Sadness for Children

On Friday a friend of mine delivered her stillborn daughter. I believe the little girl was due in January. We were to have the shower yesterday. Her name was Isabella. Her mommy and daddy loved her very much, though they had yet to meet her. She was wanted. She brought joy though her eyes never saw the light of day.

I was looking forward to meeting her. I know everyone was. Her parents are profoundly good and faithful people.

Today was the funeral. I was honored to be one of the few invited to attend.

The sadness of missing this little girl and sympathizing with her heartbroken parents also drives home the sadness the families of those lost at Sandy Hook must be feeling.

There is a lot of sadness in the world.

New Semester and an Annoyance

Well, two weeks in and I'm still alive. This week starts the actual teaching+studenting <--this is now a word) thing. So, I'm a student, I'm a teacher. Still haven't figured out volunteering at Americana but I'm set for volunteering at church. CG doesn't seem like it'll change but I don't exactly have many nights free so I'll just have to coffee with the ladies.

Grad stuff...will talk about it when I have something to talk about.

Sleep troubles. No surprise there.

Some guy almost ran my mom off the road on the freeway the other day so I'm having these random moments of worrying about her.

Aside from that I just wanted to make note of something that bothers me:

The term "makes me." I mean, if I could speak fast enough I would say "No" before anything ever got out of a person's mouth. No one makes me anything unless they have a gun to my head, and I don't "make" anyone else do anything. For the longest time I used this word and then some very wise person pointed out that our feelings and our actions are our own, we can always control them. It was revolutionary for me. So, you don't "make" me mad, I become mad when you're an asshole. And, if I don't shut up, and you go and kill someone because you got so angry, I didn't make you kill anyone, I'm not responsible for their death, you're a homicidal psycho who chose to take life for a really trivial reason. So, no "make." If there's not a gun or a knife or a someone with a weapon to the head of a loved one there was no force, and with feelings there is never force. Manipulation, coercion maybe, goading, but never force. We choose what we feel. I choose what I feel.

Ah, well, that's about it.

Ta!

Identity

The other day someone brought up the subject of identity. You know, identity, how we define ourselves, what about us is intrinsically important to our self-definition.

I think it's fairly easy to discover how you identify yourself, though not necessarily fun; look back at the things that, when they were removed from your life, you had a crisis.

Easy-peasy

Long Day

You know those days that go by too fast and not fast enough. I certainly felt it today. 

Woke early to nightmares only to be re-awoken by a call from my mother telling my sister was in the hospital. 

Was up after that with only 6 hours sleep and feeling really worked over. I've been experiencing some anxiety over the past 4 or so days with varying intensity. It is frustrating. 

To make matters worse I decided to go through old blog entries on this site and take down all the ones I didn't think represented me or other people well. There were...several. Most were dismally depressing. Having to read through them was profoundly unpleasant. Glad that's over!

I studied for my test and, pleasantly, make a 96% What I find nice is even in this time of anxiety and feeling a kind of weakening of my self-confidence, I can study for a test and then take a test and think "Hey, maybe I'll make 100%" instead of "Maybe I'll fail." 

Just feel a bit like some worry worm is eating at my innards. Hopefully, I can do everything and prove to myself I'm still doing well and get it to go away even if everything is not perfect, because aiming for perfect is unrealistic, you know? 

Had a chat with a friend tonight and he said something I found really encouraging, so I'm posting it, so I can go back and see it again and believe someone believes that about me even when I'm feeling anxious. 

"I think, based on what I know, you do very well with what you got. You should be very confident in yourself."

There it is. To the friend who said it, should you read it, thanks; it meant a lot to me. 

So, I've been up for 18 hours, anxious for half the day, a paper due tomorrow, about 30 things to do in the next week an a half and my cycle is late. 

Onwards and upwards!

 

Yoga

Yes, yoga.

Not the relaxing western art you thought it was. Not the excessive  stretching exercise you thought it was. But rather, an hour of intensive muscle toning, while trying to pretzel yourself into impossible positions, and with the sage advice to "breathe deeply."

Anyone who does yoga has to be into pain just a little bit.
I'm still sore from Monday's session and it's Wednesday. Lucky for me, I love yoga.

I'm quite convinced that the yoga instructor has decided to whip us into shape for summer, because the sessions have become exponentially harder in the last two weeks.  I'm told she went to a yoga conference. That could have done it too.

Big Talk, Small Faith

I find myself talking a lot about grace lately; about how you can try hard not be afraid you're going to fail because God will work with your failures just as well as your successes, about how there are second chances, about the good things God will give you, about how you don't have to live life on the defensive.

I talk about grace a lot. And it's grace that gives me the confidence I've found to go hard, go crazy hard, to try, to try again.

I talk about grace a lot. But there's one area I don't trust to grace, one area that occupies a lot of my thoughts, one area I mull over and over and over again, that I worry about, agonize about, try to exhaustively plan my way out of. It's something I've seen go pretty terribly for a number of people around me. I'm torn. A good fundamentalist would say that whatever God gives me is my lot and I'll have to deal with it, but I couldn't deal with it. I'd rather not have it at all.

So, I was pretty surprised when, during the sermon at church today, this little thought whispered into my brain "You talk about grace so much, why can't you believe that in this area of your greatest fear God would also provide grace, and give you something wonderful?"

I found myself stunned, blinking back tears incongruous with the sermon point. What? What?


I pushed the thought away as soon as it came; I can't afford to hope for this and then be let down, I can't afford to trust in faith only to be wrong. In many other things, but not in this.


But, I can't help but wonder. Was that thought from my own psyche, my increased positive self-regard, self-cheering, and general positive thoughts sneaking their way into the most fearful part of me? Or, was it the Holy Spirit, speaking incomprehensible promise into a wounded part of my heart?
I don't know, I wish a did know.

I talk about generous grace a lot. Maybe the next thing will be to see how big my faith is.

A Confession

I'm a romantic at heart. I pretend like I'm not, I even shun romantic things, but it's because I'm such a romantic, my heart so wants to be in love, that it hurts to watch. So, I'm a romantic. But if you ask me about it I'll deny it.

Summer Course Overload Posthumous

Amazingly, I did survive June. I took Personality, Stats, and Intro to Painting. I made an A in Personality and Painting and a B- in Stats. The term was 5 weeks long and half way through I came down with a flu and exhaustion and was sick for a week. My GPA for the term was still 3.5something at the end. I lost my parking spot, I made a couple friends, I learned how to paint, I got a really awesome perspective on the development of personality, I survived a class with numbers.

I didn't sleep a lot.

I painted A LOT.

This was my final project in painting.

Now I'm in Abnormal Psychology.

What I would say to my 18 year-old-self if I could

If I could go back in time and have a nice sit-down conversation with myself at 18 (and just beginning college) I  would say the following: 

• Stay on Crew as long as you can
• Don't date anyone named Michael, or Mike, or Mickey. Just...don't.
• What people at church think doesn't matter, most of them are bluffing out their, um, butts, so not only is it bluffing but it's unpleasant to deal with. Do what you want, don't do what you don't want. 
• Go into therapy; it's okay, you'll feel better. Being messed up is not some kind of incurable disease, it's not like AIDs, you're not going to spread it to everyone you become intimate with, you're not "incurable." 
• Do what you want, don't do what you don't want. If you want to go out, go out, if you don't, don't. That's good. Doing what you want to do is good. Your judgement is worthy.
• Don't hang around people who don't seem to like you. They're too busy with their heads up their own, um, butts. It doesn't mean you're not likable. There are lots of people to dislike every person in the world, it doesn't mean you're not likable, it just means you're around the wrong group. 
• Take art, take the classes that scare you, do what you think you'll probably fail at. Stop trying to compromise your dreams. Go after them and, as you learn, let them adjust. You're not going to fly away into unreality like you fear you will. 
• Travel, it will free you. 
• It's okay to be a little crazy, or even a lot crazy, and that doesn't mean you can't be awesome at the same time.
• If you don't want to go to church, don't go, if you want to go, go. But always read your Bible. And don't read the books the churches and church groups give you to read. Read the Bible, read C.S. Lewis, read Luthor. Ignore all the other things until you are genuinely interested in those topics. 
• Don't go onto chat sites. Just don't. No chatting. I know it's fun, but so are drugs. Imagine becoming a chat junkie, ugly picture isn't it, avoid it at all costs. 
• You are likable, you are. People think you're clever and quirky and creative. They're some of the best things about you. No one really gets that online, they think they do but they don't, it's called false intimacy. So, you have to go out and interact with people. They do, in fact, care to hear what you have to say when they see you. Maybe they just don't know it yet. Try talking, try interrupting, if they don't like you, that's okay, but try one more time and if they still don't like you than find some other people to hang out with. It's a big school. 
• Romance is not that important, our father is deceived in this respect. So you can stop reading the relationship books and the romance novels. They won't save you from being a failure and getting into a relationship won't make you a success.
• Contrary to what our father has said over and over, someone who gets to the end of college and is not married or engaged is NOT a looser, and they are NOT left-overs (and they aren't unlovable). They aren't. It's okay to be single, it's okay to be married.
• You are VERY lovable. You are. You are you are you are you are. You are. The voices in your head are dirty rotten liars. Look in the mirror and say one good thing about yourself every day, and it can't be the thing you said the day before.
• You are okay being just you, take the time you need, breathe, ask for help, ask for grace, try really hard, fail, ask for grace again, breathe, take your time, be yourself. You'll be happy. 
• Finally, there is grace. No, there really is. There is grace in this life, in this life. It's not just for death. You're wrong. There is grace. There is grace every day, it's real. It's really real. There are second chances and third chances and it's okay to ask for help. There ARE do overs. There is grace and the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair. You'll hear those words in a song in a few years and it'll blow your mind. Live like there's grace, not like everyone is just waiting to tear you a new one. Your family is not the world and you're not them. There is grace. There is grace. There is grace. And it's yours already, use it.

I would also note that this conversation would also involve questions about why I got fat and if my acne ever went away, and a lot of incredulity on my younger self's part, as well as a lot of arguing, but I think I could get through to me, seeing as it would be me and all. Sadly, no time travel, and I probably wouldn't have believed anyone but myself at that time. :-p bummer. 

Summer Course Overload

I'm one week in and one fourth of the way through my summer semester. I'd love to tell you it's going brilliantly. I won't, because that would be lying. I'd love to tell you about my painting class, and how it's kicking my ass. I'd love to tell you how I keep telling people it feels like I've been given a fast car because that's a lot nicer than saying I've been pushed to the edge of the nest and told to fly. I'd love to tell you about my attempt at copying a Van Gogh or my living sculpture/painting project, or the portrait of Teddy Roosevelt that I'm already a day behind on. I'd love to tell you about my awesome personality class and the totally interesting book. I'd love to tell you about my stats class and the 5 kinds of inferential analysis.

I'd love to tell you about the people I'm getting to know or all the hours I'm spending doing "academic stuff." I'd love to tell you everything.

But, I won't.

I had about 3 hours sleep last night an very few breaks today. It's almost midnight and reasonably I should be up in 8 hours.

So, I won't tell you all about it.

But I will ask you to wish me luck.

What I Tell Myself When My Heart Aches and My Mind Races

There's something that I once learned that I find really useful, I think it was called taking a mini-vacation but maybe that's just the name I made for it in my head.
It can be really useful in all sorts of situations, like when I get out of a test and I think I might have done poorly, instead of walking to a bench and crying, or telling myself how horrible I've done I say to myself (usually in my head or very quietly) "I have goals, I will succeed, there is grace in this world even for people who have been in prison and if I did poorly on this test there is grace for me. One day I will look back at this and whether it is good or bad it will be a blip. This one thing does not determine my value." Then I imagine myself smiling at my success in the future.

So, day to day this happens, or rather test to test, but I use it in another way, too; when I can't sleep. Now, when I can't sleep sometimes I'm very distressed, sometimes I'm just wired because I forgot my no-caffeine-after-six-p.m. rule, sometimes I just feel anxious and I can't really pinpoint it. What's worse is the harder I try to sleep the more difficult it tends to be to actually sleep. I have a sleep cd that does guided imagery for sleep, and that's a life saver, but sometimes it's not enough because my mind will stray to thoughts and if those thoughts are even briefly upsetting than I'm back to square one. Instead what I do is I tell myself a story in those thoughts, so when I get distracted I go to the story until my mind can go back to the body-awareness/guided imagery CD.

There are some really important books to me, books like Lord of the Rings, and Tales of The Kingdom, and The Bible that have really shaped my idea of what an ideal place is like. Also, when I was in my last year at university I created a world that I saw as a dystopia and one I saw as a(an?) utopia. That utopic idea is incorporated as well.

There have been few times that I have told myself this story and not fallen asleep, and none that I didn't at least feel better. This is what I say;

There is a place where you can go. The people who know about it can always find it, and the people who don't never can. Around this land is a wall, thick and high. No bomb can penetrate its walls and it stretches up into the stratosphere.
You are safe here and nothing can follow you but the guilt you feel.
In this land there are no biting or stinging creepy crawlers (and by this I mean insects, arachnids, or spiders). The grass is short and soft in most places, and safe and golden where it's not.
The people in this land remember you when you're gone and are always happy to see you. You are never forgotten, never excluded from life. They welcome you fondly and send you off with kindness and a bit of sadness. The people here only kill what they need and use everything they kill. They live amongst the trees and in harmony with the land. They farm and harvest the fruits of the trees. They live peaceful lives.
Here the people appreciate every person and every kind of person and the contributions that they give to the whole. They raise children in warmth and community, no one is isolated and no one is ostracisized, not even those who are naturally sullen. They eat together in plenty but no more than is used and useful.
These people are not perfect, they have conflicts, but they resolve them healthily and with reasonableness, the elders in the group helping to mediate and teach those who are still learning and still guided by hotter passions.
This land has groves of tall trees on hills and sweeping planes, streams and a soft sanded beach opening to a bay and just in the edge of your vision you can see the wall rising high and gray above the waters.
The weather is temperate.
And there is someone there who isn't just glad to see you but feels a deep and resonating joy. He misses you truly when you are gone, he mourns with your losses, and when you are there he doesn't just welcome you but informs you of what is going on. He makes sure you never feel left out, he would never leave you out. He is a joy and a comfort. His strength makes you forget what stressed you and his calm and earnest demeanor relaxes you. He is a safe haven, there is no conflict that cannot be resolved in his company. And you sit beside him along the stream as the sun pours down and warms your skin. You are wanted, preferred company. If you wish to sleep he will guide you to a hammock where you two will lie together with the warm sun and the sound of soft trickling water and rest, free of stress or expectation, free of politics and history, accepted as you are.

I just kind of repeat that to myself with only slight variation. I don't suppose that it's an actual "story" as it has no conflict and no resolution, but it works wonders for evening me out inside. The point of this is a place where I make all the rules and it's ok. Whatever about myself or reality is intruding and distressing me can't come to this place. I can participate in a life, in my mind, where my definition of success is everywhere and without exception. It's also meant to be a vacation, it's not something that I dwell on during the day or wish I had all the time, it's an escape to rejuvenate myself.

I think it's really great and I may have mentioned it before, but I would really suggest to people that they make up their own vacation. I would also suggest that it not be with people you know, at least that's best for me, because then it could cross into how you wish someone was and altering your situation or making you unhappy with your situation are not the goals of this.

That's all. I hope you found it interesting.

Mother's Day

I am grateful for my mom. She always loves me and is quite patient and unselfish, and I think that's really awesome. She really comes through for me and I want her to be in my life for a long time.

Avengers

Avengers was a spectacular movie. I attended the midnight showing on Thursday and was not disappointed. The crowd was full of eager fans and the Easter egg at the very end was apt. The depictions of the characters were balanced and humanizing. The adventure was fast paced, the dialogue quick and witty. Each of the heroes in perfect form, Captain America, Thor, the Hulk, and Iron Man, as well as Nick Fury. To the others, Black Widow and Hawkeye, I can't attest as I can't recall reading much about their characters during my comic fan years. All that said, they still incorporated even the lesser known characters in a compassionate and in depth manner.

I'm definitely going to have to buy the movie, and I'm really hoping for an extended cut. With those heroes, 2:20 is not long enough.

What I Would Do With $150,000

Recently, a few people won a huge some of money in a big'ol lottery. They won a lot of money, millions. I go to college and teach ESL in the evenings, I cannot even imagine what I would do with $1,000,000 dollars, let alone more than that. I can, however, imagine exactly what I would do with $150,000. Though I understand that the likelihood of me ever having that much money is slim.

First:

I would put away $70,000 in an interest accruing account for graduate school. I'm going to get my graduate degree in Counseling and Art Therapy. :-)

Second:

I would drop $25,000 to pay off my present debt, most of it student loans.

Third:

I would open another account and put $15,000 in there in case things ever got really bad. That's enough for me to live meagerly and pay rent for a year.

Fourth:

I would give $15,000 to charitable organizations, because if I have that kind of good fortune I need to give some of it back.

Fifth:

I would invest $15,000 in my health. Going to the doctor for a physical, getting my teeth fixed (I need implants, and my jaw is too small for my teeth), going to a nutritionist, and getting whatever medicines it might turn out that I need.

Sixth:

I would give $5,000 to my parents, because they've given me so much.

Seventh:

I would put $4,000 in an account to begin saving for a small, portable, eco-friendly, economically friendly,  light-on-the-grid home.

See link about a family who did something like this, it's so awesome: http://dynamicsubspace.net/2011/06/05/family-of-three-live-in-320-sq-ft-custom-built-house-cost-20000-no-mortgage/

Finally:

I would put $1,000 dollars in my bank account to make life just a little easier.

Who knows, maybe I would get enough scholarships and grants for graduate school that I could redirect some of that money to the house. That would be really awesome. It will be awesome, period, if I can get most of my grad school paid for by scholarships and grants. 

If you would like to help me by donating, feel free to leave a comment and I'll get back to you, you can even say where you would like the money directed. If not, that's fine, at least I put it out there. :-)

College Christians and Sex

I talked to a couple guys at a local parachurch organization today. We all go to UofL. I was disappointed in them. Not only was one young man unable or unwilling to discuss sexuality in even the vaguest of terms, but the ideas that the remaining men expressed were...untrue, dysfuntional. They thought things such as "girls only date guys they're physically attracted to, since I do. Any woman getting married wants sex with her husband and understands what that is. Every woman will enjoy the act of sex, and if she doesn't there's something wrong with her. Attraction and chemistry are the same thing. Love and lust are the same thing."

Not. True.

None of that is true. PARTICULARLY for Christian virgin women. As far as I can tell they usually know so little of their own sexuality they can barely discern what attraction is. They know so little of their bodies they can hardly discern interest. Some don't know what they want or even if they LIKE being touched, let alone what kind of touching they like. Some are terrified to touch themselves in the shower, and certainly have never masturbated, so not only are they completely unable to help their guy with instruction but they have to fight against a lifetime of guilt and terror associated with their sexuality on their honeymoon night. If the guy is a virgin neither probably have any concept of "foreplay" (as these college guys I talked to today seemed to lack). I feel ill for these couples when I think of the disasterousness of their first coupling. Frightening, discordant, and painful. Lovely way to start a marriage.

Now, I'm a virgin. I've never even gone to second base, and yet I have more than enough knowledge about these things and a thorough understanding of why it's important to know the other side and to know yourself. Why? Because I talk to people! I look stuff up and I talk to people.

The idea that a couple wouldn't discuss their sexual wants or expectations until marriage counseling (just weeks before the marriage) is ludicrous to me. I'm not saying yes to a proposal until I know what exactly that man expects from sex (and how he plans to raise the kids). I'm not talking explicits, but at least an idea of what he expects from himself, and me. Since it's something I'm probably going to be doing at least once a week I think it's pretty important to know.

How is it that any discussion of sexuality is so taboo? Why do they talk about it only after marriage, after dysfunction has been discovered? Why is Christian sexuality only reactive and not proactive? This really really concerns me.

What concerns me more is that as sex and sexuality are so taboo, and certainly Christians are encouraged not to engage in anything sexual, and yet also not informed about the other sex's ideas of sexuality, the Christians are only being told of sex, seeing presentations of sex and sexuality, from secular culture. So, there are men decrying masturbation who do it daily, who look at porn to learn about women's sexuality, women supporting purity while they sleep with their boyfriends, who read romance novels and watch Nip/Tuck to learn about male sexuality. It's dysfunctional and two faced and distressing.

I will write more on this later.

I photoshopped Myself Today

Cleaned up my skin, made my eyes and teeth whiter, lengthened my chin a little and narrowed my jaw, made my mouth a little broader and my eyes a little further apart. I think it looks absolutely stunning. It's depressing.
The changes are subtle but significant based on what I understand to be the cultural ideal. I understand that there are many aspects that are still not "ideal," for example: my nose (but I LIKE my nose!),  my weight (there was no way I could photoshop collar bones into this picture, I thought about it), my hair (thickness, color, frizzies), that one front tooth that sticks just a little bit forward, the slight asymmetry of my nostrils, lips, and eyebrows, and the prominence of my cheekbones, but my goal was to create ideal proportions, and I was pretty depressed when I finished.

For the record, the top picture is the original, with my messy table in the background. The second is photoshopped.

Note: Using photoshop to change your own face to make it prettier, particularly in ways that are cosmetically impossible (like moving your eyes further apart) is a lesson is self-degradation. I wonder if models and tv/movie stars have really low self-esteem...

Fringe 4/6

You know a show that surprises you at its twists and turns? Yes, well, I don't know many of them, but Fringe does not disappoint! I love that I can't predict this show, often not even the next episode, and yet, when I look back, I see how it was woven together. It's just brilliant and clever and endearing.

Ok, I've ended my 40 day Lentian fast from sugar and I'm a little hyper....

Friday's episode of Fringe certainly didn't disappoint me. I was exceptionally pleased with an entire episode from the other side and the double Lincolns were quite fun. I can feel for Lincoln whose entire world has been turned upside down twice now this season, and it was nice to see the more relaxed version of Olivia. Now, I would never say that Olivia doesn't deserve love, and I think that Peter is just right for who she is, but that doesn't make what happened to her or how high strung she is any less tragic. The Olivia on the other side does appear to be a less damaged personality, and it's nice to see. I love that they can potentially satisfy both Olivia's need for Peter and Lincoln's need for Olivia without throwing Peter through an inter-dimensional portal (I hope).

That was, of course, what I feared when the previous episode showed Lincoln mooning over Olivia and showing a subtle resentment toward Peter. Particularly his obvious disappointment and self-loathing after his talk with Peter. As well as  his hurt and shock at Olivia's willingness to forget...him. At that point I thought they were going to turn Lincoln into an accidental enemy and a foil for Peter. You know, Peter is a big tough guy who's morally good, he has a soul mate, he turns worlds inside out to save her. I thought they were going to make Lincoln into the guy who seemed nice but who had a corrupt character at the base of him, a weak man, who when falling in transient love, causes the one he loves to suffer rather than suffer himself, and in doing so destroys everything that was built. I'm really hoping they've avoided that path with this episode!

I was also pleased by the apparent solidifying of a unifying enemy. So now the worlds are no longer at war with each other but with a common enemy.

I also enjoyed the banter between the Lincolns.

The only complaint I have is that they killed off the alternate Lincoln. Aside from it being an awful lot of work for a single actor to play two characters in the same episode I fail to see why they did that, particularly as quickly as they did. Of course, I've been surprised before so I really should withhold judgement.

This does also bring up the question of whether or not FauxLivia believes that people on both sides are the same person. The first episode in the season saw Olivia insisting that they were different people, not FauxLivia (if memory serves) so that's something to consider. And, how will this budding friendship/romance work?

Well, that's about all for me.

Fringe 3/23

So, I was really excited that the observer told Peter Bishop that this was his world, the world he was meant to be in, and confirmed that Olivia is his Olivia. I knew it, hahahaha.

Now that Peter and Olivia are together we have a host of new problems. I'm really happy that the show lets them be happy from time to time and allows the viewer to know that Peter and Olivia are meant to be together. That's something that most other shows (Castle, Bones to name a few) do not have, and they (the other shows) suffer for it. It's ok to have a real couple on a show. It's ok.

Back to the new problems; one, the observer seems to think Olivia is going to die, two, rogue observer (and he was given darker lighting in this last episode, have his purposes become nefarious since he was rejected by his society?), Lincoln is in love with Olivia and trying to move in on her, Nina resisting Olivia's change, Olivia not remembering things she needs to, and Peters perpetual guilt, as well as fringe problems. I think they will make a big deal of Olivia betraying everyone in her loyalty to Peter, also Lincoln will let bad things happen because he's in love. I suspect Olivia will be sent to an alternate universe, or Peter will because, you know, those two can't be happy for too long.

I predict the series will end with them separated and either Peter or Olivia using the observer's ability to travel between dimensions and will set off to find the other and their happy ending.

My Favorite Episode of House Hunters

I really like to watch House Hunters and House Hunters International in particular. My favorite episode of House Hunters International was a woman who was planning on moving to South Korea to teach English (at a university?) and wanted a big apartment. LOL. She complained so much. Clearly she had done no research. It was pretty funny. It was funnier because I've seen so many people in the same situation, and been in it myself.

Race Discrimination

The tragic story of Trayvon Martin has made me think of a lot of things lately.
Firstly, I want to say that I find both the mass publicizing of this wonderful and tragic. Wonderful that a public outcry is finally getting something done, wonderful that this boy is being recognized as a valid person. Tragic that it took a public outcry to bring him justice, tragic that there is still so much racism and corruption in the country.

It's made me think about how I look at people.

If you don't know, how people look at people and how they perceive and treat others takes up a big portion of my thoughts on a regular basis. Ironically, I rarely consider race and usually consider socioeconomic conditions and weight. Particularly, as a big girl from a poor family I take these issues personally. In reference to stereotype threat all someone would have to do is tell me I'm fat and disadvantaged because I was raised in an impoverished family and I'm sure whatever test I was doing would have a dramatically lower score than I am capable of achieving. Personally, I find it incredibly difficult to work out around very thin people because my mind is consumed not with how many calories I should burn or how good it feels to exercise or how much better I'm doing, but with how disgusted everyone around me must think I am, how they think I probably work out once a month, how they think I'm probably planning to stuff my face with donuts after I work out, how useless it is to be there, how gross they think I am, how they are so happy they look better than me. When I was a member of a gym I would often have to stop or slow my work out because I was beginning to cry thinking of what they must think of me and I couldn't breathe. If I worked out really hard I'd look at myself in the mirror on the way out and often ended up crying on the way home. If I don't go to a gym I don't have to think about how half the country probably thinks I'm a waste of air.

I guess it's good that they don't think I'm suspicious.

Aside from my own weight issues, admittedly brought on by a prolonged bout of singleness, an attempt to find what's "wrong" with me, and an extended stay in South Korea where people are vocal and cruel about anyone who is overweight, my parents raised me to look at the content of someone character, not the color of their skin.

Through this entire episode I just keep thinking how shocking and tragic it is. I think back to the military housing when I was a child and the rich diversity there, to the apartment housing when I was a teen and the masses of internationals that lived around me and also struggled with poverty, to the ESL program I helped with in high school, and all my non-white friends in college. I think of the friends of many nationalities and races I made in South Korea and the students I now teach in my adult ESL class.

If one of them were gunned down on the street, if one of them were shot for having a hoodie up during the rain, for walking in a neighborhood, for having a turban or a scarf or any number of things; I would be horrified. I would be outraged. I'd want blood.

I am grateful that of all the mistakes my parents made they made a special effort to teach me that race does not define a person, that where they grew up does not define a person, it's the choices they make now.

This got me thinking, I'm white, what stereotypes do I have? As I walked around, as I watched people I thought, I thought about how I perceived them, I looked into my heart. What I'm about to say is not a defense of myself, it's an honest examination of how I perceive people at first glance. Everyone has some "cultural biases" aka. prejudice. Discrimination is when you treat someone differently BECAUSE of your cultural biases. Know what your biases are, know why you have them, and hold them back if you can't change them right away, and change them if you can. That's what being a progressive evolved human being is; it's not never having a bias, false reinforcement ensures we all have them, it's being aware of them and actively resisting letting them influence how you treat someone.

It shocks me that so many people have left so many hateful comments on SO MANY articles. I've read articles from dozens of news papers about Trayvon and EVERY ONE has been accompanied by people saying...just horrible things. There was. No reason. To shoot him. At all. Period.

And if being suspended makes someone a felon than most kids in school these days are felons. My sister got suspended SEVERAL times in high school. Once for taking out a broken cell phone during lunch.

Back to biases. As I looked around my campus I see a lot of people. People in dressier clothes, I usually think they have a business class they're going to. Those in grungier clothes, I assume they haven't learned the value of dressing nicely. When I see a black man walking through my campus, unless he's wearing gasta clothes (and yes, I do have a bias if someone has one pant leg pulled up and they're wobble-walking and all wearing one color and a kerchif or something on their head AND they look like they're bravado is big enough to get into a fight if someone looks at them funny. I guess I will have to meet a nice person who just walks around looking like that and glaring at people before my opinion changes), I don't really think anything. He could be sagging and wearing a tank top, or in cargo shorts, or a hoodie, or khakis  and a button up, I'd just think 'he's a student, he's a college student'.

Speaking of gansta, if anyone one looks gansta, black, Asian, white, Latino, particularly if they also look angry, I am cautious. This has more to do with my aversion to gangs and violent men than any race or social issue. Actually, if any man looks angry I'm likely to avoid him. I believe it's called self-preservation.

If a woman is wearing Muslim clothing than I feel curious, I want to stop and ask her about her life. I also feel a little sad. I do assume she is oppressed in some way. I wonder if Muslim men resent non-Muslims, I wonder if they order their moms around or hit their wives. I do not think they could be terrorists unless they do something threatening. I have only met one or two Muslims who I ever thought could do something like that. I've met more white men who I think could blow up people.

If I was walking down a street and a black guy was walking up behind me, what would I do? Slow down, look him in the eye, nod, stay toward the street. The exact same thing I'd do if any guy was walking behind me on a street, or in front of me. I'm a little paranoid alone around men. I have a sex based bias. I don't assume a woman would mug me, though I try not to walk down streets at night period. If there was a group of guys I would probably move to the other side of the street. It would not matter their color. The bad thing is that I feel guilty for admitting this. I feel like people are thinking "what a dumb b****, she's not pretty enough to be raped, she doesn't have to worry." Then I realize that that very thought assumes that only pretty girls are raped, and that women's bodies are the reason why someone would attack them. So much wrong about all of that.

If I see a woman with a bunch of kids what do I think? Um, that depends on a lot of things. How well kept the kids are, the quality of clothes, how the mom treats the kids, what store they're in, how the mom talks.

If I see a man with a child I think it's probably his kid.

When I see someone walking down the street I usually think they're going home or going to the store.

If any stranger yells at me it scares me and I start creating plans in my head to defend myself should the person get violent. If someone follows me I think they might have ill intentions, and I usually make a point to slow down and make eye contact, so if they are just walking the same way than I seem a little odd, if they want to talk to me they can, and if they have ill intent they now have to confront me rather than sneaking up on me.

Do I assume Latinos are Mexican or illegal? Um, no, I assume they speak Spanish and probably have a big family.

Do I think Asians are smart? No, I've known too many. haha. Joke. Really though.

Do I think Indians are all IT guys? Noooo. Short maybe, but that's only because I haven't met a tall Indian yet.

Do I think Native Americans own casinos? No, though I think they're exotic. It's a bias but only harmful in that I consider other people less exotic.

Do I think African Americans are loud or dangerous? No, I think some people are loud, but I've known a lot of African Americans who are not loud or rude or anything other than wonderful people.

I analyzed a lot of things, thought about a lot of things. I'm shocked that some people can say such things about race.

Hmmm, and I'm intellectualist. I tend to look down on people who aren't well educated. That's one prejudice I don't regulate very well. If someone makes a bad choice I assume they're not educated, if someone is a criminal I assume they didn't do well in school, and I'm resistant to dating someone who only has a high school education. It is a prejudice, it's not correct, but I struggle to change it. So, what I can do is withhold comment and judgement when I meet a new person until I get to know them. I know the world is a much bigger place than my mind would make it.

Maybe saying these things makes me racist. I hope it just makes me honest.

Grades

Well, I'm 2/3 through the semester and I'm carrying an A in two classes and a B in the third. I have a test tomorrow that will determine a lot of the grade and I've still got more than a month lest. Woot!

Or, as they say in South Korea; FIGHTING!!

By God my GPA will be above a 3.0 this semester and next and no grad school I'm looking at will have any reason to turn me down this upcoming year.

I wish

I wish I didn't have to eat...or sleep. Mostly eat. Do you know how much of my life is consumed by eating, getting food to eat, preparing food to eat, thinking about what I'll be eating, thinking about what I need to get or need to do in order to eat? It disgusts me. What disgusts me more is if I don't think about it at all I'll get more enormous than I already am. "Taking care of your body" means obsessing over food and how you can avoid certain kinds. I hate it. I wish I didn't have to eat at all. I wish I could subsist on air and water.

I love that I'm off sugar. That's one less thing I have to eat. It worries me that I might be replacing the calories with something else. My body sucks, it fights me when I'm only trying to make it not gross.

What is happening?

I am concerned about where the United States is going. If this has happened before and we've recovered, someone should let me know, because from where I'm standing the Senate and the House are owned by Big business and they're all trying to remove our constitutional rights and freedoms almost weekly. In addition, the politicians up for office all seem to be talking out of their asses. The only one anyone similar to me likes is Ron Paul, the only problem being that he's a Libertarian so I disagree with a lot of his ideas. So, what now?

Is there anyone who isn't a pawn? Anyone who is in government not to sustain government but to sustain the people? Anyone who's moral compass still works?

I sure hope some countries stay stable because at the rate we're going I'm out of here as soon as I have my master's degree.

Imagining a Good Future

I've really be struggling with seeing the future as positive, especially with the weight gain and that I believe I didn't get into the graduate program I applied for.

So, taking a cue from Glee (as loathe as I am to admit it), I'm going to set out some things I imagine, in a future 10 years from now. A happy future.

The world has not collapsed and I do not live in abject poverty. Instead I am happily married. He is nerdy and a little strange, maybe a little too thin, maybe a little to literal. He adores me because he can't understand why I love him so much and I adore him for much the same reason. He is kind and sweet, prone to many things but getting angry isn't one of them. He is interested in charity, in conservation, an active believer. He encourages me to be better than I am just by being around him. He is a good man.

I have children, at least two. And they run around our small house with youthful joy. We don't watch much tv and that is reflected in the innocence of our children. I adore my children. They are unique, and under my care.

My parents are still alive, and my mother still talks to me on the phone, and she visits to see the family, to love her grand kids the way she loves me.

Latest art piece. Just thought I'd show a success in the present.

I am a successful art therapist. I graduated with honors and I take joy in helping other people heal.

I am not obese and I am content with my imperfect body; the media has lost its hold on me. I do not work overtime. My debt is being quickly paid off.

I live in a place with sidewalks and street lamps and where it is often sunny.

I have a few friends who visit often, and who I visit. They laugh with me.

I believe I have completed what I need to do, I can claim reasonable use of my life. If I loose all I have than  I am okay because I had it and I will greet death like an old friend should he come for me soon.

My First Kiss, While We're on the Topic of Kissing

Let me tell you about my first kiss. It was when I was 19. It was with a guy I'd met online. He lived in Georgia at the time, and I was in Kentucky.

He was five years older than me.

He drove up to visit me. We went to Mammoth Cave. I held his hand. I wasn't sure whether I liked holding his hand. I thought maybe his fingers were too big. He talked to my dad and I thought he sounded like sophomoric.

I told myself I wasn't giving him a chance.

We watched Moollan Rogue (or however you spell it) and I hated it. He loved it. We went for a walk at the new park. I'd never been. He stared at me a lot. We sat down on a bench, the bench was hard and he was really tall. People were walking by and I thought there might be bugs in the tall grass behind us. He kissed me and it was cool and kind of slimy and tasted weird. It didn't feel special, it felt kind of gross, and when he licked his lips and said it was great I wanted to make a face. There were no feet popping, no sizzling, not even a fizzle or a spark. I told myself it was just because I was so nervous, I told myself it wasn't horrible or revolting so that was good.

I wasn't sure I liked him but I told myself I wasn't giving him a chance.

I said "we'll have to practice."

What I meant was "I really hope it gets better than this."

It didn't ever, not really.

That's why I believe in chemistry, because no-chemistry exists.

A Really Great Kiss cont. A.K.A. Sleep Deprived Reminiscing

For the record; the guy knew what he was doing. I think it was half chemistry and half him knowing exactly what the hell he was doing.

ok, so I tried to straiten out my hair, he messed it up again. He kissed me with my hair in my face, pulled the hair aside and kissed my neck. It felt amazing, but not as good as his hands. His hands were on my legs, arms, back, stomach, neck. He said "see, touching is good." I never wanted him to stop touching me. I touched his knee. I wanted to touch everything.

He asked me if I wanted him to go. No no no nonononono. It was an unfair question. I told him he needed to go. He asked again and I asked him to go to church with me the next day. A small exchange after that and he agreed that he should go. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to take off his shirt. I wanted him to take off my shirt. I wanted to see just how far I could go before I incinerated or went to hell. I wanted to test my theology. I didn't do any of those things.

This time when he kissed my neck again took an effort not to go boneless. I almost asked him not to stop.

He told me "Let's say I like you enough to be protective of you." I didn't know how good words like those could feel.

I decided to go with him to his bus station. I wanted just a few more minutes with this miracle of sensation. How could I have dated a guy for 11 months and felt none of this? This, which was inspired in two days. I wanted to see him in the light, to see the body I'd felt in the dark, that my own body seemed so at home with against all rational. He was so comfortable, being against him was comfortable. I wanted to kiss again.

We took the stairs and I almost fell a couple of times, my land legs not fully back yet. I felt giddy.

On the subway, in an act of daring, I touched his chest over his jacket, and told him he was very fit. He laughed and said he knew. He had a big enough ego I wasn't going to tell him him the real words, perfect body, like a drug.

At his bus stop we kissed softly and parted.

I could smell him on my skin, taste him on my lips. My skin buzzed and blushed. It took me an hour to find the bus stop I'd been to dozens of times. I felt breathy and beautiful and powerful and brave.

I spent the next three hours saying "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh!" every few minutes.

The entire next week the song "Bad Things" was stuck in my head.

After that, I have to say. Kisses are AMAZING.

A Really Great Kiss A.K.A. Sleep deprived blogging

Have you ever noticed how, when you don't get enough sleep for a few days in a row, you just ache all over? Huh? Maybe that's just me.

So, I tried to Google "A really great kiss" and well, nothing really encouraging came up. There were lots of people needing good kisses, and lots of advice on how to give good kisses, and lots of people questioning the validity of kissing at all, but no stories on good kisses. Maybe I didn't look hard enough, but I'm too tired to spend hours Google searching. Ten minutes is enough.

Frankly, I don't need a story about a very good kiss; I have one of my own.

And, since clearly the internet is lacking on non-fictional stories involving a good kiss. And, well, I hope that the guy finds this to be a compliment should he ever read it, I'll tell mine. Some of this is from memory, a fair amount is pulled from a journal I was writing and sketching in at the time.
_______________________________________________________________________

I met him at EPIK orientation in 2010. I thought he was beautiful from the moment I saw him. I remember being so confident that life was about taking opportunities, and being involved. So, I walked over to him and introduced myself. I loved his eyes immediately, and his mouth. Not quite as much as the Australian's mouth (haha, oh my gosh, so there was this Australian guy with the full lumberjack beard and a tan and these full, plump, expressive lips and he sat across from me at meal one day I could barely take my eyes off his mouth), but enough of that. So, I introduced myself and ask his name. Then, in my fashion, I promptly insulted him, and he responded with ease and aplomb. I was immediately impressed.

Over the course of the next 10 months or so we messaged occasionally online. And then one day, after babysitting for some friends, I messaged him. I hadn't gone to any New Year's celebrations because I didn't want a stranger to kiss me. Frankly, I was kind of afraid my "kiss was broken." See, I had a boyfriend back about 8 years ago (seven at the time) and kissing him was...terrible; repeatedly, embarrassingly, terrible. If I think back too hard on it I want to cry. I want to cry about how much I lied when I said I liked it, how every kiss left me feeling a little dead inside. How, if I was lucky I felt full, but numb, hallow, trying to fill up hollowness with kisses that didn't work. I didn't want it to happen again. I didn't want to kiss another guy and confirm that there was something wrong with me.


Well, he told me he'd give me a New Year's kiss, after all, he wasn't a stranger. And I, in an act which was extraordinarily out of character, said yes.

Now, when I was in Spain a classmate kiss-kissed me one night and our lips brushed. I felt a shock through my body, though I doubt he noticed, being quite drunk as he was, but I chalked that up to the shock of having a mouth touch mine. After all, the first second or so of kisses with that old boyfriend left that same shock of something before my heart and mind detached, turning me into a kissing zombie.

But now, now I'd said yes, to what I didn't know. A date? A kiss? More than a kiss? I was going to spend a weekend with him, me, for the offer of a kiss, with a guy. We chatted so much online during the week or two before I saw him. And when I did I was so nervous.

He put me at ease so quickly. He has a way like that, a way of looking at people like they're the only thing important to him in that moment. I knew I wasn't important to him in the long run, but I was surprised at how comfortable I was with having him for a moment. I always thought I'd be insecure, jealous, but I wasn't, we're still friends and I hear about new girls and I'm not. It's something I hadn't known about myself until then.

We hiked. I forget so many words. English words. I spilled red soup down a white sweater and ended up in my skin tight undershirt. It was ridiculous and funny. The poor lady at the soup restaurant was in tragic exasperation over the spilled soup, I just laughed. I learned a long time ago to laugh at myself. I'm thankful for that.

I was trembling, my teeth nearly chattering, mostly from the cold, partly with the restraint it took not to touch him. He tried to get me to drink, I spilled the wine in the carpet.

We watched movies, and he took my hand. I didn't know what to do, it had been so long and I felt so different around him. The experience, I couldn't even compare it to previous ones. I was so hyped up, but not because I was uncomfortable, but because...I felt like anything was possible. He eased my hand from its fist, caressed my fingers and palm and wrist with a rhythm that somehow matched the pulsing of the blood inside me, held my hand, twined our fingers together, rubbed his thumb over the pulse point on my wrist and my arm went up in flames. It burned inside and remade itself. I went to the bathroom and I was drenched. I won't go into detail there, but from what I know of magazines like Cosmo, that hardly ever happens at all, let alone just by hand touching.

He wanted to kiss, I wouldn't let him. I felt horribly guilty for it but I was holding an ocean back with sandbags and I didn't know if one hole would send the whole thing crashing down. I wasn't sure I could deal with myself. We snuggled and ALL I could think about was laying my body across is and putting my mouth on any part of him he'd let me. I laid there stiff, burning, trying to hold the pieces of myself together as every atom of my body was drawn to him, wanted to orbit him. I eventually sent him to his room. I knew that if I woke to his face there would be no holding myself back. I didn't want to do that, I didn't want to know whether he'd let me do that.

The next day we went to the park, he pushed me on a swing, he taught me how to play chess and then kicked my ass at it. I wanted my tongue in his mouth.

As we walked to the bus I asked him if he wanted to see me again the next weekend and he was surprised, because to his estimation I'd rejected him. I wished I could tell him why I behaved the way I did, I didn't think I could speak the words. Virgins are supposed to be asexual, we're not supposed to be horny from holding hands. Even still, he accepted.

The next time I saw him I met him in Daegu. He said a friend would come, the friend never did. We sat at a park and watched children, sat leg to leg, held hands, talked, he smelled my hair, my neck, and I felt  it like a spiraling heat  from the tip of my head to my blushing heals.

We were going to go to a movie, and I was determined to kiss him if he'd let me. Damn it, he wanted to kiss me! Then the movie times didn't work, and right across the street was a DVD bang. That's a place where you can rent a movie and sit in the living room watching it, but you never have to go home to do it. They have dozens of living rooms with large screen TVs where you can just pop in a movie. It's a great place to make out. I knew it, and I could see in his eyes that he knew it too when he asked me if I wanted to do that instead. I said yes.

We started watching Lars And the Real girl, reclining on this bed/couch thing every room in the DVD bang had, tight next to each other, me pretending to watch the movie when really I'm trying not to be aware of him with every atom of my being. I kept wondering, why did this never happen with the old boyfriend? I kept thinking holy shit, holy shit, this is actually happening.

He took my hand in his, just like he had before. I was trying to think of the movie, there was a movie, my hand distracted me. Movie, movie, hand, touching, caressing each finger, wrist, trying not to let my eyes flutter shut in ecstasy. For the first time I touched back, trying to mimic, hoping to have some kind of effect, trying to think though what was surely the synapses in my brain beginning to short out. And fire crept over my skin.

He let go of my hand and let me do the touching. I touched his veins, the pads of his hands, his long thin fingers, and wrist; moved up his arm to the course hair and hard muscle underneath. He touched my shoulders when I stopped, massaged them far better than anyone had before, one at a time, touched my arms, over and over, up and down, soft and firm. Collar bone, neck. I rested my head on his chest and he laid his fingers over my pulse, told me my heart was pounding. I think I laughed. I was in cardiac arrest. His heart was pounding too, it felt good to know I had an effect.

He stared down at me and I felt it, I didn't look at him, I was trying to remember how to do more than feel, but I said "Hi again," because, really, those were the only words I could think of. He took them as the invitation that they were.

Our lips brushed, it was soft and pleasant, a meeting, a greeting, a sip. Just right.

Our legs twined together, his arm wrapped around my waist and we went back to pretending to watch the movie. I could tell you what it was about, and that there were some awful patterns on the walls, but no lines. My senses were no focused on the auditory. He nuzzled my face, a request, and I turned toward him, a little wetter, a little longer, a little more intense. I tried to keep up, felt like I failed, tried to memorize every sensation at once. Took that plump bottom lip I'd stared at during the chess game into my mouth with satisfaction.

I stopped him after several kissed, made him let me do it on my own because I was so overwhelmed my him. He  needed to be still and let me do it. God, I was going to die if I didn't kiss him myself. I still remember the feel of his abs, his chest, his collar bones, his back. They are burned into my memory. I expected him to be static, to be unhappy with my taking charge, instead he was more intense, open mouthed and I felt the brief touch of teeth and tongue. A hand held my back, another touched my face and neck.

And I wasn't afraid.

I was exhilarated. I was flying and I was dying.

His hand slipped under my shirt, held my shoulder, skin to skin, and it was like the kiss times two.

I burned.

We continued on, movie, simple touches, kisses, he tried to slip his hand down my shirt and up my thigh. I stopped him because if I didn't stop him when he was just getting started I knew wouldn't ever.

He contented himself with squeezing my thigh, which sent a lazy thick sizzling around my body. He kissed my cheek, forehead, and nose. Touched my face and ear. I felt special, noticed.

I ventured my hand up his arm to his neck and face and hair. I didn't know what was "ok" to touch, I was always under the impression that guys could be scary, and I knew I was very choosy about who I let touch me. He'd said I could touch him. I want to so bad. I didn't believe him, but I was trying to. I loved the sandpaper feel of his stubble against my hand and mouth (you know, sometimes I wonder if I never quite came out of that "oral phase" because more often then not I see a man I like and just...want to put my mouth on him). I enjoyed how soft and defined his mouth was.

By this time we had changed positions somewhat. I opened my eyes to watch him hover over me, his own eyes closed, loved the look of absolute focus on his face. He held my hand to him when I tried to take it away, I felt...I don't even know, amazing.

His tongue darted out again, grazed my teeth and tongue, filled me up with sparking ash, my own tongue caressed that plump lip that I was suddenly obsessed with.

His hands delved into my hair and he made soft noises in his throat that made it so difficult to stop. 


The movie ended and he took the opportunity to lay his body over mine, though he needn't have waited for the dark to do it. Breasts and chest, arms and hands, mouth and mouth, thighs. I felt so warm and relaxed, like I could sleep, like I was made of molasses) His body moved against mine, just once, and it was like the lights shutting off in my brain. Sorry, not open for business, out for a while, come back later. His weight, the feel of his body, so hard against mine. I nearly came.

My body knew what to do, it was ready to go. What little rational was left in my mind was screaming something like hell in a hand-basket!


It took effort to get him to let me up. Mostly because I was having difficulty regaining the use of my arms.
Kissing didn't end, I couldn't stop it, my body was firmly against listening to me.
His tongue was soft and strong, no flavor but him, neither hot nor cold. I wanted to touch his tongue back, not just use it on his lips but I was nervous about this thing inside of me and how little control I had left. I wanted to make noise for all the shutters of pleasure that ran through me. I couldn't do it. But you know what, that's ok. It was my first kiss in seven years. I think I did pretty damn good.

When I sat up he clung to me and I was grateful, I needed him to not just let me go.

Visiting Friendship

I've been contemplating friendship a lot lately, particularly as I have no time to do such things. (And please forgive the textual errors today, I've got about four hours of sleep in me and I'm feeling it in my bones and my brains).

What is friendship exactly? Why do we need it? And why-oh-why do people who don't think about me but once in a blue moon call me "friend?"

Has Facebook changed this? Is "friend" now what "acquaintance" once was?

My consideration of a friend is someone who you could go to and whose house you could stay at if you were down and out. They'd help you if someone you love died, they'd let you mooch off them for a while if you lost your place, they'd drive you around if your car broke down. They talk and listen, share and accept. They are both actors and acted upon. They really care, and expect the same from you. To me, that is friendship.

I don't seem "work friends" or "church friends." Someone either is my friend, or they are not. If they are not it doesn't mean I don't like them, or that they don't like me, or that we can't become friends. What it means is that we're not to that point. I don't feel I know the person, or I don't feel they know me. I don't feel I could come to them with trouble, or cry in front of them, or deep down I hope they never come to me with lots of trouble. If it's not equal, and it's not what I described than it's not friendship.

And while I do call people "friend" who I don't see or speak to often it is because of some intense life event, and usually that even is South Korea, that created a real sense of solidarity between them and I. They are someone I would put up at a moment's notice if they showed up in my city, and I would expect the same from them. When we talk there is never tension, and usually these people were extraordinary aids in my emotional survival during a period. Clearly, there are some exceptions.

So, yeah, I don't call a lot of people friends. And there are a lot of people I say used to be my friend, because Facebook doesn't mean I know you. Facebook is the modern equivilant of sending someone a Christmas card. Just because you got a card doesn't mean we're tight.

People who I barely know call me their friend, and I can't help but feel there's something implied in that word that I don't understand. If I am a friend than what is expected of me, and what should I expect from you? Do you believe friendship can go only one way? Can you feel moderate distaste for a friend? Can someone you've just met be your friend? What do you people want from me?! .....#^,^#

It also makes me wonder what time is passed other people consider friends, and how much time they spend with them. I spend evenings with virtually no one, but if shows like "Friends" and "How I Met Your Mother" and even " Big Bang Theory" are to be believed friends spend virtually every night together (and are also moderately successful and roommates).

I wonder if everyone else in the country is somehow spending every (or nearly every) evening with their friends hanging out at someone's house, not getting things done, sharing food and just lounging on couches and somehow I've missed the invitation. I wonder if that's why I'm not married, because no one invites me to hang out at their house with their other friends in the evenings, because I don't have a "group."

I know how to hang out with people in Europe and Asia, even South America, it's the US that has me puzzled.

That being said I fear I have upset a friend of mine. A real friend. But unfortunately the relationship between us goes through periods of strain, largely, I think, because of me. I feel as though his and my relationship has gone through precious little evolution in the five years that I've known him. I still know little about him and often times the things I learn are not things I particularly like. But, he is a different person than I am and I know that it's okay for me to not enjoy what he enjoys. We have precious little in common besides our alma matter and a proclivity for soul searing depression.

I also struggle with feeling that our relationship is unbalanced, mostly with him and I on the instant messenger for hours, me often typing the entire time with few comments from him, often hashing out my day or issues that I've yet to resolve despite going over them a thousand times.

And, also, I feel that perhaps he is using me as a crutch because he feels he cannot find a girlfriend, so he uses me to feel like he's being needed and a "good man" and to tell a girl she's pretty. I wonder if I'm holding him back. Particularly because I do not like him "that way," and never will.

And lately I have not had time for the pattern we have established these years, first while I was depressed and recovering from mental illness at the tail end of university, then when I was in Korea, and then when I had no job. Now I have a job, two actually, and school. And, I'm not terminally depressed. And, those issues I hash out seem a lot less important in light of the possibility of my success in a graduate program. And, I want to hang out with people for real. And, I want my hours to have purpose. But I feel as though I am rescinding an invitation or reneging on our arrangement. So, I feel obliged to talk to him but guilty both for the doing and the not doing and it gets worse as he sends me a message, or several messages of "hi" and "poke" and "how are you," every day.

I tried to ask him to stop in a simple way which I feel may have hurt him. So I sent a letter explaining. It may help, or hurt him more. I don't know.

But he's my friend. With friends you try.

Moderation in theology? Wait, is that allowed?

So I was at the BCM this week and there was a girl going over a selection of Bible verses with another girl. Clearly they were participating in what is colloquially known as "discipleship," with a distinct leader and learner. One of the verses was James 1:13

 "Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am being tempted by God,” for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one." 

 She went on to say that if you're tempted it's because of your own sinful nature. And that it's your sin that is tempting you. Your sin...is tempting you? Wait wait wait. To be tempted is not a sin, for Jesus himself was tempted. And temptation is not something which should condemn us, but remind us what we are capable of, and what we have been freed from and lead us to compassion for others who did not escape temptation because we know "nothing has tempted you except that which is common to man." There's an awful lot compassed in that saying. 

I, of course, having been politely invited into the conversation, and not being one to sit around and be "taught" without discussion, disagreed and cited Jesus' own temptation. I pointed out that sin comes when we dwell on a  temptation, elaborate about it and suppose over what it would be like it in our minds. 

The girl automatically went on to say that, yes, Jesus had been tempted, but he rejected it without a moment's notice and we should do the same. She said that we should "flee every temptation" and quoted what I'm sure was a youth minister (because youth ministers undoubtedly say this over and over) in that we should turn the opposite direct and run from any temptation.

That's all nice in theory but here's the deal it's pretty useless in practice. And, frankly, I think the Bible supports evidence of situations in which there was assuredly "temptation" but where the saints did not "flee" and were blessed. 

It also brings up the point of moderation in theology. It's not a concept often taught, often thought of, and rarely discussed. 

See, when someone makes an all encompassing declarative statement, I don't think they should say in their minds "oh, people should know I don't really mean it's all encompassing," or "people should know if I'm wrong and just make their own adjustments." No, the person should make room for the exceptions and at least pay tribute to them, mention them, or they should be called out for obstructing the truth. 

Real truth is not easy. Well, the basis of it is, but when you get into it it's not a bunch of simple encompassing rules. It's hard, it's difficult, it's minute, and a lot of it is based *gasp* on our own convictions. 

It bothers me that in two breaths this sweet girl who is clearly trying to teach another about the truth of Christian life would give two statements which require exception. If you ran every time you were around someone you of whom you were tempted to lust you would eventually have a very lack luster marriage. If you never went where you were tempted to glut you'd never find yourself in a store. If you were never in a position where you were tempted to be sinfully angry than justice would never be done. 

Moderation is required in most theological aspects. Marry was a virgin, but she was not perfect. 

God doesn't temp you, but he allows you to be tempted. 

We flee sins and don't "pursue" temptation, but we allow ourselves in situations where we are sometimes tempted with the trust that we are strong in Christ, that the outcome of being in the situation is better than not, and giving ourselves the grace (and to exemplify giving exeption, there are some exceptions to even this: in a situation where you would be tempted to cheat on a spouse, you avoid it completely, where you would be tempted to be inappropriately violent, you avoid it completely, where you would betray someone you love, you avoid it completely, where you know you NEARLY ALWAYS give into temptation, you avoid it, because this is reasonable and wise).

That is all for now. Just some thoughts to chew on. Wisdom would dictate that I get ready for work now. 

Art is for Artists

I wanted to show you some projects that I've done in my art class as well as talk about my art class.

I really enjoy art and I really like learning about all the different kinds of creativity and practicing it. But it is a big drain on my time.

Personal mark assignment. You can't really see the detailing on the wing,
but it's there. I would take the picture again but I seem to have "misplaced"
the piece. 

I want credit for that drain. Some kind of affirmation that the effort to improve and learn by direction from a class, has been noted.

My art class is lovely, and 2-D design is very interesting. But, my teacher doesn't check a lot of our work, and is inconsistent about it. She will also give guidelines but then change them if a student doesn't follow them. There's nothing wrong with giving some guidelines. Everyone needs to know how to utilize creativity with some boarders as well as with no boards, or with complete boarders. Creativity isn't just about breaking rules, it's about doing something dynamic within rules. She will tell us "draw 20 sketches before the final piece" or "do 60 sketches before the final piece" and then never asks us to flip open our sketch book. She doesn't even look to see if we made the effort. Sometimes she'll tell us to bring something in and then doesn't mention it again, other times she will ask as a foot note at the end of class.

The horror vacui piece. My sister thought it "wasn't very scary," lol. It's not
as 'done' as I want it to be, but it was 'done enough' to present to the teacher.
I plan to work on it more this weekend, more charcoal, more Korean.

I find myself wondering, am I not really an artist? Is this the kind of environment that artists thrive in, and that they create? Do I create this kind of environment for my own students? Is it beneficial or detrimental?

The teacher is a lovely woman, with really great things to say, and I trust the school that she is able to critique art and suggest reasonable improvements, and I love the content, but I'd really like some consistency. In addition, I'm more likely to stop putting effort into the "extra" stuff if she never checks it. Maybe an indicator of my character, but I could be studying, or blogging, if she's not going to check my effort. I'd rather a poor grade than no grade, honestly.

The three line assignment. My piece on the left was chosen by the class as
one of the best. ^_^ Won't hear me complain.

Another Little Update

Well, you should be pleased to know that I made an A on both of my psychology tests (though, granted, one A  was achieved through extra credit, but hey, an A is an A).

I also had a good meeting with my church group. I can't say that I know they VERY well but from all I can see they are the best group I have ever found myself in. Very imperfect individuals who are all trying very hard. It makes me feel safe and like I fit in. I don't know about other people but I find that when I'm around people who seem perfect I just want to run screaming because my own imperfections are so glaringly obvious (e.g. my weight).

On the doctor's recommendation my mother also went off the Lasix as they cannot find what is wrong with her. Instead she was encouraged to drink coconut water every day, to cut all salt out of her diet, and to continue to exercise. Perhaps there was one more thing but I've forgotten it. Of course my father was upset. Sometimes it concerns me that I'm as mercurial as him, even if it's a different kind of mercurial. She has been doing this for two days and for two days she has lost .2 pounds. Let me explain why this is significant. Before, when she was taking the Lasix and experiencing the severe bloating, if she skipped the medicine she would gain 1 to 2 pounds each day, even if she had eaten nothing. So, after a few days of this she would be carrying 5 or 6 pounds of bloating water weight around her belly. Now, with what she's doing not only has she not put on 1 to 2 pounds but has, in fact, lost some weight (no matter how minimal). It is encouraging. Her sleep study is Thursday evening.

I received notification that my graduate application is being processed. I have to admit, I almost puked when I saw the email. The busyness of the last few weeks had pushed aside the massive amount of nerves tied to whether or not I get into graduate school in August.

I also began teaching English to Adults and had my first successful class (it was the third one). The first two classes were just terribly difficult and nerve wracking for me. The third was like an amazing beautiful break, or a breeze during a hard run. I am confident that my classes and style will continue to improve.

I was also watching family ties (and That 70's Show, ironically) when I realized that the economic issues that we're dealing with, the problems of corruption and big business and monopoly and people's rights. These are not new issues. These things have been fought and hashed out at least three times before. So, what now? If it's not new was it ever solved or do we just forget about it for a time? If it was dealt with before than how was it built up and why did it fail?

Bread at a baker in Seoul

Presently I'm listening to the State of the Union. I have an hour, why not, right? I wish the president would talk more specifically about how policies will be made rather than grandiose declarations of what he will do. It would be like me telling my students "I will teach you English! If you want to know English, just come to me. I am here for you to learn." Well, yes, technically, and in a very broad sense that's true. But there are limitations, like my off time is mine, and whether or not they work hard, and their own natural intelligence. And, they will not be fluent out of my class; my class is beginning English. After me they will go to intermediate, and then advanced, and then maybe years after they successfully complete the advanced class they will reach fluency. It's my responsibility to meet them where they are, shouldn't this also be the approach of governmental leaders speaking to the general public?

The Business of Busyness

Like the word play? I do.

The last several days (nearly a week) have been pretty chaotic.

I got a migraine over the weekend that reminded me why it is that migraines suck. I am one of those unfortunate souls who gets the "aura." This time it was mostly confused thinking, blurred vision, and nausea. good times...

I started teaching adult ESL yesterday and that went better than it could have gone. Just standing up in front of the class brought back a lot of skills and things that I had forgotten and I already feel more ready (readier?) for the next class. I think my students will be fun, and challenging. Challenging is good.

I signed up for volunteering with foreign born nationals (what most of the South would call "ferners") and feel very confident about that.

I worked at Godiva, fun times. And, it turns out that they can't find any cancer or disease in my mom. They don't know why her body is swelling up or putting pressure on her heart and lungs. But, the meds are probably giving her migraines. She's going to be tested for sleep apnea. I'll update as that goes on. What could be wrong with her that the doctors can't find? It's disconcerting. Where's House when you need him? Ha.

Art class has been going well. By far the class that feels the least like work. I actually finding myself putting it off because it's so much fun that I worry I'll just do that and not the other things I have to do. Then I end up staying up to all hours of the night because "just half an hour of drawing before bed" turns into three hours of drawing and brain melting exhaustion the next morning. Unfortunately that has also resulted in my being late for art class, twice. The teacher is very gracious but that's beside the point. My favorite class and I'm not being totally on the ball. This irritates me. I will need to readjust my thinking and schedule to make exception for sleepy morning slowness. We are doing a horror vacui drawing in which I am compiling pictures from South Korea (reinterpreting photos I took into graphite with the understanding that I am not drawing for mimicry) in increasingly smaller sections until I fill in all the little spaces with Korean words. We are also doing three line pictures, to practice line, and form.

Oh, yes, and on an unfortunate note, it appears that reading glasses are now a necessity rather than a fashion statement...not that I ever wore them for a fashion statement, I get vertigo wearing reading glasses for walking. Either way, must read class books with glasses now to avoid nausea. I'm 28, I'm not that upset about it. It will help me study, and doing well on my first psych exam (Tuesday!) is definitely an immediate goal of mine.

I'm trying to figure out the time frame for everything because right now I go to class Monday through Friday, teach on Monday and Wednesday evenings, have church group on Thursday evenings, am supposed to volunteer at some point, studying and art and papers and participating in psych department experiments, prepare for lessons, clean room, do household necessities, visit friends, visit my mother at some point, work (increasingly as it gets closer to Valentines), and sleep. I've found that a big big deal is making lists and schedules. Yes, it takes time to make them, but it takes more time in wasted time when I don't make them. Am I also supposed to exercise every day? Because I don't know that I can fit that in...but I will see what I can do.

On that note, I'm learning all sorts of interesting things in my pysch classes. Whenever before have I wanted to soak up everything I'm learning? Well, when I was getting my CELTA, but I was also in crazy culture shock. This is the first time I've actually been able to pursue it without feeling like my head was going to fall off.

And for the record:

The Bachelor is offensive. Those poor, stupid, backstabbing, attention hungry people.
Graeter's Mint Chip ice cream is the best I've ever had. And I've been around the world.
Wendy's Apple Cranberry Chicken salad is awesome and has pretty much all food groups. It's awesome.
Sleep is good and I suspect the person who came up with the saying "you can sleep when you die" was mentally ill.

Waaaa. I could write pages about each thing I mentioned here and my thoughts on it and what I did and what I'm planning, but there's that time crunch I referred to. Going to study now.