Anyway, pulling out from my own head, it is just so nice to hear live music in your living room as you veg out on the couch. It makes me feel drunk almost. It relieves tension. It is a way of being with someone I love and not worrying about the metanarrative of verbal communication. We are here together. That is it. How nice it is to be with someone without talking!
She is now working on another Inara George song called Mistress.
She just said to me, "That is the coolest effing chord progression I have ever heard!" She says that a lot cause she loves music. It is awesome to see. Tomorrow she is going home for break. I will miss her. Granted, I am happy about a break from living with people (cause living with people is hard). I am content with a break from being roommates with Maggie. But, I am going to miss her!
So, if you could live with someone like Maggie, I highly suggest it.
Okay, so maybe not ALL the time, and not all musicians. I mean, if they are mean or obnoxious, you might not want to live with them. I think I may need to retract that statement and rephrase it: if you get a change, I highly recommend living with a musician who is/is like Maggie.
Sure, Maggie has her drawbacks being a grenade-shaped teddy bear and all. But, oh my goodness, she is awesome. She cooks, cleans, stays up till 3am with you laughing and crying about life, and is a Christian struggling and growing in Christ. I mean, Maggie FTW!!!
And of course, Maggie is an awesome musician (though her music is maybe 2% of why she is a great roommate). Let me set the scene for you. Finals are over. We are vegging out on the couch. The only light on is the kitchen light and our computers. It casts light on her face as she stares intently at her guitar. Normally, it is the mandolin that graces her lap, and the guitar looks behemoth in comparison. Her hair falls over the guitar as her fingers graceful pluck strings and dance over chords. Every now and then she exclaims "Oh!" or "That's how it goes!" It is an awesome sight, an artisan with her craft. I wish I had a video camera cause then in 20 years when VH1 is doing a series on from where famous musical people originated, I would be able to sell my footage.
As she is sitting on the little sofa in our living room, she is learning how to play this song by Inara George called Fool's Work. The last part of the song goes like this:
Take up your hands
Lift them off your eyes
Couldn’t it be wrong to think you’re mad?
With such a face now
How long and sad.
I learned a way, I learned away from you.
From walking on a line, I keep some poise
But I’m all wrong now,
I make no noise?
I’ve been good to you, I’ve been good to you
What have I put through? No, I’ve been good to you.
Haven’t I been good to you?
She spent about 5 minutes learning the song. Sometimes I am a bit jealous of Maggie's music ability. My musical ineptitude is even more apparent in the light of someone who definitely has a gift. I guess, living with a musician has its acoustic perks and downsides. For instance, right now. I love this song and I love Maggie's voice. She has the ability to evoke such sadness with it. Seeing her play is seeing a bit of her that is hard to talk about together.
I struggle with communicating with people, ahem, including/especially people I see a lot...or live with...but it is nice to know that there are other forms of communication other than talking. Like right now, just being with a person singing her heart out. There is something holy about that.
Anyway, pulling out from my own head, it is just so nice to hear live music in your living room as you veg out on the couch. It makes me feel drunk almost. It relieves tension. It is a way of being with someone I love and not worrying about the metanarrative of verbal communication. We are here together. That is it. How nice it is to be with someone without talking!
She is now working on another Inara George song called Mistress.
The trick is to never look into their eyes
All the times, all the loaded times
And it’s belly up, and it’s hot and cold
All the time, all the loaded times
And it fights and it lies and it sighs and it sighs and it sighs
Will you take me as your mistress?
Could you ever love a mistress?
It never feels the same
She just said to me, "That is the coolest effing chord progression I have ever heard!" She says that a lot cause she loves music. It is awesome to see. Tomorrow she is going home for break. I will miss her. Granted, I am happy about a break from living with people (cause living with people is hard). I am content with a break from being roommates with Maggie. But, I am going to miss her!
So, if you could live with someone like Maggie, I highly suggest it.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Finals(') Week
So, is it Finals Week (with Finals acting as an adjective) or is it Finals' Week (possessive, equivalent to the Week of Finals)? I do not know and, instead of studying for my finals (definitely not possessive there), I debated with my roommate about such things. It was a nice diversion.
Speaking of diversions, people, do online stuff! Blog, post on peoples' facebook profiles, DO SOMETHING. I know you are ALL online mindlessly reading anything and everything to divert you from studying, so contribute to the meaningless stream of online fodder. I want there to be stuff to stalk on your facebook pages.
Oh, shout out to Jessie who just posted a summary of this article: http://visionarydaughters.com/2009/11/how-twilight-is-re-vamping-romance .
So, I know you probably won't read the article, but it is very interesting. Here is a quote from Systematic Theology that I found awesome:
Whoa. Intense. Of course, this quote is for men and pornography, but this is applicable to all of us. Especially to me. I enjoy escapism. In fact, I love escapism. I think that if I didn't have escapism, I would die. Hmmm...indication of sin, anyone?
This world sucks, right? I feel lonely, fat, ignored, and altogether like a pathetic excuse for something that exists and cognizes. So, if I can take a few minutes of my day to go to my "happy place" where I am thin, healthy, and the center of attention, I feel better. That can't be bad! Or so for many years I thought. But, it started to get more and more demanding. The more things sucked the more time I would want to spend daydreaming. More and more of my time got sucked up and I began to lose my grip on reality. No lie. I began to hate life more and more. Past tense? I am struggling with this RIGHT NOW!!
This is a problem for many people. I know cause I am so not wanting to study that after reading the article posted above, I wanted to look up fan fiction for Twilight. That stopped really quickly cause the second post I read was...uh...really inappropriate. Look at youtube. How many fan vids (videos of favorite movies or shows cut to different music) are there? How much time did these people spend writing and editing, creating and expressing the scenes in their heads? I am not accusing them without accusing myself. I just am too ashamed to show anyone how much time I spend in my happy place in my mind.
This sin has been in my life for as long as I remember. I struggled a lot with whether or not this type of mental escapism was a sin. I am not doing anything wrong. Is it a sin? I read verses like these: "For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ, being ready to punish every disobedience, when your obedience is complete." Okay, I thought, I am probably doing something wrong. But I didn't want to admit it.
I didn't want to ask people about it, cause for a long time I thought my fantasies (for that's what they are even though they are not always sexual per se) were a unique sin. No one else struggled with this. When I did ask people about it, they would quickly change the subject. See! I would tell myself. See! They think your problem is so bad that they won't even talk about it. I was so ashamed.
But then I talked to/read other people who said things like fantasies aren't bad! What's wrong with fantasizing about your husband? That's not a sin. Woot!!! I thought, A citation that says I am okay!!
They were wrong. They are wrong.
The core problem is not that I, we, go to a happy place. We all need a mental schema, a cognitive area where we can go and reflect on things and chew over what is happening in our lives. The problem for me and for you as well is that our happy place is not a place where God is (yes, I know God is everywhere!!! You know what I mean!! Please let me be loose and sappy!!). That is to say, our happy place should be turning to Jesus and not turning to Edward Cullen or Harry Potter, not to your wedding or your future children, not to when you are thinner or when you are rich.
Those things aren't real. God is real. Leave the Matrix of your mind. Embrace reality. Embrace God.
So, you may wonder how I am going to end this ranty blog post. Well, I am going to end it how I started it: talking about finals. So I am seeking escape from my finals via facebook, blogging, baking, and other internet activities. See where I am going with this? Yep, escapism from life and escapism from finals are directly related. But one is not a sin!! (At least, I don't think it is...opinions?). So, help me not sin! Post things!!
I am going to go study now...
Speaking of diversions, people, do online stuff! Blog, post on peoples' facebook profiles, DO SOMETHING. I know you are ALL online mindlessly reading anything and everything to divert you from studying, so contribute to the meaningless stream of online fodder. I want there to be stuff to stalk on your facebook pages.
Oh, shout out to Jessie who just posted a summary of this article: http://visionarydaughters.com/2009/11/how-twilight-is-re-vamping-romance .
So, I know you probably won't read the article, but it is very interesting. Here is a quote from Systematic Theology that I found awesome:
Because ours is an age with a will to fiction, the role of imagination is extremely important. Men who will not be governed by God’s word will not be governed by reality, because reality is not of their making. God having created all things, reality reflects the mind of God, not man. Hence, it is the essence of sin to resort to imagination to escape God’s law world.
Whoa. Intense. Of course, this quote is for men and pornography, but this is applicable to all of us. Especially to me. I enjoy escapism. In fact, I love escapism. I think that if I didn't have escapism, I would die. Hmmm...indication of sin, anyone?
This world sucks, right? I feel lonely, fat, ignored, and altogether like a pathetic excuse for something that exists and cognizes. So, if I can take a few minutes of my day to go to my "happy place" where I am thin, healthy, and the center of attention, I feel better. That can't be bad! Or so for many years I thought. But, it started to get more and more demanding. The more things sucked the more time I would want to spend daydreaming. More and more of my time got sucked up and I began to lose my grip on reality. No lie. I began to hate life more and more. Past tense? I am struggling with this RIGHT NOW!!
This is a problem for many people. I know cause I am so not wanting to study that after reading the article posted above, I wanted to look up fan fiction for Twilight. That stopped really quickly cause the second post I read was...uh...really inappropriate. Look at youtube. How many fan vids (videos of favorite movies or shows cut to different music) are there? How much time did these people spend writing and editing, creating and expressing the scenes in their heads? I am not accusing them without accusing myself. I just am too ashamed to show anyone how much time I spend in my happy place in my mind.
This sin has been in my life for as long as I remember. I struggled a lot with whether or not this type of mental escapism was a sin. I am not doing anything wrong. Is it a sin? I read verses like these: "For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ, being ready to punish every disobedience, when your obedience is complete." Okay, I thought, I am probably doing something wrong. But I didn't want to admit it.
I didn't want to ask people about it, cause for a long time I thought my fantasies (for that's what they are even though they are not always sexual per se) were a unique sin. No one else struggled with this. When I did ask people about it, they would quickly change the subject. See! I would tell myself. See! They think your problem is so bad that they won't even talk about it. I was so ashamed.
But then I talked to/read other people who said things like fantasies aren't bad! What's wrong with fantasizing about your husband? That's not a sin. Woot!!! I thought, A citation that says I am okay!!
They were wrong. They are wrong.
The core problem is not that I, we, go to a happy place. We all need a mental schema, a cognitive area where we can go and reflect on things and chew over what is happening in our lives. The problem for me and for you as well is that our happy place is not a place where God is (yes, I know God is everywhere!!! You know what I mean!! Please let me be loose and sappy!!). That is to say, our happy place should be turning to Jesus and not turning to Edward Cullen or Harry Potter, not to your wedding or your future children, not to when you are thinner or when you are rich.
Those things aren't real. God is real. Leave the Matrix of your mind. Embrace reality. Embrace God.
So, you may wonder how I am going to end this ranty blog post. Well, I am going to end it how I started it: talking about finals. So I am seeking escape from my finals via facebook, blogging, baking, and other internet activities. See where I am going with this? Yep, escapism from life and escapism from finals are directly related. But one is not a sin!! (At least, I don't think it is...opinions?). So, help me not sin! Post things!!
I am going to go study now...
Monday, December 7, 2009
Are you ready?
This post is going to be deep. It is going to move you. You will probably cry, most definitely laugh, and experience every gamut of emotion in between. Are you ready?
If you said yes, you are lying. You don't want to be emotionally manipulated. Or you're a masochistic. Either way, you have issues. If you said no, you stopped reading and I no longer have to deal with your insufferability. Good riddance and all.
This past week has been very emotional. My dearest friend is very sad, very very sad. That makes me sad. Not in an emotionally dependent way, but in the empathizing I-am-trying-to-be-in-community way. It is always hard when someone you love is hurt. It is almost harder than being hurt myself. I am a fixer. I want to fix everything. Even You. After years of getting so tired trying to fill my friends' metaphorical cracks with myself caulk, I had a nervous breakdown. Now I no longer try. Instead, I try to have Jesus fill in the metaphysical cracks with allegorical caulk but I can never seen to find Schrodinger's cat or figure out which way the strange androgenous figures are walking in that blasted Escher picture. Why, logic? Why?! So, that is trying. It is also trying not to verbally lambaste the figure that is more than a little responsible for this dear person's malaties (that word is not misspelled). Of course, the love of Christ compels me to love, but my flesh...ooohhh...it is so bad. One time, my older sister was in this abusive relationship with this guy. For narrative sake, let's call him Blake. He was pretty terrible, doing some aweful things I desire not to publish on the interwebs. Well, let's just say that I joined the FBI's junior something-or-other squad which basically meant that I pretended to do illegal things and then busted people. It took six months to get into the drug division (I mostly did underage drinking stuff). I then busted Blake's ass. He got 6 years but was killed in prison after 1. True story. Except for 2 details. You should ask me which 2 are incorrect. Oh wait. You probably just read my blog and never actually talk to me (for those of you who don't live in Norman, you are excused).
I am also sad because on Friday night a drunk female ran a red and totalled my car. I now have no car and a concussion. This is my 8th concussion. 8th. I have a splitting migraine which has been aggravated by working on my senior thesis. Also, Maggie is playing her violin which is terribly loud. I love hearing her play, but right now, I want her to stop so I can sit in silence and let the throbbing subside. Luckily, she has a date at 7 so that means only a few more minutes of madness. Speaking of Maggie, she was in the car with me. She is okay. Her knee is pretty swollen though. She is limping around and all. I feel bad. The accident wasn't my fault, but I was driving. I like to take responsibility for my passengers.
AH!! MY HEAD!! Pain puts me in an angry mood. I am angry. I hate everything.
No, I don't. I am thankful for my community. I had me some awesome community today. It was awesome. I mean, AWESOME! Phew. See, I don't hate everything. It is just this stupid concussion. Stupid.
Don't drink and drive, people. Don't do it. If you do it, you will hurt someone eventually. That may mean a concussion or death. Every time I see Maggie, I tell her that I am glad she is alive. Cause we almost died. If I had accelerated faster or had jumped on that light, I probably would have died. (The car struck the front of my car on my side, crunching my door shut.). Whoa.
My head hurts. Did I mention that?
Did I mention that I hate the violin?
Penelope. That was my car's name. She was named after Odysseus' wife. I will never forget you. I drove to Florida three times in you. I drove the Nashville-Norman route 30 times. I drove to Nashville and back in 48 hours once to see a concert with you. I drove to Dallas in hail storms. I hit the garage with you and that one mailbox that I didn't report and still feel guilty about. There was the week I had no where to live and lived out of your trunk. You were a great car. The best car a girl maturing into an adult could ever ask for. I miss you. I look for your face and get sad when I don't see it. I dream about the time we spent together. You were my sweetest downfall. I loved you first.
Did I mention that my heart is heavy in sorrow?
Did I mention that I am rejoicing and again I say rejoice?
Did I mention I love Christ and am encouraged and almost (dare I say it) hopeful?
God, you can have my car, my computer, and my iPod. You can have my head. Thanks for your blessings. Help me love and love well.
If you said yes, you are lying. You don't want to be emotionally manipulated. Or you're a masochistic. Either way, you have issues. If you said no, you stopped reading and I no longer have to deal with your insufferability. Good riddance and all.
This past week has been very emotional. My dearest friend is very sad, very very sad. That makes me sad. Not in an emotionally dependent way, but in the empathizing I-am-trying-to-be-in-community way. It is always hard when someone you love is hurt. It is almost harder than being hurt myself. I am a fixer. I want to fix everything. Even You. After years of getting so tired trying to fill my friends' metaphorical cracks with myself caulk, I had a nervous breakdown. Now I no longer try. Instead, I try to have Jesus fill in the metaphysical cracks with allegorical caulk but I can never seen to find Schrodinger's cat or figure out which way the strange androgenous figures are walking in that blasted Escher picture. Why, logic? Why?! So, that is trying. It is also trying not to verbally lambaste the figure that is more than a little responsible for this dear person's malaties (that word is not misspelled). Of course, the love of Christ compels me to love, but my flesh...ooohhh...it is so bad. One time, my older sister was in this abusive relationship with this guy. For narrative sake, let's call him Blake. He was pretty terrible, doing some aweful things I desire not to publish on the interwebs. Well, let's just say that I joined the FBI's junior something-or-other squad which basically meant that I pretended to do illegal things and then busted people. It took six months to get into the drug division (I mostly did underage drinking stuff). I then busted Blake's ass. He got 6 years but was killed in prison after 1. True story. Except for 2 details. You should ask me which 2 are incorrect. Oh wait. You probably just read my blog and never actually talk to me (for those of you who don't live in Norman, you are excused).
I am also sad because on Friday night a drunk female ran a red and totalled my car. I now have no car and a concussion. This is my 8th concussion. 8th. I have a splitting migraine which has been aggravated by working on my senior thesis. Also, Maggie is playing her violin which is terribly loud. I love hearing her play, but right now, I want her to stop so I can sit in silence and let the throbbing subside. Luckily, she has a date at 7 so that means only a few more minutes of madness. Speaking of Maggie, she was in the car with me. She is okay. Her knee is pretty swollen though. She is limping around and all. I feel bad. The accident wasn't my fault, but I was driving. I like to take responsibility for my passengers.
AH!! MY HEAD!! Pain puts me in an angry mood. I am angry. I hate everything.
No, I don't. I am thankful for my community. I had me some awesome community today. It was awesome. I mean, AWESOME! Phew. See, I don't hate everything. It is just this stupid concussion. Stupid.
Don't drink and drive, people. Don't do it. If you do it, you will hurt someone eventually. That may mean a concussion or death. Every time I see Maggie, I tell her that I am glad she is alive. Cause we almost died. If I had accelerated faster or had jumped on that light, I probably would have died. (The car struck the front of my car on my side, crunching my door shut.). Whoa.
My head hurts. Did I mention that?
Did I mention that I hate the violin?
Penelope. That was my car's name. She was named after Odysseus' wife. I will never forget you. I drove to Florida three times in you. I drove the Nashville-Norman route 30 times. I drove to Nashville and back in 48 hours once to see a concert with you. I drove to Dallas in hail storms. I hit the garage with you and that one mailbox that I didn't report and still feel guilty about. There was the week I had no where to live and lived out of your trunk. You were a great car. The best car a girl maturing into an adult could ever ask for. I miss you. I look for your face and get sad when I don't see it. I dream about the time we spent together. You were my sweetest downfall. I loved you first.
Did I mention that my heart is heavy in sorrow?
Did I mention that I am rejoicing and again I say rejoice?
Did I mention I love Christ and am encouraged and almost (dare I say it) hopeful?
God, you can have my car, my computer, and my iPod. You can have my head. Thanks for your blessings. Help me love and love well.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Never have I ever.
I never understood songs like Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats." Why would I want to dig my keys into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive? What would compel me to carve my name into his leather seats? Who in their right mind would take a Louisville Slugger to both headlights? Only psychopaths want to slit holes in all four tires just to teach someone to think before he cheats.
No one cheated on me. But I am that furious at someone. I would slit holes in his tires. I would slap him if I could. I am so consumed with hate for this person I wish God would just smite him. I am not a happy camper.
I am angry. I am not showing the love of Christ. This is a problem. I hope God can reign me in before I have another conversation with this man, or by all that is good and holy, I might just do something about which a country singer might croon.
Never have I ever been this pissed at anyone outside family. Never have I ever identified with a country song. Never have I ever needed Christ so much as now.
No one cheated on me. But I am that furious at someone. I would slit holes in his tires. I would slap him if I could. I am so consumed with hate for this person I wish God would just smite him. I am not a happy camper.
I am angry. I am not showing the love of Christ. This is a problem. I hope God can reign me in before I have another conversation with this man, or by all that is good and holy, I might just do something about which a country singer might croon.
Never have I ever been this pissed at anyone outside family. Never have I ever identified with a country song. Never have I ever needed Christ so much as now.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
To Sit in Solemn Silence...
I am awaiting my executioners. In seven minutes (now six), I have a committee meeting that will determine whether or not I can use my senior thesis as my senior thesis. It is a long story, but the general gist is that my research I chose to write up was from another university, from my work at NYU. I got this okayed with my advisor, with the capstone advisor, with my mentor, and my two readers. But, all of sudden, a week before I have to turn a bound copy in signed and all, they raise some questions as to the validity of my research. AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Why must these people hate me so?
In other news, I am still depressed.
Also and otherwise, I am trying to figure out how to teach persuasiveness. Luckily, Aristotle and Plato are helping me (Demosthenes and Cicero too), but if you know of anyone who can help teach that thing I just said, let me know.
I am exhausted beyond all reason.
Nyquill gives strange dreams.
In other news, I am still depressed.
Also and otherwise, I am trying to figure out how to teach persuasiveness. Luckily, Aristotle and Plato are helping me (Demosthenes and Cicero too), but if you know of anyone who can help teach that thing I just said, let me know.
I am exhausted beyond all reason.
Nyquill gives strange dreams.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Really?
There has to be a point when you can't cry anymore. I want to be there. I want to be done crying. Is there a tear duct removal surgery? Is there--is there balm in Gilead?
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