General

In case you were wondering – and I know you probably were – there is no better time to listen to “Rain” than during a thunderstorm.

I’ve been awake for an hour and a half. The thunder woke me at a time when my alarm otherwise might have – were the alarm not turned off and the power not out. I remained in bed for several minutes, confused. I glanced at my clock – nothing. Lying still, I waited for the breeze generated by my ceiling fan to hit me. Nothing.

“Ah, the power must be out,” I concluded. (I’m a quick one.)

The power cut back on just before I crawled out of bed and peered through the blinds that cover my bedroom window. “Is it that early, or is it about to start storming?” I wondered. I picked up my cell phone – 8:11 A.M. Sure enough, the weather was that gnarly.

“But it was gorgeous yesterday…” I lamented, alone in my bedroom. “All of our plans for the day revolved around the outdoors. Now what?”

I still haven’t answered that question, but my would-be partners in crime are still asleep. (Must be nice!) While they’ve been visiting dreamland, I’ve already read one chapter for a class and composed a rather dull blog entry.

This, my friends, is evidence that I am not a morning person.

So answer me this – how would you spend a rainy day with three of your friends?

A blog is a form of exteriorized psychology. It’s a part of you, or of your pscyhe; while a titanium hip joint or a pacemaker might bring technology inside the corporeal you, a weblog uses technology to bring the pscyhological you outside of it. Your weblog acts as a new limb, a new mouth, and a new hemisphere of the brain. Once those new organs come into being, you’re no more likely to remove or amputate them than the original organic equipment they augment. I continue to write weblogs – not for money, not for renown, not for anyone but myself.
–Joe Clark, “Deconstructing ‘You’ve Got Blog’” January 25, 2002

I read those words over breakfast on my front porch ten days ago. Despite Clark’s later retraction of the final sentence, what he wrote resonated with me. As I poured myself into that day’s post, I asked myself, “Why do I blog?” Those words have reverberated in my mind for days now.

I discovered at the tender age of ten that pen and paper were my preferred form of self expression. Back in those days, I was painfully shy. (People change.) With my notebook in hand, I could express the opinions that I wasn’t always willing to expose to the public.

It was cathartic then, and it remains so today, twelve years later. In my closet there sits a stack of journals, catalouging my most intimate thoughts of the past four years. The latest in that series is tucked inside the top drawer of my nightstand, along with several spiral notebooks of thoughts then undeveloped. Even during classes, I find myself doodling along the edges of my notes. My heart finds its way out through my pen, sometimes to my detriment.

But not all of my thoughts are private. There are pieces that I write that lend themselves to input from others. Sometimes I want help critiquing a piece of fiction. (Yeah, that’s rare.) It allows me a forum for feedback, as does the newspaper for which I write. But more often than not, the thoughts on my mind reveal a bit about what is on my heart. This piece of the world wide web allows me to share my heart with you, my friends.

As it happens, most of my close friends live many hundreds of miles from my little apartment in Alabama. Many of you I met at our dear alma mater; others I have befriended online; still others of you travel here through someone else’s internet home. Whatever the case, this little publishing tool that Meg and Ev created allows me to share with you pieces of me that you otherwise might not receive.

Besides, I told you – it’s cathartic. What’s your excuse?

I love October. I smelled autumn in the air for the first time today. 🙂 It is currently colder outside than it is in my apartment, so I’m sitting in bed with my bedroom window open to the evening air.

…

(Alisa, don’t read this till after you’ve watched Ed.)

So I was watching the season premiere of Ed last night, and his awkwardness in his newfound relationship with Carol got me thinking. I haven’t had a boyfriend or been on a date in four years. Am I gonna be fumbling around like that when I find someone?

I’ll admit, it’s a somewhat unfounded fear. But I do think it’s a tad logical – it’s weird to go from being single to being with someone, right?

…

My tummy hurts.

…

Metrosexual? I’ll pass.

Explaining forgiveness to a ten year old is a difficult task.

After a dispute of sorts with his friends, my brother walked into my bedroom for advice.

“Do you think I should ever forgive Kevin and Kayla for what they did?” he asked me, his face still blotchy from his tears.

I cocked my head to the side and listened as he explained the situation he’d just experienced. As he spoke, I underwent a mental struggle. How can I explain the need for forgiveness to so young a child?

When he stopped talking, his eyes met mine expectantly. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say – he wanted me to take “his side” on it. Instead, I weakly explained how not forgiving someone hurts us worse than it does them. I tried to tell him that, while we should be wise in who we spend our time with, remaining angry at a person does no good. I tried to give him a lesson in holiness.

He disagreed.

Before I have children, perhaps someone will write a manual to relating to them. Something along the lines of How to Speak and Act Like a Child would be of great use to me.

You really have to read this. It’s hilarious.

So, my grandfather died last night.

To be honest, it’s not even his death that’s on my mind right now. The long car ride to Birmingham with my family is what’s causing me stress.

My mom and sister have been fighting all morning. My sister insists that she’s not going (and is right now crying on the phone about it), and of course, my mother insists that she is. Cheryl says that no one cares how she feels, Mom says that she’s gonna do the right thing.

Maybe I SHOULD just drive my own car.

I have so many issues to reconcile before I join the work force full time.

I’ve spent the past month and a half working full time at a job I didn’t really care anything about. Being a receptionist isn’t a bad deal, but it’s just not what I want to do with my life. My passions lie elsewhere.

The forty hours I spent there each week have reminded me of a valuable lesson, though. Part of my calling in this world is to work, and in doing so, I desire to use the gifts I’ve been given. I’ve learned over the past six weeks that most of my waking hours will be spent at work. By the time I got home every night, I only had four or five hours before I hit the hay.

Now, this isn’t so bad right now as a single woman. Someday, though, I’d like to get married and have a family, and ideally, I’d like to be able to devote a bit more time to them than that! I don’t want to live for the weekends – I want every day to be worth my rolling out of bed.

Perhaps I’m an idealist in this area. But my work has got to mean something to me, or else I just don’t think I’ll be able to hack it in the “real world.”