Normal's Overrated

Weekly Winners

2012-02-12T10:01:00.000-07:00

You can see all my shots for the February photo a day challenge on Flickr.

Day five--10 am

Day seven--button

Day eight--sun

Heavy and Light

2012-02-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

Life is heavy and light.

Filled with smiles and laughter. Pain and suffering.

Life is both.

The dark times can drag you down. Cover the laughter, the good memories, with dark paint. Paint that completely obliterates them, so you wonder if they were all just a dream. Paint that destroys your hope.

Then, when the light starts to seep back in, you wonder if it's real. It's been so long, and the heaviness is so oppressive.

The heaviness hates the light. It fights with everything it has to hold on to you. To keep you and your soul shuttered away from the rest of the world. From the light.

But I have a secret for you--the heaviness is no match for you. You are filled with a strength that can beat anything.

Finally, suddenly, surprisingly, the light breaks through. Or maybe, more accurately, you break into the light.

Because it so rarely appears with a fight.

And it's the most beautiful thing in the entire world.

The light, and the different ways in which it allows you to see the world.

The warmth that envelops your body after the long, wearing fight against the heaviness.

And when the darkness comes slinking back, enticing you with its fancy words and whispers about the light that can't last, fight. Fight with every cell in your body. Your beautiful, amazing body and soul that deserve nothing less than the most dazzling light.

Weekly Winners

2012-02-04T14:54:00.000-07:00

In an effort to get myself back in touch with my camera (do you realize the last time I posted Weekly Winners was almost a month ago?), I decided to do the February Photo a Day Challenge. I think most people are doing it with their phones, but I am not in possession of a phone that takes anything close to reasonable photos, but I do have a rather fantastic camera. So, here goes.

The first--your view today

The second--words

The third--hands

The fourth--a stranger
(a stretch, I know....)

Miss Unlimited

2012-02-03T09:38:00.001-07:00

When I get a comment from someone I don't know, or someone who is listed as 'Anonymous', I'm immediately wary. I have been getting a whole lot of junk comments, ones advertising free designer handbags and other equally fishy sounding deals.

(This is a sign that I'm getting more traffic in general, right?)

So, when I got an email talking about Miss Unlimited, I wanted to check everything out before I got all excited about being asked to guest post.

Lucky for me, they passed my tests. Miss Unlimited is an off-shoot of Aiming Low that is geared towards young women, encouraging them to see the beauty in the unique. Which fits quite well with my idea that normal's overrated.

But the thing that really sold me on being a teen columnist was the response I got when I asked, "What am I supposed to write about?" And what they said was that I just had to be myself. That I didn't have to change myself or my writing style for their blog. Because, after all, the goal of Miss Unlimited is to show that despite our differences, no one is alone. We are all in this together.

And that is a theme I can really get behind. I am still figuring out which part of my writing will become part of the Miss Unlimited collection. But you can be sure that whatever it is, it will be totally and completely me.

***

There is a little button in my sidebar that will take you directly to Miss Unlimited.

You can also find more information about where I am currently writing, and where I have written in the past, under the new tab Find Me.

Splatter

2012-01-31T09:23:00.000-07:00

We’re having a staring contest, me and this big blankcanvas. And I’m sorry to say the canvas is winning. Its whiteness is mockingme, mocking my inability to do anything besides sit here and lose a staringcontest. With an inanimate object.

I twirl the brush between my fingers. I run the back of myhand along the paint jar. I question the need to add just a speck more yellowcadmium, light.

My palette is set. My brushes are in neat rows, organized bysize. The palette knife is closest to me, because I never know when I’ll needit.

I have pre-mixed almost a dozen colors. Shades ranging fromdeep, forbidding red to a light, airy blue. I worked for hours to get them theperfect shade, the perfect consistency. My movements were careful and thoughtout; there was never a stray movement or exuberant gesture.

This is how I paint. This is how I create. My canvases arecovered by neat lines and rows, everything in its place.

I have mastered the art of free handing a line. Not a shakeor squiggle to be seen. That was the plan for this project as well. Justanother in a long series of geometric designs, all intended for a show, at somepoint down the road.

For now, they just sit, leaning against the studio wall,inactive. They are waiting for me to take the first steps.

Transfixed by the blank stretch of canvas before me, I pickup my brush. Without thinking, without pausing to consider, I dip the wide,inch and a half brush into the open jar of violently bright green, and throw itagainst the canvas.

The whole brush leaves my hand, propelled by an intensity Ididn’t know I possessed. The tip, full of paint, hits first, and splattersgreen all over me. The brush then goes flying off in a diagonal direction,heading straight for my pristine rug.

Somehow, I don’t care.

I don’t care that the rug is ruined, that my face and hairare splattered, and that my canvas is no longer pristine.

I just don’t care.

The splotch has broken the staring contest, putting mefirmly in control.

Inspired, I pick up my largest palette knife, scoop up thebeautiful sky blue, and smack it onto the surface. Next to the loud green, itmakes quite the contrast. More subtle and relaxed, it calms the splotch down.

Intrigued, I drag the knife from the middle of the blue intothe green, creating a wonderful mix of color. I stop myself before I getcarried away, and lose the sharp contrast between the two colors. As my teacheralways used to say, “Half of being an artist is knowing when to stop”.

I pause, considering the mess I’ve made. With a grin on myface large enough to peel the splattered paint away from my cheeks, I reach fora clean brush.

Next up: orange.

***

This is what came out when I was trying to write creative non-fiction .

Stuck

2012-01-29T16:58:00.000-07:00

I am having a really hard time with my creative non-fiction.

Much harder than I thought.

After all, like I said, that's what I write here.

I write stories about myself and my life.

The thoughts that run through my head and the events taking place around me.

I write stories, I tell tales, but many of them are true. They are my stories.

So I have no idea why this is proving to be so difficult.

I have read examples of creative non-fiction. I have gotten some direction. I have sat and stewed and procrastinated for almost two weeks. And yet I still have nothing. Nothing.

I finally had a talking-to with myself last night, trying to kick my butt into gear.

So today I sat down, determined to write something, anything, that I could show to my tutor.

And I wrote. I did.

I stayed on the topic I had chosen, and I wrote. Not the required amount, but I wrote. The only problem was, as the story began to take shape , I realized that it had turned away from being my story. It had turned into someone else's story. This someone shared many of my characteristics and thoughts and feelings, but not enough to be considered a non-fiction tale.

This is where I'm stumped. Everything that is coming out of me is fiction. I am filled with a desire to tell other people's stories, not my own.

I think part of it stems from this belief that, "My life isn't that interesting. It's not interesting enough to be able to fill 4-6 pages."

I think I am also unaccustomed to sitting down because I have to write. Not write anything, but write about myself.

I don't know that I've ever had to do that before.

To create a story, one with a beginning, middle, and end, all about me.

I tell these stories about myself here on my blog, in a couple hundred words. I sit down and the stories just flow out of me, unplanned.

This, well, I just don't know where to start.

Quiet

2012-01-27T14:23:00.000-07:00

I never thought of myself as a quiet person.

At least not until about a year ago.

I put myself in the category of quieter, but not shy, or introverted.

And maybe that was true, then.

Maybe I was an extrovert.

Life of the party.

I don’t know.

I don’t remember.

But even more, I wasn’t aware.

Now, though, I’m different.

Or maybe just my perception of myself has changed.

I love to talk and giggle with friends.

People I know.

I love to share my opinions in class.

Where it’s expected.

But I’m finding, realizing, that I don’t have much to say to people I don’t know.

I’ve always been bad at chitchat.

It’s not that I’m uncomfortable around people I don’t know.

It’s that I don’t have much to say to them.

(Or is it that I don’t know how to talk to them?)

And that can make things uncomfortable.

Deafening silence usually isn’t a great thing.

Although it can speak volumes.

Now, I think I’d call myself reserved.

I don’t see that as a problem, it just is.

How I View the World

2012-01-26T10:49:00.001-07:00

I am not religious or spiritual.

I do not believe in God or a higher power.

I do not believe in anything, really, in the traditional sense of the word.

I believe in science and facts. In the tangible things, those that I can feel and see.

I see the beauty in the natural world, and wonder at the things humans have yet to discover.

I believe we are a flawed race, a people who very often don’t have the answers. We are imperfect and mistaken in so many ways, yet I appreciate that we keep going, we keep trying, and we have the ability to change.

I do not believe in anything more than the science of our physical world.

I do not deny the possibility of the existence of something more, something beyond the physical, tangible world.

After all, I believe in the fallibility of humans.

Creative Non-Fiction

2012-01-17T15:10:00.000-07:00

The first assignment for my Creative Writing class is creative non-fiction.

As this is the class that I am doing at home, with my tutor, I am a little behind the times.

So I decided to find out for myself what creative non-fiction is.

I thought I had a pretty good idea, but wanted to be sure. My biggest question is, how much can be embellished, or how much artistic license can I take before it crosses the line into fiction?

And what I found is that no one has really defined that line. Because each piece is different, and each writer will have different ideas about where that line lies.

As best I can figure, creative fiction is very similar to much of my writing here. The posts that are stories, little bits of my life, where I don't write out the cold, hard facts.

They are factual, but also written with regard to creativity.

They tell stories and let you in on my thoughts and secrets, while still being written in an interesting way. A way so that you don't feel like you're getting my life story in bullet points.

titles are hard

2012-01-14T13:18:00.000-07:00

I didn't take any pictures this week.

Not a single one.

And I'm perfectly okay with that.

Because I wasn't feeling it.

And it wasn't like I felt like I had this huge gaping hole in my life, that I didn't have time to fill.

I'm just getting to the huge gaping hole part.

So I think I just needed some space.

(I realize I've been taking a lot lately. Whatever.)

And I subconsciously knew that without knowing that I knew.

My subconscious is tricky like that.

I may be slightly sleep-deprived.

And still on a bit of a sugar high.

And hilarious Mad-Lib high.

Anyhow.

I recently discovered Regina Spektor and her music.

My new love.

One Word

2012-01-13T08:58:00.000-07:00

Since I don't do resolutions, I thought maybe I'd choose a word for 2012.

It seems to be the thing to do.

A word for what you know is going to happen, for what you want to happen.

A word that could sum up the whole year.

That thought makes me itchy.

One word for 366 days!

Nevertheless, I started my search.

I read blogs.

People talked about breathing and splashing and accepting and growing.

I wrote.

I thought.

I sat in silence.

I considered, what will this year bring?

The end of one school, the beginning of another.

Moving out of my parents' home, my home, to strike out on my own for the first time. I will become a legal adult. I will vote for the first time. I hope to drive.

And out of that, I'm supposed to get one word?

I don't think so.

Beyond the fears of choosing the wrong word, of being too greedy or too careful, there lies my belief, my stubborn-ness, that says that one year cannot be summed up in one word.

The very idea makes me crabby.

That paragraph up there? That's the big stuff, the pretty-much-for-certain stuff. Those aren't the pieces that make up a year. It's the small things, the people, the places, the smiles, the late nights.

Things I can in no way predict.

Things that cannot be summed up in one little word.

Time

2012-01-11T09:31:00.001-07:00

I miss having time--or maybe it's just the concept of time--to read.

Reading is what calms me and centers me before bed.

I learn, I laugh, I relax, I leave my world.

Books allow me to escape.

And lately I've been a little short on time.

So of course I need to escape more than ever.

There are just so many things I feel I must do right now.

Grades to worry about, sleep to get, writing to do, friends to talk to.

All good things. (Mostly.)

But they take so much time. At the end of the day I'm left feeling frazzled and needing sleep.

And to sleep I need to read.

But to read, I need time, which would be time I'm not sleeping.

I feel like whatever I choose, I'm stuck.

Stuck feeling tired and worried and stressed and without an escape.

Weekly Winners

2012-01-08T09:58:00.000-07:00

Thank You

2012-01-06T16:53:00.000-07:00

I promise this isn't a thinly veiled attempt to get someone to call me back or write me a thank you.

I grew up in a family of thank yous. You're welcomes, sorry's, and smiles. Being gracious, being courteous. In my household, that means asking nicely, saying thank you, responding to people's questions. It was quite a shock when I discovered that not all people have these expectations.

It took a long time for me to not be seriously offended if someone didn't call me back. I learned that with some people, you just can't leave a message. You have to talk to them in person.

After every birthday and every Christmas, I write thank yous. Although it's still not my favorite task, it's no longer a chore.

I like acknowledging a person's time, or effort, or caring. It's important to me to tell people how much they mean to me. Even if it's only a few lines saying "Thanks. I appreciate it."

I keep doing it because I know how I feel when I get a card in the mailbox. It's lovely to know someone is thinking of me, or got something from me, and took the time to tell me about it.

Even as it becomes more common to send an e-mail or nothing at all, I'll continue. It's my way to connect with people and tell them I care about them and appreciate what they do for me, or simply who they are to me.

on surprises

2012-01-04T09:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when I write, I know exactly where I'm heading.

Sometimes I don't.

But it's only occasionally that the destination surprises me.

When the words are already floating in my head, half composed, all I have to do is put fingers to keys and out flows a post.

A whole post. Or close.

When I'm writing because I need to write, or because I'm working through something, the words flow. In a different way, because I'm not thinking and considering, I'm just getting it out.

I find that many times the place I reach is what I already had in mind. Writing just confirms it. Gives me confidence in my decision.

In my last post, I started out with the idea of writing about silence. As the scene grew, and I saw this couple sitting on two sides of a room, I heard the woman telling her partner it wasn't okay. She would come to the conclusion that she was strong; strong enough to say no and not carry his problems as well as hers.

But, as I kept going and stopped thinking, the ending changed.

I wasn't sure how it was going to end until I got there. But that destination, a complete surprise, felt right.

It fit.

She thought it through logically, and realized she was strong. She wanted to change and be different. But something made her stay.

Strength

2012-01-03T09:15:00.000-07:00

Time stretches.
I stare anywhere but at his face,
his wide, pleading eyes.
I know that if I see his face,
the contours I know so well,
that I will waver.
He will see me waver.
Eyes dramatically filling with tears,
he will ask for forgiveness.
His tone so self-deprecating,
I will forgive him.
But only,
I tell myself,
because it's all his fault.
And this way, I relieve him of the guilt.
We both know I'm the strong one.
Strong I may be, but he knows how to tear through.
Right through to my soft, wounded spots.
It's our routine.
Our pattern.
Our relationship.
This time, I tell myself, will be different.
Is different.
Confident in my decision,
a decision that puts me first,
I bring my eyes to meet his.
As his eyes well up,
I whisper,
"It's okay."

Two Worlds

2011-12-31T12:04:00.000-07:00

On the outside, she is perfect.

Her scrubs fit perfectly, her hair is messy in a way that says she is confident and doesn't care what the world thinks. Her nose is petite, her skin clear.

Her shoes add just enough height to make people notice her, but not enough to be imposing.

She is young; younger than most with her job.

After setting down her purse and coat, she sits facing me.

I watch her eyes as she listens to the report. They are large and brown, rimmed by dark eyelashes.

The intensity with which she listens is unusual. Her job clearly means a lot to her. Her eyes never waver from the other women's as she takes notes.

After shift change, this woman settles into her chair. The hinges squeak as she adjusts the settings to her liking.

Her gaze settles on me, and we exchange the customary "Good mornings".

She makes small talk with the other nurses as they trickle in. They comment on the weather, whining kids, the new year, lack of sleep, and other standards.

Her intense gaze is now fixed on the computer screen. I continue answering calls.

Only after the third "Meghan?", does she turn to face me. Her eyes are no longer intense, but fixed on a point no one else can see.

I tell her about the family member on hold, before slowly returning to the blinking phone.

Her gaze and changed demeanor startle me.

She continues to answer questions and type and be present when needed.

In the small spaces in between, however, her eyes un-focus. She allows her lids to close partway, for wrinkles to from at the corners, and for her chin to drop.

Her outward appearance is carefully orchestrated to disguise whatever lies beneath the surface.

I wonder at her secrets. Her life. The one she shows to the world, and the one that takes place behind closed doors.

The pager's strident buzz catches both of us off-guard and we reach for it, she with her work face back in place, and me, not making the transition quite as quickly.

New Year

2011-12-30T08:23:00.000-07:00

This year is different.

The New Year is approaching, just as it always does. Time is still playing tricks on me, stretching out the days while I wait, shortening the days of no school.

But this year I'm not trying to shove the year behind me. I'm not getting nostalgic about the past, the things that have changed, the hope and possibility that the New Year brings.

It will be good to see a new year.

This doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to what it will bring (believe me, I am).

It doesn't mean I haven't changed in the past year. I could go on and on (and on) about what has changed. In many ways, it would be a list of improvements.

It means I'm not living in the past or for the future. It means I'm living in the present. The here and now.

Exes

2011-12-28T10:35:00.000-07:00

Exes.

We all have them.

Boyfriends, girlfriends, friend friends.

They linger in our memories, our hearts.

My ex-best friend also lingers at my school.

By a lucky combination of opposite schedules and quick glances away, I've avoided seeing or speaking to her for about three years.

Unfortunately, our schedules are no longer completely opposite, and I am no longer convinced that total avoidance is the best strategy.

I moved on.

I got new friends. I took down all the pictures of us. I convinced myself that I didn't miss her, or need her, or hate her, or feel anything about her.

Right.

Because that's exactly what happens.

Now she keeps popping up.

I have no desire to be her friend, electronically or otherwise. I've been down that path. It didn't work.

However, I don't want to be a jerk. We have a messy past, but that's just it--it's the past.

I guess this is me asking for advice? Or something? Anything?

Weekly Winners

2011-12-24T17:21:00.000-07:00

[blank]

2011-12-22T11:50:00.000-07:00

I sit here, with so many things I could say. Important things, very not-important things. Some I'm just dying to talk about, others are just fleeting thoughts.

The words are trapped somewhere.

See, right here? This is where normally there would be words. Funny, interesting, thoughtful, you choose the adjective.

I just keep writing a sentence and deleting it. Not because there was anything particularly wrong with it, it just didn't say what I wanted it to say. But I don't know what I want to say. That's a teeny bit of a problem.

I guess I have to figure out what I'm feeling before I can start to describe it.

Weekly Winners: I'm Baaaaack

2011-12-18T09:34:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm back. Yes, it's been a long time. Moving on.

My parents gave me a certificate for a macro lens for my birthday. I have yet to cash in, mostly because I don't know where to begin. Any suggestions, advice, personal stories?? I have a Canon Rebel XS, but I don't need a Canon lens, it just has to be compatible.

College

2011-12-17T09:39:00.000-07:00

Barring any failing grades next semester, I can now call myself a Grinnell college student.

-Insert giggling and shrieking and giddiness here-

And this is the essay (the one my English teacher hated), that I think played a rather large role in my acceptance.

Mr. B opened my eyes to my own potential and taught me that there’s more to learning than getting a perfect score. His words are the little voice in the back of my mind telling me that I can do it and to never give up.

I hated writing with a passion throughout elementary school. The process of the five-step paragraph seemed a special way to torture me and the cursive script slowed me to a snail’s pace. I had so much to say, but I couldn't figure out a way to get it out on the page fast enough and in a way that would satisfy the strict requirements for the number of sentences and complex sentences, transitional words, and a color-coded final product.

The first assignment Mr. B gave our fifth-grade class was to compare a fan to a pencil. He gave us a sheet of paper and time, as much or as little as we needed, and off we went. The first few times I sat at my desk, paralyzed by my fear of being anything less than perfect. I couldn’t fathom the idea of writing without strict boundaries being set for me. Mr. B acknowledged my fear and then went right on smashing down all the boundaries by letting us throw paint, go outside, listen to music, or just sit in silence to find inspiration.

Mr. B knew that I had been taught to write within the lines, and here I was, scribbling furiously on the current assignment, without any lines to guide me. While I sat hunched over my desk, Mr. B walked around the room. He was ready with a joke if I was stuck or with a smile if I wanted him to give me the right answer, but he never interrupted me while the words were flowing.

The balance he struck between letting me figure it out for myself and giving me enough help so I wouldn't feel lost and abandoned was impressive. I had room to grow; to grow as far and as fast as I could, without the loss of my support system. If anything, I learned that sometimes the best kind of support a person can receive is to know that someone is there, but to have that person step back and let you take on the world by yourself.

During the nine months of fifth grade, I learned to do more than just write words; I learned to craft them into a final product that had significance and could clearly communicate my thoughts and ideas to the world. Mr. B gave me freedom to write, to grow, and to make mistakes by obliterating the idea that everything I wrote had to be perfect. After he had given me all the tools I needed to tear down the barriers around my mind, he stepped back as I discovered the amazing new world outside of perfection.

Meditation

2011-12-14T09:22:00.000-07:00

I breathe in for four beats. And then out. One. Two. Three. Four.

As my arms drift down to the floor, I can feel the tension draining out of me. I always hold it in my back, in these two spots that I can never reach without stretching.

I never take this time anymore.

It used to be part of my routine.

Every night, I would stretch and meditate and just be.

I would make a conscious effort to not think, to let it all go, and just be in that moment.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped.

My reading and writing and desire to curl up in bed and go to sleep took over.

All good things.

Which is why I didn't really notice.

I thought that if I was replacing one good thing with another, it shouldn't make a difference.

Not so.

There are so many good things, things that help me to stay centered, and to remember who I am. The writing and reading and sleeping are parts of this. But they were never able to replace the slow breathing and mindfulness of meditation.

Yesterday I needed it. To be quiet. To move slowly, but with purpose. I needed to recenter.

I don't know if it helped or not.

Because although I went to sleep early, I was awake for two hours during the night. And then awake an hour early.

I don't think it was because of the meditation. I hope not, because it feels like it could really help me.

I think I am stressed out, and worried, and unsure of what to do, or how to handle all of this.

I think it could have been worse, had I not taken the time to slow down last night.

But I'm not sure.

Not Funny At All

2011-12-13T16:18:00.001-07:00

It's funny, in a very not-funny sort of way, how dramatically my week has changed.

Monday morning I wrote this whole, happy, smiley post.

I had had an excellent weekend, I wasn't that worried about finals, and I was only six days away from hearing back from the college I applied to.

The only thing marring my happy smiliness was the dead internet. So you never got to hear about my fantastic weekend, and the time when finals didn't seem like such a big deal.

Now, you get to hear about my terrible day. The one where I am worried about finals, to the point of freaking out.

It's Calculus. It's all Calculus.

I am done with English and Economics, not at all worried about Spanish (Although the teacher announced today that we have to learn new material over the next two days that would normally take us about two weeks to learn. Great planning.), and pretty confident about Anatomy (Although it would have been nice if we had actually used class time today to study. Instead, we watched what easily qualified as the stupid movie I have ever watched.).

But oh, Calculus.

I was worried. And then I got more worried when I saw the review packet yesterday. Which turned into a full-on freak-out when our teacher was mysteriously absent today, leaving us with a completely incompetent sub.

I want to go back to Monday morning. When my biggest issue was the internet not working.

I do apologize for the ranting and raving about school. I know I'll survive. But right now, in this moment, I'm not so sure.

Tired

2011-12-07T08:57:00.001-07:00

I hate that the best word to describe how I feel most o the time is "tired".

Everyone's tired. It's the most common complaint. So I fit right in.

But it's not the same.

I know this.

But sometimes it's hard, when everyone else is listing off all their complaints, all the thing they have to do. Doing their best to win the "whose life sucks more" contest.

I tend to stay quiet.

So often I feel like words aren't enough.

And I'm not about to start listing everything I complain about in my head.

It's not who I am.

And everyone thinks they have it worse. And that no one else can possibly imagine what they have to deal with.

It's true. I believe that you don't really understand someone, all of them, until you walk in their shoes.

Which is, of course, impossible.

So I keep my mouth shut.

I think I've been dealt a tough hand.

I also think I've dealt with it pretty well.

And that's nothing to complain about.

Worth It?

2011-12-05T09:15:00.000-07:00

Saturday there was a doctor at the hospital.

At work at 6pm on a Saturday night. Looking tired, beaten down. Having a discussion with his wife on the phone. Deciding on pizza toppings. Not an argument, per se, but more thought and effort than it should have taken to decide against spinach.

They're both being noncommittal; she, knowing he's tired, not wanting to add more stress, he, just wishing that someone else would make a decision, just once.

They decide on cheese, pepperoni, and chicken and pineapple. I wonder how many kids are at home, waiting for their dad.

His light blue scrubs are wrinkled as he sits and dictates his report. There's a big sigh when he can't find the chart.

The huge stack of pre-made flashcards. To become board certified, just general surgery, he explains to the nurse. And this is just half of them.

"Well maybe that's why you look so tired."

He doesn't say anything, as there really isn't a response to this.

I watch him check something on his phone, wondering if it's worth it.

Do they pay him enough, to make up for the long, exhausting days? All that time away from your family?

And more than that--is it worth it?

Dedicating your career, your life, really, to helping other people. Learning and teaching and caring. Knowing that no matter how many times you run through those flashcards, you'll never know it all. You'll make a mistake, a costly one, at some point.

Is it worth it?

Ebb

2011-12-04T09:08:00.000-07:00

I miss my camera.

I feel slightly guilty about how long it's been sitting on that shelf, untouched.

I am not inspired to pick it up.

I am not in a place to truly see the world around me.

I believe in practice.

I believe in pushing myself.

I also believe in giving myself a break.

I believe in letting myself off the hook.

It will be there when I'm ready.

The Hospital

2011-11-28T19:30:00.000-07:00

I think I've mentioned it in passing a couple of times. Really talked about it once.

Which is strange, because it means so much to me.

I think I haven't written about it because I didn't know how to put it into words. All that it means to me.

I want to do it justice.

For almost a year I've been volunteering every Saturday evening at the hospital.

I love it.

I have since my first shift.

It started out great because I was finally on the other side of things; a caregiver instead of a patient.

But it's turned into so much more than that.

It's a place where I feel safe and comfortable. I fit. I am known. I am part of a greater whole.

It is such a privilege to be part of such a dedicated group that works so hard to care for their patients.

And while the patients want nothing more than to go home, to escape the hospital, I'm the opposite.

The hospital is my escape.

From life and homework and procrastination.

To a place where I fit.

It just feels right.

***

And this thing is hospital related. It's actually really good news. And I promise I'll talk about it someday, when I've figured out what it means to me.

on the last nine days

2011-11-27T13:23:00.000-07:00

Coming into Thanksgiving Break, I had a bunch of ideas about what I wanted to do with my nine days of freedom.

I did not paint my nails. I know it wasn't on my list, but it was in my head. I do not understand how I did not find half an hour to take off the nail polish that's been on since Homecoming!

I did make my bed. More than once, even!

I don't really feel rested. It took me a while to figure out that to get more rest, I would have to go to sleep before 11.

But I did put those waking hours to good use reading Inheritance. I need someone to discuss it with!

I did not read my Spanish book. I'm not sure I'm ever going to pick it up again.

I spent a lot of time not being bored, but rather sitting around thinking about all the things I should be doing.

Therefore, I do not feel caught up. At all.

There was much baking. Two pumpkin cheesecakes. Yum.

And knitting. Lots of knitting.

Lots of watching football. Happy Tela.

Despite all the things I did not accomplish, there was lots of giving thanks.

Giving Thanks

2011-11-24T09:37:00.001-07:00

I am thankful for many things.

Family.

Hugs.

Friends.

Laughing so hard I can't breathe.

Kitties.

Warm houses.

Having a house that is home.

Food.

Quiet.

Noise.

Music.

From the radio.

And from the birds.

Toe socks.

Hair that cooperates.

Pretty things.

Safety.

Freedom.

Cameras.

Memories.

The road ahead of me.

Health.

Experience.

Being young.

Hope.

This moment. Right now.

Letting Down

2011-11-21T12:19:00.000-07:00

I am just starting to let down.

The stress and weight of school and all the things I must do still press on me, but I am working to let them go.

I don't need to worry. They will get done, or they won't. And I only have so much control over the outcome.

So I curled up on the couch and took a nap. I watched my cat watch the world outside. I admired my newly knitted hat. I read Inheritance.

Now I sit down to re-work an essay. I listen to music. I let the peace of a cold day seep into me. The knowledge that there is nowhere I have to go fills me. Nothing urgent must be attended to.

I sit. I drink my orange juice. The sound of the furnace lulls me into a tranquil state.

Finally.

I let it all go.

A Break

2011-11-19T09:45:00.001-07:00

Today marks the first day of my Thanksgiving Break. I have been anticipating these days for the past several weeks. I want to do lots, as well as rest...

Make my bed. Pulling up the covers without straightening or tucking only works for so long.

Bake. Preferably something with pumpkin.

Read. Everything. And especially the new Inheritance book.

Watch movies.

Get caught up.

Do school work. (Boring, I know. But I have a project to do and a research paper to write.)

Watch football.

Do I dare say Christmas shopping?

Get back in touch with my camera.

Edit pictures. I have a huge backlog to go through--some from before Halloween.

Knit. Some more. I just finished a scarf in record-breaking time.

Distract myself. From the fact that 28 days from now, I will hear back from Grinnell. The one and only school to which I applied. (No, I'm not obsessively counting down the days. What gave you that idea?)

Weekly Winners: 11/11/11

2011-11-13T10:14:00.000-07:00

I decided to do something slightly different this week. All these shots are from 11/11/11, just of my everyday life.

overwhelmed

2011-11-06T08:52:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling rather overwhelmed.

It's just sort of everything that seems to be at the same time. There may be enough hours in the day to type all the words, but my brain cannot function for very long. I can't write quality words all the live long day.

I think I just need to start. Because that's all I can do--start, and give it the best I've got.

I know this, yet I can't help but freak out and go into the whole but if I don't I'll fail and won't get into college and end up working at the corner store pumping gas, all because I couldn't come up with the right words.

I don't know where to start. Somehow, talking with my teacher gave me less confidence in myself. (Although that's really not surprising, considering that he told me he wondered how he was ever going to teach me to write.)

(Those last two sentences are my compromise on this. Maybe more will come later, maybe not.)

My compromise was to start here. It might not be something I can send to a college, or have my overly judgmental teacher grade, but it's a way for me to get the words flowing.

To remember that I can write.

And that sometimes I'm even pretty good at it.

on anonymity

2011-11-05T09:28:00.000-07:00

I never really thought about the implications or potential consequences of having my real name on my blog.

No, my last name isn't here. Although if you wanted to, you could probably get a pretty good idea of where I live.

But if I type my name into Google my blog doesn't come up. For which I'm glad. My goal isn't advertisement or followers. It's having a free space to write. A place where I feel safe.

And when changing from Terrie to Tela, I never thought that it might stop me from being completely free and open.

Now, though, I have something I want to say. It's rather similar to this. It's something I want to write. To share. Because that's how I process things and get them out of my head. But I don't want to write this thing if it might get back to the person. Or really, anyone. I don't want the Tela on this blog to be connected to the physical me who goes to school and hopes to one day get a job.

It's not that I want to tear someone apart, it's just that in this piece of my story, another person happens to play a rather large part. A not-so-positive part.

I'm confused.

I don't know what to do.

So I'm rambling.

But I think my options are really quite clear: write the story, get it out of my head, but keep the details vague, or don't write it. Figure out another way to get it out.

Weekly Winners

2011-10-30T09:54:00.000-07:00

Thursday Happiness

2011-10-27T13:51:00.000-07:00

A trip to the library that resulted in a huge stack of books. I am always so much happier when there are at least two big piles of books next to my bed. I'm getting there.

I made muffins which is happiness all by itself. It has been way too long.

And so the house smells like chocolate chip muffins.

I got to dance and be slightly crazy while making the muffins. (It's part of the recipe for the perfect muffin. Trust me.)

It snowed yesterday. Fingers crossed I got some good shots. My fingers were just itching every time I looked outside. So beautiful.

I have no school today. Or Friday. Do you know how amazing four day weekends are? They pretty much make my life. Because it's like you get two whole weekends all at once. I can't even begin to tell you what that felt like waking up today.

Interview on Monday. I don't want to jinx myself, but I can't not talk about it. Sorry for the vagueness. If everything works out you'll be hearing about it November 11. If you don't hear anything, assume the worst, and let's just agree to never mention it again.

But back to the happy over the vague interview. For which I'm getting all dressed up. I love getting dressed up.

I'm seventeen. It's always fun to be a new number. I still need to go see an R rated movie, as that's the only thing that turning 17 gets you.

Birthday party tonight. yay. With friends. Double yay. And I got her fuzzy socks and fuzzy socks are just awesome.

Have a happy Thursday!

Weekly Winners

2011-10-23T08:14:00.000-07:00

October

2011-10-21T08:36:00.000-07:00

In ninth grade I got a cold about two months in to school. In October. And I never got better.

It always starts with a cold.

These are the facts.

It's October now.

I'm ready for October to be over.

Every time I miss a day of school I worry.

And wonder.

Trying not to be negative or morbid, but wondering.

Is history going to repeat itself?

Am I going to recover from this?

Or will I, once again, spend the next three years sick, at home?

It's October.

I'm ready for it to be over.

Ready to enter a new month, ready to leave the past behind.

Ready to start making new memories.

Ready to start living without being chained to the past.

Seventeen

2011-10-19T16:30:00.000-07:00

(Please ignore the out-of-focus -ness, and focus on the pretty new camera strap cover and how very 17 I look.)

Dance

2011-10-16T12:11:00.000-07:00

Four years ago I bought a dress. I went with my best friend and our moms. We giggled and laughed and modeled, until we each found the dress. We spun and twirled and talked about earrings and bracelets and shoes.

I went home and showed my dad. I spun some more, and talked seriously about how it was such a good deal. (Really, it was.)

My mom and I went shopping again. For shoes. To match the dress. I fell in love with a black satiny pair that went perfectly with my dress. They were strappy and black and pretty and I loved them.

I tried them on with the dress. My parents oohed and aahed. I attempted to describe them for my friends. We were all bubbly and filled with excitement for our first high school dance.

Before I could buy a ticket or figure out what to do with my hair, I got sick.

There wasn't a dance or a dress or black strappy shoes. There were tears and doctors and home alone, not at the dance.

This year I put on that dress; it still fits. I put on those shoes. Carefully, around the injured toes. They still fit. I bought a ticket. I figured out how to do my hair. I wore earrings, but no necklaces or bracelets. I giggled and laughed and did make-up with friends. Five of us smashed into a bathroom meant for half a person.

Our parents showed up to take pictures. They oohed and aahed at all the right places.

Someone commented that it was our last dance. Everyone made sad noises about the last year. I kept quiet. It was my first dance.

I went. I danced. I sang.

I saw the best friend with whom I bought the dress. I did not dance or sing or speak to her.

I went to my first high school dance.

Weekly Winners

2011-10-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

Weekly Winners

2011-10-09T08:27:00.000-07:00

Disappearing

2011-10-07T11:32:00.000-07:00

I'm home. Again. Third time this week. Three out of five is not good. It's not conducive to learning. And it's definitely not conducive to making friends.

Because for one, I disappear and reappear all the time. And so of course, people want to know where I went. So I tell them I wasn't feeling well, or was sick, or whatever. They know, in theory, about my illness. They asked up-front at the beginning of the year, and I told them. But it was quick. And not something any of us really wanted to linger on. No one wants to talk about being sick all the time, believe me.

But the reality is a lot harder to comprehend. I'm at school, looking fine, making jokes, getting almost straight As. And then I'm not there. And I say I'm sick, but they just see the words. They don't have the privilege of seeing me lying on the couch feeling terrible. Or how the numbers scramble when I look at my math homework and nothing makes sense.

I've always said that being fine just fine was my biggest problem. It makes it hard for people to see my illness. Therefore, it makes it hard for them to believe me. And even if they do believe me, to grasp how it permeates my life.

I don't want to talk about it all the time. I don't want it to be the main event in our friendship. But I know that it has to be more than it is. Otherwise I'll just become, again, the chick who disappears. With no explanation, no warning. And in the same way, I just reappear, looking and appearing just fine.

A Possibly Psychic Moment

2011-10-05T08:06:00.001-07:00

Last night I saw a picture of myself the next day, steaming about my Anatomy quiz. Complaining, furious, to my mom that it was so easy! I had studied and killed myself and learned the whole freaking study guide and none of it was on the quiz. She would say something calm and soothing about how the thing that mattered was that I learned something. Knowing she was right, and grateful I now had all that knowledge, but not yet willing to give up my anger, I would continue ranting.

Unfortunately, I can see this happening. It happened in middle school, when I convinced myself that I was going to fail a test and so it would be appropriate to freak out and study like mad. Until I took the test, which I could have aced fast asleep.

This feels like that.

Where, even though the teacher said all that material would be tested, I'm still not convinced it will be.

Of course, being me, I have therefore convinced myself that I don't know anything and need to spend every waking minute studying.

So now I'm off to school. Wish me luck. I'm not sure what I'm hoping for. A hard quiz that I will have appropriately studied for, or the easiest quiz in the world, which would mean I was right. And apparently, psychic.

Update: I was right.

In the Elevator

2011-10-03T09:13:00.001-07:00

I stride purposefully toward the elevators. The "up" button is already glowing orange, so I lean against the wall, grateful for even a quick break. Already waiting is a man juggling two full hands of cafeteria food.

We do that little stranger dance where our eyes meet briefly, and then we both look away quickly, each pretending we weren't sizing up the other person.

"These elevators are painfully slow" I say to break the silence.

"Oh, I know," he replies, "I've been here for five weeks."

"Wow" I say. I leave the word hanging in the air, not wanting to pry, but hoping he'll continue.

"Yeah. My wife's pregnant and on bed rest."

"Wow" I say again "When's she due?"

"October" he replies as the middle elevator dings.

We both move forward as the doors open. He gestures with his full hands that I should go ahead. I smile in thanks and enter the small space.

Pressing "6", I ask "Which floor?"

"5" he answers as the doors close and we jerk upward.

"October's a good birthday month." I smile. "Both my mom and I can attest to that."

"I think so too. I'm the third."

We smile at each other over this small coincidence.

"How long are you going to be here?"

"Until October."

"That's a long time to eat hospital food."

"Yes, but it means my wife and baby are getting the care they need. They're in the best place they could be, so I'm more than happy to be here with them, eating hospital food."

The elevator dings and the doors open onto the fifth floor.

"Good luck" I tell the man as he exits, still balancing two more hospital dinners.

The doors slide shut again and I lean against the wall.

I've never met anyone so happy to be in the hospital. Seeing it as a way to keep his family safe and healthy.

I straighten as the elevator arrives at my floor.

I brush back my hair with one hand, checking my badge is still in place and stride out of the open doors, back onto the bustling Surgical Trauma floor at shift change.

***

This was several months ago. Today is October third. I wonder about this man, whether he is holding his precious child, or if he's still patiently waiting next to his wife, eating hospital food.

***

I almost never write with dialog, so I am very aware that all the grammar is far from correct. Hopefully it's still legible, and if you know the rules, I would appreciate it if you shared your knowledge.

Weekly Winners: Balloons

2011-09-25T08:09:00.000-07:00

These balloons enthralled me. Their colors, the ribbons, the way they bounced together on the ceiling. I just wish I had been able to take them outside and get their brilliant colors against a bright blue sky.

Weekly Winners

2011-09-18T08:43:00.000-07:00

Friday morning greeted me with a lovely sun, and a tree that had this amazing misty/ fog swirling around it. I fell in love; what a great way to start the day!

Powerful Beyond Measure

2011-09-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

-Marianne Williamson

I love this quote. Even when it's not completely true, or doesn't feel true. A lot of times I'm working to convince myself I'm doing okay at this thing called life, and I can't comprehend the 'powerful beyond measure' bit.

I don't believe in God, yet I love the line 'We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us'. For me, it doesn't necessarily have to be a God that I go to church to worship, or believe that is above us all, with a divine plan. It can be the beauty and perfection and imperfection of nature. The innate power that lives within each of us, allowing us to do and be much more than we ever thought possible. I don't believe we are meant to do anything; I believe in free choice. Yet I still love this line, because we, each of us, has something special within us. And we can chose to use this gift or talent to better the world around us.

I love this quote. For so many reasons. But mostly I love the way these simple words are put together in a way that makes them so powerful and strong. In such a way that I feel like they're speaking right to me.

Bad Teacher

2011-09-15T08:13:00.000-07:00

I have a bad teacher.

It happens. A lot, unfortunately.

For me, though, this is a first.

This is a subject I am already interested in.

I love it. I'm passionate about it. I'm thinking about a career in it.

I've never had this passion before.

Before I met the teacher. Usually it's as the result of a teacher that I love a subject.

So this year, I was so excited to finally be taking Anatomy.

Because I love it and just want to learn more more more.

And I'm scared that having a bad teacher is going to turn me off, somehow.

I'm scared because my record of being able to separate the teacher from the class is poor. As in very, very bad.

I love this. I don't want to lose it. Or have my passion for it sucked out of me by a bad teacher.

What do I do?

Ten Years

2011-09-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

Ten years.

More than half of my life.

It's always been there.

I don't remember it not being there.

It would have been just a normal day. One that blended into all my other memories of first grade. But it's that outside event that makes that day memorable.

Although really, I think that day only has significance in retrospect, because I was much too young to have any idea what was going on. I just knew that about half our class left. We were all sitting on the floor with the teacher reading to us. The secretary kept coming on over the loudspeaker saying another parent was there to pick up their child. The teacher seemed slightly on edge. Or maybe I'm just making that up. I think all the teachers were glued to the TV during lunch.

On the anniversary in 7th grade we watched documentaries. That was the first time I had really watched any footage or heard any stories. The first time I really thought about it. That I actually gave it time to sink in.

Sitting at that desk as my friends bustled around me, excited for lunch. Tears in my eyes, a heavy lump in my gut. Trying to process, trying to understand.

That, for me, is much more meaningful than the same date, five years earlier.

Since then, I've learned the facts. Statistics. Conspiracy theories. Implications.

Still, every time I open the Wikipedia page on 9/11 (because so many things are linked and connected to that date), I pause.

I take a second out of my busy day to sit. Let it sink in. To remember that 3000 is more than just a number; they were lives.

I look at the images of smoke, flames, rubble, and charred plane bits. And I remember. The lives lost, the wars waged, the lives still in peril, and and same issues that still plague our world.

Weekly Winners

2011-09-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

Two Days

2011-09-08T08:14:00.000-07:00

I stayed home yesterday. What I probably should have done on Tuesday. But that's okay; this time, it worked out to do it a day later.

Note to self: In general, I'm not that lucky. Not listening to my body today means two days home sick later.

But this time, it worked out.

I went on Tuesday.

I survived the dullest Spanish class quite possibly ever, an hour and a half of doing homework and organizing the contacts on my phone, and then a worthless half hour meeting at which I learned nothing.

Then I came home and spent most of the night with my head horizontal.

Today I didn't go.

I stayed home. I took my contacts out two minutes after I put them in because they were being mean and having a cold makes my eyes cranky.

I look very different in glasses.

I spent the whole day in PJ pants and my old ratty hoodie. The heat came on for the first time. I love the sound of the furnace starting up. How I can hear the heat rushing through the pipes.

It was a good rest day.

One of many Kleenex, some homework, lots of music, and very little movement beyond the couch.

Today will be a better day. One where I feel good enough to do more than lie on the couch all day. And one that I don't have to survive.

Balancing

2011-09-05T08:26:00.001-07:00

"Hear the music/Before the song is over"

Good words. Words to remember.

More than those specific words, it's their sentiment, their meaning.

To slow down. Relish the small triumphs. Soak in the peace between whatever tasks fill your day. Find joy in the little things.

It all adds up to living in the moment.

However you want to say it.

I think there are never enough ways to say it.

I am always filled with good intentions. To do better, be better. But it is so easy to let the little joyful moments pass you by because you're so wrapped up in your daily struggles.

Struggles that have always and will always exist. It's how you choose to deal with them, and find the balance, that matters.

The second I feel like I might have glimpsed it, that blissful place of having it all perfectly balanced, something new comes along.

Disrupting my zen.

It's an endless cycle.

The ups. And the downs.

Anyone can live them. Survive them.

But to do more, to find joy in the midst of a huge cloud of negativity, that what we're all searching for.

To find a way to really live.

Weekly Winners

2011-09-04T10:37:00.000-07:00

Slow Dance

2011-09-01T07:19:00.000-07:00

I didn't write this. I received this from a forwarded email, and I think it's beautiful, and a good reminder.

SLOW DANCE

Have you ever
watched kids

On a merry-go-round?

Or listened to
the rain

Slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a
butterfly's erratic flight?

Or gazed at the sun into the fading
night?

You better slow down.

Don't dance so
fast.

Time is short.

The music won't
last.

Do you run through each day

On the
fly?

When you ask How are you?

Do you hear the
reply?

When the day is done

Do you lie in your
bed

With the next hundred chores

Running through
your head?

You'd better slow down

Don't dance so
fast.

Time is short.

The music won't
last.

Ever told your child,

We'll do it
tomorrow?

And in your haste,

Not see
his

sorrow?

Ever lost touch,

Let a good
friendship die

Cause you never had time

To call
and say,'Hi'

You'd better slow down.

Don't dance
so fast.

Time is short.

The music won't
last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere

You
miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry
through your day,

It is like an unopened
gift....

Thrown away.

Life is not a
race.

Do take it slower

Hear the
music

Before the song is over.

Inspiration

2011-08-30T08:14:00.001-07:00

Where has my inspiration gone?

I feel like it's right there, just beyond my grasp.

Although it's not like I've been stretching too hard to reach it.

It's like I just expect it to be there.

Sitting, waiting patiently at my feet.

Waiting for me to be ready for it, whenever I feel like it.

But that's not true inspiration.

Not if it's there all the time.

That's too easy.

Too simple.

No, real inspiration--and the products and results and emotions it produces--that's rare.

And something to strive for and work towards.

Every day.

Not something to sit around, complaining about how I've lost it.

Weekly Winners

2011-08-28T09:05:00.000-07:00

I haven't been getting my camera out very much lately. I don't know why. I just haven't felt inspired. Nonetheless, here are a few shots of my week.

Full

2011-08-25T07:33:00.000-07:00

My days are long.

They are filled with life.

All the little things that entails.

And one of the bigger things, too, every once in a while.

Three classes a day.

So far, it's working.

The other two....are in progress.

And I am working on not freaking out. Getting overwhelmed by the details. The bureaucracy. The list of pros and cons that each option carries with it.

I'm sitting here, and I see that Hope has fallen down. I smile. Not to worry, I get some new tape and stick it back up. My fingers pause on the green painted wood.

I breathe.

It will be alright.

I believe that's true.

Sometimes I just have to work harder than others to remember that.

on some of the nicest compliments i've ever received

2011-08-24T07:42:00.000-07:00

I love your bag.

You're wise beyond your years.

You look really pretty today. That color brings out your eyes.

The little things do matter.

Weekly Winners

2011-08-21T16:17:00.000-07:00

Weekly Winners: The Sunflower Edition

2011-08-14T08:03:00.000-07:00

Happy and Giddy

2011-08-08T10:20:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting on the carpet in the living room. My grandparents are sitting on the couches, and we're talking. I'm doing something, maybe making a collage. I'm happy. Content. It's summer and it's going to stretch into forever.

My mom comes in and off-handedly remarks that we need to go school supply shopping. I burst into tears.

She does have a point. It's two weeks before the start of seventh grade and I have done nothing to prepare. I am in my blissful state of denial. Denying that I will have to spend the next nine months in classrooms with peers that I don't feel comfortable with and will always be worrying about superficial things that I really don't care about, while learning absolutely nothing.

I'm embaressed, because I'm generally not a burst-into-tears type of gal. But I'm too upset to stop.

***

For the four years after that, I didn't burst into tears. I knew that school was coming, and that I couldn't just ignore it. I got ready and bought supplies and saw the date rapidly approaching on the calendar. But I didn't talk about it. And school was a bad word in our household.

But a funny thing has happened.

I'm excited to go back to school. Actually looking forward to it. And I can't get over the strangeness.

I used to love learning, and it makes me sad how much school has become the enemy of that. I learn. But mostly because I want to. Because I put in the effort.

This year is my senior year. My last year of high school. I'm beyond excited. To be done, and have it over with. To get out. Hopefully go someplace better.

I'm also excited to be taking actual classes at school. I don't know if it will last; if my energy will be able to keep up. I want it to so badly. So I'm going to try.

And yes, I am actually excited about the learning aspect of school. Anatomy and Physiology and Spanish. They make me happy and giddy.

I love being happy and giddy about school. I really do. And I've missed those feelings. I'm filled with hope.

Weekly Winners

2011-08-07T08:11:00.000-07:00

Beloit

2011-08-05T11:03:00.000-07:00

This map confuses me. I have no idea where we are. But that's not exactly new.

I finally find a street name on the map that I see out my window, but by the time I look up again, it's long gone. My dad makes an executive decision to park and just start exploring. The worthless map is left in the car; hopefully we won't be forever lost in the world of dorms and green grass.

I walk slowly. I'm telling myself it's so I have time to take it all in, but really, I'm just tired. I'm full of greasy pizza, ready to get to a hotel that I'm hoping has a comfortable pillow. I'm on my third, and thankfully last, campus, and sadly aware of how they are starting to blend.

I like Grinnell, not Knox, but the little details, the ones that seemed so important while I was there? They're fading. Already blurring with the beautiful flowers I see ahead of me. The brick buildings lining each side of the path I make my slow way down.

Greek letters adorn houses further behind me. A shiny new building catches the last remnants of the setting sun.

A long sidewalk leads me around behind a big building. It looks like the sports center, but I can't tell much from the uniform exterior. The sidewalk ends next to a busy road and a power plant. Clearly we've left the manicured side of campus, left behind the part that we, as visitors, are supposed to see.

The sidewalk feels long and slightly endless as we head back the same way we came.

Tomorrow I will see the poetry garden, with the cool shade offered by huge trees, strategically placed benches, and little gazebos tucked away. I will see the inside of the buildings, each with their own character and flair. I will talk to people who describe Beloit as the best place on earth, the perfect college.

I will smile and nod, knowing it's a sales pitch. I will be slightly turned off by the fact that I am getting a well-rehearsed show. All movements and voices carefully choreographed. I will remind myself that it is what it is, and try to focus on the positives.

The beautiful campus, the strong academics, the tales of welcoming people, the study abroad opportunities.

Yet I can't get away from the first feeling I had. That it's a great campus. A wonderful school. But it's not the right fit for me.

Knox

2011-08-04T14:16:00.001-07:00

I stare out the window, waiting eagerly for the appearance of green grass and manicured flower beds and academic-looking buildings. I keep referring to the map in hand, trying to figure out where we are, and where we're supposed to be going. We cross some streets with inventive names like Main and Cherry before finding the correct one.

I step out of the car into the heavy air. I try to tell myself I'm used to it by now.

I'm lying.

There are more tall trees, unfamiliar to me, the Coloradan, and cicadas abound.

I leave the map in the car, wanting instead to figure it out for myself. I strike out in a promising direction, my parents a few steps behind. I cross the street, heading for a sidewalk that leads to the most prominent building in sight. Its large frame and old stonework give it the appearance of extreme age. But instead of seeming imposing or regal, it just looks tired. Like it needs a long nap, and maybe a face-lift.

All the doors are locked, but I'm not surprised. The campus seems dead. I haven't seen so much as the shadow of another person; we are clearly the only people here. I wander around the building, and reach its front doors. Plaques on either side of the entrance proclaim its status as one of the oldest buildings in town, as well as the historical debate that was held here.

The sidewalk dead ends the way I was going, so I turn around and head back. I run into construction tape and dirt when I try to turn left, so instead I turn right.

More brick buildings stand silently in front of me. Their faces are impassive. They've seen too many young, eager students to be impressed by my presence.

I turn and stop, waiting for my parents to reach me. They have stopped to read more plaques that are mounted by an old bell tower.

As they reach me, I indicate that I am ready to head back to the car. They nod, and we make the detour together around more construction. Back at the car, I give the campus another searching look. I can't articulate, even to myself, what I'm looking for, but I don't find it.

I return my gaze to the car, and settle myself in for the drive.

Grinnell

2011-08-03T14:03:00.001-07:00

We walk side by side, three of us on a sidewalk built for two. Weeds line each side of the cement, encroaching on the straight lines. Cicadas sing their noisy song, growing louder as we approach the larger trees. Sweat drips down my back before it gets caught in my waistband. I lift my hair off my neck, trying to catch a non-existent breeze on my sticky skin.

I tie my hair back. We cross the street and are greeted by tall prairie flowers. They line the street, bursting with color and life.

I walk ahead, not sure where I'm going. There are large brick buildings on my right, smaller houses on the left. The green grass tickles my ankles as I step off the sidewalk. Under a big maple, I sit down on a bench. The wood is old and warped, but the rest it offers is appreciated.

Joined by my parents, we sit quietly. I swing my feet, scuffing the ground that hundreds of students before me have scuffed.

Ahead of me I see a large statue, a sidewalk cutting diagonally through the grass, and a low brick building, partially hidden by greenery.

I stand up and wander towards the statue, curious. Many of the trees I pass are marked by plaques, in remembrance of loved parents, spouses, and alumni.

The statue turns out to be a giant sundial, donated by a class from before my parents were born.

The doors make a quiet sucking noise as I pull them open. I step into a cool room. A tiled floor, signs pointing me to classrooms and professor's offices, wooden doors with small windows. Steps leading up and down. I explore further into the building, away from the door.

It no longer feels cool; my hair is still stuck to the back of my neck and my feet slide around in my flip flops. A large glass display case greets me, filled with old cameras and phonographs. A person walks by us; someone who looks like they belong, probably a student here to do research.

I leave the air-conditioning before my parents are ready. I spend some time smelling the flowers, taking grainy pictures on my phone, and soaking in the feel of the campus.

I point my feet back the way we came. I slowly make my way back to our car, waiting to pick up my pace until I hear their footsteps behind me. I run my hand over the sign that announces "Grinnell College" that sits proudly on the main intersection. The stone is rough under my fingers, saying good-bye, until next time.

dot dot dot

2011-08-01T11:58:00.000-07:00

I think I killed my Next button. It's very sad, and also? How did I manage to kill it?

(You haven't met the magical Next button? You should. It's in Google Reader. And to get more info than that, you'll have to Google it.)

***

I'm all over the place today.

***

We got back from another trip a few days ago. I don't even remember when it was. Third trip this summer. They're starting to blur, slightly.

This time, I was looking at colleges. Yep, one of those big, important, life-altering decisions. I'm trying hard not to think about it like that.

Baby steps.

***

The house is quiet. Very quiet. And cool. But also, it's very quiet. Which in many ways I love. But the past few days have been full of driving and meeting new people and talking about the future. So it's a bit of a shock, for it to be quiet.

***

Pandora is keeping me company. I love Pandora.

***

I had crepes for lunch. Blueberries in one, feta cheese and olives in another. One plain, just to break it up. A scoop of ice cream in the last one to top it off.

(Don't worry, they were small crepes.)

***

It's August. Obvious, I know. But it's still worth mentioning. Because August means the start of school. My senior year.

***

It's supposed to be 100* today. I'm not even going to comment on that.

***

I'm making my way through my lists. The ones that remind me about websites I want to look at, songs I fell in love with when I heard them on the radio, people I need to email, those things. The little things that fall out of my head so easily if I don't write them down.

***

Last night in bed I had two post ideas in mind. But they did that irritating thing where they disappear by the next morning. I missed my blog, though, so here I am.

on things i'm loving right now...

2011-07-25T08:55:00.000-07:00

...my illness not being the center of every conversation i have. people have moved on, i'm moving on, i'm getting better. it's so wonderful to hear about other people's lives. to not be watching people's expressions as i explain, wondering if they really get it. or if they even believe me.

...feeling better. i love that i can say that. no ifs ands or buts. it's a fact. not fixed, but better.

...being a senior. depending on my mood, this could also end up on a "things i'm hating right now" list.

...thinking about college. again with the mixed emotions. but, it's going to happen. i am thrilled and nervous and terrified and excited.

...functioning headphones.

...two huge piles of books sitting by my bed. i can't wait to sit back and dig in.

Weekly Winners

2011-07-24T10:05:00.000-07:00

Barefoot

2011-07-18T09:33:00.000-07:00

I rarely go barefoot anymore.

I'm either wearing socks, or shoes, or my stockings. (I wear compression stockings every day for medical reasons.)

I don't walk outside. I don't get to feel the rough gravel under my feet, or curl my toes into the grass.

I miss the solid feeling of the ground beneath my feet. Feeling connected to the earth.

I point my toes and take little leaps over the prickly pine needles. The grass is long; it tickles my ankles. The moist soil greets the soles of my feet. I step on something squishy. I'm pretty sure it was a mushroom, but I don't really want to know.

My leap lands me on a large flat stepping stone. Artificially made to look natural, my feet immediately know the difference. Too uniform intexture, the edges are too round.

I hop lightly from one to the other, avoiding the stray pieces of bark that have made their way onto the path.

Another skip lands me on rough concrete. The worn down texture, with all its grooves and bumps, gives away its age. The small bits of gravel and sand, indistinguishable from the concrete according to my eyes, are shap outcroppings against my tender skin.

The mat outside the door is soft and slightly damp. It gently caresses my feet as the wipe the earth from them. I prepare to step inside, onto the cold, unforgiving tile.

Weekly Winners

2011-07-17T08:24:00.000-07:00

The End

2011-07-15T11:34:00.000-07:00

The doorbell rings.

I jam my hat onto hopefully-presentable hair and adjust my glasses one last time. Bag slung over my shoulder, I walk quickly to the door.

I fumble with the lock for a moment, able to see her face beyond the door, before it finally releases. I wrap my arms around her in a big hug, careful not to poke her with my hat or glasses. I don't want to think about how long it's been.

We both step back, and she makes introductions between me, her boyfriend, and my parents. There are a few sentences of small talk exchanged before my parents wish us well, and we leave.

I hold my hat; my glasses and cloak are stuffed in my bag as we walk to the entrance. No one questions our tickets, but direct us through lines of caution tape to join the waiters.

It's 5:45 PM, only six hours and 17 minutes to go.

The tile is cold and hard, but then the Boyfriend remembers he has a sleeping bag in his car. So that's what boyfriends are for!

Marginally more comfortable, we kick off our shoes, prepared to wait.

I do my best to not look at the time every five minutes; I know it will just make the wait that much longer. We play Harry Potter Uno and I can't keep track of the direction we're supposed to be going.

A man in a Gryffindor scarf yells at us to stand up, so the whole line dutifully picks up their stuff that has magically expanded in the last hour and walks forward through the maze. After five minutes of standing, it is apparent that is all the movement we will get for a while, so the sleeping bag is set back down, shoes are kicked off, cards are reshuffled, and the time is checked.

Another round of Uno is played. The Friend and Boyfriend have a pretzel and pizza, while I attempt to read my book. People are talking loudly, and it seems that with each new person that joins the line, everyone feels the need to increase their volume level.

A quiet couple are behind us.

In front of us we see friends from school. The Friend and Boyfriend know the people who camped out last night in front of the theater and have now claimed the coveted first spot in line.

I see a golden snitch, and a Platform nine and three quarters. A few Bellatrixes, a Snape, multiple witches and wizards. My hat and glasses have long since been discarded, in the hope of becoming slightly more comfortable.

Our new spot is next to a wall, which is lovely to lean against, at least in theory. But my back doesn't seem to think it's much better.

I make my way through several rows of people, and stand in line to buy a four dollar coffee. I need all the caffeine I can get.

By the time I get back, it appears we're going to move again. Anything for a change of scenery. And it's only 8 PM. I don't want to think about the next four hours.

We end up on carpet this time, but by butt is already numb and can't really tell the difference. My knees are complains loudly, whether curled up or out straight. My back is long gone, and my hips are starting to ache. I'm trying really hard not to think about all this.

The Boyfriend comes back, disgusted with the new policy of no free refills. I read a few more pages. We discuss the movie.

We sit. We wait.

Finally, we stand again. Four friends come and join us. People are surprisingly fine with people joining the line. I'm just a little put out that they get such a good spot, only because we've been waiting for the past three hours. I go to the bathroom, again. When I come back, the hall is empty, quiet. It's nice for about two seconds, but then I realize I'm going to have to find my group in the theater, and I don't have my cell phone.

I find them. After freaking out only a little.

We sit. At least I'm semi-comfortable now. We wait. We cheer every hour, as 12:02 creeps closer and closer.

We talk. I entertain the idea of dozing off, but it's not going to happen. This had better be a really good movie.

The lights dim. A cheer that makes my head hurt rises up from the hundreds of people in our theater. I add to the noise, clapping and cheering.

The music begins. We quiet down. And wait for the magic.

The Beginning

2011-07-14T13:42:00.000-07:00

The young girl, let's call her Tailynn, stretches out on the bed. It's not the most comfortable bed in the world; it's one of those pull-out couches that you only tolerate when you're visiting family. It is barely big enough for both her mom and her own growing frame.

Her mom stretches out beside her, and they both kick their feet up, relaxed. Tailynn's grandparents are taking their afternoon nap, and have left Tailynn and her mom to entertain themselves for a few hours.

Caren opens the brand new book. Purchased in the airport, it was double the regular price, but it was something she felt she would need to keep Tailynn entertained.

The spine cracks in a satisfying way, signifying that it is ready to share the story it holds within it.

Caren clears her throat, and begins, "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much..."

Fears vs. Dreams

2011-07-11T09:37:00.000-07:00

Fears vs. Dreams from To Write Love on Her Arms. on Vimeo

Fear: To be alone.

Dream: To find someone who loves me for me.

Weekly Winners

2011-07-10T10:03:00.000-07:00

Weekly Winners

2011-07-02T08:58:00.000-07:00

***

Vote for me!!

on names

2011-07-02T08:22:00.000-07:00

Names start out as just a title. Just something everyone calls you. But slowly and so quickly, they become you.

I have always loved my name, but I left that behind when I started this blog. I became Terrie, mostly for safety reasons. But in a way, I became Terrie. At least online. I left comments and posted little bits of my life here, for the whole world to read. But it was in a strangely safe environment, because no one really knew it was me. Because I was Terrie.

Now, though, I'm changing. Merging the real me and the online me.

My real name is Tela. A name I love, and that is me.

***

Vote for me!!

July

2011-07-01T13:25:00.000-07:00

The beginning of a new month. It usually blows right by me, the changing of the calendar. It means I change my contacts. And that's it. But this month, this means that my summer is disappearing. Much too quickly, slipping away as I read and eat popsicles. That is what summer is for, but there is a part of me that feels like I should be doing more. Or at least doing something. That part of me that wants me to go go go, go be productive, go contribute in some grand way. And I'm not. I'm resting. Volunteeering a few hours of my time each week. The rest is spent in laziness.

This is me, trying to convince myself that laziness is good.

It is, I know that. To rest and stop and just breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. In.

To be quiet. To stare off into space. To forget, even for a few, blessed seconds, about my to-do list. To sway to the music, get lost in the story of the drums. To smell the flowers, and notice the birds. To savor the fresh fruit.

I am sitting. Quietly. Not doing anything except writing these words.

***

In other news, Circle of Moms has nominated me as on of the Top 25 Kid Bloggers!! I would love it if you would take three seconds to vote for me, once a day, until July 22.

Circle of Moms Top 25 Kid Bloggers .

Ring the Bells

2011-06-28T11:10:00.000-07:00

Find the words that make it right again

Calling birds help you make it through the night

It's just enough to find a way to open up once again

And learn to take all the beauty that's inside

Well ring the bells that lead you home
Cause the only truth I've ever known
Is that nothing ever hurts us more than love
So circle up your best friends
And we'll celebrate the way it ends
At least we live tonight
At least we live tonight

Scream out loud
Until you feel again
And hear the sound of how to heal an aching heart
And those that know you most
Can help you to live again
So keep the close
As you're making your new start

Well ring the bells that lead you home
Cause the only truth I've ever known
Is that nothing ever hurts us more than love
So circle up your best friends
And we'll celebrate the way it ends
At least we live tonight
At least we live tonight

The day you finally turn to dust
And finally hear your name
Brings colors that will never fade away
Sometimes the best in all of us
Can still break down and still give up on love
But it's never gone

Well ring the bells that lead you home
Cause the only truth I've ever known
Is that nothing ever hurts us more than love
So circle up your best friends
And we'll celebrate the way it ends
At least we live tonight
At least we live tonight

Weekly Winners

2011-06-26T10:06:00.000-07:00

rambling

2011-06-22T10:18:00.000-07:00

I just closed everything I had up and going. Facebook, blogs, two emails, yada yada yada. I've needed this. This chance to take a break. I feel like I've been so busy doing nothing that I haven't actually taken the time to do nothing.

To sit down and sort out some of my thoughts. Jumbled, crazy thoughts.

***

I took photos for my cousin's wedding shower about three weeks ago. It was fun, in a crazy, new, intimidating sort of way. I am definitely not a people photographer, and I thought it was just due to lack of practice.

But I got home and was just dragging my feet in every way possible on getting the photos edited and out to my family. I finally did it, and got them done yesterday. It felt so good to be done. But then when I got my camera out, with pictures of flowers, and a ripening strawberry, and a ladybug, I felt so much happier.

It wasn't that I was burned out on editing photos, or just photography in general, it's just that the people photos aren't where I am happy. The macros, the shots of little things, that's my comfort zone. But also so much more because it's where I can relax, and feel confident. Where I'm happy in the process and in the final product.

***

I'm listening to Mumford & Sons.

My favorite quote is from one of their songs: "your soul you must keep totally free".

***

After writing posts like this, it is so tempting to go back and hit the delete button. It would be so easy to pretend that it never existed. To hide my scars and the scarier, darker bits back into the recesses of my messy closet. But they do exist, and I'm chosing to believe that by sharing them, they aren't quite as scary. By putting them out into the world, they lose some of their power over me.

I'm chosing to fight the feelings of inadequacy, or what I feel will be judgement coming from other people. This is my space. Mine. And it is a place where I can be myself, the dark and light.

***

I'm on Facebook. I finally gave in. I'm still figuring out what all it will allow me to do, and what I don't want it to do. There are so many people coming out of my past, saying hi, asking how I am. It's weird, but also kind of cool. I just wish Facebook wasn't so convinced I should be friends with my ex-best friend.

Believe me, Facebook, I tried.

Weekly Winners

2011-06-19T09:15:00.000-07:00

I am still feeling sort of swamped in photos, but I guess that's what happens when you take a bunch and then don't do anything with them for two weeks. It would be stretching it to say that these are from the past week; more like they are the ones I haven't dealt with for the past almost-three weeks, and so they have ended up here.

Pain

2011-06-16T09:55:00.000-07:00

Why is it that my memories of physical pain are gone, while the emotional pain remains burned into me?

I can't tell you how much it hurt, or exactly how it felt when I was in the ER, in what felt like the worst pain of my life. I don't remember. There is nothing there. What I do remember from that night are facts and impressions, but they're all external. Nothing from what I was experiencing internally remains.

But the other nights, where I was crying because I was so emotionally hurt, or embarrassed, or scared, those I remember in vivid detail.

Everything.

And it can all be called back in a second. By the smallest thing. And suddenly I am reliving it. All of it. Not just the emotional anguish, but the physical pain that comes from crying for so long, and from curling up in such a tight ball.

Those memories, the physical pain that accompanied the emotional? I remember perfectly.

It's what makes it so impossible to compare a current injury to a past one. Only the present one, the one of whose presence your body continually reminds you of in excruciating detail, is important. The rest are just factual blurs, devoid of any senses or feelings.

And that's why we're able to continue to put ourselves into potentially harmful situations. Sure it'll be like that time I broke my arm, that was bad, but it wasn't that bad.

But why?

Why do our bodies only hang to to one type of painful memory? There are all types of pain, one is not less-real than the other. Both are important, both can impact our lives. But maybe it's the emotional ones that we can learn form. They are the ones that shape us as people, that change our future behavior, for better or worse. We only change because we are scared of pain, and our bodies keep those memories intact, close to the surface, ready to remind us of the risk of suffering should we stray too close to our old mistakes.

Memories

2011-06-14T07:55:00.000-07:00

Triggered by the smallest thing, a book, a smell, they flood into me. Nothing I've consciously repressed, although not something I love to dwell on.

Cleaning brings them all rushing to the forefront. The small tokens I've tucked away, long forgotten.

Today it was a book.

A book that brought with it reminders of a lost friendship. A deep hurt, that, no matter how much time has passed, will still spring up, unexpected.

It's the one thing I threw across the room. Right onto the give-away pile. I am glad to have it gone.

And I am doing my best to let go of the lingering hurt.

Today it was a chapstick.

The one brand I always used for band. For the better parts of three years, I used one chapstick, readying my lips to play the French Horn.

Band is in my past, now. I wish it wasn't. It wasn't by choice.

But just the smell of that chapstick takes me back.

Lifting the horn out of the blue velvet case, feeling the sharp edge of the bell on my leg, the cold metal on my lips.

A whole room of tapping feet, trying to stay on time.

But now it's all tinged with sadness and regret. Just one more thing my illness took from me. It's in the distant past, but that chapstick brings it roaring back into my present.

At the end of the day, I collapse into bed, exhausted from a day of cleaning. All the memories swirling around me. But it still feels good to do. To clean out the old junk, to see and touch my past, before it is either tossed out the door or hidden back into a drawer, waiting for the next cleaning fever to hit.

Outside the Lines

2011-05-30T08:08:00.000-07:00

The black outline guides my hand.
Silent as I scribble over it,
marring the neat black ink.

Inked in so carefully by an unknown hand.
A hand that decides what is correct.
What is right.
Dictating my picture's outcome.

An invisible hand should not be given so much power.
But it's just a drawing.
How much power can a child's scribble possess?

The shaky marks,
colors swirled,
patternless.

Light, a touch that is barely there.
Or hard. Rupturing the paper's smooth surface.

It is like spilled milk.
Anything can be seen in the lines.
Between the lines, anything can have meaning.
Anything can have power.

I flip the page over to start anew.
Determined that this time, I will get it right.
A new outlined shape lies before me.

Containing within it bunnies, ranbows, flowers.
Age-appropriate, fun things to color.
Meaningless.

I stare down at the crayon I have clutched in my hand.
My adult-sized fist dwarfs the small stub.
Worn down from years of coloring.

I am convinced it is worn from being used to color outside the lines.
I was lawless in my youth.

My hand moves over the paper.
I strike out the plain black lines.
My lines form shapes,
free from the invisible hand.

Weekly Winners

2011-05-29T07:28:00.000-07:00

Toothless Freedom

2011-05-27T06:28:00.001-07:00

4pm Tuesday

Seniors officially graduate.

I watch the caps spin through the air, imagining myself in their shoes.

One year.

12:05pm Wednesday

I am officially a senior.

It still hasn't sunk in. I've spent so much time anticipating this moment. Now that it's here, I'm not quite sure what to do with it.

This summer is my school work-free summer. I am ignoring my Intro to Business class, because it should be super easy and I am just ready to have a school-free summer.

8:30am-ish Thursday

My four wisdom teeth are pulled.

Thursday

My mouth is numb most of the day, I eat lots of white foods (seriously: mac & cheese, yogurt, milk, soup, egg whites, ice cream), watch movies and TV, play two hands of rummy, sleep, claim I'm not that drugged, then promptly call my Vicodin Viagra, and sleep some more.

Hopefully today will bring fewer drugs, less pain, and more with-it-ness.

Happy summer!

(And you are now allowed to tell me your wisdom teeth horror stories. Especially if they're funny.)

To My Body

2011-05-23T08:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Body,

I thought we had an understanding.

Because even though I don't know what you're doing or why you're doing it most of the time (and I don't think you know either), I thought we'd reached an understanding.

You hurt me. I don't know why. Screaming and hating you didn't work; neither did blood tests, doctors, and drugs. So I've reached a place of acceptance. Mostly.

And for your part, you're slowly improving. Some days, you only come armed with half your weapons. An anchor to weigh me down and tire me out, but the jack hammer will not show up, giving my head a rest. And you've stopped twisting and squeezing my intestines. Mostly.

So I thought we had reached a compromise.

I would treat you kindly and with respect, while you would gradually retire your instruments of pain.

So why, on the second to last day of school, did you let it all come rushing back? I am doing my best not to be angry, but I would like a reason. Or at the very least, just keep the germs and everything else at bay, for a few more days.

Please.

Love, Me

Weekly Winners

2011-05-22T09:36:00.000-07:00

Weekly Winners

2011-05-20T09:32:00.000-07:00

Eleven Things

2011-05-18T08:05:00.002-07:00

Let me first say, for the record, that I detest the word happy. Nonetheless, here is a list of eleven things that makes me happy.

The promise an empty canvas holds.

When people remember little thing about me that I didn't expect them to remember.

My routines.

Breaking my routines.

Finding something I love, that just feels right.

Really good books.

Music that fits my mood perfectly.

My cat's purr.

Folding paper cranes.

The Friends theme song.

The whole summer stretching out before me.

Scrambled Monday

2011-05-16T08:35:00.000-07:00

It's 9:30. I have yet to do anything productive this morning. But I guess that depends on how one defines "productive". Because I have eaten breakfast, read blogs, commented on a few, read email, looked at my week, decided it shouldn't already be Monday again, and now I am writing my own post.

My own scrambled thoughts that are somehow supposed to form a coherent whole.

This Monday marks the second to last Monday of the school year. I am thrilled and beyond excited, but not at this very moment. At this very moment, I feel sick, and a whole week just sounds like too much.

So I am trying not to think of it as a week. Right now all that I need to do is write this. Because I feel scrambled and out-of-sorts, and I'm hoping that by writing it down, I will become a little more grounded, and a little more prepared for my tutor's arrival.

I made muffins this weekend. I adore muffins. Muffins have the ability to make it all seem okay. I love muffins.

Yes, so, I love muffins, and I made a bunch to give to my teachers for the end of school. Along with a pack of cards that I made, just simple ones with a photograph on the front and blank inside.

I am trying to figure out how to sell these cards of mine. I've made some money off my parents, but that doesn't really count. I had them in a coffee shop for a while, where I sold several, but the owner was impossible to track down. I think it's just a matter of going into the stores and asking. Because the worst that can happen is they say no, right?

I need to finish writing the cards for my teachers, and then I am going to attempt to do some homework. Which really needs to be done, but I'm not sure how "productive" I'm going to be.

Weekly Winners

2011-05-15T08:29:00.000-07:00

Again

2011-05-10T07:14:00.000-07:00

The wind blows gently over her face, mussing her hair. She tucks it more securely behind both ears, and turns to her right to check one more time.

She gets the go-ahead. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. The metal is cold against her sweating fingers. She turns the keys. The engine catches, and rumbles to life.

Looking down at her feet, she repeats to herself, "Clutch, brake, gas".

On her right, the stick is firmly in first. With hands glued at 10 and 2, she eases her foot off the brake. Oh! Wait. She forgot to release the clutch. Her right foot slams onto the gas while she yanks her foot off the clutch. The car splutters, protesting loudly, and then goes silent.

Again.

She breathes.

Positions her feet back onto the clutch and brake, prepared to try again. Looking right, she gets a quick smile. Turning her attention back onto the road ahead, she checks her mirrors.

Turns the key. Checks the mirrors again, just in case a car has appeared on the deserted dirt road behind her in the last 12 seconds. She's still in first.

Clutch off, brake off, gas on. Gently. Oh so gently. Carefully.

The car jerks forward. And goes silent.

Again.

Monday Morning Thoughts

2011-05-09T07:14:00.000-07:00

I've pretty much settled into my routine. Waking up an hour and a half earlier certainly wouldn't be my first choice, but my body seems to be unmovable. It does make my mornings a lot longer!

I am heading out for take two of the SATs in about an hour. After this, I should be done with standardized tests. Just one more item I can check off my list.

I had a nice weekend; seeing grandparents, planting tomatoes, celebrating Mother's Day, putting screens back on the windows, and just generally soaking up the beginning of summer.

Not my favorite season for weather, but the no school aspect of it does a pretty good job of making up for the horrific hot-ness. And there's something undeniably hopeful about it. The start of a new season, greeting the new plants, preparing for the inside/outside ratio to flip.

I am driving. On back roads. With my father trying to pretend he's not hanging on for dear life. Be very afraid. I am.

I have two more weeks of school. Excuse me while I go through a party.

Weekly Winners: Mother's Day

2011-05-08T06:54:00.000-07:00

My Weekly Winners, plus a few flowers for all the moms out there on Mother's Day.

Alive

2011-05-06T08:35:00.000-07:00

There is a poster leaning against my wall. It is a recently white wall; I just took down two posters that have been up for years. Perfectly nice posters, but it was time for a change. There is something I love about open, white walls. Something cliched about new beginnings and the promise of hope....

This new poster is supposed to be "me". How in the world I think I am going to capture all of me, all of my complicated being, on one poster is beyond me, but I'm trying.

It needs more, but I'm not quite sure what that more is.

Here is what it holds so far:

Alive

Hope

Dream

Learning

Read

Español

Cranes

Breathe

Love

Travel

Music

Freedom

Write

Connections

Camera

At least we live tonight.

Bring light where you see darkness, bring freedom where there is fear, and begin to heal.

Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.

In the midst of winter, I discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.

Nothing worthwhile is achieved overnight.

Don’t count your owls before they are delivered.

As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.

It’s just enough to find a way to open up again and learn to taste all the beauty that’s inside.

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

Let go of the past and go for the future. Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you imagined.

When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.

It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

Weekly Winners

2011-05-01T07:48:00.000-07:00