I've been thinking a lot lately about my writing. I guess I'm trying to figure out what it is that I'd like to continue to do with my English degree. Let's face it, I'll probably never be lucky enough to have the Julie Powell-type serendipity of having someone want to actually do something with my blog. I'm not going to get a book deal based on my boring life. I'm going to have to figure out how it is that adults write things in the real world and manage to trade it for some type of money. Making money, obviously, has never been my forte.
In all, I wouldn't mind teaching. I love to teach. If there was one thing that Owens taught me about myself, other than the fact that I can manage to get decent grades when I put in the time and effort, it would be how much I enjoy helping other people to find their "Aha!" moments. I love that moment where a person actually understands a concept, and they understand it because of the way that you explained it to them. I know that I could be happy as a teacher, but I'd really love to get a doctorate and teach at the college level. I'd like to tackle hard concepts with my students.
Here's the rub: when I was a kid, I always had this fantasy that I'd be a great writer. I'd have a best-seller. It wouldn't be cookie-cutter tripe, either. It would be a deep, meaningful, moving novel, rife with symbolism and hailed by the critics as a brilliant piece of Literature--literature, that is, with a capital L. I'm actually closer than ever to having that silly dream come true. Well, alright, parts of that dream anyways. I don't think I'm the next Salman Rushdie. I'm not shooting for Dickensian talent, but it would be nice to be able to write something that wasn't completely foolish or crappy. I don't know if I'm ready to give up on the idea that I could be a writer yet.
Permit me a moment of sibling rivalry here as well: my twin, marathon man that he is (graduated from Purdue with a degree in mechanical engineering, and was ridiculously close to having a double major in applied computational mathematics), also writes. He contributes to a Purdue-related sports blog, and he makes money off of it. His writing, which I had always thought was my domain, is fluid and cohesive. Considering familial achievements, I'm behind. But then, I was behind before I even started to consider this because my twin has been in college since 2004, whereas I didn't go back to school until 2008. (Yes, that's right, I fail at an abundance of things! It's not just writing!) Like I needed one more reason to be slightly jealous of my brilliant twin. The upside is that I can be very proud (and please don't doubt that I am completely proud of his talent and achievements) that he's a good writer.
I have time to figure it all out, of course. I have to get a basic degree before I can get a higher one. It's just been something that I've been thinking about. The future has been weighing heavily on my mind lately. I have a lot of decisions to make and courses of action to ponder.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Family and Reunions
This weekend, my brother and his girlfriend, Jill, stopped in to stay with us for a few days on the way to Jill's house in Boston. My twin brother, as it happens, will be spending the Christmas holidays with the lovely Jill and her parents. They'll also come back through and stay with us for another few days on their way back to Lafayette, Indiana, but my dad and I will be in South Bend, so I won't get to spend a whole lot of time with them.
It's an interesting relationship that my twin and I have with each other. We used to be very close. Then, during our teenage years--probably due to the fact that I was a teenage girl, which automatically makes everything horrible--we grew apart. Lately, we've been much closer, and it's been a very comfortable friendship. I suppose you don't really appreciate your siblings until you don't see them all the time anymore.
We've spent the weekends talking about various things, playing video games together, enjoying family meals, and doing plenty of laughing. I like Jill very much, and I can tell that my brother has a very deep affection for her. It's nice to see him in a comfortable relationship, and I'm very happy for the both of them. I'm also glad that Jill and I have so much in common. We're both English majors, both interested in the same television and mostly the same books. We share some common opinions, and we have a very similar sense of humor. She's witty, which I guess she'd have to be to keep up with my brother's sassy comments. In short, I'd enjoy spending more time with both of them.
It's just been very nice to have my family together again, even if only for a few days. You don't really realize how much you can like each other when you have to spend all your time living with together. When you've all gone your separate ways, you have time to miss each other. You get time to reflect on the things that you liked about them, about all the ways that they made you laugh and smile. Our family is very much a family that loves to laugh together. It's nice to share intelligent conversation and laugh together again. I suppose I hadn't realized how very much I missed it until now.
In other news, my friend Mandy called me today to catch up. We spent some time reminiscing about the halcyon days of youth, and it got me thinking back to my high school days. I found myself thinking about people that we used to hang out with, relationships that happened--or almost happened, as the case may be. I sort of wish that we could all have our own reunion between friends, just to catch up. It would be nice to spend an evening talking about how we used to feel about each other, what we're doing now, and who we've all become. But then, I crave poetry in life, even among people and relationships. (I suppose I should preface that more by saying that I crave more poetry in life which does not begin, "There once was a man from Nantucket...")
Everything was so complicated, but even then, it was so simple. When you get older, not even much older, things get harder. Relationships must be considered--not just romantic ones, but also ones between family and friends--and they come and go. Jobs and opportunities come your way and force you sacrifice things. Your priorities change. Sometimes, you think about family and the future. Money is obtained, lost, needed and valued differently. Unexpected things happen.
I don't think that high-school-me would have expected me to be where I am now. I don't think high-school-me would be disappointed or anything, so don't misinterpret me. I simply think that, when I thought about my life back then, this isn't what I saw for myself. I suppose, however, that it would have been hard to see myself now from the limited perspective that I had back then.
Don't get me wrong, either. I am often surprised at how well I have turned out considering many things. I am fairly intelligent. I am capable and independent. I have no qualms with standing up for myself or others. I am much more wise than I ever thought I would be at any age, let alone in my twenties. I still have to work on my patience, but I'm making great strides in many other categories, all things considered. I could be doing much, much worse. Perhaps my life will keep moving forward in interesting ways, and I will continue to become more than I thought I would be. We can only hope so, right?
It's an interesting relationship that my twin and I have with each other. We used to be very close. Then, during our teenage years--probably due to the fact that I was a teenage girl, which automatically makes everything horrible--we grew apart. Lately, we've been much closer, and it's been a very comfortable friendship. I suppose you don't really appreciate your siblings until you don't see them all the time anymore.
We've spent the weekends talking about various things, playing video games together, enjoying family meals, and doing plenty of laughing. I like Jill very much, and I can tell that my brother has a very deep affection for her. It's nice to see him in a comfortable relationship, and I'm very happy for the both of them. I'm also glad that Jill and I have so much in common. We're both English majors, both interested in the same television and mostly the same books. We share some common opinions, and we have a very similar sense of humor. She's witty, which I guess she'd have to be to keep up with my brother's sassy comments. In short, I'd enjoy spending more time with both of them.
It's just been very nice to have my family together again, even if only for a few days. You don't really realize how much you can like each other when you have to spend all your time living with together. When you've all gone your separate ways, you have time to miss each other. You get time to reflect on the things that you liked about them, about all the ways that they made you laugh and smile. Our family is very much a family that loves to laugh together. It's nice to share intelligent conversation and laugh together again. I suppose I hadn't realized how very much I missed it until now.
In other news, my friend Mandy called me today to catch up. We spent some time reminiscing about the halcyon days of youth, and it got me thinking back to my high school days. I found myself thinking about people that we used to hang out with, relationships that happened--or almost happened, as the case may be. I sort of wish that we could all have our own reunion between friends, just to catch up. It would be nice to spend an evening talking about how we used to feel about each other, what we're doing now, and who we've all become. But then, I crave poetry in life, even among people and relationships. (I suppose I should preface that more by saying that I crave more poetry in life which does not begin, "There once was a man from Nantucket...")
Everything was so complicated, but even then, it was so simple. When you get older, not even much older, things get harder. Relationships must be considered--not just romantic ones, but also ones between family and friends--and they come and go. Jobs and opportunities come your way and force you sacrifice things. Your priorities change. Sometimes, you think about family and the future. Money is obtained, lost, needed and valued differently. Unexpected things happen.
I don't think that high-school-me would have expected me to be where I am now. I don't think high-school-me would be disappointed or anything, so don't misinterpret me. I simply think that, when I thought about my life back then, this isn't what I saw for myself. I suppose, however, that it would have been hard to see myself now from the limited perspective that I had back then.
Don't get me wrong, either. I am often surprised at how well I have turned out considering many things. I am fairly intelligent. I am capable and independent. I have no qualms with standing up for myself or others. I am much more wise than I ever thought I would be at any age, let alone in my twenties. I still have to work on my patience, but I'm making great strides in many other categories, all things considered. I could be doing much, much worse. Perhaps my life will keep moving forward in interesting ways, and I will continue to become more than I thought I would be. We can only hope so, right?
Friday, December 17, 2010
Desires and Grades
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the things that I'd like to do in the future. Not necessarily resolutions, but things that I would like to accomplish next year (or even in what little remains of this one). These are things that I'd like to do for myself, for one reason or another. In no particular order, they are as follows:
Perhaps it's childish, but lately I've been plagued by all the things that I want that I don't have. I'm so tired of having nothing, of working my butt off to have nothing to show for it. Being poor is hellish. I realize this is the same old song and dance that I've offered up on numerous occasions, but it's still an issue for me.
As a twist to the positive side of things, I did get my grades back for the semester. I managed to get A's in the classes which I did not withdraw from, allowing me to keep my 4.0 GPA. I've breathed a sigh of relief, of course, because I was pretty worried about my nutrition grade. It wasn't a difficult class, but our professor was from Mars. On the upside, I got my grade, so I don't need to worry about it anymore. I can just decompress for the break and worry about my next semester. (Have I mentioned that I'm a worrier? It's kind of a theme for me.) Hopefully, I can pull it off a second time at Lourdes and keep things in motion for myself.
I just don't want to look back at my college days and say that I didn't do the best that I could possibly do. If I'm going to be in debt for, essentially, the better part of my life, I might as well make it worth it. I suppose I equate that with a high GPA, but it could be worse. At least I'm not wasting my time or my money.
At any rate, these "goals"--if one should be so inclined to call them that--will be worked on!
- Fix my roots and dye my hair again. While I did like the pink, I'd like to have a blue streak this time. Also, while I enjoyed the brown-based black we picked out, I'd rather have a blue-black for my hair this time. It looks better in the long run, I think.
- Get my nose pierced. I've wanted this done for a long time, and I think it's one of the few facial piercings that one can get away with in the work world. Also, it's very feminine if one wears it right.
- Get a tattoo on my wrist. For the last year or so, I've wanted a small tattoo on my wrist--small enough that it could be covered by a watch band--reading "Let It Be." This is not only because I've found a great deal of comfort in the Beatles song of the same name, but also because I really feel like it could function as a helpful personal reminder. I could really use one of those right now.
- See Marianas Trench in concert. This process is already begun, as I've purchased tickets for their February show in Columbus. Needless to say because of the incessant mentions, I'm excited.
- Write something of value. Short story, essay, poem, I don't really care. Lately, my writing has been stagnating. This is not a great thing for a girl that's just switched to an English major. Just sayin'.
- Get a vehicle. Of course, this is contingent on a job, a settlement, or both, but I really need to have a car again. I can't stand being dependent on the kindness of others for things I ought to be handling for myself at my age.
- Get a job. This is already in the works as well because I've spoken to an individual at my college about tutoring, and she was very excited to see my interest. I'm excited about the prospect of a paycheck.
- Make my apartment slightly homier, even if we will be leaving it eventually. I'd like to be able to walk in and feel like I'm home, even despite the impersonal faux leather furniture and crappy single beds. I need to add some personal touches to make it less of a pit and more pleasing to me.
- Get back into crocheting and knitting. Busy hands for a busier mind.
Perhaps it's childish, but lately I've been plagued by all the things that I want that I don't have. I'm so tired of having nothing, of working my butt off to have nothing to show for it. Being poor is hellish. I realize this is the same old song and dance that I've offered up on numerous occasions, but it's still an issue for me.
As a twist to the positive side of things, I did get my grades back for the semester. I managed to get A's in the classes which I did not withdraw from, allowing me to keep my 4.0 GPA. I've breathed a sigh of relief, of course, because I was pretty worried about my nutrition grade. It wasn't a difficult class, but our professor was from Mars. On the upside, I got my grade, so I don't need to worry about it anymore. I can just decompress for the break and worry about my next semester. (Have I mentioned that I'm a worrier? It's kind of a theme for me.) Hopefully, I can pull it off a second time at Lourdes and keep things in motion for myself.
I just don't want to look back at my college days and say that I didn't do the best that I could possibly do. If I'm going to be in debt for, essentially, the better part of my life, I might as well make it worth it. I suppose I equate that with a high GPA, but it could be worse. At least I'm not wasting my time or my money.
At any rate, these "goals"--if one should be so inclined to call them that--will be worked on!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Day Four!
So, I've been four (technically, we're on to the fifth day now, but who's counting?) days sober. It's unusual to be committed to something for a change. Being that I'm the kind of person who usually puts too many eggs in one basket, I've decided to only quit one thing at a time here. So, you know, the meth and heroin stay...
KIDDING! Totally kidding! Since I don't do any other substances worth quitting except smoking, sorry, kids, the smoking stays. Everyone I've talked to has been freakily supportive. It makes me wonder if I had a bigger problem than I had initially thought. Thus far, however, I'm handling things very well. Minimal cravings to stray from the path of so-called righteousness. It probably helps that I'm at home for the next month or so.
For a Catholic college, our dorms are rife with underage drinking. Now, first, let me mention that our campus is not a dry campus. We are permitted to have alcohol, but only certain kinds and in certain amounts. This has in no way stopped any of my so-called peers from drinking in excess each weekend. (Don't get me wrong here. In no way am I insinuating that I am any better than any of them. This is clearly not the case.) I'm just really surprised that there's no real reprimand for any of the students who are caught drinking underage.
Anyways, it's best that I'm home right now. It gives me time to focus my thoughts on the ability to refuse alcohol. It gives me some time to kind of chill, steel myself for when there will be people around me drinking. I need to be able to handle myself in these situations. I'm confident that I can, I just need some time to get my head straight again.
Amusingly enough, I had a moment earlier when I was watching DVRed episodes of Celebrity Rehab. One of the women on the show, Rachel, is talking to Dr. Drew about feeling ridiculous for having a love addiction and about how she's afraid that, if she mentions it in group, that her peers will laugh her out of the room. With a bemused smile, Dr. Drew tells her that he's certain that no one will judge her for not being "enough of an addict." In my last entry, I mentioned that I was incredulous about joining any kind of support groups for the same reason--not being enough of an addict. Thanks, Universe, message received. Loud and clear, in fact.
I did have a strange moment of pride today, as well. When I was in the bathroom, I happened to be singing to myself. Of course, because I'm terribly vain and have to have those times when I just embrace my rock star moments, I was looking at myself in the mirror. Lately, my roommate, father, and brother have agreed that it looks like I've lost a little weight. I had dismissed it as nothing, but looking in the mirror today I realized--hey!--I have lost a little weight! Or, at the very least, my fat has redistributed itself to be slightly more pleasing to the eye.
Needless to say, I am thrilled that I have not one but two good things to report today: potential weight loss and additional days of sobriety. Hopefully, by the Marianas Trench concert in Columbus on February 26th (which, by the way, I totally already bought two tickets for) I'll be able to say that I've been sober for two and a half months. Nothing would thrill me more than to go to that concert with that kind of accomplishment.
KIDDING! Totally kidding! Since I don't do any other substances worth quitting except smoking, sorry, kids, the smoking stays. Everyone I've talked to has been freakily supportive. It makes me wonder if I had a bigger problem than I had initially thought. Thus far, however, I'm handling things very well. Minimal cravings to stray from the path of so-called righteousness. It probably helps that I'm at home for the next month or so.
For a Catholic college, our dorms are rife with underage drinking. Now, first, let me mention that our campus is not a dry campus. We are permitted to have alcohol, but only certain kinds and in certain amounts. This has in no way stopped any of my so-called peers from drinking in excess each weekend. (Don't get me wrong here. In no way am I insinuating that I am any better than any of them. This is clearly not the case.) I'm just really surprised that there's no real reprimand for any of the students who are caught drinking underage.
Anyways, it's best that I'm home right now. It gives me time to focus my thoughts on the ability to refuse alcohol. It gives me some time to kind of chill, steel myself for when there will be people around me drinking. I need to be able to handle myself in these situations. I'm confident that I can, I just need some time to get my head straight again.
Amusingly enough, I had a moment earlier when I was watching DVRed episodes of Celebrity Rehab. One of the women on the show, Rachel, is talking to Dr. Drew about feeling ridiculous for having a love addiction and about how she's afraid that, if she mentions it in group, that her peers will laugh her out of the room. With a bemused smile, Dr. Drew tells her that he's certain that no one will judge her for not being "enough of an addict." In my last entry, I mentioned that I was incredulous about joining any kind of support groups for the same reason--not being enough of an addict. Thanks, Universe, message received. Loud and clear, in fact.
I did have a strange moment of pride today, as well. When I was in the bathroom, I happened to be singing to myself. Of course, because I'm terribly vain and have to have those times when I just embrace my rock star moments, I was looking at myself in the mirror. Lately, my roommate, father, and brother have agreed that it looks like I've lost a little weight. I had dismissed it as nothing, but looking in the mirror today I realized--hey!--I have lost a little weight! Or, at the very least, my fat has redistributed itself to be slightly more pleasing to the eye.
Needless to say, I am thrilled that I have not one but two good things to report today: potential weight loss and additional days of sobriety. Hopefully, by the Marianas Trench concert in Columbus on February 26th (which, by the way, I totally already bought two tickets for) I'll be able to say that I've been sober for two and a half months. Nothing would thrill me more than to go to that concert with that kind of accomplishment.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Let's Be Sobering
Lately, I've been struggling with some issues. I think maybe it's time to hold myself accountable for them. It seems that I have a problem: I cannot say no when it comes to alcohol. I need to quit drinking. Let me explain.
Let's start from the beginning. I've been drinking since I was probably 15 years old, which means that I have a solid decade of drinking under my belt. Only four of those years have been legal for me. I'd love to say that my sordid affair with alcohol ends there, but it does not. I've made terrible choices under the influence. I've said terrible things to friends, thrown myself at people (male and female alike), driven drunk (I can't even say enough how lucky I am that I've never had a DUI or worse). There are large chunks of evenings that I just don't remember, and this hasn't happened once or twice. Lately, it's happened every time I've started to drink. Once I start, I don't stop. Because of alcohol, I've lied and stolen. Alcohol has made me indifferent to the destructive tendencies of my friends, and I'm ashamed to say that I've stood by drinking when sober me would never have allowed certain behaviors around me to prevail. I will tell myself that I need to stay sober for a night, and then, I drink anyways.
I'd been thinking about committing to sobriety a lot lately. What was my wake up call this week, you ask? A friend brought over some Jim Beam--a brand and type of alcohol that I cannot stand--and some of it spilled when we put it in the fridge. It spilled on my fingers, and smelling it on my hands made me want to drink it. I actually salivated. To tell the truth, I did drink later that night, though it was not the Jim Beam. But the fact that an alcohol that I previously found more or less abhorrent seemed attractive to me simply because it was alcohol gave me pause. I didn't realize how often I crave alcohol until I thought about it. When something's happening, I want to drink--good or bad. When nothing's happening, I want to drink. When I'm angry or upset, I want to drink. When I'm happy, I'm always down to drink.
To be perfectly candid, it scares the hell out of me. Seeing the addiction on both sides of my family has shown me what I'm possibly headed for. More than that, I'm tired of being that girl that has to apologize for everything. Sorry I threw myself at you. Sorry I broke that. Sorry I said fuck your face. Sorry I told everyone your business. Sorry I flashed your whole party my boobs. These are not normal behaviors! They're not!
As of now, I'm two days sober, but I'm so afraid to fail. I've thought about AA or something, but I feel like I'd be laughed out of those places. I've never gotten a DUI. I've never lost anything because of my idiocy related to alcohol. I just can't keep living with myself when I'm living like this. I'm probably going to speak to someone at our college's counseling center in the next few weeks. For now, I'm just trying to gain enough footing here to be able to say that I can say no.
Amusingly, I had a dream that I was trying to learn how to be sober, and I asked Josh Ramsay, my Marianas Trench love, what it takes to be sober. He answered me honestly, and gave me some Yoda-like personal advice. Then, I dreamed that he hung out with me while other people drank around us and tried to help me to resist. I woke up feeling like a failure. I'll be seeing Marianas Trench live in February, but I don't think I'll be asking Josh Ramsay for advice on sober living. It might be weird.
I don't really even want anyone to know that I'm struggling with these things. I've always told myself that I'm stronger than this. There's a little bit of a shame to not being able to control myself and my impulses. I definitely don't want my family to know. I feel like this would be much easier if I never told anyone. Sadly, I know that that can never be. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I was going to put it off. I need some inner-strength first.
The weirdest part of my sober dream was that I woke up hungry. How is that fair? My subconscious wants me to make good choices, but my body prefaces this by making me hungry. I'd really love it if I didn't gain a bunch of weight while trying to forge a healthier lifestyle. I'm already fat enough, thank you, Universe. Also, if we talk (face to face), let's never speak of this. At least, not until I'm comfortable with where I'm at. Give me that at least.
Let's start from the beginning. I've been drinking since I was probably 15 years old, which means that I have a solid decade of drinking under my belt. Only four of those years have been legal for me. I'd love to say that my sordid affair with alcohol ends there, but it does not. I've made terrible choices under the influence. I've said terrible things to friends, thrown myself at people (male and female alike), driven drunk (I can't even say enough how lucky I am that I've never had a DUI or worse). There are large chunks of evenings that I just don't remember, and this hasn't happened once or twice. Lately, it's happened every time I've started to drink. Once I start, I don't stop. Because of alcohol, I've lied and stolen. Alcohol has made me indifferent to the destructive tendencies of my friends, and I'm ashamed to say that I've stood by drinking when sober me would never have allowed certain behaviors around me to prevail. I will tell myself that I need to stay sober for a night, and then, I drink anyways.
I'd been thinking about committing to sobriety a lot lately. What was my wake up call this week, you ask? A friend brought over some Jim Beam--a brand and type of alcohol that I cannot stand--and some of it spilled when we put it in the fridge. It spilled on my fingers, and smelling it on my hands made me want to drink it. I actually salivated. To tell the truth, I did drink later that night, though it was not the Jim Beam. But the fact that an alcohol that I previously found more or less abhorrent seemed attractive to me simply because it was alcohol gave me pause. I didn't realize how often I crave alcohol until I thought about it. When something's happening, I want to drink--good or bad. When nothing's happening, I want to drink. When I'm angry or upset, I want to drink. When I'm happy, I'm always down to drink.
To be perfectly candid, it scares the hell out of me. Seeing the addiction on both sides of my family has shown me what I'm possibly headed for. More than that, I'm tired of being that girl that has to apologize for everything. Sorry I threw myself at you. Sorry I broke that. Sorry I said fuck your face. Sorry I told everyone your business. Sorry I flashed your whole party my boobs. These are not normal behaviors! They're not!
As of now, I'm two days sober, but I'm so afraid to fail. I've thought about AA or something, but I feel like I'd be laughed out of those places. I've never gotten a DUI. I've never lost anything because of my idiocy related to alcohol. I just can't keep living with myself when I'm living like this. I'm probably going to speak to someone at our college's counseling center in the next few weeks. For now, I'm just trying to gain enough footing here to be able to say that I can say no.
Amusingly, I had a dream that I was trying to learn how to be sober, and I asked Josh Ramsay, my Marianas Trench love, what it takes to be sober. He answered me honestly, and gave me some Yoda-like personal advice. Then, I dreamed that he hung out with me while other people drank around us and tried to help me to resist. I woke up feeling like a failure. I'll be seeing Marianas Trench live in February, but I don't think I'll be asking Josh Ramsay for advice on sober living. It might be weird.
I don't really even want anyone to know that I'm struggling with these things. I've always told myself that I'm stronger than this. There's a little bit of a shame to not being able to control myself and my impulses. I definitely don't want my family to know. I feel like this would be much easier if I never told anyone. Sadly, I know that that can never be. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I was going to put it off. I need some inner-strength first.
The weirdest part of my sober dream was that I woke up hungry. How is that fair? My subconscious wants me to make good choices, but my body prefaces this by making me hungry. I'd really love it if I didn't gain a bunch of weight while trying to forge a healthier lifestyle. I'm already fat enough, thank you, Universe. Also, if we talk (face to face), let's never speak of this. At least, not until I'm comfortable with where I'm at. Give me that at least.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Major Changes
As previously mentioned, I have officially switched majors. I'm now an English major here at Lourdes. I have my classes for next semester all scheduled. I'll be taking the following:
Studies in English Lit II
Studies in World Lit II
History of Christianity II: Reformation to Present
Approaches to Critical Analysis
In all, I'm certain it will be an interesting semester. It will definitely be intense on the reading end of things, but I think I can handle it. I'm actually really excited to be getting my English on again. It's one of the few subjects that I've always been passionate about. I love to write. The problem has simply been that I don't really feel as though I'm all that good at it. Alas! Woe! To think that I'm entering a field that will keep me occupied and constantly striving for better! (Was that sarcasm?! From me?! Surely you jest!)
My main focus now will be getting down to business on this insurance issue and finding a job. The bottom line here is that I'm tired of being broke. My friends want to do things like go out to eat, and I cannot in good conscience accompany them knowing that I'll be the friend chilling there with no money. The last few times I went out with the girls, they've insisted that I order and eat something, with one of them footing the bill. This is a lovely thing for them to do, and I know that they do it because they care about me, but it makes me feel like a total moocher. I feel even worse because I can't return the favors. And maybe it will make me sound materialistic and selfish, but I'd really like to have some things. I'd like to get copies of the music I love or a new piercing if I want one or a tattoo when the mood strikes me. I'd like to have some jeans that aren't full of unintentional holes. I'd like to not have to sew my clothes back together when something happens to my favorite items. I'm just tired of all the struggle.
When does my life get an easy button?
Studies in English Lit II
Studies in World Lit II
History of Christianity II: Reformation to Present
Approaches to Critical Analysis
In all, I'm certain it will be an interesting semester. It will definitely be intense on the reading end of things, but I think I can handle it. I'm actually really excited to be getting my English on again. It's one of the few subjects that I've always been passionate about. I love to write. The problem has simply been that I don't really feel as though I'm all that good at it. Alas! Woe! To think that I'm entering a field that will keep me occupied and constantly striving for better! (Was that sarcasm?! From me?! Surely you jest!)
My main focus now will be getting down to business on this insurance issue and finding a job. The bottom line here is that I'm tired of being broke. My friends want to do things like go out to eat, and I cannot in good conscience accompany them knowing that I'll be the friend chilling there with no money. The last few times I went out with the girls, they've insisted that I order and eat something, with one of them footing the bill. This is a lovely thing for them to do, and I know that they do it because they care about me, but it makes me feel like a total moocher. I feel even worse because I can't return the favors. And maybe it will make me sound materialistic and selfish, but I'd really like to have some things. I'd like to get copies of the music I love or a new piercing if I want one or a tattoo when the mood strikes me. I'd like to have some jeans that aren't full of unintentional holes. I'd like to not have to sew my clothes back together when something happens to my favorite items. I'm just tired of all the struggle.
When does my life get an easy button?
Friday, December 3, 2010
Killing Time
This morning at 9:30 AM, I was supposed to have an advising appointment to schedule my new classes. In my general, fail-at-life fashion, I slept right through that appointment. It has been rescheduled for 12:30 PM today. So, in an effort to not sleep through it for a second time, I opted to get some creative thoughts going and toss a blog out there. No depth is guaranteed.
General updates seem to be needed, so let's go for that. My roommate, Kaitlin, is still funny and amazing. My girls are still wonderful. My high school crush is so last month--I mean, seriously, he's really stupid. We seem to have netted ourselves some drama with on of the basketball players, who swears that his sister will beat the shit out of my roommate. All of this drama stems from me asking him once, politely, to please not start a fight with our mutual friend in my apartment. Apparently, this was an unacceptable request. Needless to say, my roommate will not be touched by his sister. Rather, she will feel the wrath of a whole troupe of girls if she even tries to come near Kaitlin. We protect our own here.
Classes are progressing well enough. I had a presentation in pathophysiology which went swimmingly. I have a presentation to give in nutrition lab next week. Hopefully, after today's meeting, I'll be able to say that I'm officially an English major and will have all my classes scheduled. My criteria? Nothing in the morning. That's it. Clearly, I can't handle myself before noon.
As a random side note (because I'm both tired and scatter-brained right now), I want this so badly. It's Twitter jewelry. I'm sensing that as soon as I get that insurance settlement from my massive car accident, I'll be splurging the $65 dollars to get a silver @jessplatz necklace. Why? Because I love me some Twitter gear (and I secretly want perfect strangers to follow my feed because I fantasize that I am interesting)! Also, what kind of life would I be leading in the technology age if I didn't have something that showed off my Internet prowess? Not that I have all that much Twitter cred, what with my measly 41 followers, but still! It's the thought that counts, right?
I'm off to go and pretend my life has interesting points!
General updates seem to be needed, so let's go for that. My roommate, Kaitlin, is still funny and amazing. My girls are still wonderful. My high school crush is so last month--I mean, seriously, he's really stupid. We seem to have netted ourselves some drama with on of the basketball players, who swears that his sister will beat the shit out of my roommate. All of this drama stems from me asking him once, politely, to please not start a fight with our mutual friend in my apartment. Apparently, this was an unacceptable request. Needless to say, my roommate will not be touched by his sister. Rather, she will feel the wrath of a whole troupe of girls if she even tries to come near Kaitlin. We protect our own here.
Classes are progressing well enough. I had a presentation in pathophysiology which went swimmingly. I have a presentation to give in nutrition lab next week. Hopefully, after today's meeting, I'll be able to say that I'm officially an English major and will have all my classes scheduled. My criteria? Nothing in the morning. That's it. Clearly, I can't handle myself before noon.
As a random side note (because I'm both tired and scatter-brained right now), I want this so badly. It's Twitter jewelry. I'm sensing that as soon as I get that insurance settlement from my massive car accident, I'll be splurging the $65 dollars to get a silver @jessplatz necklace. Why? Because I love me some Twitter gear (and I secretly want perfect strangers to follow my feed because I fantasize that I am interesting)! Also, what kind of life would I be leading in the technology age if I didn't have something that showed off my Internet prowess? Not that I have all that much Twitter cred, what with my measly 41 followers, but still! It's the thought that counts, right?
I'm off to go and pretend my life has interesting points!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Nuns, Potatoes, and Body Image: The Musical! (Not really, but I'd so see that musical)
Tonight, while meditating on life in general as I enjoyed a nightly cigarette, a memory came whooshing back into my mind with a fervor that could not be ignored. Of course, I feel the need to blog about it for two reasons. One, I feel like it was significant, and I have something to say about it. Two, my blog has been frightfully neglected lately, and I like to jump at a chance to write something that may have some small amount of substance.
When I was a young girl, my grandmother had a relative who was a nun. I'm not sure about the specifics, like what order she was in or what have you because my father had converted to the Baptist faith after marrying my mother. We never really learned much about the Catholic faith, needless to say, other than the easy things like how to say the Hail Marys of the rosary for funerals. To be candid, I don't even recall her name.
This particular nun found quite a bit of favor with my grandmother and her two sisters. They were all devout Catholics. They volunteered regularly at their local parish and attended services very regularly. In the event that they could not attend mass, they watched the mass which was broadcast on local television. Because of their devotion to their faith, they often had the sister over for dinner.
I remember one particular dinner. I must have been around eight years old, I imagine. I was old enough to know I'd been insulted, to be hurt, without being so old that I had the guts to say anything back. My grandmother had made some sort of meat, of course, but the best part of the meal were the roasted potatoes that she made (mostly because, like all delicious and terrible for you foods, they were DROWNED in butter). My grandmother's potatoes were wonderful. We all loved them, and they always went quickly. I must have been eating them with particular vigor, however, because I recall the sister looking at me and saying, "You like those potatoes, don't you?"
Of course, trying to be polite, I nodded and replied, "Yes." Mostly, my responses to the sister were monosyllabic because she was older and made me uncomfortable, as all old people did when I was young.
Her answer to my reply shocked me into submission. With all the cruelty she could muster, she said, "That's why you're fat."
To be perfectly honest, I have been fat basically all my life. You can chalk it up to whatever you want. I'm working out, I'm eating much more healthily, I've reduced portion sizes. I'm still fat. I'm probably always going to be fat. I know this. What perplexes me is not that she pointed out that I was fat. Let's be honest, everyone with eyes knows that I'm fat. Why cover what you can't hide? What perplexes me is why she would so cruelly point it out in front of other people when I was but a child.
Now, I could launch into a tirade about how inappropriate it is to say that to a child. I could mention that nuns are supposed to live their lives as manifestations of God's love on Earth. Neither of these things are the centrality of why my memory struck me as so terribly important. I'd been called fat in school before. This, however, was the first time that I'd been confronted as being undesirable for being fat by someone who was related to me. It was the first time a relative made me feel terrible for my body.
Don't get me wrong, family has made me feel terrible for personal choices or what-have-you many times since then. Feeling terrible has not been in short supply in my life. Yet, this was the first time that I'd been made to feel terrible about my body, the very beginning of all my real struggles with body image. I've hated my body for so long. I've never embraced my body. I always think, "If only this were smaller," or "If only those were bigger," or "If only I wasn't so fat!" All my life, I've always thought that I'd be more desirable, more lovable if only I were just a little less fat.
Here's the problem: being less fat won't make me less of a bitch. It won't mean that I'll suddenly start to trust people. It won't make me stop pushing people away when they say things I disagree with. Being less fat won't mean that I'll be nice to people. Being less fat won't make me stop saying terrible things to anyone that gives me a sideways glance or mistakenly finds themselves on my bad side. Turning into a skinny, gorgeous little thing won't turn me into Mother Theresa. It probably won't make me happy. It certainly won't provide me with the direction that my life is lacking.
The most important part of the memory is the part that I almost always forget. I get so wrapped up in the cruel words of the sister I forget the really important part of what happened that night: the look of abject horror and shock on my grandmother's face. I always forget that, after the sister left for the evening, my grandmother and her two sisters, my great aunts, sat at that table and told me how wrong she was. I forget the huddle of glorious, loving, motherly women who tried to tell me how much they loved me by telling me how beautiful I was. I forget how offended my mother was when they related the story to her, how she reacted in agreeance with what my grandmother and great aunts were telling me at that table. That's the part of that memory that counts.
People will always be ready to strike you at the core of the most obvious faults you bring. Fat. Skinny. Pimples. Whatever it is, they'll always be ready to call you out to make themselves feel better by making you feel worse. The important thing is the support that we get from the people who really love us. Personally, I just hope that all the little fat girls out there who have their feelings hurt by other people trying to tear them down, whose body image issues will begin at a young age and continue to be a terrible struggle, have a gaggle of loving women ready to tell them how wrong those other people were. I hope that, like my grandmother, someone will react as though they themselves had been personally insulted. I hope those little fat girls have the kind of love that I did because that's what really counts.
Body image continues to be a struggle for me. I'm going to try a lot harder to believe it when people tell me that I look good. I'm going to try to believe it when people tell me that I'm pretty or that I have sex appeal, even if I can't see it in myself. Just do me a favor: if you ever see someone that doesn't believe the compliments they're getting, smack them upside the head for me. Sometimes, we need it.
When I was a young girl, my grandmother had a relative who was a nun. I'm not sure about the specifics, like what order she was in or what have you because my father had converted to the Baptist faith after marrying my mother. We never really learned much about the Catholic faith, needless to say, other than the easy things like how to say the Hail Marys of the rosary for funerals. To be candid, I don't even recall her name.
This particular nun found quite a bit of favor with my grandmother and her two sisters. They were all devout Catholics. They volunteered regularly at their local parish and attended services very regularly. In the event that they could not attend mass, they watched the mass which was broadcast on local television. Because of their devotion to their faith, they often had the sister over for dinner.
I remember one particular dinner. I must have been around eight years old, I imagine. I was old enough to know I'd been insulted, to be hurt, without being so old that I had the guts to say anything back. My grandmother had made some sort of meat, of course, but the best part of the meal were the roasted potatoes that she made (mostly because, like all delicious and terrible for you foods, they were DROWNED in butter). My grandmother's potatoes were wonderful. We all loved them, and they always went quickly. I must have been eating them with particular vigor, however, because I recall the sister looking at me and saying, "You like those potatoes, don't you?"
Of course, trying to be polite, I nodded and replied, "Yes." Mostly, my responses to the sister were monosyllabic because she was older and made me uncomfortable, as all old people did when I was young.
Her answer to my reply shocked me into submission. With all the cruelty she could muster, she said, "That's why you're fat."
To be perfectly honest, I have been fat basically all my life. You can chalk it up to whatever you want. I'm working out, I'm eating much more healthily, I've reduced portion sizes. I'm still fat. I'm probably always going to be fat. I know this. What perplexes me is not that she pointed out that I was fat. Let's be honest, everyone with eyes knows that I'm fat. Why cover what you can't hide? What perplexes me is why she would so cruelly point it out in front of other people when I was but a child.
Now, I could launch into a tirade about how inappropriate it is to say that to a child. I could mention that nuns are supposed to live their lives as manifestations of God's love on Earth. Neither of these things are the centrality of why my memory struck me as so terribly important. I'd been called fat in school before. This, however, was the first time that I'd been confronted as being undesirable for being fat by someone who was related to me. It was the first time a relative made me feel terrible for my body.
Don't get me wrong, family has made me feel terrible for personal choices or what-have-you many times since then. Feeling terrible has not been in short supply in my life. Yet, this was the first time that I'd been made to feel terrible about my body, the very beginning of all my real struggles with body image. I've hated my body for so long. I've never embraced my body. I always think, "If only this were smaller," or "If only those were bigger," or "If only I wasn't so fat!" All my life, I've always thought that I'd be more desirable, more lovable if only I were just a little less fat.
Here's the problem: being less fat won't make me less of a bitch. It won't mean that I'll suddenly start to trust people. It won't make me stop pushing people away when they say things I disagree with. Being less fat won't mean that I'll be nice to people. Being less fat won't make me stop saying terrible things to anyone that gives me a sideways glance or mistakenly finds themselves on my bad side. Turning into a skinny, gorgeous little thing won't turn me into Mother Theresa. It probably won't make me happy. It certainly won't provide me with the direction that my life is lacking.
The most important part of the memory is the part that I almost always forget. I get so wrapped up in the cruel words of the sister I forget the really important part of what happened that night: the look of abject horror and shock on my grandmother's face. I always forget that, after the sister left for the evening, my grandmother and her two sisters, my great aunts, sat at that table and told me how wrong she was. I forget the huddle of glorious, loving, motherly women who tried to tell me how much they loved me by telling me how beautiful I was. I forget how offended my mother was when they related the story to her, how she reacted in agreeance with what my grandmother and great aunts were telling me at that table. That's the part of that memory that counts.
People will always be ready to strike you at the core of the most obvious faults you bring. Fat. Skinny. Pimples. Whatever it is, they'll always be ready to call you out to make themselves feel better by making you feel worse. The important thing is the support that we get from the people who really love us. Personally, I just hope that all the little fat girls out there who have their feelings hurt by other people trying to tear them down, whose body image issues will begin at a young age and continue to be a terrible struggle, have a gaggle of loving women ready to tell them how wrong those other people were. I hope that, like my grandmother, someone will react as though they themselves had been personally insulted. I hope those little fat girls have the kind of love that I did because that's what really counts.
Body image continues to be a struggle for me. I'm going to try a lot harder to believe it when people tell me that I look good. I'm going to try to believe it when people tell me that I'm pretty or that I have sex appeal, even if I can't see it in myself. Just do me a favor: if you ever see someone that doesn't believe the compliments they're getting, smack them upside the head for me. Sometimes, we need it.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Neglectful Author
Oh, long neglected blog, I pine! Well, that's a lie. I don't really pine. At least, I don't really pine for blogging. I do pine for the creative gumption to get around to writing something that isn't trite and stupid, but I don't think that counts as pining for blogging per se. I can happily report, however, that I'm so busy keeping my resolutions that I've been unable to think for myself--or, at least, that's what I'm going to claim.
Clearly, I'm not keeping all of my resolutions. After all, here we are at almost 6 AM, and I find myself blogging. Needless to say, some will be harder to crack than others. I can cheerfully report that I've had earrings in my ears every single day since that last post. I've put on make up more than just once since that post as well. I finished one book and started another. I've been varying my music tastes. I've been committed to trying to listen to the little voice in my head that feeds me nothing but quiet degradations--because, let's be honest, I really do need to listen to that little voice that tells me that I can't sing worth a damn and should shut up. (If you've heard my singing, you'll agree with that.) It's an uphill battle, but I am at least still making the effort. I'm also happy to report that I have not cried drunkenly since my last post!
My turkey slaughtering holiday found itself appropriately thankful, as the title would seem to require. It's funny, though, that spending time with my family mostly just makes me yearn for my roommate and our apartment. It makes me long for a place where no one screams at me for little-to-no reason. It makes me want the peace and quiet that comes in the night there. It makes me crave the friendship and the solitude--though I do recognize that those are conflicting ideas, I have them both in a lovely balance back at school. It makes me wonder what will happen to my poor mental state when the Christmas break comes. I'm fairly certain I'll lose my mind.
My room here in Delta is so terribly boring now. All I have is my laptop and the bed. I don't even have a TV in here anymore because it's in our living room at school. In lieu of any other form of watchable entertainment, I turned to Netflix tonight. There's a movie that I've recently fallen in love with that I opted to watch again called Teenage Dirtbag. It's an independent film, and it would be impossible for me to describe it without giving too much away. The best part about it is how deeply it makes you feel. The emotion is so subtle, but so palpable and real. It leaves me feeling gloriously empty, sad to the core.
Strangely, sadness is an emotion that I have always embraced--much to the chagrin of others around me, I think. Many people don't seem to understand it, and it bothers them. I think sadness is an integral part of the human experience. We have to understand our own pain, embrace it, in order to be able to empathize with the pain of others. We have to examine our pain to be able to move through it, make it a part of ourselves. Of course, that's an idea that I've always embraced. Pain is part of life. Sadness can be painful, but that doesn't mean we can shove it under the rug and ignore it. We have to see it, to acknowledge it. Sometimes, we have to live in it for a while. Too many people let it overwhelm them, suck them in, because they've never tried to walk in it.
Apologies, sparse readers. My mind is trailing off because of the late hour and because of my own distraction. My thin attempts at depth are failing me, indeed. As a result, I think I shall call this entry off.
Clearly, I'm not keeping all of my resolutions. After all, here we are at almost 6 AM, and I find myself blogging. Needless to say, some will be harder to crack than others. I can cheerfully report that I've had earrings in my ears every single day since that last post. I've put on make up more than just once since that post as well. I finished one book and started another. I've been varying my music tastes. I've been committed to trying to listen to the little voice in my head that feeds me nothing but quiet degradations--because, let's be honest, I really do need to listen to that little voice that tells me that I can't sing worth a damn and should shut up. (If you've heard my singing, you'll agree with that.) It's an uphill battle, but I am at least still making the effort. I'm also happy to report that I have not cried drunkenly since my last post!
My turkey slaughtering holiday found itself appropriately thankful, as the title would seem to require. It's funny, though, that spending time with my family mostly just makes me yearn for my roommate and our apartment. It makes me long for a place where no one screams at me for little-to-no reason. It makes me want the peace and quiet that comes in the night there. It makes me crave the friendship and the solitude--though I do recognize that those are conflicting ideas, I have them both in a lovely balance back at school. It makes me wonder what will happen to my poor mental state when the Christmas break comes. I'm fairly certain I'll lose my mind.
My room here in Delta is so terribly boring now. All I have is my laptop and the bed. I don't even have a TV in here anymore because it's in our living room at school. In lieu of any other form of watchable entertainment, I turned to Netflix tonight. There's a movie that I've recently fallen in love with that I opted to watch again called Teenage Dirtbag. It's an independent film, and it would be impossible for me to describe it without giving too much away. The best part about it is how deeply it makes you feel. The emotion is so subtle, but so palpable and real. It leaves me feeling gloriously empty, sad to the core.
Strangely, sadness is an emotion that I have always embraced--much to the chagrin of others around me, I think. Many people don't seem to understand it, and it bothers them. I think sadness is an integral part of the human experience. We have to understand our own pain, embrace it, in order to be able to empathize with the pain of others. We have to examine our pain to be able to move through it, make it a part of ourselves. Of course, that's an idea that I've always embraced. Pain is part of life. Sadness can be painful, but that doesn't mean we can shove it under the rug and ignore it. We have to see it, to acknowledge it. Sometimes, we have to live in it for a while. Too many people let it overwhelm them, suck them in, because they've never tried to walk in it.
Apologies, sparse readers. My mind is trailing off because of the late hour and because of my own distraction. My thin attempts at depth are failing me, indeed. As a result, I think I shall call this entry off.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Resolutions Without the New Year
Time has been harsh with me lately. It seems that I never have enough. It passes so quickly that I feel as though I cannot manage to catch my breath. Circumstances have been so cruel lately.
To begin with, AW no longer wishes to be friends with me. He claims he will keep in touch, but this seems a moot point now. JJ has been terribly demanding as of late, even necessitating at one point that I call the Indiana police to get him. This is a little bit complicated because I live in Ohio. I'm still very angry with him for putting me through that. I feel like it's been incredibly difficult for me to talk to him even though he needs me because my fury hasn't faded yet. I feel as though he hangs things over my head in an attempt to make me love him, but what really ends up happening is that he can't even comprehend how much it makes me resent him.
Yesterday, after going to the club with my group of friends, I made a fool of myself. In an attempt to further preserve what little dignity I happen to have left, I will simply say that the high school crush that I wrote of before is well aware of what I think of him now. This, of course, wouldn't have been a complete humiliation if it hadn't been for the drunken crying. Thankfully, this happened back at the apartments and not in public. I'm pretty sure that it will be best if I simply wallow in my embarrassment for a while so that I get a complete reminder of why I don't speak to males. "Hi, my name is Jessica, and I'm incompetent." Oh, if only there were a support group for that!
I've decided that, in spite of my recent cluster of faux pas, I'm going to make a few little resolutions here for my life. They may seem silly, but I think they're important, so here they are:
For the time being, I'm in the middle of a cynical patch. I really just need to chill for a while. I need to wallow in it for a day or so. I need to stay in bed and do next to nothing, drift in and out of a comfortable sleep. Oddly, I'm very comfortable with my cynicism. This is like putting on a favorite shirt from high school that you forgot you had. You're surprised at how well it still fits, how much you forgot that you sort of enjoyed it, how it feels against your skin. I remember this cynicism well. I just forgot about how good I am at it.
To begin with, AW no longer wishes to be friends with me. He claims he will keep in touch, but this seems a moot point now. JJ has been terribly demanding as of late, even necessitating at one point that I call the Indiana police to get him. This is a little bit complicated because I live in Ohio. I'm still very angry with him for putting me through that. I feel like it's been incredibly difficult for me to talk to him even though he needs me because my fury hasn't faded yet. I feel as though he hangs things over my head in an attempt to make me love him, but what really ends up happening is that he can't even comprehend how much it makes me resent him.
Yesterday, after going to the club with my group of friends, I made a fool of myself. In an attempt to further preserve what little dignity I happen to have left, I will simply say that the high school crush that I wrote of before is well aware of what I think of him now. This, of course, wouldn't have been a complete humiliation if it hadn't been for the drunken crying. Thankfully, this happened back at the apartments and not in public. I'm pretty sure that it will be best if I simply wallow in my embarrassment for a while so that I get a complete reminder of why I don't speak to males. "Hi, my name is Jessica, and I'm incompetent." Oh, if only there were a support group for that!
I've decided that, in spite of my recent cluster of faux pas, I'm going to make a few little resolutions here for my life. They may seem silly, but I think they're important, so here they are:
- Wear earrings more often. What's the point of having the holes if I'm not using them? (Please, control yourself and stifle the "that's what she said" response that we all know is rolling around your brain right now.)
- Try to put on make-up every now and again. It actually does look good on me and it really doesn't take all that long to put on.
- Read more. I have some time right now, and I ought to be making use of it, dammit.
- Keep working out. This is a good thing! It must continue!
- Enjoy more R&B instead of immediately judging it. Vary your tastes, Jessica! DO IT!
- Drink less. Nothing good ever comes of it, and I don't know how to keep my mouth shut when I do it.
- Lie to myself more often and tell myself the brutal truth. Seriously. I need to stop living in the scenarios that play out beautifully in my head. What I need to hear more of is that I don't have feelings or prospects. It would be great if someone could tell me no. It would also be great if I started to believe that little voice in my head that says things like, "You look stupid when you dance" or "He doesn't like you!" or "Please stop talking."
- Go to bed earlier. This 5 and 6 AM shit isn't working anymore.
For the time being, I'm in the middle of a cynical patch. I really just need to chill for a while. I need to wallow in it for a day or so. I need to stay in bed and do next to nothing, drift in and out of a comfortable sleep. Oddly, I'm very comfortable with my cynicism. This is like putting on a favorite shirt from high school that you forgot you had. You're surprised at how well it still fits, how much you forgot that you sort of enjoyed it, how it feels against your skin. I remember this cynicism well. I just forgot about how good I am at it.
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