I Wanna Shank You Like I Shoooould!

Hey there! Sorry for two boring posts, but I did most of my writing on paper today.

I also want to take a minute to step back from all the crazy introspection and doom/gloom stuff I've been writing to say how amazingly great my life is.

Nicole asked me today if I ever thought about the friendships I've had in the past that ended. I replied that I actually think about that a lot. I also think about the amazing number of friends I've retained through years of young stupidity, hysterics, and transition. I am insanely lucky and insanely loved by more people than one woman deserves.

So even on days, like today, when I am this tired and this frustrated, I still manage to spend a few hours laughing with my friends.

The world is instantly a better place when you have people who know you well enough to know that, "I love you so many stomachs," is the sweetest thing I've ever heard.

I'm going to go pass out now.

Mea Failpa!

I know, I know, I just got back on the wagon, and I had every intention of posting yesterday, and I DID write 500 words (or more). I simply didn't get around to posting anything. Mostly because....well, when I finished my homework the clock said 5:30 am and my alarm was set for 7am....so I decided that sleeping before my in class essay was more important than my blog. Silly, I know, what was I thinking?

So, here's my early morning shout out: Hi!

Now, I'm going to finish my oatmeal and green tea. Then off to school......yay?

Have a good day! Peace out!

Back In The Saddle Again!

Sorry, folks, I fell off the wagon. I got tired and busy and I didn't make writing a priority. Which is exactly what I am NOT supposed to do. So, I'm taking a page out of the vlogbrother's book and asking you, my devoted reader(s), to prescribe a punishment for not writing. Leave your suggestions in the comments below.

Let me start off my saying that I have a pimple inside my nose. It really hurts. Especially since I'm still kicking the tail end of this cold. Nasty business.

So, what have I been up to?

Well, I made this: for the daughter of my bosses. Cthulhu dice bag for the win!

I also wrote a lot of letters, worked a lot, and caught up on some much needed rest. Eleven days without a day off was just too much, my mind was melting. I've also managed to not do any homework. Gosh I'm a slacker. I'm going to be tired this week too, I can feel it. I just still need to get back in the habit of having homework that I HAVE TO get done before I actually live my life. It's so strange to have to force myself to prioritize something that I have no interest in. It seems so backward.

I can't believe January is almost over. This year is 1/12 over. Not a huge chunk of the pie, but still. Being conscious of how fast time sneaks away is something that has come to me with age, not that I'm that old mind you. I used to not think of it, though. I know that sounds cliché, but it's true. In all of my smaller classes I've been asked in one way or another what my long-term goals and plans are.

I still have no idea.

I can feel my life moving onward, my age increasing, my decisions making themselves by my inaction, but still I have no clue. I'm coming to the time in my life where that isn't cute anymore. I've always had a plan. Before I needed a plan, I had one. When I was eight years old I printed off the student handbook for Edinburgh University. I was going to go there when I was out of high school, study literature, and then move to the Scottish countryside, become a hermit, write books, and raise goats. That was my serious life plan for more years than I care to admit.

Even later in life when I had a better grasp of reality and the things that would actually make me happy, I still had a plan. A different plan: get a scholarship to Washington University in St. Louis, study architecture, get a scholarship to Yale, study graduate level architecture, get a brilliant job, design sustainable buildings for the third world, save humanity.

Still a little crazy, a fact I realized in the midst of step number 2 of that plan. I was massively unhappy and had a meltdown. I all but checked out entirely during my third semester of college. I spent the vast majority of that semester wandering around Forrest Park and the St Louis art museum, decorating my class drafting studio with paper snowflakes, and getting in fights with my professors. Word to the wise, if you are taking an art-based class with no concrete grading criteria, it would behoove you not to call the professor a bitch to her face and scream, “Oh yeah, what are you going to do to me if I don't feel like sticking around after class to set up your stupid gallery show? Huh? WHAT CAN YOU DO?”

She can give you a C is what, even if you work your ass off, that's what she can do. I guess I should count myself lucky. In my own defense for that stupidity, I hadn't slept in about three days and I was having massive withdrawals from a prescription I was taking back then. I was a little....off my game.

Anyway, aside from that bizarre flashback, the point I was attempting to make is that since that time I haven't really had a concrete plan. My plan is that I don't need a plan. I don't know what I want to do so why force it? Well, if I don't start making decisions soon, all my decisions will be made for me. I'll get stuck, I'll waste opportunities. Any kindergartener, when you ask them, can answer the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I still can't answer that, and it's really starting to bum me out. :-P

For now, I'll plug along. I had my staff Christmas party tonight, and if I'm going to waste away in a retail job, I couldn't ask for a better trench to toil in. Them's are a good lot, that's for sure.

ps- creepiest beverage ever = rooibos tea in a skull mug

goodnight!

"There's No Time On The River"

In one of my classes today, the professor asked us to play one of those getting-to-know you games that you wish teachers got out of their systems in junior high. While someone in the class was describing their hobbies, and I was busy doodling Spanish galleons in my notebook, something he said caught my attention. He said that his favorite thing in the world to do is drive, and he has made a road trip from Idaho down to Florida and then back through Michigan just for fun. Actually, he's done this twice.

It was then that I had two simultaneous and divergent reactions. On one hand I was like, “Dude! That's a lot of gas! That's bad for the environment AND for your finances.” On the other hand I was like, “Dude! That's wicked! I would love to do that, and I am having a hard time controlling my jealousy right now.”

See, I have this problem, a dilemma if you will.

I love driving. I love the control, the feeling of independence that is a part of our cultural identity. I love watching trees and rivers and landscapes change before me. I love setting that little slice of Americana to my own personal soundtrack and singing out to the hills. I love rolling down the windows, feeling the pressure of the wind on my face and its pull on my hair as I inhale the land's scent.

Bliss, Idaho smells like sage and sand, river water and crickets. Olympia, Washington smells like moss and marijuana, salt water and steel. St. Louis, Missouri smells like grass and sweat, mud and thunderstorms.

In high school, and even later on, when I got frustrated or completely broken down or couldn't sleep, I would jump in my car and drive. I would drive east until I found a sunrise, drive into the mountains until I could see all the stars, drive through the twisted foothill roads until my mind was straight.

When Nicole and I were working for the transportation department (best summer job ever, by the way) we spent most of our time driving on roads that only saw a few people a year. It was intoxicating. There was one day, one moment really, somewhere outside Rigby, Idaho that may have changed my life. We were mapping a road on the border of some kind of nature reserve or wetland conservation area.

It was just us, we were surrounded by tall grass and cattails stretching for miles. To our right was a break in the marsh and a long stretch of smooth, dark water reaching out to a wooded area of slender trees and underbrush.

The day was that kind of clear beauty that comes right after rain in the desert. The sky was an unbelievable blue, so pure and bright it seemed fake. The clouds were few and fluffy, cottony white. The wind was warm and barely strong enough to sway the grasses and ripple the surface of the lake, but enough to carry birdsong in through our windows. Our beat-up old jeep sailed down the road to the tune of “Aqueous Transmission.” Then way off to our right we saw a blue heron emerge from the shadowed water, sweep upward toward the impossibly blue sky, and then glide over the glittering lake. We were wrapped in sensation, to the point of bursting, almost to the point of crying, for no reason other than we might never experience anything this spontaneously wonderful in all our life. The moment was so perfect that we were afraid to move, to stop, to talk, as if it would break the spell, end it all. It felt sacred.

That sight, that day, encapsulated the joy I felt being at home in the west. It was one of the reasons I decided to come back here, to abandon my scholarship and the promise of a secure career, to revisit all the reasons I have become who I am. The summer I spent driving around southern Idaho completely altered the course of my life, I think for the better. So driving is a very symbolic act for me in some ways.

However, all emotion aside. I have to hate freeways. They brought about urban sprawl, the endangerment of small towns, and massive use of fossil fuels. I'm an environmentalist, a lazy one I'll grant you, but I still really care about it. I went to Sierra Club Summer Camp for crying out loud. Can I really justify driving for the sake of driving? Isn't it kind of perverse and opulent and arrogant to suppose that's a valid lifestyle choice?

Probably not. Thus my dilemma. I suppose it is a tribute to the complexity of humans that I can both love and hate the same thing. Why doesn't that make me feel better?

I did have fun reminiscing though. Perhaps tonight I will dream of blue herons in summer and black-eyed Susans. One can only hope.

***

"Lying face up on the floor of my vessel

I marvel at the stars
And feel my heart overflow"

-from "Aqueous Transmission" by Incubus

We're Gonna Party Like It's Revelations 19:99!

“humanity is doomed, by the way”-Mark

Maybe it's because I just finished reading an anthropology text concerning the similarities of female genital mutilation in the third world and breast implants in the first, but I'm in the mood to believe that statement (taken from my brother's blog via Facebook today).

Also, I overheard this conversation today at the bookstore:

Coworker Ross: Are you ready, ma'am?
Awesome, Snarky Customer: Are you ready?
Coworker Ross: For the apocalypse? Yeah, for about ten years now.

Also, I just reread my blog entry on Catholicism and saw a trailer for Legion while folding laundry at my mom's house. So, the rapture is on my brain, but not in a like....depressing, fire-and-brimstone kind of way, but in an academic, curious kind of way.

I'm wondering why, as cultures, (not just my culture, but multiple cultures around the world) we torture ourselves. I mean, why do we have rituals that cause unnecessary harm? Why do we terrorize ourselves with images of impending doom and destruction on a “biblical” scale? I know there are reasons having to do with how the cultures evolved, the symbolism, etc., but don't you find it interesting that in just about every culture, there is something inherently damaging that we as humans do to ourselves.

Why, when we, ourselves, understand pain, would we culturally impose it on ourselves and others?

I mean that seriously, not in a froufrou, bleeding-heart way. Outside of what is required for survival-- because that's instinct and hormones, I get that—outside of that, what fundamentally causes that desire to inflict and experience pain and terror?

I'm not excluding myself from this, there's no judgment here. I have a tattoo, and not even I can give a really clear reason why I paid someone to drag a needle across my skin and fill the bleeding wounds with ink. That's kind of messed up, but I did it and I would gladly do it again. In fact, I probably will. I also get a kick out of jumping out from behind doors and scaring the pants off of people. Why is that? Why is that funny or enjoyable? For that matter, why do people go to horror movies? I love horror movies, but when I think about it in a cold, rational way, that too is pretty messed up.

I could go on, but I wont. I think you get my gist. Each specific example, I'm sure, has an anthropological or historical or psychological or sociological reason behind it, but it had to start somewhere. That's what I want to know. What kicked off this crazy game?

So I leave you with that, a whole lot of nothing. A whole lot of questions at least, which I guess in and of themselves are something. A representation of a pursuit of truth as my Nonfiction Writing professor would say. (What's her name Dr. McGonnagul? McGowl? No. McSomething-or-other, I should probably know that) Anyway, I'm certainly not going to answer these questions by staring into space in the middle of the night, so I'm for sleepy time.

Farewell, dear hearts!

*more words that I had to add to the word processor dictionary today: Snarky and Facebook
**word I was surprised I didn't have to add: froufrou

A Few Fathoms Short of a Full Lake

Pram Ram Long Song, originally uploaded by The Waters of March.

First day of classes, and I am reminded how tedious school is. At work, if something needs doing, I do it. At school, if something needs doing, someone has to explain and re-explain and answer questions and lay out criteria while simultaneously holding the hand of and shoving a pacifier in the mouth of ninety infantilized students....it was awesome...

...or something like that.

I am pretty excited by a few of the courses though. Cultural Anthropology sounds like an awesome class with an awesome professor who hates busy work. That makes two of us, so bonus. The other is my creative nonfiction writing class. The professor is the kind of hard ass teacher that ends up really forcing you to do your best, and I really thrive in that environment. It also sounds like we're going to get a lot of freedom and do a lot of writing. I may, over the course of the semester, use my blog posts as informal writing assignments for this class. We'll see how that goes.

I will have to work on one rather long and involved topic over the course of the semester. The topic is ideally one that I am inherently confused or conflicted by, very interested in, and/or may have a persuasive component.

ANY THOUGHTFUL SUGGESTION, ANY AT ALL, WOULD BE GRATEFULLY ACCEPTED!

I have thought of one idea so far. I decided to become a vegetarian at the age of ten. I have changed a lot since I was ten. The world has changed, society has changed, and science has learned a lot more about diet and nutrition in those twelve years. So, knowing what I know now, and what I can learn, would I make the same decision over again? Taking into account all the moral, ecological, philosophical, practical, and dietary considerations, is it still a wise choice? Do some of those criteria count more than others? Should they?

It's something that I think I should re-examine as an intelligent adult even if to yet again come to the conclusion that I don't want to eat meat. Any long held belief should be able to stand up to repeated analysis or it's no longer valid. To quote Baz Luhrman, “Just because it is, doesn't mean it should be.”

Or, you know, maybe I'm not crazy. That's also an option.
Anyway, I think there are a lot of things I could examine and delve into, so I wouldn't get bored. There's the added bonus that I would be writing a 10-20 page paper on two of my favorite things: me and my food!

Speaking of which, had some delicious Thai food with Nicole today (shown above) before we went out to Pengilly's Saloon with the boys for some Tuesday night Booze Clues! We knew several of the answers this time, but Josh is the only one who won a free drink. I ate pretzels and laughed a lot. It was a good night, and now it's time for some good sleep.

Sleep well, my angels!

PREVIEW:

I'm learning how to do receiving at the bookstore tomorrow. YEEE HAW!

By the way, a fathom is six feet deep. I know you were curious.

The Day No Pictures Would Die

Sorry, no picture today. I'm lazy. Hopefully, now that I cleaned the cesspool that was my bedroom and found my camera charger, I will have new exciting photos to share! Any requests in that regard? I'm open to suggestions.

I'm going to attempt to get some good pictures of my mom. I just realized that I don't have very many of them. As morbid as this sounds, I don't want to look back when I'm older and say to myself that I wish I had taken the time to take more pictures of her. Mortality has been on my mind this week, and can I just say, for the record: suicide and suicide attempts are sad and selfish and stupid and they make me angry.

ANYWAY, moving on...

I was at work late tonight, those manga kids are CRAZY! Also messy, so I had to empty a lot of trash cans. I came home and made delicious Mexicali Quinoa! That's what I'm calling it anyway.

Here's what I did: I mixed about one tablespoon of butter with one tablespoon of olive oil and sauteed half an onion and some minced garlic While I was doing that, I rinsed a cup of quinoa.

fun fact: I adapted this dish from a Curried Quinoa recipe found at www.quinoa-recipes.com where I found out that

“Quinoa is coated with a natural substance called saponin that protects the grain by repelling insects and birds. Rinsing the quinoa is important to avoid a raw or bitter taste. You can tell if there is saponin by the production of a soapy looking "suds" when the seeds are swished in water.”

Good to know!

Anyway, instead of adding a bunch of spices, I just used salt, pepper, and some cumin. I then added the quinoa, stirred constantly for a while then added about a half cup of leftover black beans (frijoles negros!!!) and cooked for a little longer. Then I added about two glugs of salsa. Yes, glug is a measurement in my book, but if you must know: two glugs equals approximately a third of a cup. Stirred that up and then added the water. I reduced the water to a cup and a half because of the moisture in my salsa. I have pretty chunky salsa (with corn in it!) so if you're using some more liquidy stuff, I would reduce the water even more. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat, simmer for 15-20 minutes. Took about 18 minutes for me I think.

And, voila! Delicious. This made enough for dinner with enough leftover for take to school lunch Tuesday and Thursday.

Bonus feature (correct me if I'm wrong, Theresa) because this recipe has both a whole grain (quinoa) and a legume (frijoles negros!!!), this dish is a complete protein!

Ba badum BAAAAAAAAH!!!!

(Those are my triumphant trumpet noises! Imagine a little animated stooge in velvet livery showing up and trumpeting my glory and success, mostly because that's what I'm imagining. Don't judge me.)

Anyway, that about does it for me. I'm going to go finish packing my school bag, lay out my clothes, and prepare my coffee pot so I can just press 'On' in the morning. My early morning motor skills preclude me from filling coffee filters gracefully. It's not pretty.

Wish me luck! *muah*