Family Life

I'm thinking about family dynamics a lot lately. Therapy forced me to look at my own family and look at the roles and responsibilities each person holds in order to make the group function. We establish our roles in a family early on. It's interesting that no matter how much we all change individually, it is more comfortable to regress to our comfort zones as a community.

My brother, Adam, came home this past weekend. We attended a wedding as a family where I got to observe other families interact with my own. When my entire family is together, I notice the complex dynamics that come out in such simple ways. For example, all five of us were in one hotel room with only one bed. Everyone's complaints about one another or ways of coping with the situation said a lot about each of us. It also reminded me what an introvert I am and had me needing quiet. We went straight from the wedding and dropping Adam off at the airport to a family reunion, which really brought out reflections on family dynamics.

Family keeps us humble. When I see a lot of my distant relatives, I cannot connect with them. I think how I would have nothing to do with them in the real world if it weren't for our genetic connection. I'm not saying this to sound like different is bad. I just noticed how different our lives were and how we value such opposite things, and I felt amazed to think that something as simple as sharing some genetic makeup keeps us in each other's lives.

I had the privilege of meeting up with some friends in DC where we compared our family systems and what sort of issues threaten and/or change those dynamics. It's interesting to hear about all of the different issues families deal with. For example, I have friends who have really strained familial relationships, but because they are family, they strive to maintain some sort of connection. I think there's something animalistic and instinctual about maintaining contact with those who share our genetic makeup and/or backgrounds. Like, I've always marveled at the relationships between siblings and how no one knows your background better than your siblings. No one understands talk about your parents better than your siblings. I mean there's just a powerful bond that keeps me needing to be close to my siblings as both friends and family members.

This is straying from my original thoughts, but I'm rather apathetic. I don't want to retrace my thoughts or put effort into constructing a masterpiece. This is my blog, and I can write whatever I want. Stream of consciousness is just what I needed to write tonight.

Life slips by like a field mouse...

And the days are not full enough

By Ezra Pound

And the days are not full enough

And the nights are not full enough

And life slips by like a field mouse

Not shaking the grass

This has been a favorite poem of mine since I discovered it in ninth grade. I chose it because it was short, simple, and powerful. I didn't even know who Ezra Pound was, and I had little experience understanding poetry. It's amazing that at least 8 years later, it still packs just as much punch, if not more. I love how song lyrics, poems, or even words of advice can stick with us and become deeper and more meaningful with time and wisdom. This poem came to mind today, because I felt happy a couple of times. It was one of those rare moments where I could look past the complaints that come along with being human, and just exist in peace. I saw dolphins this morning. They are mystical creatures with so much emotional depth. The more I learn about them, the more I love them. I loved them as a child, but it is another example of having an even deeper respect for them now that I'm older and know more about them and their capacity to feel emotions we've deemed human.

When I was having these "peak moments," I thought about how this is life. It started with me thinking the sky looked heavenly, and how I don't really believe in a literal heaven, but that I believe these moments of peace and beauty on Earth can be our own experiences of heaven. Then I realized, these little moments are what we live for. We work, we struggle, we go through the motions just to have a few moments of peace and joy every now and then. Don't get me wrong, I think those moments are miraculous and totally worth earning, but there's just something so sublime about contemplating our own existence.

I also reflected back on circles in my life because I had a moment that reminded me of S. Dakota. I remember being blown away and excited on my first trip when my eyes were opened to circles in every aspect of our lives. Later, in my freshman year of college, I remember saying to April (who I met on my first trip to S Dakota) that life's circularity was depressing, and I was sick of going in circles. She talked about how going in circles doesn't have to be depressing, because we come back to these "markers" (such as seasons, holidays, birthdays, etc...) with new wisdom and perspective, and that we can use them as tools to self-evaluate. I've thought about both the depressing side and optimistic side of circles, and I've decided it's a little bit of both. I'm leaning more toward the optimistic side lately, though.

I'm visiting Laura in NC. I went nearly 6 months without seeing her, which felt far too long. I have a familial relationship with her, where I've gotten used to relying on her. It's hard because her job is so demanding and our lives are going different ways, so it gets harder and harder to be there all the time for each other. We do a solid job of maintaining a strong friendship, but I'm sure her time in a PhD program and my time with the nuns will force us both to do some independent soul searching, and I realize we might not end up in the exact same place. It's hard to imagine, and we both fear a day we are not as close of friends. I think we can continue to be close friends forever, but I think the nature of growing up is that we all have to develop our own lives. That reminds me of a quote I saw today in a gift shop here--it was something about life isn't about finding yourself, but instead about creating yourself. I think that's pretty empowering. We have complete control over who we choose to be. Sure, some of our personalities are from genetics and past experiences, but having the power to change for the better is encouraging.

Good Times

Life is good these days. I had a blast at Alicia's bachelorette party on Saturday. I was a little worried about such a large group getting together and drinking too much, but there was next to no drama, and everyone had fun. We met lots of new friends throughout the night. Strangers bought Alicia drinks. There were many highlights of the evening, but I think my favorite memory is the one we call "The Great Fall of Leslie." A few girls from our group along with some new friends they met were kareokeing to "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Leslie had been harassing the DJ, asking when it was going to be their turn, but she was in the bathroom when he finally played it. All of the sudden, I see Leslie sprinting out of the bathroom and leaping onto the stage, where she fell flat on her face. Everyone stopped singing, and the entire bar stared. Leslie popped up instantly like a Jack-in-the-box and snatched the mic from one of the girls and started singing along. What made it funnier was that her voice was hoarse from yelling all night, so she had this old smoker's voice going on. We had a blast laughing about that one that night and the next day.

I had the strangest dream last night. It involved the most random group of people: former profs, one of my favorite writers, April, Evan, Silvio, coworkers from The Writing Center and my summer school program, and then some girls who lived in my dorm freshman year whose names I can't even remember. It involved this new dictator in California trying to kill infants with bumblebees to produce some sort of new energy source, my favorite writer coming into a writing class of mine, a talent show with other profs, and then my neighbor from across the street. I don't know what on earth that could mean. Probably just one of those "cleaning out the cobwebs" in my head dreams.

I came up with a question for my favorite writer in this dream, and now I really would like to ask her or someone else who writes personal memoir. I asked her if you ever get used to people asking you about these intensely personal moments we choose to write about, and if you ever develop some sort of protective layer or does it make you feel vulnerable every time. She's been writing about personal issues since she was 23, and she is now in her mid to late thirties, so I figured she would know how to separate work/writing from herself. Although, maybe that's just part of the job description as a memoirist--being okay with being vulnerable if we are in control, I guess?

This is my last week of work. The kids are getting restless, and I'm getting tired. I will miss the kids greatly, so in that sense, I am not ready to be done. I am tired though and ready to look to the future (aka get back into writing and moving in with the nuns) after I have some time for myself and get to visit Laura. I haven't seen her since like my birthday, so that's just too long. It's gonna be 5, almost 6 months since I've seen her when I finally arrive in NC. We've never been apart that long. Crazy how quickly you get used to someone being three blocks away, but how slowly you adjust to them being far away.

Heat Wave

It's been in the mid to upper nineties all week. The school I work in doesn't have air conditioning, and it seems to get hotter than outside because there is no breeze. We have fans, but they don't seem to do much in this intense weather. I sweat through my clothes pretty early on. Today, in order to escape the afternoon heat, we took a field trip to see "Cars 2." It was cute. My kids were so excited to go, but then when we were there, they all complained of being tired (we went during their nap time) and couldn't sit still. They seemed to like the movie, but they have short attention spans, and some of the humor was over their heads.

I took an adorable picture of some of the kids wearing hats. My coworker found a bunch of baseball caps at garage sales, so everyone in my class got one. They wore them sideways like little thugs or punks, and it made me laugh. They are so sweet. They all can drive me nuts, but they also have a way of melting my heart when they give me a hug at a random moment. It's always such a pleasant surprise that they just get unplanned urges to give me a hug. I even smile when it's one of the trouble makers who test my patience more times than they do not. Sometimes I have to be cold with them in order to get them to listen, and it makes me feel better that they still want to give me hugs even after I had to scold them.

Last week, some of the kids were not participating in gym. I told them they needed to at least try, but then they started picking flowers. They pick little flowers in the grass for me regularly, so I had a suspicion they would try to give it to me. I asked them not to pick flowers, but they didn't listen. Finally, I said, "If you pick that flower, I can't take it because you're supposed to be playing kickball." Of course, they try to test me, so they gave me the flowers. I had to keep my arms folded and refuse to accept them. It broke my heart to have to reject their thoughtfulness and kind gesture, but they are always testing the boundaries, trying to see what they can get away with. They know they can get away with more when they are with me as opposed to the other two women in my classroom. There's a few who refuse to listen to me unless I yell. I don't like yelling at the kids. It makes me sad, but I can't let them be out of control either, or they will have even more trouble during the school year. It's sad to know many of my kids will only continue the cycle, but a few always give me hope. I hope several of them get to attend college and do something different with their lives. They are such good kids born into unfair circumstances.

At the movie theater today, one of the kids was excited about the automatic paper-towel-dispenser. He said, "All I had to do was wave 'hi' to it, and it gave me paper all by itself." I smiled even though he was supposed to be standing quietly in line. It just seems so sweet to think of waving your hand in front of a motion sensor as waving, "hi." The kids give me a fresh perspective every now and then, in addition to keeping me from being too serious.

I've been reflecting on how serious my family and I can be, but how I'm still drawn to comedy. There was a period in my life where I was obsessed with Saturday Night Live. I read everything I could about the writers and performers from different eras. I started getting interested in improv comedy and how a lot of the performers and writers came from improv groups. I dreamed of doing improv comedy, and I even considered joining the improv group my first year of college. I realized I just wasn't meant to be a performer, but in another life I could see myself doing something like that.

My love for comedy was set on the back burner for a while due to my love for social justice, experiencing depressions, and then school. Since I got netflix, I'm getting back into watching standup. Standup is really hit or miss with me. I don't like to think I'm offended easily, but I suppose by some standards I am. I don't think it's overly sensitive to not laugh at issues that hurt people. I think it's just common decency. A lot of the standup on TV is shallow and offensive, so I'm enjoying being reminded that I do have a sense of humor. There's plenty of smart, good standup out there.

Also, I read Tina Fey's book recently and then went to see "Bridesmaids," which is starring and cowritten by Kristen Wiig. Both the book and the movie kept me laughing out loud, reminding me I'm not "too serious," like I sometimes feel. I have a sense of humor; it just might not be the most conventional. I think being an activist, people accuse us of not having a sense of humor or say we need to "lighten up." For example, I've heard a lot of people criticize Ashley Judd for being so intense now that her book is out and she is on twitter, often posting about social justice facts. I think she is often portrayed as very serious, because she deals with a lot of serious issues, not to mention she has studied women studies and understands the implications of the sexist language in the media, so she refuses to tolerate it. Yet, I heard her mention in an interview how the world is such a serious place, it's important we look to laughter and humor to keep sane. I know a lot of activists who think like that. There was a wonderful reflection about what sort of boundaries should be in comedy written in SALON magazine. If you have a minute:

http://www.salon.com/entertainment/tv/feature/2011/06/28/go_the_f_to_sleep_tracy_morgan_updates

I'm updating my ipod as I write this for the first time since my harddrive crashed. I finally restored most my music and decided it was safe to do so. After it is updated, I will listen to my new music while I'm upstairs looking for my camera in a bunch of boxes. We'll see how that goes, but I need it for the many events I have coming in the next month!

This moved me

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/07/14/humpback-whale-video_n_898859.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000008

Forced Update #2

Again, I have no desire to blog or any idea about what I will say. I'm sunburned and tired from spending a day in the sun at a lake traveling fast speeds. I learned how to drive a jet ski, got up to over 50 mph on a few different occasions. It's nice to be reminded my anxiety doesn't control me as much as I think it does somedays. Tubing behind the jet ski was exhausting. My entire body is sore.

I'm having trouble getting motivated to study for my exam coming up next week. I just don't value standardized tests. I've been let down by them far too many times, so I learned that I can't let them tell me about my intelligence level. A lot of creative people I know have similar experiences. That's probably why so many of the top MFA programs do not require the GRE. Although, I want to apply to as many schools as possible so that I have a better chance of receiving funding. I don't want something as trivial as a standardized test score to keep them from giving my writing a chance.

I broke a giant leaf off my aloe plant to rub on my sunburn. That thing is a monster. My mom suggests getting rid of it, or breaking a bunch of it off because it's out of control. I agree that I have to do something. I can't just let it take over the house, but I'm sentimental about it. It seems metaphorical of my healing. It's not like I fear that I will regress if we cut down or get rid of the plant, but it's nice to see a medicinal plant just thriving like that. Reminds me how far I've come.

This entry is boring me, so I'm sure it's boring to read. I just don't have much to say these days. I'll get my writing spirit back, I'm sure. I just need a break sometimes. Thanks for reading.

Forced Update

I haven't felt like updating. I still don't. Working all day in an un-airconditioned school, studying for the GRE, sleep problems, and trying to maintain somewhat of a social life has left me feeling inadequate or just too apathetic to play with words most nights. Speaking of words, studying for the GRE is expanding my vocab, and I kind of like it when I actually sit down and do it. I have not put enough time into it and that needs to change soon.

I love my kids from work. They really give me a reason to live. Now that I'm healthy, I have many reasons to live, but these kids are the most obvious one that slap me in the face via hugs every day. All I have to do is love these kids, and they think I'm like the greatest person in the world. They adore me and even need me. It is such a privilege to be able to work with such loving kids every day. How many people get--literally--tens of hugs every day. I can't count how many I receive. Yesterday, Mom and I went shopping. She purchased clothes and shoes for several of my students, and I wish she could see their faces when they get them. The one girl's shoes were too small, so Mom bought her an entire size bigger. We had to exchange those today, because even those were too small. She was wearing shoes a size and a half too small! Imagine how sore her little feet must be. I can't even imagine.

I'm back into Marya Hornbacher's book, Waiting. I think it's just the tip of the iceberg in a new style of writing about spirituality for non-believers. There's all sorts of non-traditional spirituality books, but I love that this is only about inner love and wisdom within us and within others that we can find by better connecting to ourselves and others. It focuses on approaching AA as a nonbeliever, but I am excited to keep working on my memoir that will fit in that sort of category. Hers is insightful, and I think she's really onto something that will catch on.

I went camping this past weekend with some friends. My family ended up joining us for a day at the beach and grilling out. It was a lovely surprise, considering I had little expectations for the weekend. We also cooked out at Grandma's on Monday. It was very nice, but I couldn't stay awake. I'd been having trouble sleeping and then slept even less while camping. I napped most of my time there. That Casey Anthony trial was playing on the TV while I slept. It gave me awful nightmares. I hate watching stuff like that. I couldn't stop thinking about it until I went to work the next day, and the little ones took my mind off such violence and suffering. I'm terrified by murder, even more so by people who are capable of committing such acts. I didn't know how to feel about the verdict, because I don't believe in the death penalty. I didn't want the young woman to be sentenced to death, but after witnessing all of the inconsistencies and apathy toward the death of her daughter, it was clear she has sociopathic tendencies. Sociopathic people terrify me, especially the extremist ones who are capable of murder or covering up a murder. I'm not sure where I believe in mercy or justice. I believe in both, but it's a tricky line to walk. I am scared by the results of the trial, but thankful her parents don't have to deal with watching their young daughter being executed. That's more punishment for them than for her. It's just an all-around awful situation for everyone involved, and I hate knowing and witnessing that sort of thing. It's awful how the media flocks to these tragedies. I couldn't get away from it. I couldn't get it out of my mind. Now, maybe you understand why I can't watch scary movies. My brain tends to put scarring things on repeat, and I have enough dark thoughts that I don't need anyone else adding violent imagery into my head.

Well, I guess this proved to be more of an update than I intended. The hardest part is writing that first sentence.

Acceptance

There's a difference between accepting something/someone and agreeing with it/him or her. I'm improving at accepting reality, I think. In Yoga, we remind ourselves to focus on controlling our perception and behavior, but let go of anything out of our control. Last night, I looked forward to watching a documentary about science and healing. The internet acted up, so I could not get Netflix to play, and I found myself feeling angry and stressed. Laura pointed out how ironic that is--to get angry and stressed about not being able to watch something about HEALING! Instead, I took the time to read a bit. I'd like to start doing Yoga again. After I hurt my back, I stopped running and doing yoga. My body is not happy about quitting yoga, and it tells me so regularly.

I watched the documentary about healing this afternoon, and the entire thing was about how science is now discovering and proving what the ancients already knew--that the mind and body are closely connected impacting one another. Things like Yoga are designed to heal both mind and body simultaneously. They also are discovering the healing effects of pleasing sights and smells and how they release positive endorphins into our brain that can be healing.

I am also working to see my loved ones as they really are. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I'll still have disagreements and disappointments, but I hope to be seeing everyone more entirely. I've been explaining to family members that my book will be about truth. I will write about both my loved ones' and my own flaws at times, or moments that don't make us look as nice as we would like to. That being said, if I do my job as a writer, my reader will still love and respect these people like I do. When Natalie Goldberg was accused of making both her Zen instructor and her father "look bad" in her book, The Great Failure, she was surprised. She talked about how loving the book was and that she hopes someone loves her enough when she dies to look at her as an entire person--instead of building her up to be some saint that she wasn't. Real love requires us to accept each other's faults, hold each other accountable, forgive, practice humility and ask for our own forgiveness, and I think that's part of why it's so powerful when we have those few people in our life who really know and love us deeply.

Moving

I didn't realize it had been over a week since I last blogged. The act of moving is just so draining. I'm still not unpacked here, and I have a ton of laundry and cleaning to do before I am moved in. Moving out went rather smoothly, considering I'd lived in that apartment for three years. I had the help of friends and family along the way, which makes the process so much easier. It was sad to leave the college town where I've spent my last five years. It's certainly the end of an era and goodbyes were tough.

My back is really bothering me lately. I think I'm going to try to get into Ashlee's chiropractor. I've always wanted to go, but heard such mixed things about them. Now that my insurance covers massages if prescribed by a chiropractor, I know I can benefit from going there. My shoulders are always so tense, and now my upper spine is bothering me too. It hurts to bend much, which makes unpacking, doing laundry, and cleaning a bit worse than they already are. I don't think it's anything too serious--just an inconvenience.

Both my dog and cat are sleeping in the living room with me. One of them is snoring gently, which makes me smile. They are so adorable. I can really see how pets are good for people's mental health.

I've been emailing a few profs at different MFA programs I'm interested in. It's such a scary process--to email these writers I admire and completely put myself out there in just one e-mail. It sets me up for the feeling of being rejected on many cases, but is rewarding when it pays off.

My brother, Adam, comes home tomorrow night. I haven't seen him since Christmas, so I am looking forward to his company. There's just something nice about our entire family being together. We don't always get along great or have good conversation, but just the idea that we've all grown over so many years together and make the effort to be in each other's presence is comforting.

Laura's work is getting stressful, which makes it harder to keep in touch and harder to accept I can't do anything to help from afar. I don't like seeing her so stressed, but I keep telling myself that I will go out to visit her and help her move back in August. I miss her terribly, and it's especially hard that I can't be there for her when she is struggling. She's hanging in there like a trooper, though. I know she is capable of working this job, I just don't want her to sacrifice her health in order to do so.

Conversation

Yesterday, I visited the grounds where I will be staying to work on my manuscript. They showed me what my room looks like, helped me tour the grounds, which included a beautiful former mansion turned into a retreat center. There are beautiful places to write, swings overlooking hills with lots of trees and green grass. The best part was meeting everyone I will be seeing daily. I met some wonderfully kind people--most of them sisters, but a few staff members, as well.

I had to speak on a microphone at lunch to explain my project, my goals, my history. It's rather intimidating to have someone hand you a microphone and tell you to just tell the crowd a bit about yourself and your dream. I didn't know how detailed to get in my explanations. Luckily, they allowed for questions after I said a bit about myself. The nun who has graciously helped me make this connection and drove me there raised her hand first, asking me to further explain my experience working with oppressed children, between my summer job and experiences with volunteer work and service learning trips.

One of the sisters came up to me afterwords, telling me she used to live on a Navajo reservation after college. She explained how delighted she was that Native spirituality would be a part of my spiritual reflections. She also then revealed that she worked for many years as a social worker and that she knew the need for reflection on mental health and spirituality that goes beyond an evangelical approach. I've read a few books about how God saved people from depression, but when you are depressed and have trouble with faith and believing, it doesn't make you feel better when people tell you faith will save you. I even resented it a bit, because I was so ill that I wanted to ask how could anyone or anything with power just let this continue to happen.

I had many conversations--a nice combination of mentally stimulating and shallow talk. I don't mind shallow conversation when it is for a purpose, such as meeting people. Yesterday was an appropriate time for small talk. I mentioned to the woman who drove me down how the healthier I get, the more impatient I get with surface level conversation with people I love. She explained that she thinks it is just a way for someone to feel close to us when they don't have anything else to say. I agreed, but it was interesting because she complained about how terrible it is that we text people all the time, asking meaningless questions or giving them meaningless information. I applied what she said about small talk to texting, saying I agreed texting could be a waste of time and foolish, but that it helps me feel close to people, like Laura, who lives too far away for me to be apart of her daily life on ordinary circumstances. With texting, we can at least check in a bit and stay updated on what we are up to. Humans are social creatures, and it's interesting how we show this in a variety of ways.

My grandma came up to spend the day with me on Thursday and bring me home. We had a nice day and a lot of conversations we'd never engaged in before. It was a nice day, and she has even offered to give me a ride back Sunday so we can do it again. I don't want to be an inconvenience, but I might take her up on that offer, because it's my last week up there, and there's a poetry reading Monday that I don't want to miss. I'm off to jog. I've been sticking with jogging pretty well, but it's challenging some days.

After The House Shook from Thunder

"My ability to turn good news into anxiety is rivaled only by my ability to turn anxiety into chin acne" --Tina Fey

I've been tense and anxious lately. The funerals, living at home with anxious/stressed family members, thinking about the GRE, not having a paycheck for a month and a half, and then all of the research I'm doing about graduate schools is a lot to think about. I've spent the last two days just searching grad schools, looking at their application fees, portfolio expectations, and all of the other requirements. Most of the schools I want to apply to are incredibly competitive. Every writer wants to get paid to go to school and write. Sure, it's not a lucrative lifestyle, but it's a way to survive while expanding my mind and being forced to do something I love. Not to mention no one can get a job. Combine those things, and the grad programs are overflowing with applications. I want to go into the application process certain of what I'm looking for, with a variety of schools to choose from, and a strong portfolio. That requires planning far in advanced. That's why I've been investing so much time into it these past few days when I have good internet and little responsibility.

I'm also stressed about how I'm going to get back to school in order to go to therapy and yoga on Wednesday, but the problem is that I need to be back home by Thursday night in order to make my meeting with the nuns Friday morning about next year. I can get a ride there with Leslie tomorrow. Getting home is the problem, then I'd want to come back up to spend my last week ever in the location where I've spent the last five years--not to mention the whole moving out of an apartment I lived in for three years process.

My chin has sick, painful eruptions going on from the stress. I love that Tina Fey quote because it mirrors my own life so closely.

Tonight there was an awful storm. A tornado warning was issued, and while we were in the basement thunder rumbled so loud that it shook the house. This intense weather is a bit scary. Also the cold weather we've had lately makes me think that the seasons just aren't right anymore. I don't want to sound like the paranoid people, but I worry about the damage humans have done to this beautiful earth. No one lives a life of balance. We take much more than we give. I don't think life can carry on like this. Not that I'm predicting some end-of-the-world situation. I just worry the consequences we will suffer from our choices, or the consequences the next generations will be forced to deal with because of our choices.

I ordered a yoga dvd, which has a specific practice aimed at people with anxiety and depression. It was reviewed very positively, so I'm optimistic. I finally accepted that I'm just not experienced enough to practice alone without someone guiding me on what to do. I've seen how much better yoga can make me feel, so I hope that this DVD will be a good investment, even though I'm not working right now. I figure if it can help me feel healthier this summer, than it's worth it.

I also was excited to find a list of the top 25 most underrated MFA programs. I'd been so stressed by seeing the acceptance rates of some of the programs I'm looking into--a good majority of them have acceptance rates under %10. I know it's important to apply to a variety of programs, but at the same time, I want my grad school experience to be the best it can be. My professors rave about their time spent in MFA programs, and how you're sheltered from the real world because you are just surrounded by so many people who love and breathe writing like you. Then, they talk about the shock of leaving that community and realizing how lonely the writing life can be. I want to appreciate my 2-3 years surrounded by writing.

Passion for Life

Nothing makes you appreciate the fragility of life more than a funeral. I had two different friends have their grandmas die this week. Luckily I'm at my parents', so I can attend the funerals and/or visitations. Death circulates our subconscious almost constantly according to researchers who study death anxiety. Things as simple as buckling our seatbelt are motivated by death anxiety. We rarely consciously think about death. It's not until sublime scenery or a funeral that we pause to think about our own mortality.

A friend of mine posted a status that she is having a rough time and needs support and encouragement. This young woman radiates joy and just an overall passion for life. It amazes me that some of the most alive and joyful people I know experience such dark times. I suppose it makes sense that those who experience joy the most intensely are able to do so because of their experiences in darkness.

I've done a lot of reading lately. Last night, I downloaded a bunch of podcasts related to writing, spirituality, or mental health. I have low expectations for myself to produce much writing this summer. I tend to be less creative when I'm living at home, especially when I work and the weather is nice outside. It's important to me that I take advantage of this time with no obligations. When I'm tired, reading can even be challenging. Podcasts are nice because I can learn so much while lying on the couch with my eyes closed. If I fall asleep, I'll try again sometime. There's really only things to gain from them.

Lilacs

Lilacs trigger two memories for me. The first one is actually one of my first memories ever. It involves having to ask Mom to take me outside to see and smell the lilac bush at our first house. There's a picture of her holding me up so I can put my nose up to the flower. I must have been three or four. I'm not sure if the picture is from that first memory, though. It's the same lilac bush, but this "first" memory seems fuzzier than a photograph. It's like trying to recall a dream. My other first group of memories are from a trip to Disney World when I was two. I have a vague memory of riding the Dumbo ride with my friend and her young Aunt and hugging Frankenstein (I was a big hugger as a child). Actually, I also remember sitting on Miss America's lap. That probably sounds weird, but we were at Disney World for me to compete in "Baby Miss USA." I'd won a free trip for my family and me so I could participate in the pageant and go to Disney World. All of this and a nice savings bond were the results of being crowned "Baby Miss Michigan." Leslie likes to tell people at the bar that I was "Baby Miss Michigan." It's a funny conversation starter, but it's strange telling people I "peaked" at the age of two. This toddler pageant allowed each of the fifty contestants to meet Miss America. I don't remember much about her. I remember she signed a picture for me and gave me a hug.

I don't talk much about my pageant days. My therapist brings them up a lot, so I've gotten more comfortable talking about them. It's really weird for me to remember, though. Child pageants are such a strange culture.

The second memory about lilacs is when Laura brought me some lilac branches she broke off of a bush near the hospital when I was in the psych unit. The bright purple and beautiful scent brightened my room up a bit. I kept them in there the whole time I was in there, even after they died. It's interesting that one memory involves being held to smell lilacs and the other, being hospitalized, is like a return to the days of being held.

I just read Ashley Judd's book, and she talked about how her time receiving in-patient treatment for depression allowed her to be babied and taken care of like she never was as a child. I don't want to go into many details about how that relates to me, but I certainly agree that my hospital experience provided a safe place for me to be held up a little closer to the flowers in my life. My days in the hospital are just as influential in who I am today as my childhood days. I can't deny either experiences because they shaped me. I like that both memories about lilacs and spring are so similar, yet nearly 20 years a part in my short life. Lilacs also trigger my allergies, which also says something on a psychoanalytical level since I love them so much.

Yoga by the River

Yesterday, I had my first yoga class by the river. The temperature couldn't have been more perfect. I didn't sweat or shiver once. I'd been having trouble sleeping because I'm still tense from finishing school. To combat the tension, I started jogging again. In my five years here, I took breaks from working out for an assortment of reasons, but this semester goes down in history as the only time I went an entire semester without working out. The funny part? Everyone has asked me if I lost weight. After my meds made me gain weight so rapidly a couple of years ago, I've worked very hard to keep from gaining more. In all my time of working out, I didn't lose weight. Then, the moment I stop trying, I lose the weight? I'm not complaining. If only I knew it could be so easy. I'm sure it relates to my latest decrease in medication, but I'm wondering if it's feasible to return to my old weight pre-depressive episode--now that I'm working out. I don't want to obsess about it. It's just nice to feel healthy now that I'm jogging again.

In yoga yesterday, I couldn't believe how terrible my balance and concentration has gotten. I knew I hadn't taken time to center myself, but I felt like a wreck. I still enjoyed the balance poses. There is something powerful about being able to control your mind and body simultaneously.

Graduation on Saturday proved to be wonderful. I felt so proud of myself and overwhelmed with gratitude for everyone who supported me along the way. I couldn't sleep because of all the excitement I felt. I posted a note on facebook thanking everyone. I was worried people might get annoyed at my sentimentality, but then I figured I'd rather make sure everyone knows how thankful I am for them instead of assuming they already know. There's no harm in putting positivity out in the world, so I decided I had nothing to lose. Overall, I got a lot of positive feedback, sometimes even from people I haven't talked to in a long while.

I'm reading Marya Hornbacher's new book called Waiting, which is about spirituality as a non-believer. It takes a lot more concentration to read than some of her past books. Her past books were fun, fast-paced books with nice reflections slipped in. This one is mostly reflection and it goes into a lot of depth. I like the way she thinks. I am reading it for fun right now, but I will reread it and take notes at a later date to use for my own reflections.

I'm sitting outside in a tank-top, capris, and flip-flops for the first time all year. I thought it could even be considered too warm when I went jogging today. I like to eat breakfast before I jog, so I didn't go jogging until late morning. it's perfect now that I'm sitting outside under a tree. I need a hair cut, though. My hair is so thick and long that it's like a giant blanket on my head...enough complaining. Life is going great these days.

Hop-scotching to Avoid Earthworms

Nothing makes stress worse than bad weather. If I had to sum up the last couple weeks of school, I would say it was a lot of rushing around in the rain both literally and metaphorically. The only thing worse than extreme stress is bad weather on top of said stress. I spent too many late nights hop-scotching to avoid mud, puddles, and worms while I power-walked home, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep my new shoes clean. I'm having a hard time comprehending the worst is over. I will officially have a college degree after this week. It's been a bittersweet five years. I've learned more than I ever thought possible--the most important lessons being outside of the classroom. I'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to experience higher-education, and I don't think I'll ever fully be able to leave academia. There's something invigorating about so many idealists in one location. I've met life-changing people during my time here and am so proud to know such a great variety of classmates, coworkers, bosses, and professors. My life will never be the same. I used to pity the people who went to college and worked at jobs that didn't require or appreciate a college degree. I thought it could be considered a waste of money. After my experience with education, I understand that education is an investment that betters a persons life regardless of whether it directly impacts their career. Education is the answer to so many of our social problems, and I believe a little knowledge, wisdom, and love can change the world. Enough sentimentality about my education. It has not all been fun. In fact, getting this degree has involved absolute hell at times. That may sound like an over-exaggeration, but those who know what my undergraduate days have entailed will understand that there were many times I did not think I'd make it through. Overall, my point is that I am not taking my education for granted. I hope to use my degree to make positive change in my life as well as those who are touched by it.

I have been getting excited looking into graduate schools. It is my goal to develop an even more solid portfolio than I had for this past year. After another few months of writing, I expect to have something I'm really proud of to submit to grad schools. The ideas about everything that is possible for me in the future as a writer is thrilling. The idea of having a year off to read and write whatever I want is the best thing that could have happened to me for this year. I look forward to seeing where I will end up after a year dedicated to my growth as a writer and human being. I actually decided I am going to start a new blog in the fall when I move in with the nuns. I might still keep this up just to give me access to all of my old entries, but with a new one, I will be able to treat it with more reverence and importance, in addition to giving my blog site out to anyone and everyone who is interested. It will be a step toward getting some public attention too, which is good for trying to get published.

I guess I should go prepare for my week of exams. It's been a wonderful, long weekend. I spent most of it sleeping, reading, and just plain relaxing. I loved every second of it and feel recharged to tackle my final week as an undergraduate. Happy Spring, everyone!

Closure

My mood has changed significantly since Wednesday. I've gone from feeling capable and optimistic to defeated. I'm having my usual Sunday depressive symptoms, which involves guilt about failing to accomplish half of my goals and anxiety about how to handle the upcoming week. I did a lot of writing this weekend. I should take a moment to feel proud, but instead I feel worthless and lazy because I didn't accomplish enough. Although, I have to believe taking three English classes can mess with anyone's mental health especially when one involves working on my book. Don't get me wrong, I love working on my book, but I take it so seriously that it consumes me. I only meet with my professor two more times, and I'm supposed be ready to submit my third chapter to lit journals when we conclude. I don't even have a full draft of the chapter completed yet, let alone started polishing. I have an entire fiction story due Tuesday. After scrapping two stories and a couple weeks of work, I'm finally working on one I like. Writing a complete short story in one weekend where I'm also supposed to be wrapping up my chapter and writing Victorian literature papers--not to mention reading hundreds of pages. I haven't even thought about final exams. I'm just taking it one week at a time; one day at a time; one breath at a time.

I'm loving having my friend from MN in town again. I felt less depressed after we met up in the coffee shop today. We're both still there, but I'm working while she visits with other friends. She leaves to go home Tuesday and then moves to Mexico shortly. I don't know when I'll see her next. Those type of goodbyes are the worst--not knowing when to expect a reunion. I know I've said it before, but it blows me away how the older I get, the more goodbyes there are to say and the more intense they become. It seems growing up means saying goodbye. It makes sense, I guess. I mean everyone dies in the end, which can be considered the ultimate form of goodbye. We can't escape goodbyes, so it should have been obvious that aging creates more goodbyes. I don't know why I felt struck down by that realization. I suppose I just didn't understand the complexity of goodbyes as a child. Not to mention, I knew less people outside of my family that I had to say goodbye to.

Goodbyes relate to closure, the topic of our staff meeting on Friday. My boss talked about how she struggles with closure in many ways. A group of coworkers gave a presentation on the importance of providing closure when we end our sessions. We all agreed we hadn't thought much about it and that people will remember most how they felt when they left. In the meeting, I realized I have trouble with closure in every aspect of my life, but I handle closing my sessions rather well. I think I use my discomfort from past experiences of awkward goodbyes and closings that I go out of my way to make sure my student feels confident and comfortable when we part. College classes rarely have closure. Either everyone takes an exam in silence and leaves on their own time or stops by on their own time to turn in a portfolio. Every now and then I've had classes that don't have an exam, but we still meet to conclude everything. I like that because otherwise, I go from seeing these professors and classmates twice a week to losing all contact.

Talking about abrupt endings also gets me thinking about how unbalanced life in college can be. It goes from one extreme to the other. For example, I usually go through a little post-exams depression. I attribute that to the fact that I'm so ungodly busy for weeks that I don't have time to think about anything, and then all of a sudden, I have nothing at all to do. I'm usually too burnt out to read or write, which are my normal leisurely past times. Instead, I spend my days sleeping, staring at the ceiling, and checking my e-mail every second, often getting down that no one has e-mailed. I then ruminate on the fact that everyone has a life but me and get into some sort of existential crisis where I wonder my purpose in life. College involves some nights of little sleep and then other times where you can sleep all day. Of course I can't forget to mention the unbalanced, extreme drinking mindset in college towns. I'm usually pretty good about pacing myself, but it can be difficult to handle everyone else getting trashed or people buying me drinks without asking me. Then I feel obligated to drink them, because they paid money for it just for me, and I feel ungrateful if I refuse it. I need to be stronger willed about that. I'm sure it relates to my passivity as a woman in this culture and how I don't know how to worry about myself more than others. This can be observed by my unbalanced eating as well. Not only do I eat an unbalanced diet, but I eat at all different times. I often go all day without eating during the week before exams because I am working so hard I forget to eat. Then at night, I am dizzy and in a terrible mood.

I'm off to work on homework. Although, just to set the mood for what I'm working on, I'll include an excerpt from the bio about Oscar Wilde that can be found in my Oxford Anthology: Victorian Prose and Poetry book. I'm writing one of my class journals about his piece, "The Importance of Being Earnest." The end of the biography's first paragraph, which begins by raving about his accomplishments and talent, reads "At the height of his triumph, disaster befell him: he was indicted for homosexual practices, found guilty, and sentenced to two years at hard labor; he emerged from prison a broken man, bereft of position, hope, and talent. He died solitary and destitute in a shabby hotel ' in Paris." Wow. What a horrible end to life. I hope to never experience anything like that.

Spring Cleaning

I cleaned like crazy this past weekend. Our apartment could have been labeled a disaster zone. There should have been yellow caution tape up around it. We had a mound of recycling that hadn't been taken back since before Christmas. It got to be so big that we couldn't turn that electric heater on due to fear of fire. Dishes were stacked up with dry food on most of them. I had taken over the love seat with my electric blanket sprawled out, books, notebooks, and my computer and chords all beside it. We hadn't vacuumed or dusted in who knows how long.

Calling Leslie's and my bathroom dirty could be considered an understatement. I had jewelry, make-up, and hair supplies (and hair) all over the counter. The toilet hadn't been scrubbed since before her boyfriend threw up blueberry vodka on the side, leaving blue marks. Not to mention, our toilet seat "mysteriously" broke while Leslie and I were out of town. It slides back and forth, and if you're not careful, you might fall right off the toilet. I mean, this place could make anyone depressed and unmotivated due to causing a feeling of defeat before you even start cleaning. I didn't sleep great Friday night. I slept a lot during the day due to having another headache. I also stayed up writing, because I felt unusally creative and seemed to be making good progress on my chapter that I had to turn in today. I woke up with spunk and started cleaning and doing dishes right away. The place looks spectacular, especially considering what it used to be. We normally don't let things get that bad, but this semester has been chaos for all of us.

Sunday, I decided it needed to be the time I finally broke down and cleaned my room. I had kind of accepted that I just wouldn't get it clean before moving out, or at least until graduation with the way my schedule is going. I figured most of it could be taken care of just by doing laundry, which I needed to do anyway. When I picked up my jacket off the floor, a centipede ran out. I can't stand those things. They're incredibly fast, ugly, and they bite. After a mad chase through my dirty clothes, I killed the little devil, deciding to keep clothes off the floor for the rest of my time here. I washed my sheets and put back on my normal ones, taking off the fleece winter ones. I had too much homework to finish cleaning the entire thing. I'm really proud though, because yesterday, on my craziest day of the week,I used my short dinner break to eat a lunch-to-go and vacuum/dust my room. Now, it looks fabulous. It seems strange and calming to come home to a clean room, especially when I get the buddha fountain going with the water noises and different color lights.

I'm burried in homework. I have entire books (yes, plural) to read this weekend, long literature papers to write, and an intense amount of creative work due for fiction and my ind. study. I do not take my creative writing lightly, so the time needed to create something up to my standards feels unimaginable at this moment. I figure now that I have a clean environment to work in, I will have to be productive with homework this weekend. I will do the usual Thursday pizza and beer with Tammy and Leslie, but that will be my only fun night. There is a local folk concert that Tammy and I are hoping to catch Friday night, but that shouldn't be more than 2-3 hours.

Graduation is coming up right around the corner. I need to purchase my cap and gown, which is the least of my worries at this moment. I'm not even excited about graduating because I have such a huge load of work to finish before then, and I'm not sure how it will get done. The good news: I'm handling the stress really well. My therapist seemed impressed with how healthy I am. I just know it will all get done enough for me to graduate and that life won't end if I don't get the grade I want. I'm also getting excited and even a little zen about the whole living a life of mindfullness, writing, and reading next year. I think being given the opportunity to do such a thing requires me to be incredibly thankful. I mean, how many people get to have reading, writing, and spirituality be the center of their life? I realize I most likely will never have this opportunity again, so I plan to treasure it. Don't get me wrong, I understand it won't be easy. Being alone regularly, confronting spiritual issues I've repressed, living with no one my own age, and hearing about my friends going out on weekends will be a challenge. I'm sure I will experience loneliness and confusion to the most extreme degrees. I'm optimistic about who I will become after the life-changing experience. I think I can find a level of contentment that I've not yet achieved. Today my therapist even said that she doesn't think I have to worry about descending as far back into depression as I did, because I've developed such a better sense of identity, love for myself, and a self-awareness that many people of any age don't have. I felt honored to hear her say that. The road sure hasn't been easy or short, by any means. Spring cleaning pales in comparison to the last few years of cleaning out my insides. The thing about cleaning: you get to celebrate for a couple days and appreciate it, then there's more to do.

Colors

I've been thinking about colors lately. My weekend consisted of a variety of activities that brought colors to my attention. It started Thursday. Still weak from my migraine and vomiting the day before, I felt thankful I did not have my 12:30 class. After my 9:30 class, I went home and took some migraine medication. I meant to use that time to do homework, but slept several hours away. I woke up to the sunshine leaking through the bottom of each individual blind, hitting my light blue fleece sheets. My headache was gone, but I was hungry and still tired. I went to my ind. study early, buying a fruit salad and a caesar salad. The greens in the salad and the bright red strawberries in the fruit salad lifted my mood. It helped that my prof then said I am producing some of my best writing lately. It was quite a disappointment when my computer crashed and flashed a gray screen and a white folder with a question mark in the middle of meeting with him.

I spent Friday with a nice group of girls I hadn't seen in a while. We shopped for bridesmaid dresses, which had me thinking about all sorts of colors. There were beautiful purples, greens, pinks, blues, and oranges. I tried on a watermelon colored dress and fell in love with it. If I ever get married, I think that should be one of my colors. Alicia chose navy blue, because all of us looked decent in it. It proved to be tricky with such a variety of shapes, sizes, heights, hair color, skin color, etc... The navy blue seemed flattering on everyone. Now, I just have to come up with the money for it. In the evening, we watched "The Fighter" again. I appreciated it even more the second time. I love the way films use such a variety of techniques to appeal to viewers on a much deeper level. It really is art when done well.

Saturday morning, we left early to go watch Ashlee run her half-marathon. My glasses broke, causing me to see only blurry outlines of objects and colors. Ashlee wore bright green running tights. With so many runners and spectators, it helped me spot her from far away. At first, we didn't even think it could be her because she finished at such a fast and strong pace. She had been worried about even finishing. Seeing her finish strong left me feeling proud of her accomplishment and hope that maybe I can get back in shape. The weather is finally lightening up, so maybe in the next week I'll start running again.

Tammy and I spent the afternoon with Grandma and Uncle Mike. The rest of the family stayed around where the half marathon took place because they had a plane leaving the area for Vegas later in the evening. Vegas lights alter the senses. All of the different colors and flashing lights make me feel invincible. We stopped at the mall on the way home to get my computer fixed. I replaced the hard drive. I hadn't planned on putting anymore money into this computer with it being so old, but they thought replacing the hard drive would give me another couple years out of it, if not more. We shopped a bit while waiting for the computer to be fixed. I found a new pair of skateboard shoes, but they were too much money for me to buy them. Grandma surprised me by letting me get them, anyway. They are a dark denim with pink plaid on the side. The bottoms are bright pink, and I'm looking forward to getting some hot pink laces for them.

Saturday night, some friends came over to get in the hot tub and watch "Black Swan." It proved to be such a nice time and no one really even drank much. It was just a fun night of giggling, snacking, and catching up. Like "The Fighter," I loved "Black Swan" even more the second time. The first time, it's such a wild ride that I didn't notice all of the little things that make it as powerful as it is. The colors throughout the film especially jumped out at me. The costumes and all of the contrast between black, white, and gray. There's an especially striking scene where they are on drugs in a dance club and bright lights and strobe lights flash, creating beautiful pictures. 

With all of the thoughts about colors, I made them a common thread in my latest story for my fiction class. I want the story to be humorous, possess depth, and be visually stimulating with all of the references to color. It got me thinking that growing up can cause bright colored auras to fade. I'm not talking literal auras, but just the idea of everyone being a unique color that starts bright and fades with time seems to ring true to my experiences so far. I'm exploring aging in my story a bit too. It is terrible as of now, though. I'm doing too much in too little of space. I hope to play around with it this weekend.

After getting a new computer, my pictures are all gone. I loaded a close up picture I took of my mom's hibiscus flower a couple years ago during the summer I spent recovering from the hospital. The picture is fiery orange with yellow and for some reason the little background that does show is black, making the flower even brighter. Little water droplets are on each petal, and it looks stunning as my new wallpaper. Every time I open my computer, the bright colors send my mind spinning.

Good Intentions

But goodness alone is never enough. A hard cold wisdom is required, too, for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom invariably accomplishes evil.

- Robert Heinlein

I used to excuse people's mistakes a lot by saying, "Well, they have/had good intentions." A friend once pointed out that most people have good intentions. Fewer people than we think go out, thinking, "Wow, I really want to make life harder for this person." I think it's important to be mindful of these things when it comes to forgiveness, but forgiveness does not mean lack of punishment.

Chris Brown is getting popular again. This worries me because he was caught perpetrating domestic violence, yet girls are still swooning over him. Sure, maybe he went to therapy (that's what every celebrity does when they get in trouble). I'll even give him the benefit of the doubt, believing maybe he changed and will work to help end violence against women. Someone made the point that a lot of celebrities are probably doing the same thing (domestic violence), but not getting caught. I'm sure that's true, which is why I think as a culture we need to make it clear that we will not stand for any form of violence. Chris Brown's career should be over, unless he wants to go public about preventing domestic violence and start singing songs that portray women in a better light. What does it say to other celebrities, actually people in general, if Chris Brown can make a come-back after such unacceptable behavior?

In my Psychology of Women class, I get depressing statistics about a variety of inequities between men and women. I've always been a feminist (since I learned what one was in like fourth or fifth grade), but my class is making me crack down much harder on how women are portrayed in the media. It's tricky because I like a lot of hip-hop. I listen to mostly talented artists who don't degrade women, and I try not to like or listen to the ones that do, but sometimes they're just catchy and good to dance to. I'm working to find some sort of balance between standing up for fair treatment of women without being a social outcast, which turns people off to the point of not listening.

A lot of harm has done by people with good intentions. I will never forget the panel I went to on religious tolerance. Everyone of all faiths was agreeing on the importance of tolerance. The guy speaking for Buddhism said, "Tolerance is, of course, something to strive for if the beliefs are not harming anyone else. I will not, nor do I think I should, tolerate beliefs that infringe on another person's rights." There are times when good intentions are not enough. Verbally keeping the peace is not always the best choice. I'm a firm believer in choosing my battles. My therapist said I'm good at choosing my battles. I don't waste my breath on people who won't listen. There are many times someone says something that might offend me, but I hold my tongue. There are other times where I cannot and will not hold my tongue if someone says something plainly hateful. I don't know how to handle hate. It terrifies me, and I would even go as far to say as I hate hate. It threatens my world-view, because I like to believe people are generally good unless they are sick in some way.

For example, in psychology class we learned Jeffrey Dahmer's parents were butchers. He was around dead animals and blood a lot. His father used to torture animals and his mother chased him around with knives. Now, that in NO way should excuse his horrific acts. In fact, thinking about it all disgusts me. But I'm all about seeing people as human, even hateful people, even though I don't like seeing their humanity. It reminds me that we are not that different, and I could be like them. It makes forgiveness more realistic to see our enemies' humanity. That being said, I do not tolerate hateful people in my life, and sometimes feel hatred toward hateful people. I can't always practice what I preach, so I would prefer to keep hateful people out of my life altogether. It's one thing to wish I never see the person again and another to wish harm on them. I often joke about fighting mean people, but in reality I just don't want to see them. I don't really delete people off facebook. I'm just too lazy to go through my billion friends. Plus, if I ever write a book, I will try to get all of my friends to read it. I've only deleted a couple people that I found to be harmful for my world-view. People that I just didn't believe to be good people. I try not to judge, but there are some behaviors and words that I cannot tolerate and do not want to be surrounded by. I prefer to keep the arrogant, ignorant, hateful, and straight up selfish people out of my life. I don't want to be tainted by their darkness.

Pursuit of Happiness

"Americans are saddled with the idea that we can and should be happy. It's as if we've misread the Declaration of Independence and think it guarantees us the right not to pursue happiness but to achieve it (Susanna Kaysen pg 41 in Unholy Ghost: Writers on Depression).

I woke up at 4am today. I used the extra time to read, tried to fall back asleep again, but gave up at 6. I've been up since. I slept all day yesterday from being sick, so maybe I just didn't need anymore sleep. I still feel tired, though. I'm not really a morning person, but mornings are beautiful, so I can appreciate them once in a while like today. Walking to the library in the snow, the sun rose and the moon stayed in the blue sky.

I'm wearing the Ganesh (Hindu god responsible for creativity amongst many other things) t-shirt I bought at Venice Beach, hoping it might spark creativity. My fiction writing is almost non-existent, and I'm just not as far along in my chapter as I'd like to be for my ind. study. I can't help but remembering my bosses reassurance that the writing process never goes how we think it should, and that I need to just keep trying and be patient. It will surprise me eventually. It always does.

The quote above is from an essay by the woman who wrote Girl, Interrupted. Her essay is titled, "One Cheer for Melancholy." I like a lot of what she has to say. I think in order to enjoy life and feel content, we must understand it's about the journey, not the destination, and that human limitations will always wreak havoc on us as individuals.

In Kaysen's essay she talks about how the high rates of depression relate with people having more time to ruminate on how unhappy they are. I don't know that I'm doing her argument justice, but without trying to summarize the entire thing, I will say that I didn't agree with all of it. I agree that sadness or grief is not depression and that our culture doesn't like to be confronted with sadness and grief, so they try to make it something medical to "cure" it. The harsh reality is that no one makes it out alive. Life is filled with emotional, physical, and spiritual pain. It's okay to be sad. I would say it's even okay to have a day or even a week or two where one is depressed. All of the most joyful people I know have experienced some sort of depression, so it is clearly a natural part of the human condition. I fear that too many people compare their natural grief and sadness to clinical depression already, and I worry Kaysen's essay might affirm those beliefs. It's hard enough not to feel like the illness is your fault without people making outside assumptions about what your problem is.

Catharsis

1. February

Four straight weeks of some drug-like theme park ride that plunges from euphoria to detox before I can even let out a scream or figure out the theme of whatever park I’m living in. It seems telling that it’s my birthday month. In fact, when I told my therapist my birthday was on Leap Year, she laughed. Apparently, it’s so symbolic of my life and personality that it would be considered a cliché if someone chose to write about me as a fictional character in a class and included that detail. Take that however you choose.

I share my birthday month with many other intense individuals: Langston Hughes, James Joyce, Charles Dickens, Abraham Lincoln, Darren Aronofsky, Cesar Ramero, Chris Farley, Kurt Cobain, Mary Carpenter, Herman Hesse, Johnny Cash, and John Steinbeck—to name a few.

Age is something that reminds us of our mortality. We use our birthdays to celebrate life, yet I know so many people who look at their birthday as something depressing, as a sign that they are getting closer to death. I have friends and family covering a wide variety of ages. I’ve noticed after a certain age, we all seem to hear that voice reminding us we have spent another year of our life, which causes anxiety. Did we pay too much? Not enough? Did we cherish our purchase? I’ve tried to rise above this from my experience working with the elderly, but I’m ashamed to say I know that voice already. I fight it by living to the best of my ability, loving as deeply and as genuinely as I know how, and allowing myself to feel the purest forms of joy and grief still trying to keep depression and death from consuming me.

Then of course there’s Valentine’s Day, a holiday that makes me regress psychologically more than Christmas ever will. For the days surrounding the Hallmark holiday, I return to the mindset of my fourteen/fifteen-year-old giddy girlfriend days where dozens of roses were typical, kisses still made me nearly run into doors or drop my keys, new necklaces and bracelets sparkled against my skin, and I said whatever my boyfriend wanted to hear to live out a fairytale. There’s something about this holiday that makes me believe in magic despite my bitterness toward the materialism and the fact that I always end the week by ruminating on what a failure I am at maintaining intimate relationships.

2. Skin

I got my first sunburn of the year this past week in Los Angeles. It wasn’t the painful kind that makes me feel trapped in my skin both metaphorically and literally. It was the pleasant kind where I appreciated the warmth radiating off of my skin. I fell asleep outside on a bench lying on my side, causing me to burn on just one side of my body. My face looked like the gray scale you’d find in an art class, except transitioning from bright red, instead of black, to white.

After a day at Venice Beach with Perla, she pointed out the white peace sign tan line on my face from my dangling peace sign hoop earrings. We’d spent the day people watching and shopping along the beach. My time with Perla proved to be incredible. I guess I shouldn’t have expected otherwise, but six years can be a long time to go without seeing someone…a lot can change. A lot DID change. It was comforting to be reminded that no matter what changes, real friendship doesn’t fade. It’s a shame the way life keeps us from staying close with everyone we love.

The sunburn on my left arm has developed some sort of rash. It could be the sunscreen I kept putting on it after it burned. I used to have allergic reactions to sunscreen as a child. Either way, I study the little red bumps and am intrigued by the way they go back and forth between being tiny and barely noticeable to sometimes inflamed, red, and itchy. The change in the color of my skin also has me examining my scars. I have scars from a variety of situations and utensils. They all healed in different ways, shapes and colors.

My biggest scar, the one on my neck from having a giant Hygroma cyst removed as a child, sunburned this week, causing the wide centipede looking pure white scar tissue to turn pink. It’s a strange sensation having my scar burnt because my nerves are still so weird around my entire shoulder from that surgery. In fact, the nerves are still so damaged that when they gave me a shot in my armpit to numb my arm for wrist surgery (I was hoping to avoid anesthesia because it makes me so nauseous), my arm wouldn’t go numb. They were amazed that after two giant shots, I could still feel them pinching my wrist.

Speaking of my wrist surgery, that scar is incredible. It’s so tiny for the hours of work that went into putting a screw in my disintegrating bone. The scar stops right at the edge of my tattoo, which makes me smile because the surgeon said he hated tattoos and couldn’t promise he wouldn’t have to cut into it. The fact that it stops right where my tattoo begins shows what caution and precision he used to protect my tattoo, knowing that it meant so much to me.

I can’t talk about skin without mentioning my tattoo of course. I love the font I chose to have such meaningful words written in. The blue “wisdom” I stare at underneath both the green vine that represents growth and my surgery scar calms me. The purple “courage,” and the part of the vine near it, is faded. It didn’t heal right because that part of the wrist is incredibly sensitive. It was constantly itchy, dry, and just didn’t seem to heal no matter how much Vitamin E I put on it. There’s a gap in the ink bracelet because they can’t tattoo over scars. Apparently trying to tattoo over scars is like drawing with permanent marker on wet paper; the ink spiders out of control. Luckily, the scar that bisects my tattoo is not deep. The last time I had the tattoo artist look at it, she said it is finally healed enough for her to go over it. I hope to get the faded parts and the blank in the bracelet all fixed soon. I think it will be monumental and symbolic of a full recovery, or as full of a recovery as one can ever attain after such trauma. I mean the scars both emotional and literal will never go away completely even though they fade a bit more each year.

Skin is both thick and thin, depending on perspective. I’d argue my skin is too thin, metaphorically speaking. Having once tried to access veins that seem to erupt at the surface, it’s still surprising how many layers of skin protect the flesh and bone. Skin serves such important purposes, can change and heal so significantly, in addition to just being aesthetically pleasing and essential to being human. Despite skin’s importance, the color of one’s skin does not change any of the real protective functions it serves.

Why does skin color have such power and importance in our culture? Skin color determines how we are treated and judged by strangers, who we are more likely to connect with, and how we identify ourselves. One thing that sticks with me from having discussions with some of my friends of color is the pressure that is placed on minorities of any sort to represent their entire minority group. An example that sticks with me is the fact that if my African American friends are laughing loud in public, strangers use that to confirm or disconfirm their stereotypes about the entire race. If my Caucasian friends and I laugh loud in public, people blame it on either our age (which brings up another aspect of discrimination) or more likely just the fact that we are loud and obnoxious people. They’d never think that because of our behavior, all Caucasians are loud.

3. La Ciudad de Los Angeles

I had a great time in L.A. I’ve been rocking out to every song I own about Cali and The City of Angels just to reflect on how our environments impact our creative and everyday lives. Evan mentioned how his diet has even changed since they moved west. I experience similar obvious changes in my creativity when I travel, which is probably why I make traveling such a priority in my life. It’s not that I have any more money than most of my friends… in fact, it’s probably the opposite because I have much more debt than the majority of them. It’s just that the highlights of my life and times I’ve felt most alive seem to happen when I’m traveling, and I know I only live once. I try to take advantage of the fact that I am at a point in my life where I get breaks with little responsibility and that I’m not responsible for anyone else right now.

It doesn’t have to be any extreme traveling like my trip to Spain (although those trips are magical), but just leaving my comfort zone is helpful for me to expand my mind and jump back into a creative interpretation of the world. This is important, because I am generally healthier when I’m creatively nourished. I’d rather be stingy about how much I spend at the bar or how often I go out to eat instead of eliminating travel from my life. Next year will be tough since I will be living with no source of income with the nuns. Traveling won’t really be an option, which will be difficult considering most of my close friends don’t or won’t live by me anymore.

I am grateful for the sunshine I experienced all week. It really lifts my mood. I’m even more thankful for my time with April, Evan, and Silvio. They are wise, articulate (Silvio, too--haha okay not yet, but someday he will be:), and overall healthy people, which I need more of in my life. I got used to having insightful, caring people to bounce my ideas off of and affirm me when I felt doubt in regards to my abilities or past decisions. It was also nice to meet some of their friends and observe what their lives are like there.

It’s strange when friends move away, because it often leaves me with no idea what their lives are like anymore. For example, I can’t imagine Kristin’s life in Chile, or even in Phoenix now. I’d really like to visit her and her mom before she leaves the country again, but who knows where that money would come from. She said she might come here to MI before she leaves, so hopefully I, at least, get to see her.

I guess, similarly, many of my friends and family do not know what my life is like here at school. Many of them have never seen my apartment, the campus I’ve wandered for five years now, my job, or met any of my close friends in the area.

4. Writing Right

I got a great idea for starting my chapter about the South Dakota trips while at a prayer/meditation service with April at her college. I feel like a slacker because this is my third time meeting with my ind. study prof where I have just not made the progress I should have. I got a nice start of about 2 pages, but it’s nowhere near the five plus pages I should have had. This week kind of got the best of me. I didn’t get home from my trip until midnight Sunday night. Monday, I had to work, go to class (where I couldn’t stop from dozing off every two seconds), and then cram for an exam I had Tuesday. Tuesdays are my day where I’m on the go from 9:15 AM to 9:15 PM, so I did not get the five pages done when I finished work. Then, I had a giant paper due today. I’m currently running on three hours of sleep. I will most certainly be napping when my school week concludes at three.

I’m not feeling confident as a writer lately, which is not good for pushing on through exhaustion and writer’s block either. My fiction class is messing with everything I know. I have such a love/hate relationship with fiction. I’ve been getting comments about how I need to tighten up my language, which is a very elementary mistake to be making considering I’ve technically specialized in poetry for my undergrad degree (non-fiction is not a real option). Poetry is all about tightening language to be as concise as possible. My non-fiction prof seems to respect my long sentences. I’ve been paying close attention to sentence structures in all of the memoirs I’m reading for that class. The idea that my writing structure is flawed is shaking my very idea of my voice as a writer. Writing is so subjective. I am just trying to appreciate comments from such a variety of professors and students, taking what helps and leaving what doesn’t. Considering I’m still trying to gain confidence in my stylistic choices, I am not yet in a place where I feel I can disagree with a professor. Not saying that I don’t appreciate these comments. I love my fiction prof, and I’m really enjoying getting his perspective on my writing. It’s just challenging some of my beliefs.

5. Goodbye to Romance

I’m cautious when I date people—slow to trust, let my guard down, and share my vulnerability. This has caused problems in the past. I was mindful with this last relationship to show my enthusiasm, put myself out there to be burnt, and dove in full force. The fact that things crashed and burned so quickly isn’t resting so well on the ego. There has to be some sort of balance, right?

Being raised Catholic mixed with attending Church and Catechism regularly all through my childhood taught me that sex was something to be both put on a pedestal and treasured, yet dangerous and morally wrong to engage in before marriage.

However, being raised in a family with very modern and open views on sex in addition to being surrounded by both the media and people in my life encouraging casual sex, I’ve had trouble learning how to approach relationships.

I had an epiphany over break after reflecting on a fact we learned in my psychology of women class. We talked about how both men and women are capable of feeling love just as intensely for one another, unlike some of the stereotypes that suggest women tend to care more for men than men do for them.

The difference is that women tend to feel that intensity more quickly and directly in relationship to sex. It was great to hear my professor talk about her belief in women’s sexual choice, but talk about the importance, from a health perspective, of not rushing into sex. I appreciated this factual approach that did not involve morality at all. It was nice to hear a perspective focused strictly on keeping myself emotionally healthy and experiencing deeper and more fulfilling relationships instead of suggesting I am flawed for choosing either side of the argument.

I read an article for my freshman English composition course here at school called, “The New Sexual Deviant” from Bitch magazine. The author talked about how women are just as oppressed sexually than ever. Instead of the old oppression that suggested a woman was a “whore” if she chose to have sex before marriage, the new repression proposes the idea that women are “prudish” or “repressed” if they choose not to. The author was advocating for balance and choice. She said she was just as uncomfortable with waiting to have sex until marriage, as she was the idea of sleeping with too many people to count. Yet, she made it clear that her opinion and sexual morals were not the point of the essay.

Some people require going from one extreme to the other in order to find the proper balance. For example, not to compare commas to sex (although I once heard a quote that poets are obsessed with death, sex, and commas), but there was a time in my literary career when I did not use any commas. I then went to the extreme of placing commas everywhere before I learned how to properly punctuate my sentences. I observe this a lot with the students I help in the writing center. Too many commas make a mess. Not enough commas can be just plain confusing. One is not better than the other, but when commas are used properly they allow the writer and reader both to exchange much more complex ideas, enhancing the quality of work.

6. March

My February drug detox time is over. I’m back from Spring Break and emotionally, physically (okay maybe not physically due to my lack of sleep this week), spiritually, and creatively recharged. I’m still evaluating the highs and lows of Febraury—completely perplexed and disheartened by my naivety in regards to the latest relationship. I’m not even sure I learned anything from it. I suppose I discovered that I can get burned a lot faster than I thought possible and that traveling, sunshine, and supportive friends are a pretty damned good remedy to the burn.

It’s sunny here today. If I’d gotten more than 3 hours of sleep, I’d get my skateboard out instead of napping. I’ll make up for it hopefully by enjoying my usual Thursday night pizza with Tambo and some $2 microbrews for St. Patrick’s day at our usual Thursday night hangout. I’m wearing the green shirt Jordan got me for Christmas two years ago. Tonight, I’ll sport some of the green beads Laura gave me from Mardi Gras in Louisiana. I’m not crazy about St. Patrick’s day like a lot of college students, but it is far better than St. Valentine’s Day from the previous month. There were students that set their alarms to get up and start drinking this morning. That can’t be healthy. I mean, we’re talking students who can’t wake up for class on an ordinary day, but they can wake up to drink? There were bars opening at like 7 this morning. I don’t feel good about the several sirens I’ve heard speeding through town throughout the day either. Despite the fear of alcohol abuse, I will admit that it’s nice to have a reason to wear green and be unified with strangers on campus. It’s also nice to have an extra reason to look forward to a couple of my favorite beers tonight.

Monday was Adam’s birthday. He is the last birthday that happens in just slightly over a month for my siblings and me. Ashlee is February 9^th. I’m twenty days later, and then, Adam is exactly two weeks after mine. It’s fun to share a birthday month with Ashlee and a Zodiac sign with Adam. Maybe that explains why I am kind of the middle ground between the two. Or maybe it’s just that I’m the middle child between the two in age. Adam’s in London right now. That’s my dream location to visit one day. There’s so much literary and music history there. Not to mention, I heard it’s just beautiful and British accents make any man ten times more attractive :)

March is such a fun month because it starts out so rough (which I got to miss mostly because I spent the first chunk in Los Angeles, soaking up sunshine and not thinking about school), but often ends beautiful. If it doesn’t end beautiful, it at least has provided some sort of hint that beautiful weather is on the horizon. I’m off to take a much-needed nap and feel relieved that I finally put these swirling thoughts into sentences.

First Born Unicorn

The title of this blog is from "Californication" by Red Hot Chili Peppers. It seemed appropriate due to my recent trip and love for unicorns. There's a ton of music about California, and I have been reflecting on the lyrics lately. I'm back from a wonderful week with a lot of schoolwork, jet-lag, and thoughts swirling in my mind. I'm working on a long, thought-out blog entry that I'd hoped to post today on my break. However, it is still unfinished and I have a busy week, so I'm not sure when I will post it. It's thoughts I can't get off my mind, though, so I hope to finish it ASAP. I posted pics on facebook just now. I can't wait to post my thoughts on everything. Stay tuned. Thanks for your patience, and I appreciate everyone asking me for an update on my trip. It's nice to know people read this and actually care what I think and how my week went. I shall come through soon, friends :)

Birthday Blues

I suppose I don't really have the birthday blues. It's more like the typical Sunday blues that just seem intensified. It doesn't help that I am at the library, avoiding a paper arguing that the religious lines in Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem "In Memoriam A.H.H." are examples of repression. I chose this poem because it's one of the few poems that spoke to me in that class. The poem took him 17 years to write. His best friend, who he had an incredibly close, although apparently non-sexual relationship with, died when Tennyson was 22. In class I thought about how I would feel if I lost any of my close friends at this age. At this age, my closest friendships have all been tested and survived a great deal. To lose one of them, and then attempt to write a poem about it would be near impossible. Apparently, Tennyson felt the same, but pushed on for 17 years until he came up with something he approved of.

In addition to the paper, I am overwhelmed with the idea of my birthday. I don't have a real birthday, so it kind of takes up the whole week, which keeps me from feeling like it's really my birthday at all. It doesn't help Laura couldn't make it home for the dinner we are having tonight that is a birthday celebration and an Oscars party. I mean, she'll be here for tomorrow and Tuesday, but Leslie already made it clear she can't celebrate those days because of work. Not to mention, my Tuesdays are ungodly long. I was away for her birthday too. It just makes me wonder will we ever get to celebrate both our birthdays together again? I mean, I guess that's how growing up works--we move away from people we love and have to settle with meeting new people and only seeing the people we love from our past once in a while. Everyone gets wrapped up in their own circles (new families/spouses/partners) and those people get priority over old relationships. I'm slowly dealing with it. I've already seen this sort of change with April and Evan since they've had a baby. When they are home, their families want to spend as much time as they can with the baby and them, so it just happens naturally that I don't see them much anymore. It's not anyone's fault or something I take personal, because I know that's just the nature of aging. One positive thing is that I'm incredibly excited to spend an entire week with them starting one week from tomorrow. I, of course, miss them and wish we could spend more time together, but now the time I do have with them, is something I treasure greatly.

It's the same thing with Dawn and Kristin living in different states (countries sometimes). Those girls are some of my closest friends, and I miss them terribly. Yet, our friendship has evolved over the years from seeing each other every day to an occasional e-mail or phone call on birthdays or holidays. Despite feeling grief every time I say goodbye to them, I have adjusted to them not being a part of my immediate contacts.

Not all change is bad. For example, Alicia's fiance, James, hung around with us when we visited Alicia this weekend, and they both gave me a birthday gift from the two of them. I realized that now that they are getting married, James will be always be a part of our circle of friends. At first that feels a little threatening, but I like James, and I think we all have fun together. Plus, it's nice to see Alicia so happy with him. Drew is getting married, too. I like her fiance, Patrick, a lot, so it has been a sort of similar transition at viewing them both as close friends to me instead of just thinking about him as Drew's boyfriend.

Despite having the birthday/Sunday blues about aging, changed relationships/locations, (not to mention my "boyfriend" who doesn't know it's my birthday and I haven't seen since Valentines Day due to him being sick), I've had a lot of positive things this weekend.

Thursday night, Leslie, Tammy, and I all went out bar-hopping. At our favorite brewery, they let us drink free all night. Then, Tammy and Leslie bought any additional drinks for me at the other bars. It was a fun night and Tammy's little sister, Elizabeth, graciously drove us home. Then, Leslie let me come along to her cousin's place. Her cousin fed us great food, made us margaritas, and taught us a couple of fun new games. We also got to meet up with Alicia and James who then bought us lunch. Leslie bought me a fancy bagel this morning at this nice bagel shop Alicia and James took us too. Also, my friend Albert was supposed to come down, but due to the whether, we rescheduled for after Spring Break. He surprised me by remembering my birthday, sending birthday wishes and even saying he has a gift. So in reality, everyone spoiled me for my birthday this weekend--not to mention, the real celebration is tonight. We will do a dinner party with cake and all. Plus, I'm looking forward to watching the Oscars. I like Anne Hathaway and James Franco, and I'm, of course, rooting for Natalie Portman to win best actress :)

I shouldn't complain of the birthday blues when my "real" birthday is somewhere between tomorrow and Tuesday. My boyfriend could surprise me (unlikely) and who knows what Laura and I will do for it. I feel slightly guilty for feeling blue when so many loving people have been going out of their way to make my birthday special, so please don't feel this is complaining or unappreciative. I guess, I'm just trying to logically talk myself out of the blues by remembering all of the special things that did happen this weekend and might still occur. Plus, L.A. in one week. I can't wait for some sunshine, the city of angels, and great friends.

Well, my Cran Energy is now finished, and I feel the caffeine kicking in. I suppose it's time I tackle that paper.