So I was talking with Jason, a five year old boy my mom babysits, and as I was unloading the dishwasher I was holding some steak knives. I said, "Hey Jason. I was thinking of starting a new hobby. Do you know what a hobby is?"
"No," he replied.
"It's something that you do in your free time. So my new hobby, I was thinking of taking up knife throwing. Do you think that's a good idea?"
"NOOOO!" he cried.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because you'll get a spanking from your mom," my mother interjects from the back room.
Now, I have a problem with that answer. I have a problem with teaching kids that we don't throw knives because if we do we get spanked. Quite honestly, a spanking should be the least of your concerns. The reason we don't throw knives is because it is dangerous. Somebody could get seroiusly hurt.
When I would take Cody (a three year old boy we babysit) to the store, I would ask him if he was buckeled in and he would reply "yep!" I would ask him if he knew why it was important to buckle up. He informed me that if you didn't buckle up, you'd get a ticket. I said, "true. But is there any other reason?"
He said, "so your mom doesn't yell at you!"
I don't think that raising our kids on consequence is the right idea. (Granted, I don't have children of my own--so I could very well not know what I'm talking about.) I think that it's okay for kids to know that 'this is a possible consequence for this action,' but for them to not realize the actual reason those consequences are in place is a shame.
Why will your mom spank you if you throw a knife? Not because throwing a knife merits a spanking, but rather because throwing a knife is dangerous.
Why will you get a ticket if you don't buckle your seatbelt? It's because too many people die as a result of not wearing seatbelts. We wear seatbelts because our lives are at stake. We wear seatbelts to keep us safe. Not so we don't get a ticket. To keep us safe.
My mom disagrees with me. She says that the number one reason we wear them is because God says to obey laws, and the law says to wear one. That doesn't make sense to me. Laws have a purpose. They're not just telling us to do things for no reason. The law is in place to KEEP PEOPLE SAFE. Yes, God tells us to obey laws--even if we don't agree with them. But I disagree that we do things under consequence of the law.
Maybe this is why my classroom is so chaotic sometimes. Because these kids are brought up in a world where consequence is the only reason to stay in order. They don't understand the reason the consequences exist. They don't understand that talking and throwing things around the room isn't wrong because "throwing paper is bad." It's wrong because it keeps their classmates from learning. It's hard to enforce rules when the first smallest consequence has to be the straight up call to parents, and the second one is suspension. Kids don't respond to lunch detentions or extra assignments. And once they've had one suspension, it doesn't scare them. They didn't actually learn any error to their ways. Because they are only looking at the consequence, rather than the reason it occurs.
I am going to change the world one of these days.
We've just got to hang in there.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Programable shampoo!? Sign me up!
So I was in the shower washing my hair and I started to read the shampoo bottle.
I don't know about anyone else, but I have the habbit of reading anything and everything whenever I am in the bathroom. Whether I'm on the pot or in the shower, or just simply waiting for my 60 seconds before I spit my Listerine, I'm reading the bottles, labels, golf magazines etc.
So I'm reading and the bottle says: "Dispenses just the right amount of moisture to every strand without weighing hair down!"
So let me get this straight. . .this shampoo can go to every single little strand of hair on my head and pinch out "just the right amount" of moisture!? That's awesome! I hope the maker of this shampoo is using his talent to help rain fall only on places that need it right then and there and to help just the right amount of deer shot during hunting season so that there aren't too many running around or too few to eliminate hunting altogether.
Maybe this person could work on making sure families have the perfect amount of children to feed, and money to go around, and also that hospitals don't get too full or supplies run short!
Just think of the possibilities!
I'm going to be honest, I've done some computer programming in my day. And what I learned from computer programming is that you have to account for every last instance that something might not go according to plan. For and Do loops for pages and pages, just in case the user enters something in ALL CAPS, or in case the double random generations of digits have the same 4th one. Everything that can go wrong isn't necessarily going to happen, but you've got to prepare for it. Computers can't think to adjust themselves.
But good greif--this shampoo can! AMAZING!
I wonder how they do the tests to make sure that hair got juuust the right amount of moisture? I mean, you can't have a control group, because the simple fact that every hair requires its own perfect amount of moisture means you can't compare two strands to each other because they're different. So when you take this strand after it's been perfectly moisturized, I wonder how you can know if it would have been moisturized just as well by something else. You can't. The opportunity has passed.
Therefore the shampoo can't get sacked for false advertising--they can't prove it.
Hmmm, very strategic.
I'm going to have to think about this some more while I go comb out my perfectly moisturized hair.
I don't know about anyone else, but I have the habbit of reading anything and everything whenever I am in the bathroom. Whether I'm on the pot or in the shower, or just simply waiting for my 60 seconds before I spit my Listerine, I'm reading the bottles, labels, golf magazines etc.
So I'm reading and the bottle says: "Dispenses just the right amount of moisture to every strand without weighing hair down!"
So let me get this straight. . .this shampoo can go to every single little strand of hair on my head and pinch out "just the right amount" of moisture!? That's awesome! I hope the maker of this shampoo is using his talent to help rain fall only on places that need it right then and there and to help just the right amount of deer shot during hunting season so that there aren't too many running around or too few to eliminate hunting altogether.
Maybe this person could work on making sure families have the perfect amount of children to feed, and money to go around, and also that hospitals don't get too full or supplies run short!
Just think of the possibilities!
I'm going to be honest, I've done some computer programming in my day. And what I learned from computer programming is that you have to account for every last instance that something might not go according to plan. For and Do loops for pages and pages, just in case the user enters something in ALL CAPS, or in case the double random generations of digits have the same 4th one. Everything that can go wrong isn't necessarily going to happen, but you've got to prepare for it. Computers can't think to adjust themselves.
But good greif--this shampoo can! AMAZING!
I wonder how they do the tests to make sure that hair got juuust the right amount of moisture? I mean, you can't have a control group, because the simple fact that every hair requires its own perfect amount of moisture means you can't compare two strands to each other because they're different. So when you take this strand after it's been perfectly moisturized, I wonder how you can know if it would have been moisturized just as well by something else. You can't. The opportunity has passed.
Therefore the shampoo can't get sacked for false advertising--they can't prove it.
Hmmm, very strategic.
I'm going to have to think about this some more while I go comb out my perfectly moisturized hair.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Since when are "ghetto" and "black people" synonymous?
Alright, I've lived in Livonia all my life, and I'm pretty aware that it is a city that lacks diversity. It's no secret that Livonia is like one of the whitest cities in the country and I'm fine with that. I never thought it was like that because citizens didn't allow black people in, or felt like there wasn't a place for people who aren't white. I was just always under the impression that there were just more white people in the city than any other race.
A lot of people in my high school and middle school were Asian and Indian. A few were African-American. But truth be told, there were just more white people.
Now, I guess that there's a proposal for a Wal-Mart to go in down at Middlebelt and Plymouth. Okay, first of all, there's one 1/2 mile north at Middlebelt just south of I-96. Why are they going to build another one right there? But I guess that's beside the point.
What got me was that there was a community of people who live right behind the place where the store will go who don't want a Wal-Mart there. They don't want a Wal-Mart there because they are afraid it will attract more black people and turn the area ghetto.
Please, please, please, people of Livonia--tell me this isn't true. Tell me that the people in the media are just making news. First of all, why is it okay to label Wal-Mart shoppers as ghetto? Secondly, why assume only black people shop there? Thirdly, why oh why make the correlation between a large african-american shopping population and something turning ghetto?
To be completely honest, Wonderland Mall (the mall that used to exist where the Wal-Mart might go up) was always considered the "ghetto mall" in the first place. Making it a Wal-Mart, or filling it with black shoppers isn't going to change its ghettocity.
So dear Livonia, I love you and your tall trees and wonderfully timed traffic lights and your highly achieving schools. But if you think that you are above diversity, GET A LIFE. And open your eyes.
A lot of people in my high school and middle school were Asian and Indian. A few were African-American. But truth be told, there were just more white people.
Now, I guess that there's a proposal for a Wal-Mart to go in down at Middlebelt and Plymouth. Okay, first of all, there's one 1/2 mile north at Middlebelt just south of I-96. Why are they going to build another one right there? But I guess that's beside the point.
What got me was that there was a community of people who live right behind the place where the store will go who don't want a Wal-Mart there. They don't want a Wal-Mart there because they are afraid it will attract more black people and turn the area ghetto.
Please, please, please, people of Livonia--tell me this isn't true. Tell me that the people in the media are just making news. First of all, why is it okay to label Wal-Mart shoppers as ghetto? Secondly, why assume only black people shop there? Thirdly, why oh why make the correlation between a large african-american shopping population and something turning ghetto?
To be completely honest, Wonderland Mall (the mall that used to exist where the Wal-Mart might go up) was always considered the "ghetto mall" in the first place. Making it a Wal-Mart, or filling it with black shoppers isn't going to change its ghettocity.
So dear Livonia, I love you and your tall trees and wonderfully timed traffic lights and your highly achieving schools. But if you think that you are above diversity, GET A LIFE. And open your eyes.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
That's going to leave a mark.
today i got hit and it really hurt a lot
and i feel stupid because it not only hurt me a lot
but it hurt my feelings
because i don't know why it even happened.
and i feel stupid because it not only hurt me a lot
but it hurt my feelings
because i don't know why it even happened.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Oh Mother, will you ever learn?
My mother is currently looking at miniature schnausers online. You know, those dogs that are about as big as a shoebox and think they're as big as a volkswagen?
So this has prompted me to do some serious thinking about what I want in a dog.
There are a few rules for purchasing dogs. Okay, actually just one:
1) Must be lazy
This means that purchasing a 1)beagle; 2)lab; or 3)anything shorter than knee-height is completely one hundred percent against the rules.
Everybody knows that little dogs are yippy. They just yip and yap all day long. And there's (for some unknown reason) that crazy temptation to put bows in their hair. And certainly, anything with the word "miniature" in its name clearly isn't even a real dog--let along a whole one.
Dogs were not made to be yippy and carried around in little handbags. Dogs were made to saunter around slowly and plop to the floor in a pile of lazy, calm, gracefulness. Dogs weren't made to be walked on leashes or run around for hours in a yard. They were made to sit with you while you watch TV, cuddle in bed with you, lick your face in one swift movement with giant tongues. That's what dogs are for. They were made for petting and loafing with. Dogs should always be large enough to lay on without crushing. And they should always be lazy enough to be okay with being laid on.
So in summation:
So this has prompted me to do some serious thinking about what I want in a dog.
There are a few rules for purchasing dogs. Okay, actually just one:
1) Must be lazy
This means that purchasing a 1)beagle; 2)lab; or 3)anything shorter than knee-height is completely one hundred percent against the rules.
Everybody knows that little dogs are yippy. They just yip and yap all day long. And there's (for some unknown reason) that crazy temptation to put bows in their hair. And certainly, anything with the word "miniature" in its name clearly isn't even a real dog--let along a whole one.
Dogs were not made to be yippy and carried around in little handbags. Dogs were made to saunter around slowly and plop to the floor in a pile of lazy, calm, gracefulness. Dogs weren't made to be walked on leashes or run around for hours in a yard. They were made to sit with you while you watch TV, cuddle in bed with you, lick your face in one swift movement with giant tongues. That's what dogs are for. They were made for petting and loafing with. Dogs should always be large enough to lay on without crushing. And they should always be lazy enough to be okay with being laid on.
So in summation:
This is NOT a dog.
THIS
is a dog.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Friday, September 02, 2005
I've got reservations about so many things, but not about you.
So I was cleaning, and I came across my Andy binder.
I don't know if it's a bad thing that I have a chronological binder of our relationship. It's got letters, drawings, poems, IM conversations, e-mails... some good, some bad.
It's weird looking back on how much trust he put in me. And it's weird how much we confided in each other, and how well we knew each other. It's weird that things went so sour after there being so much depth.
Heh, oh well. We were just really young, and people don't stay young forever.
In a way, I became more immature after we broke up. But in so many more ways I grew up a lot.
I definitely forgot how much trust and communication goes into a relationship, though. Sometimes I think that I want to be in a relationship, but in the past 4 or so years I have never had anything close to the type of honest communication I had with Andy. I wonder how it ever even got to that point?
Hmmm. I'm happy I found that book. And I'm happy to have read through it again. I'm happy I'm not with Andy. And I'm happy that I don't have to see or talk to him ever again if I don't want to. Does that sound bitter? It wasn't supposed to.
And I always have Desk to listen to, as much as I want. :-D I love Desk! We were such an awesome band.
I do, however, wish I hadn't been such a jerk to Kyle. Because he was a great friend, and I miss him a whole lot.
And now I have to put this binder away and finish cleaning.
I'll leave you with a poem, courtesy of Andrew Scot Mascaro:
i should have been the classy boy,
crashing home the pixie crust.
awake and adjourned and relentless with amour,
aura strong with no need to face my fears.
i should have connected with the idiosyncrasies.
i should have eaten with the gods and punished my ignorance later.
i could have been shined up for the stories to tell, and hell to smile upon,
a rebel in perfect haze.
i should have been there in the fieldsduring summer,
the vacant black sky to brush us all with cool.
comfort.
i should have broken my indignant back for the slaves of the world.
i owe everything to the blue faced aliens of the futuristic past.
they've shown their bones to me, without ever looking back to theirs.
i should have felt your nerve tips quiver in the storms of my eyes.
i should have iced your lips and set your hair to solidify the air.
it could have been my heart bleeding recessively if i had opened my missed
army
arms.
i leak battery and incandescence, coated with fate, false, flour and fumes.
fiend in no light, retrospect respected fragmented dullness.
i could have been the leader and the glass bomb they all worship.
i should have saved my continues to myself and sucked in my inner ears.
could have spoken up.
i could have been thrice removed and unsure,
without but relentless in my annoyances at least
reasonable.
i should have been the ones in the fire, to teach me
something real about
pain.
rummaging the feelings, forgiving would have meant more than coincidence.
i could have risen above about the earth to serve a prelude to some unknown
mastership,
or at least something new.
but the additives and subtraction will prove something the dust can peruse,
and mistrust, and subjugate, and endure to love and fly and hold and comprise
the very virtues of hope.
i am a power cord to the metal frame of validity.
soft, old, glossy, warm, deep, starred, forgotten, forgetful, imminent, and
permanent.
savored, requested, distinguished, unwholesome, shaped, found, gone, giddy,and stone.
that which looks as fault only supports us in the unnatural institution ofour lives,
and only a porous rock floats in water.
I don't know if it's a bad thing that I have a chronological binder of our relationship. It's got letters, drawings, poems, IM conversations, e-mails... some good, some bad.
It's weird looking back on how much trust he put in me. And it's weird how much we confided in each other, and how well we knew each other. It's weird that things went so sour after there being so much depth.
Heh, oh well. We were just really young, and people don't stay young forever.
In a way, I became more immature after we broke up. But in so many more ways I grew up a lot.
I definitely forgot how much trust and communication goes into a relationship, though. Sometimes I think that I want to be in a relationship, but in the past 4 or so years I have never had anything close to the type of honest communication I had with Andy. I wonder how it ever even got to that point?
Hmmm. I'm happy I found that book. And I'm happy to have read through it again. I'm happy I'm not with Andy. And I'm happy that I don't have to see or talk to him ever again if I don't want to. Does that sound bitter? It wasn't supposed to.
And I always have Desk to listen to, as much as I want. :-D I love Desk! We were such an awesome band.
I do, however, wish I hadn't been such a jerk to Kyle. Because he was a great friend, and I miss him a whole lot.
And now I have to put this binder away and finish cleaning.
I'll leave you with a poem, courtesy of Andrew Scot Mascaro:
i should have been the classy boy,
crashing home the pixie crust.
awake and adjourned and relentless with amour,
aura strong with no need to face my fears.
i should have connected with the idiosyncrasies.
i should have eaten with the gods and punished my ignorance later.
i could have been shined up for the stories to tell, and hell to smile upon,
a rebel in perfect haze.
i should have been there in the fieldsduring summer,
the vacant black sky to brush us all with cool.
comfort.
i should have broken my indignant back for the slaves of the world.
i owe everything to the blue faced aliens of the futuristic past.
they've shown their bones to me, without ever looking back to theirs.
i should have felt your nerve tips quiver in the storms of my eyes.
i should have iced your lips and set your hair to solidify the air.
it could have been my heart bleeding recessively if i had opened my missed
army
arms.
i leak battery and incandescence, coated with fate, false, flour and fumes.
fiend in no light, retrospect respected fragmented dullness.
i could have been the leader and the glass bomb they all worship.
i should have saved my continues to myself and sucked in my inner ears.
could have spoken up.
i could have been thrice removed and unsure,
without but relentless in my annoyances at least
reasonable.
i should have been the ones in the fire, to teach me
something real about
pain.
rummaging the feelings, forgiving would have meant more than coincidence.
i could have risen above about the earth to serve a prelude to some unknown
mastership,
or at least something new.
but the additives and subtraction will prove something the dust can peruse,
and mistrust, and subjugate, and endure to love and fly and hold and comprise
the very virtues of hope.
i am a power cord to the metal frame of validity.
soft, old, glossy, warm, deep, starred, forgotten, forgetful, imminent, and
permanent.
savored, requested, distinguished, unwholesome, shaped, found, gone, giddy,and stone.
that which looks as fault only supports us in the unnatural institution ofour lives,
and only a porous rock floats in water.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Inspired by Ashley
Well, I've been a 6th grade math teacher at Michigan Technical Academy in Detroit for a week now, and it's going great. I got really sick on Friday, though, and hopefully I'll get over it by tomorrow.
Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff that I've learned in my 5 short days as a real grown up teacher, and college didn't prepare me for any of it.
1. African American children have naturally loud voices. If you want to be heard you have to get their attention first, and get them to stop talking. Which is not easy.
2. Learning names is not as difficult as I thought it would be.
3. Sometimes parents just don't care.
4. Putting an apostrophe at any random place in a name is completely acceptable--if not extremely common.
5. My students have no idea what Alternative music is.
6. I know NOTHING about Black American history.
7. Hands off the 'fro.
8. Hip Hop Artists convey a message in their music, while Rappers focus on negative things. (I didn't know this at all)
9. Gas is cheaper on 8-Mile.
10. Nigeria has a track team.*
*I had my students doing a scavenger hunt through expository text to develop content reading strategies, and they each had a different book. B'onca had a book on Nigeria and she called me over and said "I really like this book! I didn't know any of this stuff!" And she turned the page, and there was a picture of some athletes running on a track and she looks at me in awe and says, "They have their own a track team!? [pause and think] I wonder if they have a cheerleading squad!?" It was really funny.
Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff that I've learned in my 5 short days as a real grown up teacher, and college didn't prepare me for any of it.
1. African American children have naturally loud voices. If you want to be heard you have to get their attention first, and get them to stop talking. Which is not easy.
2. Learning names is not as difficult as I thought it would be.
3. Sometimes parents just don't care.
4. Putting an apostrophe at any random place in a name is completely acceptable--if not extremely common.
5. My students have no idea what Alternative music is.
6. I know NOTHING about Black American history.
7. Hands off the 'fro.
8. Hip Hop Artists convey a message in their music, while Rappers focus on negative things. (I didn't know this at all)
9. Gas is cheaper on 8-Mile.
10. Nigeria has a track team.*
*I had my students doing a scavenger hunt through expository text to develop content reading strategies, and they each had a different book. B'onca had a book on Nigeria and she called me over and said "I really like this book! I didn't know any of this stuff!" And she turned the page, and there was a picture of some athletes running on a track and she looks at me in awe and says, "They have their own a track team!? [pause and think] I wonder if they have a cheerleading squad!?" It was really funny.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Mal my Pal
I have this great friend and she's one of the best.
She doesn't compare with any of the rest.
Her hair is super curly but you'd never know
Because she wears it back so she's ready to go.
She's got three brothers who are all pretty neat
and when I come over there's always something to eat.
We spend every weekend at her house or mine
My mom pretends it annoys her, but we know she's fine.
We take silly pictures for hours on end
Mal my Pal and me, we're friends til the end.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
it's 11:00pm
My bedtime is 10:30pm.
I succumbed to peer pressure and stayed up until 11.
And by peer pressure I mean Mallory laying on me while I was laying in my bed falling asleep.
I love you, Mal.
Now I sleep.
I succumbed to peer pressure and stayed up until 11.
And by peer pressure I mean Mallory laying on me while I was laying in my bed falling asleep.
I love you, Mal.
Now I sleep.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Oh man!
Thank you for all your encouragement, friends.
In other news:
How excited was I when I typed in www.olivianewtonjohn.com in hopes of possibly finding something i could use, and it turned out to be a real website! Oh man, you have no idea!
In other news:
How excited was I when I typed in www.olivianewtonjohn.com in hopes of possibly finding something i could use, and it turned out to be a real website! Oh man, you have no idea!
Sunday, August 07, 2005
The Lord Moves in Mysterous Ways
So while I pull out my sunglasses, and attempt to start the band back up I'll tell you all my story.
So I've been planning my big move out to OKC for a while now. I'd lined up a place to stay and found myself a temporary job until I can find a teaching one, and I'm all set to move. Then my mom calls and asks if we can delay it a week because Niki got some free tickets and was coming up to Michigan for the weekend (and it wouldn't make sense to be down there moving in while she was up here visiting). So I said sure, and that was that.
So I get a call from my good friend Vic Bliss the Friday before the Monday I was originally planning to move and he told me that he had a teaching job and there might be a position open for me and to give him a call. I was pretty much set on moving to Oklahoma, but I called him back anyway--just because it seemed like he'd gone a little out of his way to let me know about this opportunity. We played phone tag for a bit, and the following week while I was packing we finally got in touch with one another and he said there was a 6th grade math position open at the building he got a job at and that I should get my stuff in asap!
I told a few people from church that this might be a possibility, and they were elated because they were all (selfishly--they'll admit it) praying that I wouldn't leave. I dropped off my things and called every other day to check on the job but I knew that I wasn't going to change my plans on a last minute whim. I figured if God wanted me to stay here, he'd make it obvious.
So Friday night Niki comes home and she was going to stay til Sunday, and then me and Mom were going to leave to drive to OKC on Monday. Friday I start feeling a tad under the weather, but nothing serious. Saturday I wake up, and my throat is sore and I'm not feeling very well. With increasing intensity I becoming moaningly-begrudgingly ill. I don't have health insurance so I just lay around and moan while I hope it passes. God sure has a funny way of intervening, doesn't he? Sunday a lady from church kindly called in an Rx for Penecilin for us because my mom classified my symptoms into the category of tonsilitis and an ear infection.
So after Saturday, Sunday, and Monday of not eating or drinking except for when I had to manage a swallow to take my pills; I finally started to choke down tablespoons of soup or cream of rice (because let's face it--I was starving). By Tuesday I could nearly talk again, so I called to check on the job. No response yet. By Thursday I was back to my normal self completely--golfing regularly and everything, so I called and was informed that the position had been filled. My mom asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I'd like to stay around here and look for a little bit--since in all fairness I started looking in Oklahoma without even trying to look here because I've heard nothing but how people can't find jobs.
I go online, and sure enough, there's a math position open in not just a Livonia School, but the one down the road from me and the principal knows all of my siblings, and our neighbors down the street very very well. I put in the App. and went out for dinnner with some friends.
Halfway through dinner I notice I have a voicemail, so I check it, and it's a message from a principal in Tulsa. She would be "very interested in speaking with" me. WHAT!?
I decide to stay here, and now I've got a call from the state that had been silent on me for two months? So friday morning, I wake up and go jogging, and when I get home my mom says "well, when it rains it pours." Vic had called me and said the position at the school was still open and the principal wanted to interview me that day. I returned my Tulsa call, and left a voicemail becaus the principal wasn't it. I faxed my resume and letters of recommendation to the school in Detroit and also called them. No answer, I left a message.
I went golfing and waited around, and neither called back. I even tried calling back on several occasions, but with no response. I was pretty bummed.
All of the sudden, around 6, the phone rings. It's the principal from Tulsa. She said, in not so many words, that there was a job for me if I would move to Tulsa to fill it. I asked her if I could call her back the next day so I could have a night to think it over. I talked with my mom, and thought about it for a while, and I started looking at apt. prices and after about an hour I made up my mind to go to Tulsa. I need to just be on my own, and I knew that God would bless me with whatever decision I chose to make. So I'm sitting in my room, thinking about just loading up my car on Monday and heading out. And the phone rings.
It's the principal from the school in Detroit. She said she just happened to wander into her office to check her voicemail and saw my resume and called me back in hopes I'd be available to interview the next (Saturday) morning. I said sure.
I went to the interview with the mindset that I would do my best, but that I already had a job in Tulsa for me. Well, I got offered the Detroit job, and I accepted it, and I start Tomorrow.
Talk about your soap opera story!
So the good news is that I have a job.
The good news is that God provides, even when you don't know what you need.
The good news is that blessings are falling and soaking them up is feeling pretty nice.
The good news is.
So I've been planning my big move out to OKC for a while now. I'd lined up a place to stay and found myself a temporary job until I can find a teaching one, and I'm all set to move. Then my mom calls and asks if we can delay it a week because Niki got some free tickets and was coming up to Michigan for the weekend (and it wouldn't make sense to be down there moving in while she was up here visiting). So I said sure, and that was that.
So I get a call from my good friend Vic Bliss the Friday before the Monday I was originally planning to move and he told me that he had a teaching job and there might be a position open for me and to give him a call. I was pretty much set on moving to Oklahoma, but I called him back anyway--just because it seemed like he'd gone a little out of his way to let me know about this opportunity. We played phone tag for a bit, and the following week while I was packing we finally got in touch with one another and he said there was a 6th grade math position open at the building he got a job at and that I should get my stuff in asap!
I told a few people from church that this might be a possibility, and they were elated because they were all (selfishly--they'll admit it) praying that I wouldn't leave. I dropped off my things and called every other day to check on the job but I knew that I wasn't going to change my plans on a last minute whim. I figured if God wanted me to stay here, he'd make it obvious.
So Friday night Niki comes home and she was going to stay til Sunday, and then me and Mom were going to leave to drive to OKC on Monday. Friday I start feeling a tad under the weather, but nothing serious. Saturday I wake up, and my throat is sore and I'm not feeling very well. With increasing intensity I becoming moaningly-begrudgingly ill. I don't have health insurance so I just lay around and moan while I hope it passes. God sure has a funny way of intervening, doesn't he? Sunday a lady from church kindly called in an Rx for Penecilin for us because my mom classified my symptoms into the category of tonsilitis and an ear infection.
So after Saturday, Sunday, and Monday of not eating or drinking except for when I had to manage a swallow to take my pills; I finally started to choke down tablespoons of soup or cream of rice (because let's face it--I was starving). By Tuesday I could nearly talk again, so I called to check on the job. No response yet. By Thursday I was back to my normal self completely--golfing regularly and everything, so I called and was informed that the position had been filled. My mom asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I'd like to stay around here and look for a little bit--since in all fairness I started looking in Oklahoma without even trying to look here because I've heard nothing but how people can't find jobs.
I go online, and sure enough, there's a math position open in not just a Livonia School, but the one down the road from me and the principal knows all of my siblings, and our neighbors down the street very very well. I put in the App. and went out for dinnner with some friends.
Halfway through dinner I notice I have a voicemail, so I check it, and it's a message from a principal in Tulsa. She would be "very interested in speaking with" me. WHAT!?
I decide to stay here, and now I've got a call from the state that had been silent on me for two months? So friday morning, I wake up and go jogging, and when I get home my mom says "well, when it rains it pours." Vic had called me and said the position at the school was still open and the principal wanted to interview me that day. I returned my Tulsa call, and left a voicemail becaus the principal wasn't it. I faxed my resume and letters of recommendation to the school in Detroit and also called them. No answer, I left a message.
I went golfing and waited around, and neither called back. I even tried calling back on several occasions, but with no response. I was pretty bummed.
All of the sudden, around 6, the phone rings. It's the principal from Tulsa. She said, in not so many words, that there was a job for me if I would move to Tulsa to fill it. I asked her if I could call her back the next day so I could have a night to think it over. I talked with my mom, and thought about it for a while, and I started looking at apt. prices and after about an hour I made up my mind to go to Tulsa. I need to just be on my own, and I knew that God would bless me with whatever decision I chose to make. So I'm sitting in my room, thinking about just loading up my car on Monday and heading out. And the phone rings.
It's the principal from the school in Detroit. She said she just happened to wander into her office to check her voicemail and saw my resume and called me back in hopes I'd be available to interview the next (Saturday) morning. I said sure.
I went to the interview with the mindset that I would do my best, but that I already had a job in Tulsa for me. Well, I got offered the Detroit job, and I accepted it, and I start Tomorrow.
Talk about your soap opera story!
So the good news is that I have a job.
The good news is that God provides, even when you don't know what you need.
The good news is that blessings are falling and soaking them up is feeling pretty nice.
The good news is.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Can't Sleep. It's the pitts.
So I randomly (and I mean totally randomly) got a really bad (and by bad I mean uber painful) case of strep throat this weekend. It pretty much left me hungry and hurting, but I'm doing much better now. Amongst all of the TV watching I could fit in while I couldn't really do much else (except moan and say "ouch" because I'm kindof a wuss) I caught an interesting movie. I can't remember what it was called, but that's alright. It was pretty funny, but I couldn't laugh because it hurt too much. So I just watched it in as stoic of a mood as I could muster--all the while thinking "I always imagined Doris Day to be less 'normal' looking." (As it was my first Doris Day movie, so I'd never seen her before.)
Which brings me to my point:
Hypochondriacs.
Every once in a while I think I might be one. It's probably because I am such a wimp about being sick. It doesn't happen often, but I'll moan and groan with the best of them (cough cough my dad cough cough). I get the flu and have to throw up, I'm sitting in the bathroom crying at 2am while my mom is calling from her room, "Kari, go downstairs at least! We're trying to sleep!" Or I am laying on the couch with a high fever saying "shouldn't I be drinking more cold fluids?" and she'll respond with "take the tylenol and change your clothes when they get too sweaty." No mercy, seriously.
Sometimes, after I'm all better (which is usually only 1 or 2 days, because I suppose I'm resiliant) I think back on the experience and wonder if I couldn't have taken the pain without whining so much? Or maybe if it was only my imagination that it hurt so badly. I'm not sure. Probably.
So I guess what I have a hard time with is when people are constantly bringing up things that are wrong with them. Don't get me wrong, I care deeply about people. And I am also a good listener. But I don't give out pity very, um, generously. Maybe I get it from my mom, with her "suck it up" attitude when I'm sick. That's logical. But regardless, I have this horrible habbit of rolling my eyes at "poor me" people.
Now the occasional sob story is one thing, but you hypochondriacs drive me nuts! And the latest rage of hypochondraic is the kind of person who feeds off of misfortune. Not just illness related, but like pessimism gone terribly wrong.
I think I get frustrated with these people because I am a person who likes to fix things. Yes, I'm a great listener, but when you're done talking--whether you asked for it or not--I'm going to try to help you fix it.
You can't do that with hypochondriacs becasue they don't want to be fixed. They just want to be heard. I think the reason they always keep bringing up more and more things that are wrong is because every time you try to fix the first thing, it might mean you won't hear them anymore.
Okay, I'm out, because I just heard a really loud and abnormal noise inside my house and it's 2:30am so I have to go make sure everything is alright. That's a little scary.
I know,
I'll turn the lights on.
Which brings me to my point:
Hypochondriacs.
Every once in a while I think I might be one. It's probably because I am such a wimp about being sick. It doesn't happen often, but I'll moan and groan with the best of them (cough cough my dad cough cough). I get the flu and have to throw up, I'm sitting in the bathroom crying at 2am while my mom is calling from her room, "Kari, go downstairs at least! We're trying to sleep!" Or I am laying on the couch with a high fever saying "shouldn't I be drinking more cold fluids?" and she'll respond with "take the tylenol and change your clothes when they get too sweaty." No mercy, seriously.
Sometimes, after I'm all better (which is usually only 1 or 2 days, because I suppose I'm resiliant) I think back on the experience and wonder if I couldn't have taken the pain without whining so much? Or maybe if it was only my imagination that it hurt so badly. I'm not sure. Probably.
So I guess what I have a hard time with is when people are constantly bringing up things that are wrong with them. Don't get me wrong, I care deeply about people. And I am also a good listener. But I don't give out pity very, um, generously. Maybe I get it from my mom, with her "suck it up" attitude when I'm sick. That's logical. But regardless, I have this horrible habbit of rolling my eyes at "poor me" people.
Now the occasional sob story is one thing, but you hypochondriacs drive me nuts! And the latest rage of hypochondraic is the kind of person who feeds off of misfortune. Not just illness related, but like pessimism gone terribly wrong.
I think I get frustrated with these people because I am a person who likes to fix things. Yes, I'm a great listener, but when you're done talking--whether you asked for it or not--I'm going to try to help you fix it.
You can't do that with hypochondriacs becasue they don't want to be fixed. They just want to be heard. I think the reason they always keep bringing up more and more things that are wrong is because every time you try to fix the first thing, it might mean you won't hear them anymore.
Okay, I'm out, because I just heard a really loud and abnormal noise inside my house and it's 2:30am so I have to go make sure everything is alright. That's a little scary.
I know,
I'll turn the lights on.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
I still get goosebumps just thinking about it
How incredible was it when Anakin and Padme got married (in Attack of the Clones) and the background music was the Darth Vader march. Ohhhh, if that isn't enough to send shivers down your spine.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Deep Thinking on the Herron Front
I think the highlight of my weekend was when my dad went to Kroger to get some potato salad on Sunday because we were grilling out, and he came home with one of those jell-o rings that you always see in the store, but have never actually seen anyone purchase.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Things I'm going to miss about Michigan
You might have to scroll down because I don't know why there's this huge gap there.
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This is my friend Jill. We're pretty tight. | So tight, sometimes it's hard to fit both of us in the |
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sometimes we like to eat cake together. | |
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| occasionally it can get a little out of hand, though | (or out of mouth) |
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
a story about a hero
i imagine it to be somewhat of a sunny day that we last walked down that road. it ended right at the river, where the locks were. there was a bridge over them, and to our left that you and i had walked across many times prior to that day. sometimes we would throw our un-popped kernals from our cracker jacks over into the water. you told me once that you swore the fish liked them. i never doubted you for a second. you knew your stuff. i never told you, but it was one of the main reasons i liked to walk with you every day. i always learned something new from you. every single day.do you remember that night that we ran down into the subway just to hear the man play his violin? there was nobody there, and surely, you said, that it was a shame that more people couldn't listen to this glorius music, as it would probably be able to cure many of the problems in the world. and then i fell and skinned my knee, and you had to carry me home.
there are times i remember sitting on that old rusty swing in the park with you. (you know, the one that we swore would break if we didn't take our shoes off first for fear they might be too heavy?) it was always nice sitting there by you. we'd feed the ducks and watch the people walk by. you always knew people. you knew everything about them before they had time to hide their thoughts. we'd sit there, and tell stories, and you'd smile. i always loved it when you smiled, because i knew that it wasn't just you smiling. it was like the whole sky and everything beautiful went into your smile and shone out your eyes and your fingertips, and even your toes. (it's probably a good thing we always took our shoes off, because they'd have probably not been able to hold in your radiance and i'm sure would have shattered into a million pieces under the pressure.)
growing up in forever together was something that i treasured with all my heart. i never really got inside of you, but it was okay because you were completely within myself. so no matter where i was, or where you were, we were always there, and always living. as many other lives as you saved, i knew you loved each one new, and each one more than anyone alive is capable of loving. once, i accidentally got jealous, because you were gone and i had made you your favorite dinner and you missed it. i sat and searched for my comfort, but when you got home you showed me my selfishness and kissed my forehead and calmed my heart. i know that a hero has many important things to do, and i realize that many people are in need of a hero besides myself. you've already made my life perfect. you just complete it by loving me more and more every day.
on occasion we would walk through the park and climb in the trees. you once showed me how to watch out for others. somehow you managed to catch me when i fell, only to smile and hold me right back up. we sat up there for one week and i watched you. i watched you think, and i watched you sleep, and i watched you ache and i watched you give. at the end of the week, you helped me down from the tree and we walked down the road to the river.
you must have known it would happen. you must have, i can not imagine you not knowing. i can not imagine you not knowing that that day we were to walk to the river would, indeed be our last. you must have known, when you told me you had to tell me something, that things were not going to turn out how you wanted them to. i can not imagine you not knowing that i was incorrectly thinking it would be just like any other day with you. shortly to be followed be another one, and another always, til the end of the world. i can't imagine how you must have felt knowing that that car wasn't going to stop. and i can't imagine how you must have fought with God when he told you to let me walk to your left. i can not imagine how much your heart ached to not be able tell me it didn't matter that my shoe was untied, because the river wouldn't mind my informalness.
but alas, i will never be able to walk with you again, as i am laying broken on the pavement. you saved my life, you know. just in time for me to be able to go home. that's why they call you a hero.
every once in a while, when the sun is going down, i watch you walk through the park to the tree we climbed together on so many occasions. i watch you, oh my broken-hearted warrior and i stay there right by your side always. i will always be behind you, carrying the pieces of your heart and holding them so tightly that none will ever be lost. you are complete within me, and i am now completely within you. therefore you are at last, complete within yourself, and although you walk the road to the locks with no one by your side, the path narrows over time, and you'll continue down it forever on and past eternity. that's why they call you a hero.
there are times i remember sitting on that old rusty swing in the park with you. (you know, the one that we swore would break if we didn't take our shoes off first for fear they might be too heavy?) it was always nice sitting there by you. we'd feed the ducks and watch the people walk by. you always knew people. you knew everything about them before they had time to hide their thoughts. we'd sit there, and tell stories, and you'd smile. i always loved it when you smiled, because i knew that it wasn't just you smiling. it was like the whole sky and everything beautiful went into your smile and shone out your eyes and your fingertips, and even your toes. (it's probably a good thing we always took our shoes off, because they'd have probably not been able to hold in your radiance and i'm sure would have shattered into a million pieces under the pressure.)
growing up in forever together was something that i treasured with all my heart. i never really got inside of you, but it was okay because you were completely within myself. so no matter where i was, or where you were, we were always there, and always living. as many other lives as you saved, i knew you loved each one new, and each one more than anyone alive is capable of loving. once, i accidentally got jealous, because you were gone and i had made you your favorite dinner and you missed it. i sat and searched for my comfort, but when you got home you showed me my selfishness and kissed my forehead and calmed my heart. i know that a hero has many important things to do, and i realize that many people are in need of a hero besides myself. you've already made my life perfect. you just complete it by loving me more and more every day.
on occasion we would walk through the park and climb in the trees. you once showed me how to watch out for others. somehow you managed to catch me when i fell, only to smile and hold me right back up. we sat up there for one week and i watched you. i watched you think, and i watched you sleep, and i watched you ache and i watched you give. at the end of the week, you helped me down from the tree and we walked down the road to the river.
you must have known it would happen. you must have, i can not imagine you not knowing. i can not imagine you not knowing that that day we were to walk to the river would, indeed be our last. you must have known, when you told me you had to tell me something, that things were not going to turn out how you wanted them to. i can not imagine you not knowing that i was incorrectly thinking it would be just like any other day with you. shortly to be followed be another one, and another always, til the end of the world. i can't imagine how you must have felt knowing that that car wasn't going to stop. and i can't imagine how you must have fought with God when he told you to let me walk to your left. i can not imagine how much your heart ached to not be able tell me it didn't matter that my shoe was untied, because the river wouldn't mind my informalness.
but alas, i will never be able to walk with you again, as i am laying broken on the pavement. you saved my life, you know. just in time for me to be able to go home. that's why they call you a hero.
every once in a while, when the sun is going down, i watch you walk through the park to the tree we climbed together on so many occasions. i watch you, oh my broken-hearted warrior and i stay there right by your side always. i will always be behind you, carrying the pieces of your heart and holding them so tightly that none will ever be lost. you are complete within me, and i am now completely within you. therefore you are at last, complete within yourself, and although you walk the road to the locks with no one by your side, the path narrows over time, and you'll continue down it forever on and past eternity. that's why they call you a hero.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
It's 3 am and your mom is crazy
I guess mid-life crises are hitting earlier and earlier these days. Either that, or I'm going to live to the ripe old age of 44.
Slowly but surely I'm getting things done, and I've had to make an extremely conscious effort (but I believe it will turn into a routine soon, so I'm not complaining) to have Jesus time before I do anything in the morning, and after I do everything before I go to sleep. Because even when I can't seem to give up everything to God to take control of, I can at least remind myself to do it on a daily basis. Sometimes I need to be reminded of things. Hey, what can I say....I'm only me.
And now I'd like to talk about something near and dear to my heart. Syncopation. You heard me, friends. I LOVE syncopation. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it's when the upbeat gets the accent in a piece of music. Some classic examples are the line "so you can laugh all you want to" in Ben Folds' song Philosophy; that part in the bridge of Green Day's Church on Sunday; the high hat every other drum run in Wilco's I Am Trying to Break Your Heart; the song Jesus Christ Superstar depending on how you tap your foot....there's lots of it out there. Radiohead does it a lot, and so does Coldplay. Let's be honest, it's such a great thing that I'll bet most musicians know the trick. My favorite types of sycoptation aren't just when it occurs, however, but when you're listening to music while you're running and you actually have to do a stagger run because the beat changes. It's so great. I mean, if you're not careful you'll trip and fall, but with practice you can develop the skill to time it out.
Which brings me to my next point....golf.
Golf is a seemingly leisurely activity that slightly out of shape men play obsessively and watch through their eyelids better than any other televised or live activity known to man--including opera. I'm not kidding. My dad will be snoring in a chair with the golf channel on, and the second the channel changes he snorts awake with a muffled "hey! I was watching that!"
Anyway, so on Tuesdays I play on a golf league with a bunch of men and one other woman from my church. It's set up in match play, so you play best score per hole and there's like points for the person with the bigger handicap so it's a pretty fair match.
Now, here's a little background: I played for my highschool's golf team for 4 years, and I kinda floated by, keeping varsity rank but not really trying very hard. I didn't have a real drive (ha! drive!) to compete, and eh...whatever.
Okay, background check over. So, tonight I was playing Mrs. Bennett and I had to give her a stroke on every hole, and 2 on one. Which means if I wanted to beat her and she got a 6 on a hole, I'd have to par it because she gets that one stroke on me (which gives her a 5) and to beat that I have to get a 4. Which stinks, becasue I'm pretty good at bogey golf. So today I realized that I have become the comically ironic "competitive golfer." I smugly congratulated her good shots while in my head I was screaming "miss! miss! miss!" I hit every green (except for like 2 or 3) in regulation, but let's be honest--I'm awful at putting--so I struggled my way through a pretty decent round of 48. Pretty much a great score for me--but I left the course so frustrated because it wasn't good enough. So much for being a leisurely stroll with a stick in my hands and a ball at my feet.
Speaking of 48, my dad's 50th birthday is coming up. Which means my birthday is coming up. Which means Camp Indogan is coming up! I'll leave you all (and by you all I mean Ashley, Jared, Stephen and myself) with some fond memories of Camp Indogan.
Ahh, who could forget when the 'Yota reached her landmark 75000?
Slowly but surely I'm getting things done, and I've had to make an extremely conscious effort (but I believe it will turn into a routine soon, so I'm not complaining) to have Jesus time before I do anything in the morning, and after I do everything before I go to sleep. Because even when I can't seem to give up everything to God to take control of, I can at least remind myself to do it on a daily basis. Sometimes I need to be reminded of things. Hey, what can I say....I'm only me.
And now I'd like to talk about something near and dear to my heart. Syncopation. You heard me, friends. I LOVE syncopation. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it's when the upbeat gets the accent in a piece of music. Some classic examples are the line "so you can laugh all you want to" in Ben Folds' song Philosophy; that part in the bridge of Green Day's Church on Sunday; the high hat every other drum run in Wilco's I Am Trying to Break Your Heart; the song Jesus Christ Superstar depending on how you tap your foot....there's lots of it out there. Radiohead does it a lot, and so does Coldplay. Let's be honest, it's such a great thing that I'll bet most musicians know the trick. My favorite types of sycoptation aren't just when it occurs, however, but when you're listening to music while you're running and you actually have to do a stagger run because the beat changes. It's so great. I mean, if you're not careful you'll trip and fall, but with practice you can develop the skill to time it out.
Which brings me to my next point....golf.
Golf is a seemingly leisurely activity that slightly out of shape men play obsessively and watch through their eyelids better than any other televised or live activity known to man--including opera. I'm not kidding. My dad will be snoring in a chair with the golf channel on, and the second the channel changes he snorts awake with a muffled "hey! I was watching that!"
Anyway, so on Tuesdays I play on a golf league with a bunch of men and one other woman from my church. It's set up in match play, so you play best score per hole and there's like points for the person with the bigger handicap so it's a pretty fair match.
Now, here's a little background: I played for my highschool's golf team for 4 years, and I kinda floated by, keeping varsity rank but not really trying very hard. I didn't have a real drive (ha! drive!) to compete, and eh...whatever.
Okay, background check over. So, tonight I was playing Mrs. Bennett and I had to give her a stroke on every hole, and 2 on one. Which means if I wanted to beat her and she got a 6 on a hole, I'd have to par it because she gets that one stroke on me (which gives her a 5) and to beat that I have to get a 4. Which stinks, becasue I'm pretty good at bogey golf. So today I realized that I have become the comically ironic "competitive golfer." I smugly congratulated her good shots while in my head I was screaming "miss! miss! miss!" I hit every green (except for like 2 or 3) in regulation, but let's be honest--I'm awful at putting--so I struggled my way through a pretty decent round of 48. Pretty much a great score for me--but I left the course so frustrated because it wasn't good enough. So much for being a leisurely stroll with a stick in my hands and a ball at my feet.
Speaking of 48, my dad's 50th birthday is coming up. Which means my birthday is coming up. Which means Camp Indogan is coming up! I'll leave you all (and by you all I mean Ashley, Jared, Stephen and myself) with some fond memories of Camp Indogan.
Ahh, who could forget when the 'Yota reached her landmark 75000?
Sigh. Tear.
Or when these boys all stuffed pillows down their shirts and danced
to a Weird Al Yankovic song?
Or when this girl came to chapel withe the worse case of bedhead
known to man?
And banquet is the time where everyone puts on their
Sunday Best!
And we eat a good home-cooked meal fit for a camp full of kids!
Oh, Camp Indogan, how we love you!
Monday, July 04, 2005
My Parents Are Funny.
One would think that if something were really important to a person that he would be able to treat it like it was important. In all honesty, I have a hard time taking myself seriously. Be it a side effect of not many other people taking me seriously, or the root of the aforementioned; I can't muster up the will power in myself to do the things I'm supposed to be doing.
I guess if you want to get technical, it's not really up to me to determine what I'm "supposed to be doing," but I guess what I mean is that I can't seem to set and reach reasonable goals.
I can't create the courage in myself to speak assertively to people who take advantage of me. And I can't finish a project any sooner than an hour before it needs to be done, let alone start it much sooner. I don't take responsibility for my shortcomings, but rather try to find the loophole in the process so I can make it look like someone else's fault. Because it always is. I find times where I am sitting on the floor, not looking at anything in particular or even thinking about anything really, and hours will pass by and I will be unmoved. Those hours could have been spent in prayer, in scripture, cleaning, running, practicing my guitar, or any random piece of activity that is anything more productive than sitting on the floor. And yet while I ponder these alternatives to sitting, as I sit, I can't seem to move to do them.
Is this apathy? Is this laziness? Is this some sort of post-graduate slump that is medically recognized so I can have a loophole and not have to blame myself for my lack of..well...anything? I am a very organized person who has the messiest room and office you will ever see. I feel the need to always be on a schedule, and if I'm not than things won't get done. If I don't make a list of things to do and physically cross things off of my list to get them done, I will not do them. Plain and simple. And if I skip over something on my list, the entire list is now null and void and I am just as lost as I would have been had I not made the list in the first place. I can clean very well. However, if things are getting a little messy, I will say "I'm going to clean this on Monday," and those three days until Monday I will not bother to put anything away. What's the use? I'm going to tear it all up to clean it anyway, right? (That's how I clean, by the way. I have to destroy everything first so I can make sure that the organization of the room at the finale of the task has nothing out of order.) I have to rearrange things often, or I won't have an excuse to keep things neat. If I lived in my perfect world, I would have cereal, broccoli, hommus, and yogurt in my refigerator and not have to worry about anything else except the occasional pancake or two. I don't require variety, I require order. My life does not have order, and it leaves me feeling somewhat lost on occasion. Moving to Oklahoma is seemingly a "fly by the seat of my pants" operation, but I'm calculating Plan A, B, C, D, E, F, and G for what will happen if such and such doesn't work out. I took a drawing class in highschool and we had to do a drawing using a technique called pointalism where the entire picture is made up of black dots of various densities to create illusion of darker and lighter shades. I started my picture, which was to be my masterpiece, and much to my dismay I could not make those dots all the same. I couldn't keep my shades of dark consistent throughout and in portions of the picture where there were very few dots to create a white or grey piece of the puzzle I calculated and squinted and measured where I would put those few precious dots so as to not throw off the balance of the hue. Halfway through the picture the two week due date came rolling through and I could not bring myself to finish. I couldn't stand knowing that some of those dots were not where I wanted them to be, and I couldn't stand that my picture was not exactly calculated and perfect. So what did I do? I went home the night before the project and traced a bird and outlined it in dots. I got an A on the project, and it only took me an hour. I hated drawing class. Every single project, no matter what we drew, went the exact same way. I would look around the class at the other students' drawings and I couldn't understand how they could think what they drew looked like the bottle and grapes sitting on the table in front of them. I see no thick outline on the bottle, and there weren't 9 grapes, there were 14. And they weren't that size either. What is the point in trying to draw those objects if they're not going to look EXACTLY like the ones on the table!? I turned in 4, maybe 5 of the projects that we had to do in the class. I turned in the ones that met my expectations. I didn't turn in the ones that didn't. For an elective class, I didn't do very well--that's for sure. Actually, that's pretty much the story of my life. If something goes according to plan, I keep going. If it doesn't, I scrap it as if it had never started. If I start a Bible reading plan and for some reason miss a day (you know, due to sitting on the carpet doing nothing instead), I tend to look at it like I never started in the first place, so what's the point to keep going. I can't catch up. What is this daemon I've created in myself? Why do I know it's there and still not do anything about it? For fear of failure? Perseverance is the key. I've learned that ever since I was little. But perseverance goes hand in hand with stubbornness and that is something that I lack. Initiative. What's that? Obedience I'm pretty good at. Tell me what to do, how to do it, when and where to be...I'm all over that. If you put me in a group and tell me to "problem solve" I'll kick your butt. Or I'll create a plan and take charge of the group. Or better yet, break from the group and do all the work on my own. What am I missing? I'm not stupid. I know that I can't take control of everything. I know that God is in charge. I know that if I would ask him for help than He'd more than gladly give it to me. I know that when I learn his word and am in the Bible daily that things have a way of ironing themselves out--and even when they don't, he still holds my head afloat so long as I seek him and cling to him. I know all this stuff. I've been learning it since I was little. I've been reading about it, hearing about it, sharing it with other people--you name it. Yet my problem lies in the fact that I still find myself sitting on the floor. I don't think I'm prideful, and I'm not afraid to be humbled. I don't think I'm afraid to humble myself. I definitely am always talking to God, and being alone with him. So why am I not making the connection? What can I do to just give it all up? I make my lists upon endless lists, and no matter what order I put things on them, I can't find the proper balance of importance so I can start. Am I crazy? Tell me there are people out there who aren't institutionalized who can relate. Because the people who I meet who say "oh, I'm just like that with the list thing," have NO idea. They actually complete what's on their lists. Their rooms and desks are immaculate. I'm anal, only I'm still inside the colon. It's a mess. Sometimes I think that if I had some major crises that would force me into taking some sort of action that I'd be more successful. That I'd have some sort of motivation. That's why I'm such a procrastinator. The best pieces of writing I've ever handed in were the 20+ page papers written the night before they were due. I look back and read them now and wonder how I even got the knowledge to write them in the first place! That pressure and that stress push me to success. Right now I'm so in Limbo that I have no drive to do anything. What's my carrot? What sort of fire can be lit under my bum? I have all these things to do and I want to plan them out second by second, penny by penny, and there are just too many variables that I am left with either an empty page or twenty different pages of possible outcomes. Yet no plan of action. I would love to get married, but Lord help me if I ever have to plan a wedding.
And so what I want is advice. I need somebody to tell me what to do. And I don't think becoming an Orthodox Jew is my answer--although I'll bet I'd be good at it (aside from the whole Jesus is my Savior part). Yeah, it's nice when people listen and nod and blah blah blah, but seriously, tell me how to fix it and I'll do it! Point me to the Bible verse that will be my revelation and I'll paint it on my eyelids so I can see it in my sleep. Zap me with motivation so I can just do nothing but pray instead of sit. It's not like I'm asking you to do the work for me. Just begging you to tell me what to do! I'm smart enough to know what's reasonable and what's not, so I know better than to take everything at face value, but I don't learn anything when you just listen to me. I learn by listening to others. (Which suddenly makes me understand why I love classes that are lecture and hate ones where I have to do group work).
Ugh.
I guess if you want to get technical, it's not really up to me to determine what I'm "supposed to be doing," but I guess what I mean is that I can't seem to set and reach reasonable goals.
I can't create the courage in myself to speak assertively to people who take advantage of me. And I can't finish a project any sooner than an hour before it needs to be done, let alone start it much sooner. I don't take responsibility for my shortcomings, but rather try to find the loophole in the process so I can make it look like someone else's fault. Because it always is. I find times where I am sitting on the floor, not looking at anything in particular or even thinking about anything really, and hours will pass by and I will be unmoved. Those hours could have been spent in prayer, in scripture, cleaning, running, practicing my guitar, or any random piece of activity that is anything more productive than sitting on the floor. And yet while I ponder these alternatives to sitting, as I sit, I can't seem to move to do them.
Is this apathy? Is this laziness? Is this some sort of post-graduate slump that is medically recognized so I can have a loophole and not have to blame myself for my lack of..well...anything? I am a very organized person who has the messiest room and office you will ever see. I feel the need to always be on a schedule, and if I'm not than things won't get done. If I don't make a list of things to do and physically cross things off of my list to get them done, I will not do them. Plain and simple. And if I skip over something on my list, the entire list is now null and void and I am just as lost as I would have been had I not made the list in the first place. I can clean very well. However, if things are getting a little messy, I will say "I'm going to clean this on Monday," and those three days until Monday I will not bother to put anything away. What's the use? I'm going to tear it all up to clean it anyway, right? (That's how I clean, by the way. I have to destroy everything first so I can make sure that the organization of the room at the finale of the task has nothing out of order.) I have to rearrange things often, or I won't have an excuse to keep things neat. If I lived in my perfect world, I would have cereal, broccoli, hommus, and yogurt in my refigerator and not have to worry about anything else except the occasional pancake or two. I don't require variety, I require order. My life does not have order, and it leaves me feeling somewhat lost on occasion. Moving to Oklahoma is seemingly a "fly by the seat of my pants" operation, but I'm calculating Plan A, B, C, D, E, F, and G for what will happen if such and such doesn't work out. I took a drawing class in highschool and we had to do a drawing using a technique called pointalism where the entire picture is made up of black dots of various densities to create illusion of darker and lighter shades. I started my picture, which was to be my masterpiece, and much to my dismay I could not make those dots all the same. I couldn't keep my shades of dark consistent throughout and in portions of the picture where there were very few dots to create a white or grey piece of the puzzle I calculated and squinted and measured where I would put those few precious dots so as to not throw off the balance of the hue. Halfway through the picture the two week due date came rolling through and I could not bring myself to finish. I couldn't stand knowing that some of those dots were not where I wanted them to be, and I couldn't stand that my picture was not exactly calculated and perfect. So what did I do? I went home the night before the project and traced a bird and outlined it in dots. I got an A on the project, and it only took me an hour. I hated drawing class. Every single project, no matter what we drew, went the exact same way. I would look around the class at the other students' drawings and I couldn't understand how they could think what they drew looked like the bottle and grapes sitting on the table in front of them. I see no thick outline on the bottle, and there weren't 9 grapes, there were 14. And they weren't that size either. What is the point in trying to draw those objects if they're not going to look EXACTLY like the ones on the table!? I turned in 4, maybe 5 of the projects that we had to do in the class. I turned in the ones that met my expectations. I didn't turn in the ones that didn't. For an elective class, I didn't do very well--that's for sure. Actually, that's pretty much the story of my life. If something goes according to plan, I keep going. If it doesn't, I scrap it as if it had never started. If I start a Bible reading plan and for some reason miss a day (you know, due to sitting on the carpet doing nothing instead), I tend to look at it like I never started in the first place, so what's the point to keep going. I can't catch up. What is this daemon I've created in myself? Why do I know it's there and still not do anything about it? For fear of failure? Perseverance is the key. I've learned that ever since I was little. But perseverance goes hand in hand with stubbornness and that is something that I lack. Initiative. What's that? Obedience I'm pretty good at. Tell me what to do, how to do it, when and where to be...I'm all over that. If you put me in a group and tell me to "problem solve" I'll kick your butt. Or I'll create a plan and take charge of the group. Or better yet, break from the group and do all the work on my own. What am I missing? I'm not stupid. I know that I can't take control of everything. I know that God is in charge. I know that if I would ask him for help than He'd more than gladly give it to me. I know that when I learn his word and am in the Bible daily that things have a way of ironing themselves out--and even when they don't, he still holds my head afloat so long as I seek him and cling to him. I know all this stuff. I've been learning it since I was little. I've been reading about it, hearing about it, sharing it with other people--you name it. Yet my problem lies in the fact that I still find myself sitting on the floor. I don't think I'm prideful, and I'm not afraid to be humbled. I don't think I'm afraid to humble myself. I definitely am always talking to God, and being alone with him. So why am I not making the connection? What can I do to just give it all up? I make my lists upon endless lists, and no matter what order I put things on them, I can't find the proper balance of importance so I can start. Am I crazy? Tell me there are people out there who aren't institutionalized who can relate. Because the people who I meet who say "oh, I'm just like that with the list thing," have NO idea. They actually complete what's on their lists. Their rooms and desks are immaculate. I'm anal, only I'm still inside the colon. It's a mess. Sometimes I think that if I had some major crises that would force me into taking some sort of action that I'd be more successful. That I'd have some sort of motivation. That's why I'm such a procrastinator. The best pieces of writing I've ever handed in were the 20+ page papers written the night before they were due. I look back and read them now and wonder how I even got the knowledge to write them in the first place! That pressure and that stress push me to success. Right now I'm so in Limbo that I have no drive to do anything. What's my carrot? What sort of fire can be lit under my bum? I have all these things to do and I want to plan them out second by second, penny by penny, and there are just too many variables that I am left with either an empty page or twenty different pages of possible outcomes. Yet no plan of action. I would love to get married, but Lord help me if I ever have to plan a wedding.
And so what I want is advice. I need somebody to tell me what to do. And I don't think becoming an Orthodox Jew is my answer--although I'll bet I'd be good at it (aside from the whole Jesus is my Savior part). Yeah, it's nice when people listen and nod and blah blah blah, but seriously, tell me how to fix it and I'll do it! Point me to the Bible verse that will be my revelation and I'll paint it on my eyelids so I can see it in my sleep. Zap me with motivation so I can just do nothing but pray instead of sit. It's not like I'm asking you to do the work for me. Just begging you to tell me what to do! I'm smart enough to know what's reasonable and what's not, so I know better than to take everything at face value, but I don't learn anything when you just listen to me. I learn by listening to others. (Which suddenly makes me understand why I love classes that are lecture and hate ones where I have to do group work).
Ugh.
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