Yellow means warning for good reason
I've been sorely underusing an important component of any car-- the horn. Just thinking about all those poor, deprived people out there who want to utilize that angry, annoying appendage but can't, or even worse off, people who have no cars at all; it makes to sad to think that in the three and a half years that I've been driving my car, I've used it three times. The first time was the obligatory "breaking in" of the new car, when I pressed every button, pushed every lever, just out of pure excitement and curiosity. The second time was when I was in the car with Bella in front of Walgreens, and a car was backing up out of a parking spot and apparently didn't see the fairly large, weighty object behind her. Thank goodness it wasn't a smile child or maurading circus clown or something. And the third and final time I've used my car horn was last summer when I was working at the Handicapped Development Center, and the group I was taking to the zoo was so excited about seeing an oncoming truck on the highway with the words "smile" on the side (it was a Colgate distributing truck), that I was coerced into giving the friendly "beep beep" as it passed in front of us, so that the driver could do the same, only in slightly amplified decibals.
I was thinking about this sad fact as I pulled into the school parking lot this morning, after a very near miss with a passing vehicle. Being on Grand Ave., the hotspot for impetuosly blindsighted college students, crackheads and vagrants (yes, sometimes synonymous), I am on high alert on most occasions while driving. Today though, semi-awake and only a quarter of the way caffeinated, there must have been a higher power at work which directed me from harm's way and the school bus that was rambling its way north at top speed, using two out of three lanes. Apparently two lanes weren't enough, because it greedily crossed the median into mine, albeit at an intersection. Deciding that he was already halfway between here nor there, the driver did a U-turn and sped off gleefully, leaving me in a state of frenzy, agitation, and disbelief. A schoolbus driver, of all people, who supposedly go through stringent licensing regimes... As aforementioned, there are things that I don't use quite often enough in daily life, like the sometimes necessary car horn, but I'll make an addition to that growing list. In this case, I was thinking that I definitely don't make enough use of my middle finger in all of its glorified, tried and true, American symbolism.
All things to work on.
Magnification not needed
Sudden realizations can be good, bad, scary, or in my case, a combination of the three adjectives that surged like a volt of electricity. Standing there idly in front of a copier machine in the 70's decor, windowless and stuffy med school library, I watched the sheets of paper being ejected from the machine one by one. By the time the compiled stack had become large enough to be called a textbook I had lost count. This is, and forever will be, my life. Academia, even in its most glorified form has never aspired to be fabulously exciting, or even so close as glitzy or glamorous. It's a bunch of nearsighted people poring away over age old books, examining lab specimen, and toting around their laptops so that every spare minute can be spent in a productive manner. Maybe that's me, maybe its not. Only time will tell. As I'm feeling a little attention deprived today, there won't be much substance to dissect in detail. .
Bonne nuit, lune
It's all about perspective after all. Today should have been the day from hell, but because I could not and would not let myself play the pity card in my own paradigm of solitaire, it turned that I was in fact, dealt a winning hand. I just couldn't foresee it in my shortsightedness. I'll keep this uncharactistically succinct tonight, in that I can't will myself to write on indefinitely. I just got back from a nice walk around campus with Aaron, and I didn't realize how much there was I still haven't seen of this vast school. Although we never did find the elusive practice rooms. Just as well I suppose, as it's been so long since I've approached a piano it might recoil in fear, and I don't know if my own ears or the ears of unknowing passer-byers would be very appreciative.
But beyond that, I should make note that someone important in Kelley's life passed away recently, and for that I am truly sorry, and will send out a prayer for her family in hope that this hardship will be short-lived and bearable. It's a reminder of how the dimension of time is fleeting, even if we are able to burrow our own niches and find comfort in it awhile, it's hardly static. So to all who are or were a part of my life, and to whom I am a part of yours, I thank you and wish you all well.
I am suddenly reminded of my favorite childhood book, Goodnight Moon, in which every night before bed a little girl recites sweet blessings of slumbar for the expectation of tomorrow and the days to come. Tonight I feel inspired to reminisce a bit and say my own version that I used to everynight, but haven't in what seems like ages. And so I whisper quietly so that no one overhears, "goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight dear friends and family everywhere. "
Emotional grazing
So in a very concerted personal effort to be honest yet still somewhat subtle, it seriously surprises me when a person is brutally and unabashedly upfront about what they want, and in a manner of very few words. Maybe I'm naive or ignorant of how the way things operate in this "adult" world, but quite frankly, it can sometimes scare the begeesus out of me. Just a random, sort of non-sensical thought for a Saturday evening.
On to more literal subjects like the details of the course of the weekend thus far, I went to a high school football game last night. Anyone could tell you that I'm to no great extent a football fan, but the group I went with was entertaining and fun, and that, combined with the fact that I was pretty hallucinogenic/lethargic/sleep-deprived at the time, deterred from the fact that I had no idea what was going on throughout the game. Last night was so reminiscent of so many things; it was like delving into a time warp of sorts, but with different people. It was high school again, but the "good" parts of high school that didn't remind me how much I hated being that age, trapped in a body, a mind, a life, and a social sphere that I couldn't control. But in other aspects, it was college again-- how many countless weekend nights did I spend hangin' out playing card games and watching a movie? All in all, it was a good mixture of both old and new, past and present, and it was infinitely more fun than what I should have been doing (which pervades my every thought and decision) which could have been more physiologically beneficial or productive.
Today was intially ho-hum in terms of events, but later turned out to emit some significance. I had a meeting scheduled this morning to go over our Ethics group presentation. I don't think I had or will ever, in any case, recover from general insanity, though it was strange for me to be so jittery and verbose. Not a good combination. I was flying off in tangents at random, but actually, it spurred some really great conversation. We talked until we were essentially blue in the face (I really really wanted to use the term cyanotic here, but suppressed it) about genetic implications of prenatal screening, abortion, and degenerative disease. Just the lively, upbeat topic we wanted for a Saturday morning. I walked out of that meeting feeling mentally exhausted, ready to crawl back into bed. However, it was off to meet Anne and play mentor for awhile. How is it that this is the third person I've talked to in the last month and had to tell them how it's "okay" to not know what your life's goals and destination are at this exact second? And I should really be the one to divulge this advice... right. But, we ended up having a lovely lunch, along with a pretty profound conversation, although I felt like I monopolized much of it. In the end, she expressed such sincere gratitude that it was hard not to believe that I might have helped in at least some way. It's funny how people pass through our lives so quickly that they sometimes hardly make an impression, but others we will always hold some thread of connection with. I only hope that she finds her way, and while I'm hoping for something, that I'll find mine.
she tries her best to stay awake
alert and aware
of surroundings new
of faces unfamiliar
of tasks never attempted before
pressing both hands squarely against the glass
she leans forward
just enough so that she can’t see her own reflection
there
she blinks quickly
just once
just to see
if the 18 hours
then 17 days
and then 2 years
have erased him
~sln
Merely words, merely filling
Geez, I lead a mundane, disproportionately dull life. Even finding something remotely of interest to blather on about for a few paragraphs is suddenly too tasking. Because I'm sure what everyone wants to read about is compartmentalization of toxins within the biosphere, or the ergonomics of workers within the semi-conductor profession. Nope, I didn't think so. I could barely keep from taking a permanent vacation to La-La Land for the 7 hours I was in class today. I imagine, though don't quote me on this, this land would be filled with munchkins (because "little people" I believe is now the PC term, are sorely underrepresented in reality) skipping and carousing about on tiny little day-glow mopeds and miniature scooters with rainbow streamers flying in the wind. They would all each have a basket of green lollipops which they would hand out at free will, and function much like human jukeboxes-- request a song and hear it sung to you, however many times you wish. Hmmm, maybe this isn't my own fabrication of a dreamland afterall, but merely a mutant version or plagiarism of R. Dahl's Willy Wonka and his Chocolate Factory.
Anyways, the end of the school day, a HUGE Toxicology exam that I pulled an all-nighter for, and essentially, stress and massive anxiety attacks have induced this: blatant and outright stealing of someone else's grand scheme for an imaginary world, in additon to what I term as "mushy brain syndrome". I don't know which is worse, the fact that would not be able to formulate a logical thought even if the universe and all beings' existence depended upon it, or that I just wrote an entire paragraph about a fictional place run by munchkins. I seem to be leaning towards the latter...
On a slightly more serious, but I think of as still somewhat comedic, note, I got a call during my Tox test. This was strange in itself, seeing as no one ever calls me during the day (bless the fruitful idea of "nighttime minutes" on cell phone plans). It was a student, a senior at Wash U. who asked me to be her mentor in her process of deciding to or not to go into the field of public health. Ummm, "okay", I thought, "that was random..." I guess I was referred to her by our admissions advisor here at SLU. First and foremost in my thought process, I made a mental pros and cons list. So, given the obligatory thirty-seconds to formulate a proper response, I came up with: Cons-- huge chunks of my time are already sectioned off to my job(s) and school and studying. Second Con: "what the heck do I know about mentoring someone in choosing a profession? Third Con: do they know that I actually don't like this field of work and don't really intend to make it my own career? By the end of this list, it looked more like an outline with Roman numerals and the like for each subset of each con. Then, onto Pro's. I had to think about this one. Somehow the fact that I cannot say no to people couldn't be justified. So, in the end, my thirty seconds were up, and I agreed. Thinking back, maybe if I had had a mentor, maybe this whole process would have been much easier. I guess what I'm essentially afraid of is not being objective enough; that I'll infringe upon her views, although ultimately it's her decision to make, isn't it? I'm not persuasive enough to change someone's entire mindset-- which is obviously why I didn't go into law.
Anyways, so there it is, and there it will remain until I, or some fateful act of the cosmos makes it otherwise. I just realized, in skimming past what I've just written approximately six minutes ago, that it's all fluff. I've contributed nothing of significance. On a typical, semi-functioning brain day, I might care about the effects of sending more dribble out into the cyber stratosphere. Today, however, I say it's my blog, and I'll do what I want with it. So there.
Desert drabble
I suppose there are two sides to every problem and or situation, depending on how you view it. My work computer, for the second time in two weeks, has a virus and so keeps giving me obscene pop-up messages. I swear I haven't been frequenting any of these sites to initiate it! :-) The last time I called ITS it took them 13 days to come fix the problem, which essentially took 4 and 1/2 minutes of their "labor"(not that I was timing it or anything). And actually, they didn't come under their own volition, or even because of work obligation. The situation was just becoming completely absurd according to Dr. Lomperis, so she called again on my computer's behalf. Speaking in a tone known as the "angry but rational mother voice" which I'm sure we all know well, they came within the hour. I'm learning so much more working from her than how to do literature reviews; apparently this is what it takes to get things done. So anyways, I tried to emulate as best I could earlier today, but failed miserably. I couldn't get myself to be that stern or even slightly intimidating to a person, whom I imagine by the sound of his voice, was just a stodgy but genial middle-aged man, stuck in a job he didn't foresee himself in twenty years ago. I should expect my computer to be fixed sometime in the next quarter century, I imagine, if this is how the course of action proceeds. That's alright, I've snagged myself a computer here in the student lab because it's somewhere in the middle of the lunch hour, and it's so silent that I could foresee tumbleweeds and herds of horses rolling by amidst the emptiness. That's about all the imagery I could scrounge up of dry desert scenes from old westerns, seeing as I've never really watched an entire one.... Hmmm, I was sure there was something else that had been forming a gooey plaque in my thoughts today that only writing about would alleviate, but time constraints and responsibilities do not allow for idle meandering (ie, synonym for writing).
Hot pink toenails and big cuddly teddy bears
(things, that if left in childhood, are sorely missed)
It's another Tuesday in a long succession of past and future Tuesdays, and I have to say, this one hasn't been half bad. It's amazing how many people will come up and ask why you're smiling, but avoid you like a communicable disease if you're frowning. I can only think of two specific causes for smiling today, though I've been wearing a grin like a daring fashion statement. First, was when the term "burlesque" was explained to me, as well as the reason why any guy of sane mind would of course be interested in going to see one. After politely declining the invitation to see one merely out of curiosity, I read an e-mail that also gave me that "warm fuzzy feeling". Though succinct in form, the message essentially contained two "really's" and one "awesome", referring to me. Whether completely heartfelt or not, it was nice to know that someone, even if for the ten seconds that it took to address and send the e-mail, was thinking about me. There will probably be more sappiness and sentiment spewing forth throughout the day, as it is early yet, and that's the mood that I'm in. However, as I'm actually supposed to be working on bibliographic references at the moment, which does not leave much room for subjectivity nor anything resembling spurious thoughts, I must be getting back to this other realm of reality. Though, I'll probably be singing along to the Shrek soundtrack at top volume in my head while I'm there. :-)
Declarations and disapprovals
I've neglected you, my dear empathetic web log, in pursuit of higher education this weekend. It's been two exceedingly long days since I've scrolled out my fanatical incoherent thoughts. 13 1/2 hours of class over a 48 hour period normally bludgeons any creative inkling that might have hence existed. In surveying the actual productivity of having eight hour classes, I find very little. In fact, the only specific concept garnered from yesterday's health administration class was that Prof. O'neall used the term "data" in a singular form, and it annoyed me for at least the rest of the hour until our five minute break. It's the data "are", not "is". But, nitpicking grammer aside, this class was the epitome of my prevailing cause against soapboxes. I essentially learned that as people in this professional field, we have every right to tell people what they're doing is dirty and wrong, although in a snooty high-falutin way, disguised in public policy so they can't point fingers directly at us. I'm not sure if I'm dissecting this whole concept too microscopically, but isn't that the same thing as deceit? Granted, it follows the Machiavellan principle of "the end justifies the means" which has proven itself over time, and is based on the fact that the greater good of all trumps fraudulence and the method in which to convey the message. But then again, maybe I haven't experienced enough of the curriculum to squelch this morally bothersome feeling.
Along the same lines of things that are mildly vexing, I'd think that in a city with a population of 2.5 million people, I wouldn't have so many chance encounters with the one person whom it is troublesome to see and who induces minor pangs of anxiety. But maybe, just maybe, one of these days I won't react in the skittish, extremely immature way that apparently I'm very capable of, even if I've been told otherwise.
Alright, so that last paragraph didn't technically have three sentences in it, but this is a completely new topic, so I'll break the rules of structure this time. As evident to me, not only is this web log my means of expression, it also is highly therapeutic. However, it appears that it may also be the causative agent and initiator of bad feelings towards me. Although I am extraordinarly slow at recognizing harbored anger towards myself, I do eventually notice when someone who used to make great efforts to call or spend time with me all of a sudden drops off the sphere of existence. The only logical explanation is that I've offended said person with my beliefs and denouncement of the Archbishop. And also, through the physicality of words read, maybe I've shattered this "illusion" that they've had about me. While I don't think in any consequence that I should apologize for my beliefs, and that if they were truly a friend, they would accept this and move on, I will express regret for letting them think I was something I'm not. I won't and can't be the person that accepts all concepts of faith, order and principle forcefully instilled in me. They're probably a better, more righteous person for it. I hold true to the belief in ethical relativism-- that through culture and experience, we all eventually find our own code of ethics. And possibly even more farfetched but not absolutely unfeasible, is the idea of moral nihilism, that there might indeed not be a truly correct way of being. Regardless, I think that friendship revolves around acceptance, and that there has to be some form of give and take. But for now, if the side that has to yield is me, I'll be happy to do that if it means one more good, truly inspirational conversation, or even a hearty laugh over something silly and menial.
Message in a bottle
Alright, I do admit even though I loathe the public health curriculum in general and think that although most of the people in the program have a natural inclination towards altruism; over time and medical education, have developed really huge egos and want to stand on their soapboxes and tell "laymen" what and how to eat, live, and pretty much any other human function available. However, that is not to say that I don't think that much of what I'm learning is indeed valid and of dire concern. I just don't enjoy the manner in which health outcries are managed, and definitely think policy distrubution is not always fair or even ethical. But that's another story entirely.
But let me stand on my own personal soapbox for a moment, if you will, because my intentions are good. Through my own, albeit limited background in biology and biochemistry, I couldn't have avoided the work of Dr. Bruce Ames even if I had made a nice dwelling under a rock for the past six years. His hyperloading of vitamins theory makes complete sense, and will ultimately be his life's work (as he is 80-some years old) besides the Ame's microbial assay where he proved that even through the most unsuitable of living conditions, microbes will acclimate through biochemical adaptation in order to survive. But I digress. Through unhealthy lifestyles in additon to the process of aging, our own bodies rebel against us, releasing free-radicals that cannot be "mopped up" by natural defenses. Therefore, we need a daily intake and supplemental vitamins such as the six types of co-enzyme B and C; but ideally, we should be getting the span of the alphabet. Genetic mutations within the human population (including those which cause cancer) originate from the reduced ability of an enzyme to bind with its coenzyme, and thus the rate of metabolic catalyses are sometimes severely limited. While this is by no means an effective indicator of the true results in humans, prior studies on rats and mammals have shown that anti-oxidative agents have proven to alter dramatically improve the condition of 11 of the 50 mutagenesis reactions. I think that that is something worth looking into. But in the meantime, we should all TAKE OUR VITAMINS. Even if as a precautionary measure, where's the harm in spending a mere twenty seconds opening a bottle and popping a pill? Anyways, as I can feel myself wanting to stray further from my original message, and I honestly didn't want to go into all of that previous science "mumbo-jumbo", that's all for now, and this is me, stepping down from my soapbox. Over and out.
A thread in a week's worth of fabric
After feeling like the will to live was just completely beaten out of me yesterday, I am surprisingly much more upbeat today. After two weeks, I've finally got the volume setting on my alarm clock perfect. If you will indulge my OCD for a moment, it was actually a painstaking process. Every night before bed I would turn the volume dial two and a half notches counter-clockwise, only to discover that it would still induce much too much of a spastic jolt in the morning. But on this fateful day, only a mere thirteen days into this experiment, I was awoken quite gently to the soothing sounds of Coldplay. It's a silly thing to be excited about, but thus is the extent of anything exciting in my life. :-)
And so I will end my entry today with a bit of well meaning advice for the guys out there (or I suppose, to be perfectly fair, girls as well) in your quest for the perfect pick-up line. In the ideal scenario you wouldn't have to formulate one. But, if in the off chance that you do indeed decide that a cheesy opener is what you need to attract the opposite sex, please, under NO circumstance use the line: "hey freshness, why don't you come over here and be my precious?" Let me minutely dissect what is wrong with the prior sentence: first and foremost, if you're a mildly creepy looking person, you should not approach someone on the street in the middle of the night and say this. Second, if the order of reactions that you get after uttering these words is one of confusion, then disdain, and then finally fear and trepidation, you should definitely not "try and try again". I cannot stress this point enough. That's all for now; I just wanted to give my two cents worth of advice out of a personal experience from last night.
The chains that bind us...
Perspective came back as a slap in the face tonight with surprising agility and force in the form of two very depressing, but very different phone calls. The first was with mom, whom I had called because I was worried that she hadn't been feeling well again; I didn't want her to do her evening laps in the pool alone. Her initial response was very uncharacteristically bitter, in that she said: "well, at least someone cares". She and Bella have been brewing this little cauldron of resentment over the past few months because unlike me, and in addition to financial considerations, Bella decided to commute to college. Being the independent spirit that I never was and am only aspiring learn to be, I think she feels shackled, chained to the stronghold of home. She's struggling, with utmost will and resilience to break away. What I don't think she realizes is that we'll both always, always keep those chains bound to us tightly; the restraints that keep us in, they also keep us safe from harm's way. Two hundred and eighty-six point six miles away from this center, I've learned to embrace these ties, and know that where ever I may choose to situate myself, no matter how displaced I may feel initially, that warm glow in the hazy morning coming from our porch light will always be there for me, even hypothetically.
But how do you explain that to an 18 year old who only sees the black and white print and not the integral grey smudges that make up the entire picture? She only understands that mom is "babying" her and won't let her make her own choices and live her own life. But what she doesn't see are the almost exasperating conversations I have with mom to try to help her understand her own daughter and the life-changing transition that she's experiencing as a college freshman. Then, on the ever flippant other side, I think that her role as a mother has overshadowed her ability to remember what it is like to be an "almost adult"; someone who is rash but responsible, headstrong but lenient, willfull and arrogant but also compassionate-- ready to take on the world in a moment's notice. She and Bella are so amazingly alike, it's like opening up a time capsule whenever I speak to the both of them. They'll see this someday and learn to love the fault in eachother because they are mirrored in themselves. I wish they could see it now. I think that inside the framework of this grey-smudged picture lies an even smaller, essential portrait. It's a portrait of our family, the love that we have for one another: the kind of love that causes infuriating arguments and sheer frustration and anger. God I love family-- headaches, hours of lost sleep, multiple episodes of hysterical tears and all.
First upward, then wayward, finally downward
I'm beginning to really hold true to the belief that it's not going through the motions of our daily lives that builds character, values, a sense of morale or justice-- these are just split second decisions after all, comparable to the forethought that goes into either coasting to a stop or running through that yellow light at the intersection. It essentially teaches us nothing. The ultimate lesson comes in form of regret, repercussion, or remorse over past action or inaction. How much of this life is dictated by prior mistakes? And if the answer is indeed significant, how do I keep from retracing the same familiar path over and over again?
Song of existence:
Dave Matthews Band~
Grey Street
The practice of care
Even the short visits that I make to the Oncology and Stem Cell Tranplant floors every day induce minor pangs of anxiety, that I've figured out isn't all necessarily due to having to harangle nurses into compliance for our study. It's the pain, the anguish, the small inkling of hope that slowly fades, all of which can be seen by looking at a family member or friend of anyone who is unfortunately staying in one of the 40 beds on this ward. 40 beds, 40 real people, 40 personal stories of the journey to, through, and hopefully away from illness.
But in the midst of all this sadness, I remember that there is unbounded, limitless goodness as well. It's not only in the hands of practitioners, but also in the seemingly small acts of sentiment: cards, flowers, even so little as a smile and a "good morning". Because it is; every morning is a good morning when realize we have the previous day to look back upon and the next one to look forward to.
Just one more for a five part harmony in my head
I sometimes wonder if these little bouts of isolation are really none other than some appendage of schizophrenia. It seems that all I want to do right now is listen to terribly sad, desolate songs about heartbreak. At the moment, it's Everybody Plays the Fool. So not only am I resurrecting these little reminders of forays into sadness, they also must be reminisicent of just how bad eighties' music could be. A little part of me wishes I could easily place the blame on a chemical imbalance, because everyone knows what a little miracle pill Prozac is... but the larger, more persuasive part of me cites something else as the underlying cause. And this is terribly frightening; because if I'm not sure of the inner workings of my own mind, how must I venture to decipher others' more complicated thought processes and go on to build meaningful relationships? But then again, maybe it's the voice of pure exhaustion talking, becoming suddenly verbose and outgoing, as it has been squelched both by workaholism and the desire to balance some semblance of a social life, all week. Speak little one, speak.
Unmasking and other such symbolism
Apparently I'm not as spry as I once was (yeah, I really just wanted to use the word "spry" today), because I'm starting to feel the repercussions of a late night out. We went to see Team Tomato last night at this cute little Italian bar/restaurant, and I got to thinking about perception and the image we want to portray as opposed to the one we actually do. I guess that's one of the aspects of hanging out with people you also work with- day in and day out I see Eric and Sean in one light (really terrible dim fluorescent that is) but by night, one is a hard core rocker and the other excudes this energy and demeanor completely different from what I term as the "9 to 5" persona. So, I must wonder if this is true for me as well. But it must be, because I've gotten the "I can't believe you _______ (insert imaginative act here)" line many times before, usually out of a normal work or school context.
This got me thinking about the idea of deception, and if it's really deception if we're just doing it to shield ourselves from either pain or embarassment over past pain. Because in its truest sense, if we hide our most innermost thoughts from showing themselves either in emotion or words, isn't that technically deception? I guess what sparked that was that when I walked into the bar, I noticed that Leslie was there, Eric's ex-fiance, whom he has only spoken about in the bitter tone of someone who has been completely shattered by an experience of love. But as he was up there "rockin' it out", I didn't get the distinct impression that he was all too scathed by her presence, even though I think if I looked close enough, something in his eyes would give it away. We've all been through it; we wouldn't have a sense of compassion without knowing exactly how much "hurt" hurts. But if we were to wear that chip on our shoulders prominently and not hide it behind the other skeletons in our closet, what would that necessarily do? In a world where we only share our deepest, most pure emotions with strangers whom we pay to provide the proverbial couch and an the ability to solve all of our inner anxieties and puzzles, what would happen if we actually found an outlet for all of these feelings with people who actually care about us for the sake of friendship and love and not because they were clinically trained to?
OH MY GOSH, this is the funniest website ever! As if I needed more excuses to waste time at work. Our new goal in the office is to get the chicken to wag his finger at us by inciting indecent commands. :-)
http://www.subservientchicken.com
A little dose of the giggles
What kind of alternate, multi-dimensional, upside-down universe must I live in for people to be walking around in turtlenecks and winter PARKAS in 75 degree weather? Oh that's right, one where it's normally a hundred and five--Thousand degrees during the summer and hair is practically burnt off every surface of your body upon stepping outside... But goodness, it was strange to see regardless, even if it might have been normal, say if I had been at the hospital where peoples' health might be compromised by moderate temperature changes. But this was at school, just this afternoon. Weird.
Speaking of unnecessary apparel, I can barely hobble down the hall to my cubicle at the moment due to these blisters on my feet. But, forgive the stereotypical femininity for a moment; it's so worth it because of how cute the shoes are. :) In regard to that, I received two compliments today, which wouldn't be that unusual in that I encounter more often than not friendly, chatty people, but these comments were from members of the male persuasion. This I thought was odd in that most can rarely see more than one shade of red and very unfortunately think that it's perfectly okay to wear brown shoes with black shirts. I fought back the urge be ironic or sarcastic as per a conversation yesterday and joking reply to every compliment I receive in the form of: "thank you, I'm amazing, I know.". :-) Instead, I opted for a little more modesty and laughed about it later.
Never too old for a slumber party
Never underestimate the cure-all effects of extremely spicy Thai food in helping to clear up sinus congestion. In fact, it was so deliciously hot that I'm still experiencing the aftermath. Ahhhhh... It's like a sauna in my mouth.
It's funny, if anyone had ventured to tell me five years ago that I'd become good friends with Brian, enough so that he and I could have long winded conversations about social perception, books, climbing, meditation, and essentially anything else random and quirky, I would have probably looked at them as if they had burst into an entire dialogue in Pig Latin. But lots of things change after high school. Last night he and Emily, his cool camp counselor friend from England, came to visit en route to Chicago and ended up crashing at my place for a night since it was quite late when we finally made our way home from dinner and chance encounters with entirely too many people with the "I'm surprisingly and overwhelmingly cheery for a Tuesday night syndrome". It was definitely interesting setting up camp in my apartment and trying not to step on them as I was getting ready to go to work in the early morning, pitch black still, hour of the day. They won't be leaving until later today ( I figured it would be cruel to make them leave at the ungodly hour that I do for work). It's strange to think that just a few short months ago this whole city seemed so foreign and lonely to me, but now not only do I call it home, but am comfortable and excited to share it with others.
My Christmas "wishlist" includes books and... a tele-transporter.
Hmmm, if I were to wish for something that would be extremely useful at the moment... Who would have thought that the incoming 2006 MPH class would infringe on my daily routine so much? Darn them, the many enthusiastic students who care about the health and well-being of the general public. So many of them, in fact, that our building cannot accomodate everyone, and the problem even overflows into the parking lot, which last year was abundant in spaces. My minute by minute plan today was shot to "h", "e" double hockey sticks. Left Barnes at 10:58, which left two minutes to exit the building, 11 minutes to walk to my parking garage, 2 minutes to get to the stoplight on Euclid and Lindell (which is the 9 minute checkpoint to school), and three minutes to get into Salus Center, which then leaves me the "five minute" obligatory early arrival time. But yet today I spent those precious five minutes circling the parking lot which was creepily full and left me with a feeling of agitation over having to park on the street, which then leaves me wondering every other second if my car is currently being driven by a 38 year old, unlicensed, uninsured felon with a goatee, and severely frustrated that I pay 500 dollars a year to avoid such worries. :-(
A brief synopsis of "Contentment for Dummies"
Here’s my version of Mad Libs that I play by myself when no one’s watching: “What makes me feel happiest right now is _______.” Accomplishment will fill in this blank quite nicely, I think. I’ll take it in whatever form it may come. Today it disguised itself as getting an extra two hours of sleep (finally), running consistently at a nine minute mile pace, laundry, surprising myself with how much work can actually be done when not distracted, enjoying the peace and unusual quiet of Barnes, and making my way like a wayward traveler through an Asian ethnic food store so that I could compile all the ingredients for spring rolls, which I painstakingly toiled over this evening. Although they never reached Mom’s caliber and expertise, knowing that I at least endeavored to create something reminiscent of home added its own unique flavor.
It’s funny how a string of strangely good days can change one’s perspective. Paradigms are palpable, maybe even moldable after all. God forbid, am I actually enjoying becoming a grown-up? Gasp! Knowing that the days of swinging until sunset aren’t that far behind, intermingled with sweet kisses in the moonlight and dancing in the dusk, and that each day brings about a surprising new sense of self, this isn’t an entirely bad place to be.
Mother nature versus mother nurture
Just to appease my inner reclusive social hermit I had to get away from it all for a moment. I admit, I've been unfaithful. My journal and I went on a romantic excursion yesterday afternoon. :-) This weekend has been absolutely filled to the brim with fulfilled intentions of "we should get together sometime and catch up". And admittedly, it's exponentially better having that "warm fuzzy feeling" that comes from friendship bonds.
On a side note, as my mind often wanders off during class, church, and every other various situation possible, I realized that I'll never have an adorably sweet baby with blonde ringlets. He or she might be adorable and or sweet (I suppose those two could be mutually exclusive traits), but she'll never be blonde, as it's a recessive allele. Obviously this would sound insane to everyone else who has not lived my life, but I know Bella would understand. 18 years of living in a demographically Caucasian, suburban town has ironically erased race. No one ever treated me as if I were different, so I never had any cause to think I was. The whole issue never even occured to me until the first week of college when the clerk at the counter of the department store blatantly assumed after looking at me that I must not speak English and so of course, treated me like I was hard of hearing and stupid. It was absolutely absurd and ignorant, but somehow almost understandable, being that she was from a very small, not very assimilated rural town. That still leaves such an amazingly deep impression on me. But I digress. I was thinking, before my wild tangent, that there are many things that are completely unalterable, regardless of motive, intention or faith, and somehow that thought leaves me a little sad.
Mutant me, much like "Mini me", only not as cute
As soon as the words passed my lips I could feel myself regretting them. Why in the name of all things sane, would I ask such a question if not under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs? In retrospection (or rather retro-hearing, I suppose) the echo still resounds. "So, Missy, in light of the fact that Monday is labor day, would it actually be alright if I came in a few hours to catch up from Friday and not let it build up for Tuesday? It would be on my own time, of course, I just wanted to make sure security knew that I would be using my ID badge as well as key to the office." Geez, all signs point to the fact that I'm pathetically and socially challenged. I may as well walk around with a huge neon sign around my neck and adorn myself with a tiara and matching wrist bands reading "PARIAH". I could just join Baton Bob around the neighborhood in our own little parade. Wait, except he hates me, and I'd probably frighten little children. Scratch that idea.
This would be the point in the movie of life when "All By Myself" plays in the background
I'm finally on the last leg of the day that would never end, as so many Wednesdays are. But hey, it's my own choice to work fourteen hour days, now isn't it? But then again, there is the validation that comes from juggling a full time work schedule, studying, and a full course load; however, most of the time the physical overpowers the mental and I'm honestly just exhausted through and through. Today would be one of those occassions.
But as I was talking to Michelle last night, or rather, early this morning, I realized that there are many aspects of my life I really wouldn't give up, and there are certainly moments I would choose
not to repeat. She talked to me in the tone of a desperately lonely college freshman, a familiar sound I know all too well. As a survivor of many bouts of feeling isolated and not able to identify with anyone or anything in my near surroundings, I should have been able to provide better advice. All I could really say was to stick it out, even just for the short term, and that college isn't necessarily about finding "other people"; rather, it's more about finding
yourself- likes, dislikes, interests, passions, even. There isn't a moment where the universe suddenly freezes and you realize that you're happy- it's definitely a progression. And I probably wouldn't even venture as far as using the term "happy".
I felt incredibly bad that I couldn't provide her with the magic solution that would solve all these incomprehensible feelings that she has. It didn't seem like enough to tell her that I went through the exact same thing, as I'm sure many young people do, and maybe I haven't grown out of it entirely just yet. She couldn't even see me nodding in agreement with her, or my eyes brimming with tears when she described how lonely she is, or how the only thing she wants to do is look at old pictures. Instead, I encouraged her to do what
feels right, which I retrospectively see now as stupid on my part. Urgh- why can't I just give sound, wonderful, Hallmark card advice? I could blame it on the fact that I was jogged out of sleep, or that I didn't have time to prepare, but it wasn't any of those things. It's more that I feel more comfortable dealing with things that have a very concrete, derived solution- hence the career in science. But I can't help wishing that I had a better grasp on some useful traits. Nor pseudomonas, or spirochetes, or even little bacilli will ever be able to voice their affection for me. But oh how I wish they could.
Analyzing the unconscious
Today's horoscope
It was just funny that my horoscope would make mention of dreams and unusual symbols. What is symbolic about a dream containing poetry leaves on a cherry blossom tree? The image was very powerfully and abundantly pink though. Although I'm not one to put that much emphasis on the subconscious, this should be interesting to research further...
