Sunday, September 30, 2007
In Other News:
For those of you who know Becca, you may want to go see her announcement. (Hope it's okay that I posted the link, Becca! And congrats again!)
On Giving Up (Or: My Own Take on Mini-epiphany #2)
My thoughts on this keep changing so rapidly that writing this down will serve rather to bookmark where I am right now than provide a glimpse into some unalterable state of mind I may posess.
As of this moment, I have moved (again) beyond the giving-up state. I spent this entire last week (and perhaps some few days before it) 'knowing' in my core that I would never marry and that it was just time to accept it. I even convinced myself that I was content, even happy, because I didn't have to worry about all these troublesome feelings of attraction to men anymore; I could just set them aside because they were things I would never be able to act on. I could interact with men on a completely platonic level, not bothering them with my feelings of attraction, not being bothered by their lack thereof.
Then, sitting next to a young man at church, (no, not this one; someone else), I kept having these niggling sensations of just this...awareness of his maleness...and I realized that I couldn't maintain this self-imposed indifference. I could keep it up for maybe a week (and had) but eventually my cycling hormones would come round again and break down all the barriers I'd built with my determination never to have these feelings ever ever again.
Sitting here in my room tonight, reading over a thought-provoking post (and accompanying comments) on Blog Segullah wherein the author describes living a celibate life as a faithful, fully acknowledged homosexual LDS man, I (after reading one particular comment) came rather face-to-face again with my own set of what attracts me.
And far from making me despair again, this acknowledgement of my own sexual desires freed me to admit to myself just how much I really did want to have a marriage relationship. If I may be frank, (and please forgive me if I cause offense, but I really hope that I can speak as an adult, here), I admitted to myself just how much I want to have the joys of a physical, conjugal relationship with a man. I want to experience the joys and frustrations of tying myself emotionally to one single human being, of trying to make our two lives fit together, of raising a family together. And as part of that, (a big part of it), I want the supernal joy of a sexual relationship with a husband.
Please understand; I know that this is not all there is to marriage. (Good grief--if it were, we wouldn't have time for doing anything else!) I know that marriages are more complicated and difficult than this, that the uniting of two different individuals in every possible way takes time, effort, and continual sacrifice as well as continuous patience.
But I also know (or rather, strongly suspect, since my actual experience is necessarily limited) that marriage can be fulfilling and almost indescribably joyous. That's why I (and almost every other single adult I know) longs for it, prays for it, gives up hope of it and picks up that same dropped and tattered hope almost hopelessly because one can't simply seem to toss it away after all.
I don't know if sheer wanting-him-ness will eventually help me to find the marriage partner who has, thus far, proven remarkably (almost intractably) elusive, but I do know that I can no longer (at least right now) deny that I do want him, and that I must thus (because I believe in a God who knows our deepest wants and needs and tries to grant them, if possible) still hope for him.
Because a life by myself, while satisfying in some ways, ultimately feels as if it would be really quite grey and sloggish.
And my bed here is beginning to seem rather large and cold, with just me alone.
As of this moment, I have moved (again) beyond the giving-up state. I spent this entire last week (and perhaps some few days before it) 'knowing' in my core that I would never marry and that it was just time to accept it. I even convinced myself that I was content, even happy, because I didn't have to worry about all these troublesome feelings of attraction to men anymore; I could just set them aside because they were things I would never be able to act on. I could interact with men on a completely platonic level, not bothering them with my feelings of attraction, not being bothered by their lack thereof.
Then, sitting next to a young man at church, (no, not this one; someone else), I kept having these niggling sensations of just this...awareness of his maleness...and I realized that I couldn't maintain this self-imposed indifference. I could keep it up for maybe a week (and had) but eventually my cycling hormones would come round again and break down all the barriers I'd built with my determination never to have these feelings ever ever again.
Sitting here in my room tonight, reading over a thought-provoking post (and accompanying comments) on Blog Segullah wherein the author describes living a celibate life as a faithful, fully acknowledged homosexual LDS man, I (after reading one particular comment) came rather face-to-face again with my own set of what attracts me.
And far from making me despair again, this acknowledgement of my own sexual desires freed me to admit to myself just how much I really did want to have a marriage relationship. If I may be frank, (and please forgive me if I cause offense, but I really hope that I can speak as an adult, here), I admitted to myself just how much I want to have the joys of a physical, conjugal relationship with a man. I want to experience the joys and frustrations of tying myself emotionally to one single human being, of trying to make our two lives fit together, of raising a family together. And as part of that, (a big part of it), I want the supernal joy of a sexual relationship with a husband.
Please understand; I know that this is not all there is to marriage. (Good grief--if it were, we wouldn't have time for doing anything else!) I know that marriages are more complicated and difficult than this, that the uniting of two different individuals in every possible way takes time, effort, and continual sacrifice as well as continuous patience.
But I also know (or rather, strongly suspect, since my actual experience is necessarily limited) that marriage can be fulfilling and almost indescribably joyous. That's why I (and almost every other single adult I know) longs for it, prays for it, gives up hope of it and picks up that same dropped and tattered hope almost hopelessly because one can't simply seem to toss it away after all.
I don't know if sheer wanting-him-ness will eventually help me to find the marriage partner who has, thus far, proven remarkably (almost intractably) elusive, but I do know that I can no longer (at least right now) deny that I do want him, and that I must thus (because I believe in a God who knows our deepest wants and needs and tries to grant them, if possible) still hope for him.
Because a life by myself, while satisfying in some ways, ultimately feels as if it would be really quite grey and sloggish.
And my bed here is beginning to seem rather large and cold, with just me alone.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Heavenly
There have been a few times in my life when I feel that some great or significant human experience has happened without me, or that my comprehension of these events came delayed, at some significant interval after the events themselves.
This happened with September 11th, 2001, when I was on my mission. I was tracting that morning, and I still remember knocking on people's doors, hearing varied reports from them and wondering what exactly was going on. I didn't have access to television or the radio; I just had scattered conversations with people about it, or saw photographs of buildings with smoke pouring out of them. But I didn't catch the full scope of the thing until long after I came home, when I watched the footage from the collapsing towers on the one-year anniversary in 2002. I finally understood why it had shocked and stirred the nation, what it felt like to watch as the towers collapsed, realizing just how many people were still inside, and to share a strange empathy with those who had chosen to jump from the towers before they fell, certain of their own inevitable deaths.
I know I didn't really have time to do it, but tonight I went and saw In the Shadow of the Moon anyway. And I suddenly understood what it would have been like to be alive in 1969, when the world focused on a group of three men who made the journey to the moon--the moon--and came back. I am awed. And there's something wonderfully transcendent in this realization that we as human beings have lifted ourselves off of this planet, our home, and have traversed, for just a few days, on the finely powdered surface of another world.
I wept; I couldn't help it. This thing was bigger than something I could hold in myself. And I feel a sense of wonder at this thing that we, as human beings, accomplished.
I hope that there are things as great that we still have yet to do.
This happened with September 11th, 2001, when I was on my mission. I was tracting that morning, and I still remember knocking on people's doors, hearing varied reports from them and wondering what exactly was going on. I didn't have access to television or the radio; I just had scattered conversations with people about it, or saw photographs of buildings with smoke pouring out of them. But I didn't catch the full scope of the thing until long after I came home, when I watched the footage from the collapsing towers on the one-year anniversary in 2002. I finally understood why it had shocked and stirred the nation, what it felt like to watch as the towers collapsed, realizing just how many people were still inside, and to share a strange empathy with those who had chosen to jump from the towers before they fell, certain of their own inevitable deaths.
I know I didn't really have time to do it, but tonight I went and saw In the Shadow of the Moon anyway. And I suddenly understood what it would have been like to be alive in 1969, when the world focused on a group of three men who made the journey to the moon--the moon--and came back. I am awed. And there's something wonderfully transcendent in this realization that we as human beings have lifted ourselves off of this planet, our home, and have traversed, for just a few days, on the finely powdered surface of another world.
I wept; I couldn't help it. This thing was bigger than something I could hold in myself. And I feel a sense of wonder at this thing that we, as human beings, accomplished.
I hope that there are things as great that we still have yet to do.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I know you don't need another thing to suck time away, BUT:
You seriously have got to see this:
http://play.blogger.com/
If you read up on your Blogger Buzz, you fellow bloggers you, you may have already found out about this. But for those of you who haven't, or who aren't really bloggers, or who are bloggers but just aren't Blogger bloggers, I have provided the above link.
What I find really intriguing about this concept is that it provides a snapshot (literally) into the lives of numerous people. There's something appealing about the anonymity of it all, and although you could turn on the "show info" feature, (which gives you the user profile of the person who uploaded the pic as well as a snippet of the accompanying blog post), I almost prefer to watch the faces and scenes go by and wonder, who is that bald man with a goatee and why is he standing in a kitchen with a tub of salad? Who is that couple in their 50s wearing straw hats and sunscreen and smiling at the camera as though they're having the time of their lives? Why did someone take a picture of that shoe?
It just serves as a reminder that every day we connect tangentally with hundreds and potentially even thousands of individuals, each of whose lives are so absorbing and so intricate that it takes an entire person to live them. Seeing just tiny glimpses of these people (and the things they consider important enough to blog about) is suddenly making me fall in love with humanity all over again.
(And I really, really hope that you don't find any pictures of nekked people on there because I would just feel terribly guilty about it.)
Edit: I just saw the photo from this post being uploaded and--ohmygoodness. If I had had milk in my mouth it surely would have spewed out of my nose.
http://play.blogger.com/
If you read up on your Blogger Buzz, you fellow bloggers you, you may have already found out about this. But for those of you who haven't, or who aren't really bloggers, or who are bloggers but just aren't Blogger bloggers, I have provided the above link.
What I find really intriguing about this concept is that it provides a snapshot (literally) into the lives of numerous people. There's something appealing about the anonymity of it all, and although you could turn on the "show info" feature, (which gives you the user profile of the person who uploaded the pic as well as a snippet of the accompanying blog post), I almost prefer to watch the faces and scenes go by and wonder, who is that bald man with a goatee and why is he standing in a kitchen with a tub of salad? Who is that couple in their 50s wearing straw hats and sunscreen and smiling at the camera as though they're having the time of their lives? Why did someone take a picture of that shoe?
It just serves as a reminder that every day we connect tangentally with hundreds and potentially even thousands of individuals, each of whose lives are so absorbing and so intricate that it takes an entire person to live them. Seeing just tiny glimpses of these people (and the things they consider important enough to blog about) is suddenly making me fall in love with humanity all over again.
(And I really, really hope that you don't find any pictures of nekked people on there because I would just feel terribly guilty about it.)
Edit: I just saw the photo from this post being uploaded and--ohmygoodness. If I had had milk in my mouth it surely would have spewed out of my nose.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Well, this would have been mini-epiphany #2...
One thing I love about blogging is how people can sometimes totally scoop you.
Because this is me too!
Yes. I, too, have recently just given up. Period.
And while being scooped makes me feel angsty in some ways, it also makes me feel befriended in a friendless world.
Or at least not the only single who's given up in a married world.
Something like that.
Because this is me too!
Yes. I, too, have recently just given up. Period.
And while being scooped makes me feel angsty in some ways, it also makes me feel befriended in a friendless world.
Or at least not the only single who's given up in a married world.
Something like that.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
I keep not talking like I think as is.
When I talking at yous sometimes I have not explaining what I thinkings pretty good.
So then when readings you're doing becomes a thinks that I'm thinkings things that thinkings not really, try is remembering my ownings of stupidity.
Because explainings and talkings doing well are something I know not of.
Understand?
So then when readings you're doing becomes a thinks that I'm thinkings things that thinkings not really, try is remembering my ownings of stupidity.
Because explainings and talkings doing well are something I know not of.
Understand?
Sunday, September 23, 2007
I have this sneaking suspicion...
I knew it.
I knew it.
Because you wouldn't all be misleading me all this time, hinting at it and then having it not be the case, would you?
No, not you.
Because you're great; that's why I like you.
And you like me.
In fact, I'm totally your favorite.
I know you've tried to hide it, just so other people around wouldn't feel too bad. I see you being nice to them and all, laughing at their jokes, telling them a story, patting them on the arm.
But we know, you and I; we know that it's me you like the most. I can tell by the way you turn and crinkle your eyes at me in just that way. Ha! That's our own little secret look, like a handshake, but much easier to do across a roomful of people. Much better for you to nod your head and wink, then turn back to the person talking to you, all the time knowing that I'm your favorite person of all.
The rest of the world doesn't have to be in on it; let that tall guy think he's your favorite; we won't disillusion him just yet--let him be happy for a little while first; maybe he'll even buy you chocolates. And the girl in the plaid skirt? Yeah. I know she was your confidante before we met, but she's only getting side details now; I'm getting the real stuff--the dish on your life.
It's true; I'm pretty much everybody's favorite. Yep, that's me. I look around and everybody's smiling just at me because I'm so pretty and so fun to be around. Guys may go off and talk to those perky blond girls, but really they're just looking for advice on how to approach me, practicing their man-skills on lesser objects. And those same perky blond girls? Yeah. I'm totally their favorite too. Because I'm clever and funny and so, so nice.
They all love me.
And you know you do too. Really. Go ahead and deny it, but we both know it's true.
'Cause I'm your favorite too.
I knew it.
Because you wouldn't all be misleading me all this time, hinting at it and then having it not be the case, would you?
No, not you.
Because you're great; that's why I like you.
And you like me.
In fact, I'm totally your favorite.
I know you've tried to hide it, just so other people around wouldn't feel too bad. I see you being nice to them and all, laughing at their jokes, telling them a story, patting them on the arm.
But we know, you and I; we know that it's me you like the most. I can tell by the way you turn and crinkle your eyes at me in just that way. Ha! That's our own little secret look, like a handshake, but much easier to do across a roomful of people. Much better for you to nod your head and wink, then turn back to the person talking to you, all the time knowing that I'm your favorite person of all.
The rest of the world doesn't have to be in on it; let that tall guy think he's your favorite; we won't disillusion him just yet--let him be happy for a little while first; maybe he'll even buy you chocolates. And the girl in the plaid skirt? Yeah. I know she was your confidante before we met, but she's only getting side details now; I'm getting the real stuff--the dish on your life.
It's true; I'm pretty much everybody's favorite. Yep, that's me. I look around and everybody's smiling just at me because I'm so pretty and so fun to be around. Guys may go off and talk to those perky blond girls, but really they're just looking for advice on how to approach me, practicing their man-skills on lesser objects. And those same perky blond girls? Yeah. I'm totally their favorite too. Because I'm clever and funny and so, so nice.
They all love me.
And you know you do too. Really. Go ahead and deny it, but we both know it's true.
'Cause I'm your favorite too.
Friday, September 21, 2007
A conversation with myself
(From last night, after feeling frustrated by my thinking abilities (or lack thereof) during class:)
I feel like kicking a puppy.
No, no. I feel like leaning down and petting a puppy. (Aw. Puppies!)
I really feel like kicking a rock. Yeah. Preferably while wearing thick boots so I don't hurt my toes.
I feel like kicking a puppy.
No, no. I feel like leaning down and petting a puppy. (Aw. Puppies!)
I really feel like kicking a rock. Yeah. Preferably while wearing thick boots so I don't hurt my toes.
Inexplicable? Or is it?
I slept for around four hours yesterday afternoon. Also, I slept for about seven hours last night.
So tell me: why am I getting all drowsy while reading an assigned article for my class?
So tell me: why am I getting all drowsy while reading an assigned article for my class?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Two Realizations
First, I have realized today more than ever that by choosing the library profession I have chosen a profession that is (for the most part) very liberal indeed. Very. And I have yet to decide how I feel about that, although I actually do like the feeling of stretching my previous conceptions about what the world is like and how it operates. I just am not quite sure how to strike the balance between previously held systems of thought and new perceptions or thoughts that I'm being introduced to. (And no, I'm not about to go off and join a gay and lesbian student coalition, but I'm learning to recognize more the right that others have to belong to such organizations. (And that totally just made me sound like a stuck-up prick.))
Second, my class today caused me to realize (or rather re-realize, because I've realized this before; I'd just forgotten about it) that higher education (at least the bits I've been exposed to) does not consist of attending lectures and gathering information about a particular subject, or at least that's not it's real purpose. You go to college or grad school to learn how to think.
I have to say: I love that. What I hate is that I personally haven't quite learned how to think, as evidenced by my class this evening. (Won't go into details. They're pretty nebulous anyway.) But I'm hopeful that I'll improve. Which is, I guess, what this is all about anyway.
Second, my class today caused me to realize (or rather re-realize, because I've realized this before; I'd just forgotten about it) that higher education (at least the bits I've been exposed to) does not consist of attending lectures and gathering information about a particular subject, or at least that's not it's real purpose. You go to college or grad school to learn how to think.
I have to say: I love that. What I hate is that I personally haven't quite learned how to think, as evidenced by my class this evening. (Won't go into details. They're pretty nebulous anyway.) But I'm hopeful that I'll improve. Which is, I guess, what this is all about anyway.
I love untold stories
Except, now that I think about it, I love it when untold stories are told, which is a bit of a paradox.
Anyway.
My love for untold stories is perhaps one reason why I love the Regina Spektor song, "Samson." Or perhaps it's simply because her voice soars effortlessly while singing it.
Whatever it is, I have to share it with you. And, be forewarned, I know there's a part that talks about Things a Maiden's Ears Should Not Hear, (albeit non-explicitly) so if you're squeamish about that sort of thing, then don't partake. Or at least, don't listen past the first verse or so.
But if you're so inclined, here it is:
Anyway.
My love for untold stories is perhaps one reason why I love the Regina Spektor song, "Samson." Or perhaps it's simply because her voice soars effortlessly while singing it.
Whatever it is, I have to share it with you. And, be forewarned, I know there's a part that talks about Things a Maiden's Ears Should Not Hear, (albeit non-explicitly) so if you're squeamish about that sort of thing, then don't partake. Or at least, don't listen past the first verse or so.
But if you're so inclined, here it is:
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Mini-Epiphany #1
To make this all easier on everybody (including myself) I've decided to numerate my mini-epiphanies and concentrate on each individually so I can fully explore the topic at hand.
Also, in honor of International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I may interject the occasional "Arrr" or "Avast" into my discussions, ye landlubbers.
The first mini-epiphany I'd like to mention is my recent realization that I actually want to pursue a career. (Arrr.)
I'm not sure why it took me so long to figure out; I mean, there I was, gearing up to attend a highly specific professional program (i.e. library school, ye scurvy dogs!), getting all ready to go into debt for thousands of dollars to attend said school, and I was still thinking only in terms of, "This is my plan B. If plan A (i.e. marriage and little babies (i.e. bein' a wench and poppin' out mite tykes)) comes along, I'll drop it like the bung from me barrel o' grog."
Except that I realized recently that I don't just want to go to school to become a librarian, suddenly get married and then settle down to raise children and never make use of the schooling I've gotten while waiting around for Plan A to take place. Arr.
I actually want to be a librarian; I want to work with children and help them find not only books that can meet their needs for school, but books that will help them to love reading and develop an enthusiasm for learning about the world around them. I want to work in a library, be surrounded by books, interact with others of my profession who are as enthusiastic about both books and the importance of encouraging others to read them as I am.
And also, I want to make a nice, tidy salary (i.e. garner a lot o' booty, arr).
Fortunately, I am not yet married. I am not yet even dating anyone. So I haven't yet had to work out for myself (or work out with me spouse, arrr) what exactly I'm going to do if Plan A ever wanders in and says, "Oh, sorry. Were you expecting me earlier? Just had to pop out for a spot of something, you know. Whot, whot?" (Because, of course, Plan A would be a Brit (aka Crumpet-eating Poodle Dog if you're a Pirate Queen, arr!).) And Plan B is currently going, well, according to plan.
But the conundrum exists. And currently, I don't know how to solve it. So, if you have any thoughts, feel free to pipe in. (And feel free to flex your piratical lexicon as well, if ye be so inclined.)
Arrrrrrrrr!
Also, in honor of International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I may interject the occasional "Arrr" or "Avast" into my discussions, ye landlubbers.
The first mini-epiphany I'd like to mention is my recent realization that I actually want to pursue a career. (Arrr.)
I'm not sure why it took me so long to figure out; I mean, there I was, gearing up to attend a highly specific professional program (i.e. library school, ye scurvy dogs!), getting all ready to go into debt for thousands of dollars to attend said school, and I was still thinking only in terms of, "This is my plan B. If plan A (i.e. marriage and little babies (i.e. bein' a wench and poppin' out mite tykes)) comes along, I'll drop it like the bung from me barrel o' grog."
Except that I realized recently that I don't just want to go to school to become a librarian, suddenly get married and then settle down to raise children and never make use of the schooling I've gotten while waiting around for Plan A to take place. Arr.
I actually want to be a librarian; I want to work with children and help them find not only books that can meet their needs for school, but books that will help them to love reading and develop an enthusiasm for learning about the world around them. I want to work in a library, be surrounded by books, interact with others of my profession who are as enthusiastic about both books and the importance of encouraging others to read them as I am.
And also, I want to make a nice, tidy salary (i.e. garner a lot o' booty, arr).
Fortunately, I am not yet married. I am not yet even dating anyone. So I haven't yet had to work out for myself (or work out with me spouse, arrr) what exactly I'm going to do if Plan A ever wanders in and says, "Oh, sorry. Were you expecting me earlier? Just had to pop out for a spot of something, you know. Whot, whot?" (Because, of course, Plan A would be a Brit (aka Crumpet-eating Poodle Dog if you're a Pirate Queen, arr!).) And Plan B is currently going, well, according to plan.
But the conundrum exists. And currently, I don't know how to solve it. So, if you have any thoughts, feel free to pipe in. (And feel free to flex your piratical lexicon as well, if ye be so inclined.)
Arrrrrrrrr!
Monday, September 17, 2007
So, my lack of posting does not necessarily indicate a desire not to blog.
In fact, I would like to post to my blog LOTS.
Because I, in fact, have had plentiful mini-epiphanies (and one very big epiphany) over the past few days.
But I find that I have suddenly become a genuinely very busy girl, and so find myself unable to take the time to explore topics here the way I'd really like to.
So. Erm. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. And, you know, get yourself a donut or something.
Because it may be awhile.
(But, I promise, I'll post something thought-provoking as soon as I can.)
Because I, in fact, have had plentiful mini-epiphanies (and one very big epiphany) over the past few days.
But I find that I have suddenly become a genuinely very busy girl, and so find myself unable to take the time to explore topics here the way I'd really like to.
So. Erm. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. And, you know, get yourself a donut or something.
Because it may be awhile.
(But, I promise, I'll post something thought-provoking as soon as I can.)
Sunday, September 16, 2007
I. Need. To. Go. To. Bed.
But first I thought I'd tell you all I was alive. Because I am. Alive, I mean.
And also really tired.
And also amazed at how my day just kind of got started nice and early(ish) at 7:45am and then kept on a rollin' until 3am on Sunday morning.
And I have to get up early again for church. And I.
I kind of don't know how I'm going to do it, but somehow...somehow I will manage.
Erm.
I'll try to post again tomorrow.
Give kisses to Aunt Hilde for me.
And also really tired.
And also amazed at how my day just kind of got started nice and early(ish) at 7:45am and then kept on a rollin' until 3am on Sunday morning.
And I have to get up early again for church. And I.
I kind of don't know how I'm going to do it, but somehow...somehow I will manage.
Erm.
I'll try to post again tomorrow.
Give kisses to Aunt Hilde for me.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
When in dreamland...
The first thing you should do when you realize you're dreaming is smile (subconsciously, of course). Because things are about to get really interesting.
It's what happened to me a couple of nights ago when I went to bed around 3am after having taken a 3-hour nap in the late afternoon. (Really, not a good idea for sleeping patterns. Although I don't regret what it did to my dreaming patterns.)
One of my favorite things to do in dreamland is flying. So, given the opportunity (and the right dream setting) I fly as much as I possibly can. But this time, it was actually flying, or rather a sense of floating or weightlessness, that actually tipped me off to the fact that I was, in fact, not awake. Because you can't actually fly (or float) in real life. Duh.
Okay, I thought to myself, let's have some fun with this. So, I proceeded to do my darndest to try to influence the reality of my dream. Oddly enough, I was only partially successful. I wanted to fly (or float) and so I did, but I was only able to fly (or float) around some really dull stairwell type things (although being able to fly around in them was much better than, say, walking around on them).
Second, I really, really wanted to dream that I was being kissed. Really, really well. By someone really, really hot. Unfortunately, I just couldn't seem to conjure anyone up. I just kind of floated around these stairwells and accidentally set fire to the stove of a boss I had a few years ago. (Sorry, Marsha! That part, I assure you, was not intentional.)
So, I learned a valuable lesson during this dream session: even when you should be able to manipulate your reality into anything you can dream up (ha! 'dream up?' get it? aha...oh, nevermind) that doesn't necessarily mean that you actually can. Because I couldn't. I mean, I could a little, but not entirely.
So what does this mean for waking life? Maybe that dreaming, while beguiling, isn't really the place to find full satisfaction (i.e. kisses from hot boys)? Or perhaps that manipulating reality is something best left to non-mortal and not-unconscious folks? Or that flying/floating is really the best way to travel around boring stairwells?
Whatever it is, it was an entertaining night. And it makes me wish, oh so fervently, that I could know I was dreaming every night.
Because maybe my kissingly-hot boy conjuring would improve with practice.
It's what happened to me a couple of nights ago when I went to bed around 3am after having taken a 3-hour nap in the late afternoon. (Really, not a good idea for sleeping patterns. Although I don't regret what it did to my dreaming patterns.)
One of my favorite things to do in dreamland is flying. So, given the opportunity (and the right dream setting) I fly as much as I possibly can. But this time, it was actually flying, or rather a sense of floating or weightlessness, that actually tipped me off to the fact that I was, in fact, not awake. Because you can't actually fly (or float) in real life. Duh.
Okay, I thought to myself, let's have some fun with this. So, I proceeded to do my darndest to try to influence the reality of my dream. Oddly enough, I was only partially successful. I wanted to fly (or float) and so I did, but I was only able to fly (or float) around some really dull stairwell type things (although being able to fly around in them was much better than, say, walking around on them).
Second, I really, really wanted to dream that I was being kissed. Really, really well. By someone really, really hot. Unfortunately, I just couldn't seem to conjure anyone up. I just kind of floated around these stairwells and accidentally set fire to the stove of a boss I had a few years ago. (Sorry, Marsha! That part, I assure you, was not intentional.)
So, I learned a valuable lesson during this dream session: even when you should be able to manipulate your reality into anything you can dream up (ha! 'dream up?' get it? aha...oh, nevermind) that doesn't necessarily mean that you actually can. Because I couldn't. I mean, I could a little, but not entirely.
So what does this mean for waking life? Maybe that dreaming, while beguiling, isn't really the place to find full satisfaction (i.e. kisses from hot boys)? Or perhaps that manipulating reality is something best left to non-mortal and not-unconscious folks? Or that flying/floating is really the best way to travel around boring stairwells?
Whatever it is, it was an entertaining night. And it makes me wish, oh so fervently, that I could know I was dreaming every night.
Because maybe my kissingly-hot boy conjuring would improve with practice.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Two things:
First, a conversation I had with myself this morning:
Setting: I was washing dishes at our kitchen sink, my hair still wet from showering, and the hot water I was using was starting to steam things up a little.
First part of brain: What the--I'm sweating!
Second part of brain: Yep.
First part: Gross!
Second part: Yep.
First part: Oh. Well...yeah. I guess that's all I have to say about that.
Second part: *smiles*
Frankly, it's always a little disturbing when one has a conversation with oneself. Also, it's really great when one part of your brain says something, and another part responds with, "Oh, I totally agree!" And then you realize that you've just agreed with yourself.
(I'll tell ya--it makes you feel a leeeetle bit crazy.)
Second thing:
My hand kept going numb while I was washing said dishes. I'm not sure if it was reacting to the heat of the water (what? weird.) or to the presence of fish scales in the stuff I was washing (ew! fish scales!) or if just decided that being numb was a good state? Because...because...... Er...
Because, apparently, it has a mind of its own? ('Cause there seem to be plenty of minds to be had within this one frame of mine. And I guess I'll be lucky if they all agree all the time.)
And now you will make comments saying that you can no longer be friends with me because I have numb hands and a tendency to agree with myself. Well. Fine. But before you go, just ask yourself if you've ever done the same thing; you may be surprised by what you'll tell yourself.
Setting: I was washing dishes at our kitchen sink, my hair still wet from showering, and the hot water I was using was starting to steam things up a little.
First part of brain: What the--I'm sweating!
Second part of brain: Yep.
First part: Gross!
Second part: Yep.
First part: Oh. Well...yeah. I guess that's all I have to say about that.
Second part: *smiles*
Frankly, it's always a little disturbing when one has a conversation with oneself. Also, it's really great when one part of your brain says something, and another part responds with, "Oh, I totally agree!" And then you realize that you've just agreed with yourself.
(I'll tell ya--it makes you feel a leeeetle bit crazy.)
Second thing:
My hand kept going numb while I was washing said dishes. I'm not sure if it was reacting to the heat of the water (what? weird.) or to the presence of fish scales in the stuff I was washing (ew! fish scales!) or if just decided that being numb was a good state? Because...because...... Er...
Because, apparently, it has a mind of its own? ('Cause there seem to be plenty of minds to be had within this one frame of mine. And I guess I'll be lucky if they all agree all the time.)
And now you will make comments saying that you can no longer be friends with me because I have numb hands and a tendency to agree with myself. Well. Fine. But before you go, just ask yourself if you've ever done the same thing; you may be surprised by what you'll tell yourself.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Oh. Sad.
I just found out that Madeleine L'Engle, one of my favorite authors, died on Thursday.
I'm so sad.
It makes me wonder which of the authors producing books right now (or who are just getting started with vainly submitting their first novels to publishing houses or agents) will come along to move into the shoes of the greats like the also recently departed Lloyd Alexander.
But whoever they are, they won't quite fill those shoes the same way.
At least we've still got the books to comfort us.
I'm so sad.
It makes me wonder which of the authors producing books right now (or who are just getting started with vainly submitting their first novels to publishing houses or agents) will come along to move into the shoes of the greats like the also recently departed Lloyd Alexander.
But whoever they are, they won't quite fill those shoes the same way.
At least we've still got the books to comfort us.
Friday, September 07, 2007
My senses are overwhelmed.
My friend Christian just sent me a link to a site that may make you sit down on the floor and weep from The Sheer Beauty of it All.
I've already been to two of the libraries they show: the Boston Public Library (the one with all the cool green desk lamps and that amazing arched roof) and the Library of Congress Main Reading Room (a circular room a little over midway down the page).
I think the best thing ever would be to take a trip just to visit all the beautiful libraries in the world, particularly those located in Great Britain, particularly those in Ancient and Awesome University Cities.
Maybe once I've finished my Master's program and have started working a Real Job I'll be able to save enough (even with the ginormous monthly payment on my student loans) to afford such a trip.
However, in the meantime, I've got a lot of gorgeous libraries around to visit. And swoon in.
Speaking of, I've now taken a tour of the library at Simmons, where they have oodles of comfy chairs and, get this, an ENTIRE section of books in the 'Biblio Mystery' category, in which libraries (or librarians) are involved somehow with the crime or the solving thereof. So. So. So. Cool. I cannot even tell you how cool that is. (I want to read a book where the librarian done it. (Er. Because I think that would be empowering?))
And also, I've now attended my first class, which, oddly enough, seemed a lot like an undergraduate class, except that the people were a little older. And much smarter than I am. And also they used a lot of acronyms I don't know. YET.
I have to confess: I've always rather admired people who've gone on to do graduate studies, as if pursuing a course of education after they've gotten their four-year degree made them smarter than average, or at least more determined. I never thought that being a graduate student would feel so much like being me; so much like not knowing much at all; so much like wondering if there's been some mistake, that surely they couldn't have meant to admit me.
I wonder if I'll feel like this all my life; if there will ever be a point in my accumulation of experience when I'll look inside myself and say, "Ah. Now I am wise; now I can see why I looked up to people in my position before," or if I'll always feel a little like a beggar who's somehow been mistaken for a lady, hustled into the castle, washed up, dressed in silks and thrust into the court without any idea of what to say or how to behave. Always a little like an interloper. I rather suspect that it's the latter, that the real reason why we look up to people who are older than we are is that we see that they have more experience than we do, but we can't see the large amount of anxiety and self-doubt they've still got stored up from their younger years.
I never thought that being a graduate student would feel so unlearned. I never thought that being twenty-nine would feel so young.
And I suspect it will be the same when I'm thirty as well as when I'm seventy-one. But that's okay. From what I can tell, all other thirty and seventy-one-year-olds have already felt the same way before me.
I've already been to two of the libraries they show: the Boston Public Library (the one with all the cool green desk lamps and that amazing arched roof) and the Library of Congress Main Reading Room (a circular room a little over midway down the page).
I think the best thing ever would be to take a trip just to visit all the beautiful libraries in the world, particularly those located in Great Britain, particularly those in Ancient and Awesome University Cities.
Maybe once I've finished my Master's program and have started working a Real Job I'll be able to save enough (even with the ginormous monthly payment on my student loans) to afford such a trip.
However, in the meantime, I've got a lot of gorgeous libraries around to visit. And swoon in.
Speaking of, I've now taken a tour of the library at Simmons, where they have oodles of comfy chairs and, get this, an ENTIRE section of books in the 'Biblio Mystery' category, in which libraries (or librarians) are involved somehow with the crime or the solving thereof. So. So. So. Cool. I cannot even tell you how cool that is. (I want to read a book where the librarian done it. (Er. Because I think that would be empowering?))
And also, I've now attended my first class, which, oddly enough, seemed a lot like an undergraduate class, except that the people were a little older. And much smarter than I am. And also they used a lot of acronyms I don't know. YET.
I have to confess: I've always rather admired people who've gone on to do graduate studies, as if pursuing a course of education after they've gotten their four-year degree made them smarter than average, or at least more determined. I never thought that being a graduate student would feel so much like being me; so much like not knowing much at all; so much like wondering if there's been some mistake, that surely they couldn't have meant to admit me.
I wonder if I'll feel like this all my life; if there will ever be a point in my accumulation of experience when I'll look inside myself and say, "Ah. Now I am wise; now I can see why I looked up to people in my position before," or if I'll always feel a little like a beggar who's somehow been mistaken for a lady, hustled into the castle, washed up, dressed in silks and thrust into the court without any idea of what to say or how to behave. Always a little like an interloper. I rather suspect that it's the latter, that the real reason why we look up to people who are older than we are is that we see that they have more experience than we do, but we can't see the large amount of anxiety and self-doubt they've still got stored up from their younger years.
I never thought that being a graduate student would feel so unlearned. I never thought that being twenty-nine would feel so young.
And I suspect it will be the same when I'm thirty as well as when I'm seventy-one. But that's okay. From what I can tell, all other thirty and seventy-one-year-olds have already felt the same way before me.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Subterfuge
I hope you all know that the reason I haven't posted on my blog lately is that I'm deliberately attempting to increase the hits to my site by raising suspense.
(And this is what you are saying to yourself: "Will she have posted yet? Surely by now there should be something! What, what? Not yet?! I must check back in one hour!")
Oooooh, I'm wicked!
(And this is what you are saying to yourself: "Will she have posted yet? Surely by now there should be something! What, what? Not yet?! I must check back in one hour!")
Oooooh, I'm wicked!
Monday, September 03, 2007
Huh. Wait. Maybe I'm actually sick.
For the past week or so, the number of sneezes I have made (performed? done?) during any given hour has increased by some 500%. (And also, 90% of statistics are made up on the spot.)
I have believed all this time that said sneezes (and itchy eyes, and stuffed nose that is somehow also runny) are simply due to seasonal allergies.
However, today I wonder.
I also have developed a sore throat and the allergy pills I've been consuming in great quantities don't seem to be making much of a dent in my general minor suffering.
So maybe I have a cold?
Or maybe I have a cold on top of seasonal allergies, which will be, methinks, an interesting combo, since I can't really tell the difference where one ends and the other begins (assuming, of course, that they're both there (i.e. in my body) at the same time).
Where was I? I feel foggy.
Ohyes.
I'm sick? Maybe? Which isn't good, because it means that I'll be feeling less than perky and sociable for Advising Day tomorrow, during which I get to meet all other incoming students to my school of choice as well as my faculty advisor and perhaps other important library persons whom I currently do not know about simply because I have not yet met them. Or heard of them.
But I'm sure they're important anyway.
In any case, I'm really hoping that this sore throat and ookie nose (and possibly swollen lymph node?) are merely the results of my body bravely defending itself against that maurauder: pollen.
'Cause otherwise, I'll make not only myself miserable tomorrow (small miseries, of course, but miseries nonetheless) but I risk making other people miserable as well. You know. After I sneeze uncontrollably for five minutes straight in their general direction.
Nobody likes that.
Even from librarians-in-training.
I have believed all this time that said sneezes (and itchy eyes, and stuffed nose that is somehow also runny) are simply due to seasonal allergies.
However, today I wonder.
I also have developed a sore throat and the allergy pills I've been consuming in great quantities don't seem to be making much of a dent in my general minor suffering.
So maybe I have a cold?
Or maybe I have a cold on top of seasonal allergies, which will be, methinks, an interesting combo, since I can't really tell the difference where one ends and the other begins (assuming, of course, that they're both there (i.e. in my body) at the same time).
Where was I? I feel foggy.
Ohyes.
I'm sick? Maybe? Which isn't good, because it means that I'll be feeling less than perky and sociable for Advising Day tomorrow, during which I get to meet all other incoming students to my school of choice as well as my faculty advisor and perhaps other important library persons whom I currently do not know about simply because I have not yet met them. Or heard of them.
But I'm sure they're important anyway.
In any case, I'm really hoping that this sore throat and ookie nose (and possibly swollen lymph node?) are merely the results of my body bravely defending itself against that maurauder: pollen.
'Cause otherwise, I'll make not only myself miserable tomorrow (small miseries, of course, but miseries nonetheless) but I risk making other people miserable as well. You know. After I sneeze uncontrollably for five minutes straight in their general direction.
Nobody likes that.
Even from librarians-in-training.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
My apologies:
Guys, I'm sorry.
I know you're coming here, rightfully expectant of finding little jewels of wisdom and/or insight imbedded within the nonsense that pours forth from my keyboard...
But I just don't have anything to write about.
I'm kind of excited about school starting up next week. And I'm nervous too. And also the regular schedule for my job picks up next week as well, so I'll be moving from The Lazy Life to The Crazy Busy Life very soon. Thank goodness.
And also I got an idea for a story this morning.
And also it's kind of cool to have all four roommates at home in the mornings because we're all in our pajamas and are a little punch drunk from sleep that time of day.
Mehmehmeh...
Nope. Nothing coherent or noteworthy, really. Just a bundle of semi-somethings.
But know at least that I'm thinking of you. And that I have a sizeable guilt trip from not posting.
Just so's you know.
I know you're coming here, rightfully expectant of finding little jewels of wisdom and/or insight imbedded within the nonsense that pours forth from my keyboard...
But I just don't have anything to write about.
I'm kind of excited about school starting up next week. And I'm nervous too. And also the regular schedule for my job picks up next week as well, so I'll be moving from The Lazy Life to The Crazy Busy Life very soon. Thank goodness.
And also I got an idea for a story this morning.
And also it's kind of cool to have all four roommates at home in the mornings because we're all in our pajamas and are a little punch drunk from sleep that time of day.
Mehmehmeh...
Nope. Nothing coherent or noteworthy, really. Just a bundle of semi-somethings.
But know at least that I'm thinking of you. And that I have a sizeable guilt trip from not posting.
Just so's you know.
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