Sunday, November 28, 2010

Caffeine woes.

I think God specifically didn't want me to get addicted to caffeine, or ever even depend on it. I don't know why me and not other people. There are plenty of people addicted to caffeine. There are plenty of others who aren't addicted, but come to depend on it in a crunch. I don't know why I would be singled out from the masses.

But I seem to be. Caffeine, while its highly stimulating to most, has never noticeably changed my energy level. I can be tired, drink copious amounts of the socially acceptable drug, and then lie down and promptly go to sleep.

Overall, I consider this to be a blessing. I really don't like the idea of being one of those people who's so sensitive that I can drink a Dr. Pepper at 10 AM and still be running on a high 15 hours later. But there are times when my singled-out state is slightly annoying.

Like now. I'm in the middle of a do-three-projects-from-start-to-finish-in-six-days marathon, and I'm thinking it would be nice if I could know that should I get sleepy in the middle of the day tomorrow, I could find something to help me through. Because I really need to get them all finished tomorrow. And should I stay up really late tomorrow night, I'll need to have the gumption to stay up all day Tuesday, because I have class all day, so I can't come home and sleep. Not only do I have class all day, I have to turn in all of my projects and give presentations, so I can't just sit in the corner and zone out. I have to be clear-headed and able to skillfully orate.

This is why I live a mostly caffeine-less existence. I figure, what's the point? I get no staying-awake benefits. And I don't think it does me a lot of good otherwise. So why ingest it? And it's close cousin on the soda side, carbonation. I've become one of those people who doesn't even like to drink carbonation much anymore, caffeine or no. As I'm drinking it, it just feels wrong. Until moments like this, when I start thinking, I should go buy a two-liter of Pepsi. And maybe a Dr. Pepper too, for good measure.

I guess this is one of those areas in life where I have no choice but to trust God. I come across a lot of those. It's like God decided early in my life, "No. I'm going to take everything away from you and engineer your existence specifically so that you can't depend on anything else. All these people who single-handedly keep a Starbucks branch open, and drink a two-liter of Mountain Dew a day, you're not even going to have the option to be one of them." It can be exhausting.

I guess I'm grateful for that.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

If one could get tan in front of a computer, I'd be the envy of the block.

I am in the United States of America, and I realize what day this is in which I am writing. It's Thanksgiving Day. If I'm going to blog, there is an unwritten expectation that I should blog about the things for which I am thankful, or the subject of thankfulness itself.

As I've stated before, I don't hold to conventions. Aside from that, I think I do a fair job of expressing my gratitude in other posts throughout the year, yes? (That's a rhetorical question. Don't feel any obligation to answer.) So, like I always do, I shall write what's on my mind.


I'm tired of looking at a screen.

Wait? What? Did she say she's tired of looking at a screen? Then why is she posting this...on a screen?

Valid question. I'm taking the time to complain on a screen about how I don't want to look at a screen anymore. I realize this. Continuing on...

What with my affinity for Facebook and Twitter, my desire to blog and read blogs, and other such unnecessary things, I can spend a fair amount of time looking at a screen on my own. But the bulk of the reason my laptop and I are in such close proximity of each other so much of the time is because of school. I have e-mails to read from and to send to my professors and classmates on a regular basis. I have papers to write. Those papers and other projects require research, which I mostly do online.

Especially now that the end of the semester is nearing. It's crunch time. I have much to do in a short amount of time, and unfortunately most of it requires more bonding to my already-too-close friend of a computer. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I wouldn't know.

The end of the semester is nearing and aside from the prospect of having no homework, the thing I'm looking forward to most is having every excuse to not have an electronic glow in front of my face. There will be people to look at squarely in the face whom I have been neglecting for three and a half months. There will be books to be read that have been lying forlorn for too long. There will be a whole passel of ingredients in the kitchen calling for me to make them into something palatally pleasing. All this along with a whole host of other things that I could not begin to enumerate. If it's not in front of a screen, I'm interested.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not going to disappear off the face of the Interweb the minute I'm out of school. I like knowing what people are doing too much for that. But after I exercise my Facebook stalker self, check my various e-mail accounts, visit messageboards, and spy out interesting tweets, I can walk away. For as long as I want to. Maybe even all day. Wow.

The arrival of the day this is possible is greatly anticipated. But first I have to live through the rest of the semester. On Tuesday, I have three big projects due. Which is why I'm spending my whole Thanksgiving break working. Then come finals a week and half later. I expect these next days to be a blur.

But really, when is my life not a blur? (That's another rhetorical question. You don't have to answer this one either.)

Monday, November 22, 2010

If one could be hired to be a spectator, I would be the one to soon be fired.

I'm coming to learn that I am not a good spectator.

I am constantly seeking for something to do. Even when I'm tired, and I feel like I need a break, my idea of a break is never go space out and don't do anything. It's more like go read a book, or go write, or go sing, all things which I find to be rewarding and fulfilling, and which are still active verbs.

But I don't often find myself crying out for much of a break. I go to school, I do homework, I drive, I do things with people, I cook, I bake, I get up early on the weekends, I go to concerts. It takes a lot for me to feel the need to slow down.

Whenever I do go to something that is meant to be for spectators, I usually spectacularly fail to live up to my end of the arrangement. Some good examples would be graduations and various types of ballgames. Most of the ones I've been to have been spent by me talking. Primarily with my brother. He and I are good at doing that when we're together. While we do try to pay attention to what's happening around us, we're certainly not engrossed. Our conversation is so much more interesting. It's often conversation about what's happening in front of our faces, so we're not ignoring everything completely. I would be lying, though, if I didn't admit that most of our conversation had absolutely nothing to do with what's going on around us. We find each other to be amusing, and often when points are scored, if it weren't for people cheering, I wouldn't have a clue. So if I come to your game, and you see me yapping, and you start trying to talk to me after the fact about an amazing play that happened in the last five minutes, and I seem to have no clue what you're talking about, now you will know why. I have nothing against you, and I promise I will sit there rooting for you.

The concert setting is another good example. That's one of the biggest areas in which my hyperactivity has been made evident to me. I love going to hear live music. Performers capture my attention. But I am not good at filling the role of ordinary concert-goer. I'm okay when the music's playing, but when it's not, I always want to be doing something, and I feel out of place when I'm not. It started when I was young. My concert promoter uncle often needed help at the shows he was putting together, and I was eager to assist. In more recent years, I've made friends with Jason Gray and the band downhere, and as many times as I go see them, I always offer my help. I've also become involved with World Vision through child sponsorship, and I see the great good they are doing, so whenever there's a concert around where they're going to be, and they need volunteers to stand at the table and talk to people about sponsoring a child, then I make an effort to be there.

All of this has resulted in me being ancy whenever I go to a show and I have no responsibility for doing anything. I always still enjoy myself, but something just doesn't feel right, and I have a habit of looking around for even the slightest thing that I can do. If ever I find nothing, I tend to start picking up trash from the floor. (Actually, I tend to do that anyway. Garbage being anywhere but in the garbage can where it belongs is one of my biggest pet peeves. It drives me up the wall.) It's bad. I can't remember the last time I went to a concert and did nothing. There have been several lately that have threatened to be nights of spectating only, but I, of course, couldn't have that, and found at least one small thing to do before I left the premises.

And now it's 12:40 AM and I need to tell myself to stop and go to bed. I have to get up in a few hours. About five. And I have a theory test tomorrow. And Tuesday is my longest day. But there's so much I could be doing!

Go to bed, Emily!

Alright, then. If you insist.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

My 2010 travel schedule.

It's the weekend and I'm home. And I'm not going anywhere else before the weekend is over. Wow.

I started wondering to myself just how many days this year I've been away from home. This is what I came up with.

January - This month is kinda fuzzy , but I know I came home from Arkansas sometime after New Years', so that's 2 or 3 days away from home.

February - 2 days spent away for a trip to Marion, IL to see friends and a downhere concert.

March - 3 days in Arkansas spent at my grandma's and a staff meeting for this summer's camp.

April - I'm relatively sure I didn't spend any full nights away from home, but I did go out of the state twice. Two "day trips" were taken to Birmingham, AL and Stanford, KY for a couple of downhere concerts.

May - 7 days were spent in Arkansas for cousins' graduations, birthday fun, and hang time with family. Then 3 more days were spent in Arkansas later in the month for the first annual Camp Formosa picnic and more hang time with family.

June - This month means camp. Which means I see little of home. I was gone for a total of 21 days.

July - After camp was over, which was the 26th of June, my brothers and I hung around spending time with friends and family and it bled over into July. 3 or 4 days of this month were spent in Arkansas visiting some of my favorite people in the world.

August - 3 days were spent in Arkansas again for Post-Grad Retreat at Camp Formosa and more time at my grandma's. And I also made another day trip out to East Tennessee to hang with friends and attempt to track down Jason Gray.

September - 3 more days back in Arkansas again for Fall Retreat at my beloved Camp Formosa and another day trip. This time, it was up to Indiana to see JG.

October - I made two day trips this month, one up to Corbin, KY to see JG and the Make A Difference Tour and one down to Sylacauga, AL to see downhere for the first time in six months. (That was kind of a big deal for me. Since the first time I saw them in concert, I had never gone that long without seeing them. I made up for it, as you soon shall see.) 4 days were spent in Illinois, hanging out at a friend's house and going to see dh again. Then, 2 days were spent later in the month in South Carolina hanging with more friends and seeing dh. Again. (See, I told you. But that's not the end.)

November - This month, 4 days have been spent away from home, this time on a trip to Illinois and Wisconsin to see more friends and, you guessed it, another dh show.

If my calculations are correct, all of this totals to:

About 59 days away from home

And 6 day trips, where I began the day in my bed, drove at least a couple hundred of miles away, and came back to sleep in my own bed.

That's about one-sixth of the year spent somewhere other than my house, the town I live in, or one of the closely surrounding ones.

And the year isn't over yet. I think I'm going to stay put the rest of this month, but December will probably tack on at least a couple more weeks away.

That seems like a fair bit of time considering my job description requires no traveling.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

On living your own life.

I've been considering the evolution of my life as my own.

When I was a child, like most children, I didn't do very much away from my parents. And even when I was away from my parents, like most children with siblings, I was away from them even less than my parents, because whenever parents are busy, they usually send their children off together to be taken care of by someone else. But back to parents. In the rare moments when you are away from your parents, they still end up knowing a lot about what you do. Because parents ask a lot of questions. They want to know everything that's happening with their child. When you're not in each other's presence for five minutes, then comes the "What were you doing?," and other such invasive, delightfully parental, noseyness.

Then you get a little older, and you start to do a few more things by yourself, away from your parents. And parents start to ask fewer questions. They inquire, "Did you have fun?" You answer, "Yes," and then provide a general outline of everything that happened and why it was that you had fun. After your brief explanation, even though everyone knows more happened than you can possibly recount in five minutes, all involved are satisfied. And even though the people around you know a little bit less about you than they used to, they still know quite a great deal.

I still live with the same people I've lived with my whole life. But there's so much about what I do that they don't know. I'm twenty-two years old. I kinda go out and do my own thing most of the time. And though they're all still around like they were when I first started branching out and doing what I please, I don't talk to them so much anymore. Part of that is my own inclination to be a recluse, and that I can do something about. But more often than not, it's just because I'm so busy. I come home and I want to talk, but I have something else to do. So stories are never shared.

That's the status of my life right now. I am an island unto myself, and while I appreciate having things to do, I often wish I had more time to stop living life long enough to tell someone about it. To tell myself about it even. People don't know me anymore. I don't know me anymore. They, I, know bits and pieces, but only God gets the full picture.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Adventures with Murphy's Law: a weekend with downhomies, downhere, and the road.

I had an interesting weekend.

Not only did I see over a dozen good friends, visit the land of cheese heads, see Chicago for the first time, and travel farther north than I've ever been before, everything that could wrong, did go wrong. And I wasn't the only one who seemed to be getting hit from all sides. My friends were under a lot of pressure too. They could all tell their own stories. I'll just tell you mine. We'll start with Thursday.

Or let's back up a little before Thursday. I had been planning this trip to Wisconsin since July. I've been determined to go for months. Last week dawned, and while I was still set on going, making it there was starting to look harder and harder. The semester is soon coming to an end, which means I'm going broke, and my work load is getting heavier as finals approach. Oh, and I found out a while ago that my car is spewing coolant if the engine hits a certain number of RPMs. (Thankfully, I'm able to keep it below there, but I have to take care to not accelerate too quickly.) Stress was building, and now we arrive at Thursday, the day my trip begins.

Before I set my wheels northward, I had to go to school. At about 10:00 AM, I had a solfege test in music theory. Solfege is and has always been the bane of my existence as a music student. I took my test, and made another D. The first time around wasn't so bad, but if I don't pick it up for the final, I won't be able to pass. And I really can't afford to fail Theory IV. Lord Jesus, help me remember.

My day dragged on forever while I was waiting for my last class that afternoon. I had about three hours of nothing to do. I was packed and ready, and anxious to leave. But the time eventually passed, and I set off for my overnight stop in Illinois.

For those who don't know, the speed limit in Illinois is 65. Everywhere, across the whole state. I will never forget that. For I was pulled over in Marion, Illinois. The kind officer (whom I did not see until I passed him, for it was dark....and he really was kind, not at all condescending or hateful) said, "I clocked you going 81 in a 65." I knew I was going a little fast, but my eyes widened in shock. There were several reasons for this: 1.) I hadn't looked at my speedometer for a bit. I thought I was around 78, 79, not 81. 2.) I still had it in my head that the limit was 70. I am usually very dilligent about making sure I do not exceed 10 MPH over the posted limit, and I usually don't even go that much over. 3.) I am much more likely to drive under the speed limit rather than over. Yes, I'm one of those people you come up behind, and we're cruising along at a smooth 71, 72, then I start to gradually slow to 65 and you now have to go around me. I apologize. So this guy caught me at an unusual moment. Why could I not have driven by him when I was dragging my feet? For whatever reason, I didn't, so now I have a $120 ticket to pay. Did I mention I'm broke?

But I made it to my friend's house and stopped for the night. That's one good thing. However, during breakfast the next morning, my dextrous abilities were showing themselves in all their glory, and I knocked my friend's bowl of cereal off of the cabinet, shattering the bowl and propelling Kix in all directions. She didn't yell at me. She's a good friend. That same morning, before we set off for Wisconsin, we went to get her oil changed. It should have been 20 minutes, 30 at most. We waited for over an hour. Excellent start to the day, don't you think?

Our trip was remarkably uneventful. We got a little turned around when we stopped to get a friend in Milwaukee, but it's not a real road trip if we don't turn around at least a couple of times.

We made it to our final destination at a another friend's house that night. Getting us together is always an adventure. We let out lots of laughter, but our friend we were staying with seemed to be having the most rough time out of all of us. I felt so bad for her. But what I love about this group of my friends is how supportive everyone is, so we suffered along with each other.

Over the weekend, everything we tried to cook or bake turned out wrong. Aside from the scrambled eggs and chocolate gravy. (Although, I will say that the gravy wasn't the best I've ever made.) Cookies were made without baking powder, biscuits came out looking like sugar cookies, bacon was cooked until covered with carcinogens and smoke filled the house. We were a mess.

Saturday afternoon and evening shone like a beacon through the smoke from all of our burning efforts in the kitchen that was our weekend. We met up with more friends, celebrated a precious little boy's birthday, saw our favorite band (who has grown accustomed who our strange insanity), terrorized one of our new favorite bands (who has just been introduced to the colorful world of downhomies this fall) and generally had the time of our lives like we usually do. And the aforementioned favorite band performed probably better than I've ever seen them before. They were great. And like usual, despite how good they are, it wasn't about them. And after a while I kind of forgot that I was at a downhere show, surrounded by some of my best friends, and Jesus was the only focus. I sat silently for a couple of songs, not looking at the stage, just listening with my head bowed and eyes closed, and I wept. I've lost track of how many times I've seen downhere, so for me to still cry as often as I do is a testament to both their talent and the presence of the Holy Spirit. It was a good night.

Then we made it back to our home for the night, and it hit again. Our hostess, one of our friends, and me were the first to make it back, and as soon as the other two who were staying the night with us made it back to the house, I said, "I think we need to pray. The five of us." And we did right then, in a huddle in the middle of the living room. I'm grateful for people who do that. With everything that was going on, not just while we were together, but in our individual lives, we all agreed that it felt like we were under spiritual attack. And I don't think the timing and the fact that it was so many of us was a coincidence. There's something going on that we don't understand, and I'm happy to know that we'll support each other through it.

The next day, yesterday, turned out fairly well on my end. Aside from the fact that we all had to leave each other. That's always so hard. It gets easier, but no more enjoyable.

But it wouldn't be my life if something didn't go as planned. I pulled out my GPS, and the screen was cracked. So it no longer responds to touch. Which renders it essentially useless. I thought, "No matter. It was super cheap. And I think I can get home. The drive from Champaign, IL (which is where I would be leaving my last friend, picking up my car, and finishing my journey alone) is really straight forward, and I've done it more than once now. I should be fine." It was a theoretically nice idea. But no. I turned too soon. And I ended up in Indiana, when I shouldn't have been anywhere near Indiana. Thus my 12 hour drive home turned into 13. I was chugging along, wondering if I was going the right way, and when I saw "Welcome to Indiana!" I laughed. "I'm not supposed to be in Indiana," I said amusedly. But my brother and my dad rescued me. Thank the Lord for cell phones and Google Maps. I called my friend in Champaign to tell her that I went the wrong way, and the first thing I said after "hello" was, 'The adventure continues!" It always does.

The weekend was fraught with difficulties, but I survived. And my treasure chest of stories now contains more than it did when I left. And I still have a smile on my face. If the fact that I was able to laugh after making a D on a test, getting a $120 ticket, and getting lost in Indiana, even though I wasn't inebriated in any way nor had the least bit of caffeine in my system, doesn't prove that God is good, then I don't know what does.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Euphemistically speaking.

When I say this, please know that I don't mean to have a judgmental attitude. I'm willing to be enlightened.

I don't really get euphemisms. Why not call something what it is, rather than dancing around the subject, even when everyone knows what you mean anyway?

The one that I've been thinking about the most lately is "passed away." I think for some people it's a force of habit. They've heard it all their life, so it's what naturally comes out of their mouth. In that instance, they're maybe not intentionally trying to use a euphemism, it's just a part of their normal language. But other people can't seem to bring themselves to feel okay about saying, "My grandmother died." Other than the fact that, yes, that's a sad thing, and no one really wants their grandmother to cease to exist, of course. But it is what it is. Your grandmother, the dear woman that she was, lived her life, and now she's not here anymore. It's a process called death. I don't understand the motivation to call it anything else.

In my brain, using euphemisms is essentially avoiding the issue. Or sugar-coating something. This could be an indication of how literal I tend to be. Or perhaps this is just a reflection of my preference for raw authenticity, even in all of its ugliness, but I don't like either one of those things, skirting around what you really mean or trying to make it sound better than it is. Tell me what I need to know. Be honest. Don't change things to make them more pleasing. Or less displeasing.

I do realize there may be some things I don't understand about a person's motivation to use euphemisms. I'm not trying to condemn anyone. But I do know that they're not my style. So even if I come to an understanding and acceptance of why someone else uses them, I don't expect myself to go around telling people that my grandfather passed away when I was eight years old. My grandfather died. It was sad. And it took me a long time to deal with. But I think it was far better for me to confront it, name and all, than to try to make it seem not as bad as it was, which is what would have been had I not called it what it was.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

A few words. That's all I have time for.

If you've regularly read my posts, or if you keep up with my social network presence (or if you've actually talked to me in person, which is something I actually still do surprisingly often), and you haven't noticed that my life is busy, then I must not be doing a very good job of representing myself well. Because my life is busy.

And I like it. It's rich and full. There's no room for boredom, which, if I'm to be honest, I probably make boredom out to be more of an enemy that it actually is, but that's for another post. I consistently accumulate a veritable cornucopia of experiences, and I feel like I'm better off for it.

But there's one thing I don't like. Lately, I've reached a level of busyness that doesn't allow me to fully appreciate everything that's happening. I have no choice but to live in the moment. I'm not condemning living in the moment with that statement, but I think there's also a place for anticipation and post-reflection, and they can each enrich your experiences and help you to understand them better. But I have little to no time for either of them. I move from one thing to the next, barely able to look ahead and prepare for what's coming at me, and barely able to look behind and make sense of what just happened.

I barely even have time to think about this disconcerting reality, write these few words, and post them for reading.

I like having many wonderful things to do. But I miss settling into my bed every night, writing about my day in my journal for an hour, and letting my mind wander for a couple more, not only trying to fully know and comprehend the events that have passed, but also readying myself for what's to come.

Balance. You are elusive.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Song of Emily

My classmates in my Bible as Literature class and I were charged by our professor to write our own versions of Song of Solomon. Here is what I came up with. (I apologize in advance if it's not erotic enough for some of you. :) I tend to fall on the side of sentimentality.)

"Hey, love, you are perfect
Your hair makes me jealous
it puts my extended waves to shame
Your eyes sparkle like the Emerald City
they make my favorite color come alive
Your face is like home
like comfort after a long absence
Your lips are cocoa solids
redeeming white chocolate
Your arms are well-crafted melodies
scored with grace notes
Your body is a multi-layered song
enriched with harmony
Your legs are stories
cemented in the beauty of life
Your voice is reassurance
and you are everything I want

Friends, find this and devour it
Quaff this intoxicating love
Yet I implore you, sisters
Dare not inhale until it is sure!

You, love, who lives in the trees
my friends are seeking out your voice
let it come to my ears
Be swift, love
like a familiar tune
or a simple poem
wending its way to my heart"