Yesterday, Sat, I went to church as always. Nothing big to report on that subject (church and John and motives, etc.). Under normal circumstances it takes me 40 minutes to an hour to get home from church by bus. Last night however it took almost two and a half hours. This is why...
Service let out at around five after seven. I left right away because I needed to break a $5 bill to get change for the bus. Apparently Sat night is the neighborhood shopping night and I didn't get back to the bus stop until after the bus had already been there. The next one was scheduled to arrive at 7:49, but it didn't get there until five minutes to 8.
By the time I got to the stop I transfer at to get to the apartment, it was just before dusk. I don't know the exact time because I had stopped checking my watch. I was in a situation I couldn't control (and getting frustrated) and I knew seeing my wait-time go from 5, to 10, to 15 minutes wouldn't help. So, some undetermined time later I was on the final bus home, or so I thought. It turns out that this particular bus takes a slight detour than the one I wanted. I say slight but it's a good 16 blocks out of my way.
At 9:00 PM, now very dark, I boarded the real final bus. 10 minutes later I got off at my stop and still had to walk 3 long blocks to get home. When I walked in the door my dad said he was beginning to wonder if I'd gotten mugged. That right there was actually the worst part of this whole ordeal. I like the dark and didn't mind getting home late. It was having my dad worrying about me that was frustrating.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
"it's different"
My dad must've said this at least three times, which is usually a cover for not liking something. But afterwards he said he had a good time and was glad we went.
We got there early as a matter of course (remember I don't like being late) and people were still setting stuff up. Because of this my dad and I ended up just standing around for a half-hour. I was anxious and uncomfortable and then my dad informed me he was having second thoughts. Even though I was just as nervous I laughed it off because I wanted to stay.
Between 10 and 10:30 AM other dads and daughters started showing up. Most were young but there were some older daughters too. By 11 o'clock there was quite a crowd so my dad and I didn't feel as conspicuous (my dad put it best, "the more people there are, the less they're focused on you").
The tea was loosely based on High Tea which is usually British (High Tea is around 5 or 6 o'clock instead of in the afternoon). This tea was set in a medieval theme with a King and Queen. All the guests were formally announced with fancy made up names to fit the period, and I think because I knew the King and Queen it wasn't near as uncomfortable as it could have been. Luckily our seats were in the way back next to a wall so we were out of the way. I didn't know anyone at our table but after we did a round of introductions I started to relax and ended up having a good time. It wasn't fantastic but it was a fun experience. Dad said, "Well, now we can say we've done it." My sentiments exactly. I didn't go for the food or even expecting to have a great time, I went for the experience.
Because of all the food (there were eight courses and tea throughout) dad and I decided not to stay for church. We were both full (almost like Thanksgiving) and the caffeine from the tea was wearing off. Also John wasn't preaching and sometimes I have trouble staying awake for him. I wouldn't hear half of what this other guy said because I'd be fighting not to nod off. So we came home and tried to keep busy until bedtime. At least I got to listen to Garrison Keillor tonight.
We got there early as a matter of course (remember I don't like being late) and people were still setting stuff up. Because of this my dad and I ended up just standing around for a half-hour. I was anxious and uncomfortable and then my dad informed me he was having second thoughts. Even though I was just as nervous I laughed it off because I wanted to stay.
Between 10 and 10:30 AM other dads and daughters started showing up. Most were young but there were some older daughters too. By 11 o'clock there was quite a crowd so my dad and I didn't feel as conspicuous (my dad put it best, "the more people there are, the less they're focused on you").
The tea was loosely based on High Tea which is usually British (High Tea is around 5 or 6 o'clock instead of in the afternoon). This tea was set in a medieval theme with a King and Queen. All the guests were formally announced with fancy made up names to fit the period, and I think because I knew the King and Queen it wasn't near as uncomfortable as it could have been. Luckily our seats were in the way back next to a wall so we were out of the way. I didn't know anyone at our table but after we did a round of introductions I started to relax and ended up having a good time. It wasn't fantastic but it was a fun experience. Dad said, "Well, now we can say we've done it." My sentiments exactly. I didn't go for the food or even expecting to have a great time, I went for the experience.
Because of all the food (there were eight courses and tea throughout) dad and I decided not to stay for church. We were both full (almost like Thanksgiving) and the caffeine from the tea was wearing off. Also John wasn't preaching and sometimes I have trouble staying awake for him. I wouldn't hear half of what this other guy said because I'd be fighting not to nod off. So we came home and tried to keep busy until bedtime. At least I got to listen to Garrison Keillor tonight.
Friday, April 20, 2007
tea (and all that that implies?)
Tomorrow my dad is taking me to a Father and Daughter Tea event that's going on at church. When this event was first announced during this past Saturday's service, I thought "hmm, that'd be nice," but then my past experience/common sense kicked in and I dismissed thoughts of the event from my mind. Then on Mon Dad asked me "Did you want to go to that?" It surprised me because he doesn't do the Father/Daughter thing, at least he hasn't for quite awhile, but I said sure. So I called up the person in charge and signed us up.
Part of the reason I didn't think much about going at first is because of the word tea. I associate this word with fancy cups, dresses and the color pink, high society and social refinement. I don't do frilly, girly dress-up. I'm a tom-boy and have been since I was about ten years old. My idea of dressing up is pants that aren't jeans and a shirt with buttons and cuffs. My idea of a fun get-together is beer, pool, and loud music. Also, this tea was mainly meant for young girls and their dads but was then opened to any age group. Hopefully I'm not the only attending daughter over 20.
Because of these factors I'm a little nervous about tomorrow. I have nice clothes so that's not a problem. Also the King and Queen (it's supposed to be a British High Tea) are old friends of mine from Junior High church group, so I don't think I'll be as uncomfortable as I would around strangers. It's the playing it by ear that I'm nervous about, the pretending. I don't like personally being a part of make-belive in the real world, probably a hold-over from some reprimand during my childhood. That may also be the reason I don't like to read books written in the first person, I prefer to be separate from the story. But my dad will be there, a kind of security blanket if you will. I'll just have to refrain from derisive snickering, rolling my eyes or arching my eyebrows as a cover for my anxiety.
Part of the reason I didn't think much about going at first is because of the word tea. I associate this word with fancy cups, dresses and the color pink, high society and social refinement. I don't do frilly, girly dress-up. I'm a tom-boy and have been since I was about ten years old. My idea of dressing up is pants that aren't jeans and a shirt with buttons and cuffs. My idea of a fun get-together is beer, pool, and loud music. Also, this tea was mainly meant for young girls and their dads but was then opened to any age group. Hopefully I'm not the only attending daughter over 20.
Because of these factors I'm a little nervous about tomorrow. I have nice clothes so that's not a problem. Also the King and Queen (it's supposed to be a British High Tea) are old friends of mine from Junior High church group, so I don't think I'll be as uncomfortable as I would around strangers. It's the playing it by ear that I'm nervous about, the pretending. I don't like personally being a part of make-belive in the real world, probably a hold-over from some reprimand during my childhood. That may also be the reason I don't like to read books written in the first person, I prefer to be separate from the story. But my dad will be there, a kind of security blanket if you will. I'll just have to refrain from derisive snickering, rolling my eyes or arching my eyebrows as a cover for my anxiety.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
up and down
In Jan of this year I published a two-part post about a change in my perspective, my outlook on life if you will. It had to do with a Messengers' prayer meeting coupled with an All Night of Prayer at my church. The confluence of these two events collaborated to put me up, not just emotionally but in a practical way of understanding. Since then I told Dave my secret (one of them anyway), consequently got booted from Messengers, and was for all intents and purposes excluded from rehearsals. Add on top of that my joining a book study where I don't know anyone, and Doc Sig being out of town. Right now I'm back to where I was before Jan, not caring much for church except to see John on a regular basis. By the way, in this past Sat pre-service prayer we all laid hands on him. Let's just say I've become very proficient at suppressing my outward expressions, so no one suspected I was giddy at the mere thought.
In a side-note, I figured out why I get so agitated when I think of talking to John. He makes me feel stupid. I know he doesn't mean to, but it is what it is. He has numerous degrees from universities around the world (I know for sure he studied in Germany for a time). He's written dozens of books, the majority of which go right over my head. Except for the summer when he's on sabbatical, he writes a weekly sermon for a congregation of thousands. What could I possibly have to say to a man of his caliber? Nice sermon? Keep up the good work? Forget about quoting scripture. It's be like the Pharisees quoting to Jesus.
In a side-note, I figured out why I get so agitated when I think of talking to John. He makes me feel stupid. I know he doesn't mean to, but it is what it is. He has numerous degrees from universities around the world (I know for sure he studied in Germany for a time). He's written dozens of books, the majority of which go right over my head. Except for the summer when he's on sabbatical, he writes a weekly sermon for a congregation of thousands. What could I possibly have to say to a man of his caliber? Nice sermon? Keep up the good work? Forget about quoting scripture. It's be like the Pharisees quoting to Jesus.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
busy weekend
Doc Sig is back! Yaaayyy!
He got back on the 9th. I called his office the day before and set up an appointment for a week later. I figured he'd be booked solid for at least that long. Between therapizing, presidenting a school/college program and also pastoring, I think he works too much. He gets migraines.
This Thur, the 12th, is book study; Sat the 14th, is church; Mon the 16th, I have an appointment with Doc Sig; the next Thurs, the 19th, is a farewell for Ed because he's going off on another missions trip (I think I heard Kazakhstan, one of the 'stans' anyway). This is the busiest I've been since I "took a break" from Messengers.
What else, what else, what else? Ummm.....
Can't think of anything else for now. Maybe tomorrow or the next I'll do a political rant. It may be long.
He got back on the 9th. I called his office the day before and set up an appointment for a week later. I figured he'd be booked solid for at least that long. Between therapizing, presidenting a school/college program and also pastoring, I think he works too much. He gets migraines.
This Thur, the 12th, is book study; Sat the 14th, is church; Mon the 16th, I have an appointment with Doc Sig; the next Thurs, the 19th, is a farewell for Ed because he's going off on another missions trip (I think I heard Kazakhstan, one of the 'stans' anyway). This is the busiest I've been since I "took a break" from Messengers.
What else, what else, what else? Ummm.....
Can't think of anything else for now. Maybe tomorrow or the next I'll do a political rant. It may be long.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
finally
The cast party for Messengers was this past Fri, at which time my mom returned my digital camera. So here come the kitties.
This is Rocky, aka Muffin-Head (because there's nothing upstairs but crumbs). He's not the brightest crayon in the box but a sweeter more lovable butter-ball you couldn't find. He's a Ragdoll cat, I've heard quite high-end when it comes to breeds. The funny thing is he was a stray. My grandma found him in some bushes by her credit union. Considering his breed I doubt him being outside was intentional. But my mom immediately fell in love with him and as such was not too quick to put up 'Found Kitty' posters.
This is Max. Despite his surly countenance here, he's very sweet. He adopted my younger brother Matthew and only him because Max is skittish around any family member that isn't Matthew. Max will let Matthew pick him up any which way, head-butt Matthew and lay down on top of him. The rest of us he's a little scared of but tolerates because he gets fed I guess. Max was also a stray, he just wandered up to our house one day and decided he'd found a good thing so he stayed. I don't know if he's a special breed, though I think a plain black and white in a world where patterns are coveted makes Max unique.
This is Dizzy. We gave him this unusual moniker because it fits him perfectly. When his mother was pregnant with him she got sick with something and Dizzy ended up with cerebella ataxia, which means he doesn't have full control of his muscles. Because of this, he walks like he's drunk. He wobbles around the apartment and sometimes falls down if he turns around too fast. It's actually very cute and endearing. But this doesn't mean he's stupid. Dizzy has adapted miraculously and could go up and down the stairs at the house we moved out of. He'd learned to lean against the wall and just take his time so he wouldn't tumble all the way down. The other cats tend to pick on him a bit, but he has the sharpest claws I've ever seen and can hold his own. We got Dizzy at the animal shelter. We originally adopted him because we felt sorry for him. We felt sure no one else would want him because of his condition. Now we know he's not inferior, just different. He's turned out to be my favorite.
This is Buster, a gray tabby who was also a stray. We acquired him from a then-neighbor who found him and couldn't keep him, so we got him. He's my mom's baby (a spoiled brat) who would not sit still for a picture, I had to dig this one out of my dusty digital library from a few years ago. It took us the longest time to come up with a name for him, but after a week we got to know his personality better and found that he'll do whatever he can get away with, then brush off a scolding like "Who? Me?" So we named him Buster, as in "Listen, buster. I've had it up to here with you!" We all agreed it fit.
And now the pièce de résistance, my kitty, Pumpkin.
-cue the trumpets-
Isn't she the cutest? She's a Tortoiseshell. She's a licker (a comfort thing I think) and she loves to play-fight. She's my baby and I love her to death. I've been around cats my whole life, so not having one around makes it feel like something's missing. So the first thing I did when my dad and I moved out was to check out the shelter. Pumpkin was the third or fourth cat I looked at and part of the reason I stopped was because I'd always wanted a Torti. As soon as I picked her up she snuggled into my shoulder and I knew right then that she was coming home with me.
This is Rocky, aka Muffin-Head (because there's nothing upstairs but crumbs). He's not the brightest crayon in the box but a sweeter more lovable butter-ball you couldn't find. He's a Ragdoll cat, I've heard quite high-end when it comes to breeds. The funny thing is he was a stray. My grandma found him in some bushes by her credit union. Considering his breed I doubt him being outside was intentional. But my mom immediately fell in love with him and as such was not too quick to put up 'Found Kitty' posters.
This is Max. Despite his surly countenance here, he's very sweet. He adopted my younger brother Matthew and only him because Max is skittish around any family member that isn't Matthew. Max will let Matthew pick him up any which way, head-butt Matthew and lay down on top of him. The rest of us he's a little scared of but tolerates because he gets fed I guess. Max was also a stray, he just wandered up to our house one day and decided he'd found a good thing so he stayed. I don't know if he's a special breed, though I think a plain black and white in a world where patterns are coveted makes Max unique.
This is Dizzy. We gave him this unusual moniker because it fits him perfectly. When his mother was pregnant with him she got sick with something and Dizzy ended up with cerebella ataxia, which means he doesn't have full control of his muscles. Because of this, he walks like he's drunk. He wobbles around the apartment and sometimes falls down if he turns around too fast. It's actually very cute and endearing. But this doesn't mean he's stupid. Dizzy has adapted miraculously and could go up and down the stairs at the house we moved out of. He'd learned to lean against the wall and just take his time so he wouldn't tumble all the way down. The other cats tend to pick on him a bit, but he has the sharpest claws I've ever seen and can hold his own. We got Dizzy at the animal shelter. We originally adopted him because we felt sorry for him. We felt sure no one else would want him because of his condition. Now we know he's not inferior, just different. He's turned out to be my favorite.
This is Buster, a gray tabby who was also a stray. We acquired him from a then-neighbor who found him and couldn't keep him, so we got him. He's my mom's baby (a spoiled brat) who would not sit still for a picture, I had to dig this one out of my dusty digital library from a few years ago. It took us the longest time to come up with a name for him, but after a week we got to know his personality better and found that he'll do whatever he can get away with, then brush off a scolding like "Who? Me?" So we named him Buster, as in "Listen, buster. I've had it up to here with you!" We all agreed it fit.
And now the pièce de résistance, my kitty, Pumpkin.
-cue the trumpets-
Isn't she the cutest? She's a Tortoiseshell. She's a licker (a comfort thing I think) and she loves to play-fight. She's my baby and I love her to death. I've been around cats my whole life, so not having one around makes it feel like something's missing. So the first thing I did when my dad and I moved out was to check out the shelter. Pumpkin was the third or fourth cat I looked at and part of the reason I stopped was because I'd always wanted a Torti. As soon as I picked her up she snuggled into my shoulder and I knew right then that she was coming home with me.
Friday, April 06, 2007
a shameless plug 2
My dad and I just rented a movie called 'Death of a President.' It's a fictional 2008 TV documentary about the assassination of President George W. Bush on Oct 19, 2007. But that's not the main point of this movie. True the filmmakers did a masterful job of blending reality with fiction, but Dubya getting gunned down is not the sole reason to watch 'Death of a President'. If that's the only motive you would have to rent this you'll be disappointed because it happens fast and you don't see much (but let yourself get swept into the story and it's shocking nonetheless). The point of this movie is to show what can happen (and is happening) when the media and politicos jump to conclusions and personal and political agendas take the place of truth and justice.
Truth be told, it was morbid curiosity that made me get this movie off the shelf. I'm too young to know for myself about the last presidential assassination (I think it was Kennedy) and I figured (hoped) this is as close as I'll get. But I like this movie because it makes plain some of the forces behind the decisions that are made, supposedly, for the good of the country. What's scary though is that anyone who watches the news consistently and keeps an ear to the ground will not be surprised by what this movie talks about. It's all circling the drain. This movie just brings it all into focus and adds a personal/patriotic gut-wrench with the fictional assassination.
Truth be told, it was morbid curiosity that made me get this movie off the shelf. I'm too young to know for myself about the last presidential assassination (I think it was Kennedy) and I figured (hoped) this is as close as I'll get. But I like this movie because it makes plain some of the forces behind the decisions that are made, supposedly, for the good of the country. What's scary though is that anyone who watches the news consistently and keeps an ear to the ground will not be surprised by what this movie talks about. It's all circling the drain. This movie just brings it all into focus and adds a personal/patriotic gut-wrench with the fictional assassination.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
my kind of weather
Weather-wise, today was a typical March-to-April day.
I try and get to church every Sat (except if I know John won't be there of course) and I have to catch two different buses to get within walking distance. While waiting for the first around 2:30 this afternoon it was lightly sprinkling, overcast and chilly with a breeze. By the time I got to the transfer point to catch the second bus it was a not-quite downpour. I seem to be cursed with waiting in the open because all the stops I have to wait at don't have shelters, so I was soaked after five minutes.
Right now you may be asking why I didn't bring an umbrella if it was raining when I left. The thought crossed my mind as I checked my watch for the second time in five minutes. Then I mentally reviewed my list of why I didn't/don't use an umbrella.
1. They're unwieldy in confined spaces, such as a bus door.
2. It's one more thing to carry, and I already had a backpack and jacket to keep track of.
3. It only keeps my head dry and doesn't keep the wind out, the rest of me gets wet and cold anyway.
4. When I get where I'm going it makes a puddle, most likely on the carpet. If I wanted that I'd buy a small hyperactive dog.
Besides, there's something in the depressing aspect of getting totally soaking wet that appeals to me. When people see me trudging stolidly through pouring rain, shivering and looking like a half-drowned rat, I find comfort in that the outside mirrors what I feel on the inside the majority of the time.
I try and get to church every Sat (except if I know John won't be there of course) and I have to catch two different buses to get within walking distance. While waiting for the first around 2:30 this afternoon it was lightly sprinkling, overcast and chilly with a breeze. By the time I got to the transfer point to catch the second bus it was a not-quite downpour. I seem to be cursed with waiting in the open because all the stops I have to wait at don't have shelters, so I was soaked after five minutes.
Right now you may be asking why I didn't bring an umbrella if it was raining when I left. The thought crossed my mind as I checked my watch for the second time in five minutes. Then I mentally reviewed my list of why I didn't/don't use an umbrella.
1. They're unwieldy in confined spaces, such as a bus door.
2. It's one more thing to carry, and I already had a backpack and jacket to keep track of.
3. It only keeps my head dry and doesn't keep the wind out, the rest of me gets wet and cold anyway.
4. When I get where I'm going it makes a puddle, most likely on the carpet. If I wanted that I'd buy a small hyperactive dog.
Besides, there's something in the depressing aspect of getting totally soaking wet that appeals to me. When people see me trudging stolidly through pouring rain, shivering and looking like a half-drowned rat, I find comfort in that the outside mirrors what I feel on the inside the majority of the time.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
eureka
Why is it that so many 'ah-ha!' moments come after 3 in the morning? Is it just the fact that it's dark and there are less distractions present so one's mind is free to stay focused on a problem?
About three weeks ago I cited an online article on anger written by Dr. Ralph Blair, a psychotherapist from New York. In it he states (and this is loosely paraphrased because the article is long and a bit technical) that we can feel angry when someone or something doesn't live up to, or behaves contrary to, our expectations or beliefs. He also says that the feelings accompanying this lack of expectation fulfillment (fear, doubt, disappointment, disillusionment, embarrassment) can make us angry. Let's face it, no one likes feeling bad. In most cases the root of our anger is a type of subconscious frustration at our inability to change a situation outside our control. The instinctual reaction is to point the finger at someone else, 'something they did made me angry.' But the truth is I'm angry because they're not behaving like I think they should or expect them to.
Like with Dave (or even Bill). I'm not angry at him for rejecting me, I'm angry for not being able to make him accept me. If I understand this article correctly, I'm not technically angry at any one person for what they did TO ME, but rather that the situation didn't go the way I wanted. And saying it's they're fault takes the focus off my unrealistic expectations. It's just easier to blame them and feel sorry for myself than make a genuine effort at changing how I see them and what to expect of them.
Like Doc Sig's been saying all along, I need to work on these unrealistic expectations. But they say experience is the best teacher. Even after months of advice I had to figure it out for myself. Such is life.
P.S.
No pics cause I forgot my camera at my mom's. But hopefully some time this week.
About three weeks ago I cited an online article on anger written by Dr. Ralph Blair, a psychotherapist from New York. In it he states (and this is loosely paraphrased because the article is long and a bit technical) that we can feel angry when someone or something doesn't live up to, or behaves contrary to, our expectations or beliefs. He also says that the feelings accompanying this lack of expectation fulfillment (fear, doubt, disappointment, disillusionment, embarrassment) can make us angry. Let's face it, no one likes feeling bad. In most cases the root of our anger is a type of subconscious frustration at our inability to change a situation outside our control. The instinctual reaction is to point the finger at someone else, 'something they did made me angry.' But the truth is I'm angry because they're not behaving like I think they should or expect them to.
Like with Dave (or even Bill). I'm not angry at him for rejecting me, I'm angry for not being able to make him accept me. If I understand this article correctly, I'm not technically angry at any one person for what they did TO ME, but rather that the situation didn't go the way I wanted. And saying it's they're fault takes the focus off my unrealistic expectations. It's just easier to blame them and feel sorry for myself than make a genuine effort at changing how I see them and what to expect of them.
Like Doc Sig's been saying all along, I need to work on these unrealistic expectations. But they say experience is the best teacher. Even after months of advice I had to figure it out for myself. Such is life.
P.S.
No pics cause I forgot my camera at my mom's. But hopefully some time this week.
Monday, March 26, 2007
back home, sound and relatively safe
Even though my mom and brother won't be home until late tonight (I'm thinking 10pm or later) all the pets are taken care of: food, water, clean box for the cats. So I had my dad bring me home early. Where my dad and I live is only a ten minute drive away from my mom's place, but I missed my own cat and my familiar things.
I recently commented to another blogger who is in the process of moving, that feeling at home is more than a place. It's a sense of familiarity and safety. For me it's just familiarity because most times I don't even feel safe inside my own head.
Tomorrow I'll put up some pics of the cats, my mom's and my own Pumpkin.
I recently commented to another blogger who is in the process of moving, that feeling at home is more than a place. It's a sense of familiarity and safety. For me it's just familiarity because most times I don't even feel safe inside my own head.
Tomorrow I'll put up some pics of the cats, my mom's and my own Pumpkin.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
quick update on the possum
The day after that post one of my dad's co-workers used a payloader to transport said possum (after nudging it off the fence and into the scoop), loosing it behind one of the buildings. This co-worker said the possum slowly "ambled off into the weeds." As far as I know no one's seen it since. But from its behavior I don't think it was long for this world. Poor thing.
apartment-sitting
The Messengers left early this morning for Canada, not to be back until late night Mon and I'm apartment-sitting for my Mom. So except for Sat when my dad will pick me up for church, I have five days (counting Thur) all to my lonesome. But the weather's nice and there are some woods nearby so I'll be able to get out and walk so as to avoid going completely bonkers.
I miss the neighborhood out here. It's not quite the suburbs but it's a lot quieter than the middle of the city. Even though the airport is just across the river, by the time the planes get here they're at higher altitudes and therefore less noisy than where my dad and I live.
I miss the neighborhood out here. It's not quite the suburbs but it's a lot quieter than the middle of the city. Even though the airport is just across the river, by the time the planes get here they're at higher altitudes and therefore less noisy than where my dad and I live.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Look what my dad found.
Technically it wasn't him that found it.
After my dad left for work this morning he called home and said, "You'll never guess what's sitting on the fence here." I hesitantly asked 'what?' (sometimes my dad has an odd sense of humor). He said a possum. Being a city kid I said No Way in a tone of total disbelief. He said that according to his boss it had been sitting there since early morning. He said it hadn't moved except to look around and didn't seem bothered by human presence, so they thought it might be sick. My dad also said that they'd had trouble with something getting into the busses (my dad drives for Minneapolis & Suburban) and this was most likely the culprit, probably scavenging for food scraps.
As of this post it's still there, but the boss said that since it hadn't bothered anyone they would leave it alone (not call animal control). I care about animals as much as the next person (perhaps more in some cases) but if this possum is still out there tomorrow then I'll call them myself because it probably is sick.
Monday, March 12, 2007
or....
Forget bipolar, how about borderline personality disorder. It's possible, my sister had/has it. Unfortunately Doc Sig is out of town on business or some such until mid-April. But he gave me his cell number so I may just give him a call.
further proof of loose wiring
1) Bethlehem Baptist Church (my church) does not stop for John Piper, a fact which I was slow in realizing. Though it does suffer a 'summer slump' in monetary offerings while John is on sabbatical, I think the only time there would be the possibility of cancelled services is in the event of his death. If that were the case, however, his memorial or funeral would have to be limited to family only. Otherwise nearly the entire church (all 4+ thousand of them) would try to attend. I think as far as our church goes, John Piper is akin to Billy Graham but on a smaller scale. Given this publicly appointed fame, I thought for a short time that my book group might be postponed. But no.
2) Yesterday my dad and I went to a local mall to see a movie. While there I made a point to stop in at the Yankee Candle Co. store to see if they had a particular scent. The leader of the book group I'm part of said at our last meeting that a friend of hers gave her a small candle of this one scent (about 3 inches in diameter by 4 inches tall), which by now was almost burnt out, and said she hasn't been able to find a replacement anywhere. I recognized the candle's label immediately but didn't say anything because she said she doesn't usually like to spend money on extraneous things. So long story short, instead of just looking I am now in possession of a much larger candle of the same scent which I intend to give her as soon as I figure out how. It's harder than you may think because I don't know her. I've been to her house only twice, both times for group, otherwise our paths would never have crossed. And did I mention I have a crush on her husband? Though not a crush per se. Very much, though in some ways dissimilar to what I feel for Dave.
I keep coming back to this problem. A curse on my father for his indifference (this could extend back for generations considering my great-grandparents were extremely Swedish).
3) After Dave's (probably definitely misconstrued) attempt at communication, my imagination went to work thinking he'd call and ask if I wanted to have dinner with the family. This fantasy was soon dismissed though, I've (almost) learned my lesson.
2) Yesterday my dad and I went to a local mall to see a movie. While there I made a point to stop in at the Yankee Candle Co. store to see if they had a particular scent. The leader of the book group I'm part of said at our last meeting that a friend of hers gave her a small candle of this one scent (about 3 inches in diameter by 4 inches tall), which by now was almost burnt out, and said she hasn't been able to find a replacement anywhere. I recognized the candle's label immediately but didn't say anything because she said she doesn't usually like to spend money on extraneous things. So long story short, instead of just looking I am now in possession of a much larger candle of the same scent which I intend to give her as soon as I figure out how. It's harder than you may think because I don't know her. I've been to her house only twice, both times for group, otherwise our paths would never have crossed. And did I mention I have a crush on her husband? Though not a crush per se. Very much, though in some ways dissimilar to what I feel for Dave.
I keep coming back to this problem. A curse on my father for his indifference (this could extend back for generations considering my great-grandparents were extremely Swedish).
3) After Dave's (probably definitely misconstrued) attempt at communication, my imagination went to work thinking he'd call and ask if I wanted to have dinner with the family. This fantasy was soon dismissed though, I've (almost) learned my lesson.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
catch-up and confusion
I'm ok. I am mad at Dave, but right now self-doubt is putting a halt to any and all action I might take. So he's ok too.
I was cruising Google the other day and came across an article on anger written by Dr. Ralph Blair, a Christian therapist in New York.
http://www.ecwr.org/resources/ralph/speeches/anger.html
The introduction is focused on examples of anger in political and religious arenas, then it goes on to Paul's Ephesian letter in the Bible. The third section is where it starts to get good, where Blair talks about what anger is. It's long but it's worth reading. This article helped me step back and think, it was very informative and rang true in a lot of places. Just like that I was no longer charging headlong into destruction. I know that probably sounds a little Shakespearian, but that's the closest I can get to describing it succinctly.
I'm starting to wonder if there's some bipolar in me because I do this a lot. I come to the brink of anger and hostility, then someone or something makes a very persuading point or argument and I'm alright for awhile, gregarious even. Go figure.
Tonight was the second meeting of the women's book study group I'm in. Nothing of note to report other than the usual anxieties of being social with people I don't know. After group I again got a ride to church to get a ride home from my mom after Messengers' rehearsal was over. When I first got there I peeked in the room quick-like to let my mom know I was there (and I secretly dared Lotis to say something) but spent the rest of the time in the hallway reading.
Lotis didn't say anything, but after rehearsal was over Dave and his kids walked out and past me. I'd already passed him twice on the way in but kept my head down and my mouth shut in respect for the space I agreed to make. However, as Dave walked past on his way out he said hi. I said hello back figuring he just didn't want to appear rude. He then continues by asking how I've been, I say "fine, fine". Then he tells me he saw my dad drop by earlier. By now I'm confused and wondering to myself, "So are we talking now?"
The reason for my confusion is that Lotis was adamant about creating space, a kind of cool down so I could get myself 'straightened out'. So why was Dave attempting to engage me in polite conversation? Was it simply that I was there and he didn't want to be rude? Or have I been doing a better job than I thought at seeming to be over him? Because I'm not.
I can admit it now, I am obsessed with Dave. Not a dangerous, stalking kind of obsession, but what I have for him is unrealistic expectations coupled with a twisted mix of fatherly affection and physical attraction. It would probably be less so at church or Messengers' rehearsal because those places are neutral (in a way). But even there.....
So here I am again, torn between two wants. Do I let whatever this is play out or do I do the right thing? But what is the right thing? I don't even know what his current perception of me is. Is he testing the waters because he thinks I'm doing better? If that's so, how do I tell him to stay away when I said I would keep my own distance?
I'm over-thinking things again.
Also, John's dad died at 12 AM on Tue the 6th. You can go here to read John's account.
"Hello, My Father Just Died" - a 'Taste & See' article from desiringgod.org
I was cruising Google the other day and came across an article on anger written by Dr. Ralph Blair, a Christian therapist in New York.
http://www.ecwr.org/resources/ralph/speeches/anger.html
The introduction is focused on examples of anger in political and religious arenas, then it goes on to Paul's Ephesian letter in the Bible. The third section is where it starts to get good, where Blair talks about what anger is. It's long but it's worth reading. This article helped me step back and think, it was very informative and rang true in a lot of places. Just like that I was no longer charging headlong into destruction. I know that probably sounds a little Shakespearian, but that's the closest I can get to describing it succinctly.
I'm starting to wonder if there's some bipolar in me because I do this a lot. I come to the brink of anger and hostility, then someone or something makes a very persuading point or argument and I'm alright for awhile, gregarious even. Go figure.
Tonight was the second meeting of the women's book study group I'm in. Nothing of note to report other than the usual anxieties of being social with people I don't know. After group I again got a ride to church to get a ride home from my mom after Messengers' rehearsal was over. When I first got there I peeked in the room quick-like to let my mom know I was there (and I secretly dared Lotis to say something) but spent the rest of the time in the hallway reading.
Lotis didn't say anything, but after rehearsal was over Dave and his kids walked out and past me. I'd already passed him twice on the way in but kept my head down and my mouth shut in respect for the space I agreed to make. However, as Dave walked past on his way out he said hi. I said hello back figuring he just didn't want to appear rude. He then continues by asking how I've been, I say "fine, fine". Then he tells me he saw my dad drop by earlier. By now I'm confused and wondering to myself, "So are we talking now?"
The reason for my confusion is that Lotis was adamant about creating space, a kind of cool down so I could get myself 'straightened out'. So why was Dave attempting to engage me in polite conversation? Was it simply that I was there and he didn't want to be rude? Or have I been doing a better job than I thought at seeming to be over him? Because I'm not.
I can admit it now, I am obsessed with Dave. Not a dangerous, stalking kind of obsession, but what I have for him is unrealistic expectations coupled with a twisted mix of fatherly affection and physical attraction. It would probably be less so at church or Messengers' rehearsal because those places are neutral (in a way). But even there.....
So here I am again, torn between two wants. Do I let whatever this is play out or do I do the right thing? But what is the right thing? I don't even know what his current perception of me is. Is he testing the waters because he thinks I'm doing better? If that's so, how do I tell him to stay away when I said I would keep my own distance?
I'm over-thinking things again.
Also, John's dad died at 12 AM on Tue the 6th. You can go here to read John's account.
"Hello, My Father Just Died" - a 'Taste & See' article from desiringgod.org
Monday, March 05, 2007
what the hell?
This was either a one-time thing or I'm more of a spur-of-the-moment harmer than a planned out one. Maybe it really is all in my head and I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I scratched on my hand last Thur, so healing is well on its way. After my unplanned disclosure in today's earlier post I was feeling decidedly on edge. I thought, "If this whole self-injury thing I'm doing to myself is for real, let's just see." I tried to peal the scabs off my hand but only got four of seven, because it hurt dammit!
So I guess physical pain is not my way to cope. Too bad for them.
So I guess physical pain is not my way to cope. Too bad for them.
I could've been watching CSI
I kept the scratches on my hand hidden during church precisely because they were not inflicted in the mindset of attention-seeking. But wasn't I also saying in my previous post about not being ashamed about it, that if they couldn't understand it would be their problem? I guess I was just afraid of not being believed if/when they asked and I told them that it was simple (naive) curiosity.
However....said infliction happened four days ago. Since then (after further analytical consideration) I've come to the conclusion that
better me than John or Dave or Bill or Doc Sig, or anyone else.
What the hell, call a spade a spade for fuck's sake. I'm mad at Dave (as well as others) and it was him I was thinking of when I was scratching. I was thinking of how I want him to hurt because he hurt me. I trusted him, he was supposed to understand. Instead of taking out my anger on him (like I've wanted to for weeks) I took it out on me. Hell I'm just as much to blame and for a multitude of reasons.
So there's the truth of it. I wasn't planning this revelation, but there it is.
In other news of church, another guy from my short-list was at prayer group. He used to be the youth leader when I was in the church's Jr/Sr High group. Had a huge crush on him (this was pre-surrogate dad) and we were and still are friends. John is currently in South Carolina with his 80-something year old father who is on his way out, probably very soon. John left this past Fri and didn't preach on Sat, another pastor had to fill in. So I went out in the snow and mush for nothing.
However....said infliction happened four days ago. Since then (after further analytical consideration) I've come to the conclusion that
better me than John or Dave or Bill or Doc Sig, or anyone else.
What the hell, call a spade a spade for fuck's sake. I'm mad at Dave (as well as others) and it was him I was thinking of when I was scratching. I was thinking of how I want him to hurt because he hurt me. I trusted him, he was supposed to understand. Instead of taking out my anger on him (like I've wanted to for weeks) I took it out on me. Hell I'm just as much to blame and for a multitude of reasons.
So there's the truth of it. I wasn't planning this revelation, but there it is.
In other news of church, another guy from my short-list was at prayer group. He used to be the youth leader when I was in the church's Jr/Sr High group. Had a huge crush on him (this was pre-surrogate dad) and we were and still are friends. John is currently in South Carolina with his 80-something year old father who is on his way out, probably very soon. John left this past Fri and didn't preach on Sat, another pastor had to fill in. So I went out in the snow and mush for nothing.
Friday, March 02, 2007
hear me, I beg
A fellow blogger, Tom Atkins from 'The Creativity Blog', once asked that people reading his poetry not assume his emotions are accurately reflected in any given poem, or series of them for that matter. He said that some were written in the heat of the moment, but that others were composed over longer periods and encompass a wide range of feelings. It is on this premise that I based the tagline of my own blog, "start from the beginning" because no one post shows all of what I try to communicate. At times I have posted twice in one day or for three days straight in an attempt to find the words that fit. Many times I have purposely not written about something in particular for fear of being misunderstood or taken out of context, as what happened with Dave. I've already put a lot of me into this blog and would be severely dismayed to find myself flagged by an errant reader and subsequently suspended from Blogger for no reason I could see.
On that note, I give you the following.
Much of my life is a dichotomy, a collection of opposites. I examine many things from an intellectual standpoint but then base my decisions solely on the perceived emotional fallout (I am currently trying to change this). When I was younger (in grade-school) I felt older than my years, now that I am older I feel stunted in my psychological/emotional/intellectual growth. I plan out scenarios in my head for how a given situation should play out, then keep silent and distant from any interaction. I make it a point to examine an idea six ways to Sunday from an intellectual point of view, then commit some immature or spontaneous act of randomness that could be misconstrued at least a dozen ways. This last especially. Sometimes I over-intellectualize a decision (like being honest with Dave) and by the end of my own argument I can't see the forest for the trees and end up leaping before I look.
Self-injury is not something I do, but last night (spur of the moment) I scraped 7 gashes into the back of my left hand with the end of a paperclip. I did this partly because I just wanted to see what all the hubbub was/is about (my sister used to do this kind of thing to get all kinds of attention). But attention-getting in the normal sense was the furthest thing from my mind at the moment of action. In fact it was only afterwards that I thought, "Oh right, I'll have to hide this come Sat." It was after the fact that I started thinking of what I would tell people who asked, and I know they will ask. I don't see the big deal, but so far the only one that's seen it is my dad (and his reaction was a little disturbed/disturbing). I'm thinking now that I'll get more attention than I ever wanted. But that's what I mean about jumping into it with both feet and not considering with common sense what I'm doing.
Doc Sig says I am afraid to be spontaneous because I've been burned in the past, but it seems every time I am spontaneous (i.e. trying to find something that's genuinely me) something like the above pic happens. I don't know how to channel my tentative attempts of individuality into a socially acceptable area. Part of me says I shouldn't have to as long as I'm not doing something that endangers anyone. All I can do is explain as best I can that I am in no danger of going off the deep end, it's no big deal. If by then they don't understand, that's their problem not mine. I can hear some saying that if I keep up this behavior no one will want to be around me, it will bother them even if it doesn't bother me.
On that note, I give you the following.
Much of my life is a dichotomy, a collection of opposites. I examine many things from an intellectual standpoint but then base my decisions solely on the perceived emotional fallout (I am currently trying to change this). When I was younger (in grade-school) I felt older than my years, now that I am older I feel stunted in my psychological/emotional/intellectual growth. I plan out scenarios in my head for how a given situation should play out, then keep silent and distant from any interaction. I make it a point to examine an idea six ways to Sunday from an intellectual point of view, then commit some immature or spontaneous act of randomness that could be misconstrued at least a dozen ways. This last especially. Sometimes I over-intellectualize a decision (like being honest with Dave) and by the end of my own argument I can't see the forest for the trees and end up leaping before I look.
Self-injury is not something I do, but last night (spur of the moment) I scraped 7 gashes into the back of my left hand with the end of a paperclip. I did this partly because I just wanted to see what all the hubbub was/is about (my sister used to do this kind of thing to get all kinds of attention). But attention-getting in the normal sense was the furthest thing from my mind at the moment of action. In fact it was only afterwards that I thought, "Oh right, I'll have to hide this come Sat." It was after the fact that I started thinking of what I would tell people who asked, and I know they will ask. I don't see the big deal, but so far the only one that's seen it is my dad (and his reaction was a little disturbed/disturbing). I'm thinking now that I'll get more attention than I ever wanted. But that's what I mean about jumping into it with both feet and not considering with common sense what I'm doing.
Doc Sig says I am afraid to be spontaneous because I've been burned in the past, but it seems every time I am spontaneous (i.e. trying to find something that's genuinely me) something like the above pic happens. I don't know how to channel my tentative attempts of individuality into a socially acceptable area. Part of me says I shouldn't have to as long as I'm not doing something that endangers anyone. All I can do is explain as best I can that I am in no danger of going off the deep end, it's no big deal. If by then they don't understand, that's their problem not mine. I can hear some saying that if I keep up this behavior no one will want to be around me, it will bother them even if it doesn't bother me.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
snow or arctic temps, not both
More snow fell today and now it's three feet deep in places. The roads are actually fairly clear because the temp is around 35º, but the parking lots are buried and the plows are running out of space to put the snow piles. The Rainbow near my apartment is perimetered with several 10-foot high piles. I wouldn't be at all surprised if a car or two has been entombed somewhere in all that.
Like I've said, I love the snow. I just don't like having to slog through the melty mush that gets ankle deep (not to mention puddles at every corner).
Like I've said, I love the snow. I just don't like having to slog through the melty mush that gets ankle deep (not to mention puddles at every corner).
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