If I wasn't feverish, I'd still be blushing...

I'm in the midst of writing a Freudian analysis of The Merchant of Venice. Oh wow. Some of the conclusions I've drawn are...well, they're not Victorian, that's fo' sho'. I wonder if my paper will need to be censored in workshopping it later today...? Ah, this has the potential for multiple awkward turtles. Beurk.

However, as possibly awkward as this can be, maybe the prof will give me brownie points for just going for it. I mean, if you're going to do a Freudian analysis of anything, it's going to be graphic and pretty crude by typical societal standards. Discussing his theories in lit crit turned the class into a bunch of giggly junior highers. ("He said 'penis!'")

*eye roll*

Well, I'm bracing myself for the inevitable backlash from the students, but I'm halfway wondering if this is "too" far for the teacher...? I have my doubts.

*gags*

I've heard of creative cooking, but this has gone too far.

sick

I used to never get sick. Or, when I did, it would be really bad, then it'd be over quickly, and life would progress. That, however, occurred while I lived in Africa. Now that I've moved "back" to the US, it seems like every sniffle and snark that floats through the air is automatically attracted to my body and attacks my immune system which is unaccustomed to "temperate" disease.

Our first furlough, when I was in first grade, I had chronic bronchitis. (I also had the flu once or twice...) At that time, my pediatrician told my mom that if I got bronchitis "one more time" that they would check me for allergies. Well, "one more time" didn't happen then, and I don't believe that I've had bronchitis since, but I know I'm allergic to something. Maybe it's North America.

And maybe, just maybe, this is why people moved to the Mediterranean when they suffered from consumption back in the day. Doctors recommended people move to warm, dry locations when patients were sick. I think this is why I'm suffering. I'm used to the tropics and I now live in Seattle. What a difference geography can make!

So now I'm in the midst of consuming Theraflu. I've used it before--in various forms. It's a good product, but I still don't think it tastes good. Plus, since I'm supposed to drink it hot, it burns. At least that pain might distract me from the overall achey feeling I have right now. I woke up this morning feeling like someone had beaten me up.

Furthermore, I slept very fitfully last night--and probably feverishly too. I kept waking up--wide awake--and wondering what time it was or if it was morning yet, and then falling back asleep. I felt overheated, then frozen, then overheated again. My body doesn't quite know what to do with whatever bug I've managed to contract. "Freeze it! No, burn it...no, wait. That's not quite working either. Dangit!"

*sigh*

So I am drugged up and feeling functional, but I have to write a paper tonight for a challenging prof tomorrow, and...I'm basically screwed. I have barely given it any thought and, although I am awake and alert, my brain is not necessarily functioning. Ah, tricksy, isn't it? I feel like I can work, but not really. Sleepy I am not, but my bed looks oh so tempting.

flowers

Last night was the final performance of "Nina Variations." I'm so proud of our cast's incredible performance! They were AMAZING. On fire. Wow. There couldn't have been a better final show from them. They've been such a gift.

Surprisingly, I ended up with flowers after all of this--and quite a lot of flowers at that. Opening night, Lisa--the head of the drama department--gave me a rose. And then last night...holy cow. One of my good friends gave me three long-stemmed white roses. The cast presented me with a potted plant of miniature white roses. Tyler gave me a bouquet of pink carnations. :) Tyler's parents sent me a bouquet of roses. And some close missionary friends also sent me a bouquet of flowers--not sure what all is in it, but there are lilies.

I love lilies...but unfortunately, I think I might be allergic to them! I have allergic reactions to certain perfumes--they make my throat raw and make me cough. This morning, I woke up with that type of sensation--my room smells like flowers A LOT--and I thought it was just delayed stress-induced cold type illness. (...bad sentence...) But now I'm thinking that it might be the lilies. Not sure though...

Anyhow, I was stunned and flattered that I ended up with this many flowers. I really didn't do all that much for the show. I ran errands here and there, gave input here and there, but overall not a lot. But that said, it now looks like there's been a funeral in my room.

heh

Let it be noted: it is never a good idea to confront the president of one's university on the grounds of lying in chapel. Especially if he really didn't. *blush* I am still mortified that I did, but I will not go into those details here.

I had an epiphany last night/today about life. I came to the conclusion that when bad things happen in life, I only like sharing some of them. What I have done to myself, I'm okay with telling that stuff to people. But stuff that people have done to me, stuff that I don't have control over, that's what I don't like telling people.

That's bizarre.

Sabine

I'm doing something different. I've recently started a story about a young woman named Sabine. (Yes, the name has important meaning.) I used to write all the time, and most recently, that written habit has come solely in the form of blogging or other types of journaling. So much has happened and so much has come to the surface that I haven't had the strength to write creatively.

Poor attempts at poetry have still come through during intense emotional periods. However, I used to write short stories--and long--all the time. I've never really completed any of these stories, but I've loved writing them. They've also been a way that I've channelled my energies and emotions into a "safe" method of display. I think this is probably why I haven't often showed my writing to other people. One, I'm afraid of criticism, and two, they are very personal to me. (I often write for my own enjoyment and not for the pleasure of a general audience.)

This brings me to why I'm writing this current story. About a week ago now, someone sent me a message on myspace, encouraging me at a time that I was feeling particularly low. (One of the many last week...) Referencing the hard time I was going through and the hard times that she's gone through herself, her main point was that of women being beautiful warrior princesses in God's eyes. We are cherished. We are strong. We have purpose and a quest to complete. Ladies, doesn't that make you want to rise up and do amazing things for the Lord? It does me!

So I've rediscovered a coping method, and hopefully it becomes something that will be useful in this healing process. Sabine is me. Yep, I'm writing myself a story about a beautiful warrior princess. And I'm the heroine. Yep, that means I'm even more egotistical than you thought I was! :) Since this story is specifically for me and for my own purposes, and since it is so private, I can put in everything that I like and not care about it "not making sense." I can create as many realistic struggles as I like, or I can make it entirely fantastical. It's a good feeling.

In the meantime, I have a take-home exam to finish, and yes, this is with a one-week extension on the due date. Ouch.

Oh the happenings

The past 36 hours or so have been so full of everything! Oh my. Where do I begin? (...to tell the story of how great a love can be...)

Well. Last night was opening night for "Nina" and it went well for an opening night. There were definitely hiccups--technically and acting-wise--but it went smoothly-ish. Our audience was great. Very receptive, actually "got" the play--which we were all a little worried about... But opening night is over, we have a bunch more shows--four altogether--and we've got room for improvement, but a steady foundation to start from. Whew.

This morning met with my potential counselor...and I'll be going back to her. All the suspicions that God had led me to right person were supported in the appointment. Tyler went with me and actually sat through the session with me, which I don't think either of us were planning on, but it was good. I wasn't tempted to fludge on details--because he knows everything--and the counselor was very straightforward. It was only the first session, but she delved right in. Which is good.

Hopefully my insurance comes through. If not, I'm only doing one session a month--which is affordable. :)

I went to lit crit today and thoroughly enjoyed it. That class is becoming one of my favorites this semester. Didn't go to my other class because, well, I'm withdrawing. I'm so happy about that. I need the time off, the class is stressing me out, and if I take it next year, I can have the good prof who usually teaches it. :) So it's all-around a good thing.

Anyhow, folks are getting ready here in the green room, and I probably need to look occupied with something other than blogging. So I'm gonna jet.

Final word: God is good, I have a lot to think about--but it will be productive thinking, and well, God is good. :)

Why?!

That stupid bloody anxiety attack feeling returned just a little while ago. I really shouldn't be up writing about it since I need sleep more than this opportunity to blog about it, but it's so...I can't explain how much it bothers me. I think it's gone, and then WHAM! it's back with a vengeance. I don't understand it at all.

I feel like (and please, no eye rolling) J Lo's character in The Wedding Planner, after she and Matthew McHotty, er McConaughey, run into her ex-fiance at the flower market. When the whole story blurts out about how at the wedding, he was found in her car with one of his ex-girlfriends, making out, etc.

Later, in her drunken state, she talks it over with Matthew McHotty--it's so much easier to spell than his real last name--and she says that what tipped her off was how Wendy--the ex-girlfriend/slut/current ex-fiance's pregnant wife--threw her--J Lo's--bridal shower. She'd taken the time to freeze raspberries and mint leaves in the ice cubes. "She was trying too hard. That's what tipped me off."

For some reason, I feel like this right now, and I DON'T HAVE ANY REASON WHY. What the hey?! Stupid emotions. I'm going to bed.

confused

There's a part of me that craves male attention. The other part of me despises it. I'm not sure how this dichotomy sprung up. Until high school, I was unharmed by guys. At the same time, the idea of marriage never interested me until I was college-aged. But a lot has happened during and since high school that has successfully warped my perspectives on life and love.

Love. What is it anyway?

Sunday morning, when my life went haywire again, there were specific things that set me off. See, the previous day had been great. I'd met with a lady from church for early morning coffee, and I can say that we were both encouraged by the appointment. Tyler sought me out during the day--even though he was busy--and we had some time together to talk one on one, go for a walk through the park. We had a tech rehearsal that our artistic director--the head of the drama department--attended and gave excellent notes and some surprising compliments. It was a good day.

Then Sunday morning, I woke up, went to the shower, and promptly went crazy. It's not that I woke up in a bad mood--I woke up happy, actually, and excited to go to church, albeit tired from the previous evening's late night. But something happened when I was showering. Negative thoughts about the past--and not my past, for once--infiltrated my mind and I couldn't help but feel angry, mistreated, degraded, and worthless--which doesn't make sense since I wasn't involved in that past. (But it does affect me now.) The past is such a confusing thing. I don't see how I can forgive it.

So those thoughts began swimming around in my head, and then I felt futile when looking towards my future. At this point, it's very bleak. I don't see myself getting better. And if that doesn't change, I will be unable to do what God called me to do. (I mentioned this in the last blog.) So those thoughts began to swim around in my head as well. I went to my car and headed somewhere else.

Once there, I began journaling these thoughts, but didn't get far. Writing wasn't an effective means of getting it out anymore. So I cut myself. I watched a ladybug crawl across the windshield and wondered at the hidden underside that's just as ugly as a cockroach's. I wondered if people are like that: a beautiful veneer in what's seen, but ugly in their hidden places. I felt (feel) that way about myself.

worn out

I feel like I begin every blog with the words: "I'm tired" or a variation thereof. (See? That was a variation in itself!) So "instead" of beginning in such a familiar fashion, I shall instead point to the fact that the "Nina Variations" is taking over my life.

Don't get me wrong, I love this show. It's brilliant, beautiful, poignant, has these wonderful moments, and has so much to say about life and relationships and communication. I love it. I also feel like I am part of the play. I feel like I am the characters, especially with EVERYTHING that's been going on. My emotions are played back to me on stage, and it's weird, but I feel like I am learning about myself. That's what theatre is all about.

It is currently 1am. We had a dress rehearsal tonight involving two runs of the show. Our call time was 6pm...and we ended around 12:30am. That's a long time to be anywhere. Our cast was a bunch of troopers. I'm proud of them. They've been very dedicated and have put in a lot of work. I know that is going to show in their performances this week. (So exciting!)

On another note: I keep being presented with sharp objects outside of my dorm room. At work, I was given the task of cutting something up. Sharp scissors. At the play, again, I was sent in search of scissors so that someone could cut duct tape to fit her heels in order to silence them on stage. (Stilettos, by the way, are LOUD on a hollow, wooden stage floor.)

And now that I'm back in my room, I happened to casually glance across my desk and notice that there is a thumb tack right there next to my computer. I thought that I'd gotten rid of all of them. They went in two batches: one Thursday night, the other this morning. I found one group of them Sunday morning when, unbeknownst to pretty much everyone, I was broadsided by spontaneous depression. Ergo, the necessity to get rid of them.

I know, most people don't use thumb tacks to cut themselves. I'm sure other people use knives and scissors and razor blades. Thankfully, I don't have the nerve to attempt severe cutting. I don't want to kill myself; I just want the physical pain to dull the emotional pain for awhile. And it's sort of worked. But not really, which, again, is good, because I don't want this to become any more of a habit than anyone else does.

Altogether, I've accumulated six (and a half) "cuts" on various parts of my body. They are healing, even though two were added Sunday morning. (Yeah...I skipped church and cut myself instead.) I have three on one arm, one on the other, two on my stomach, and a very small one on my right leg. I don't know why I'm going into this kind of detail. Honestly, this is probably freaking every reader out right now. (I know my audience is small already...I think it's probably shrinking by the second.)

I've come to the conclusion that it's a darn good thing I'm meeting up with a counselor on Thursday morning. I don't know how much longer I would have gone before things got REALLY bad.

PS. I'm running out of long-sleeved shirts to wear.

disappointment

Last night I wrote two emails, very much the same type, to two different leaders on campus. One leads a prison ministry and the other will be leading a missions trip to Seattle in the spring. Initially, I contacted the one because I really wanted to be a part of that ministry and I had been contacted by the other to be a part of the leadership team for the missions trip. I was so excited about both of these. Finally, a chance to live out my call!

But this is not to be.

I contacted them both because, well, because I feel like a fraud thinking that I can offer of myself to help others who are struggling. I can't help others when I am so screwed up myself. And so I back out and am inconsistant. This is the third time within half a year that I've had to pull out from ministry. If I didn't know that God called me that direction, I'd start taking it as a "sign" that I should refocus my efforts.

In the meantime, I hurt. After I sent those emails last night, I broke down and wept. It hurts so much to be prevented from helping others because I need to help myself first. It seems so contrary for me to think about myself first, but just about everyone's been trying to beat that idea in to me, so it's probably about time that I listened.

I think this is truly the last straw in this whole haystack of woes. I feel motivated to seek out help. So Thursday morning I have an appointment. People know about it, so I have prayer. And that's a good thing.

emo dreamer

I pulled an all-nighter Thursday night due to homework so I went to bed around 8:30pm yesterday. I could have potentially stayed up longer and participated in the tie-dye fun in my lounge, but I have a coffee date this morning at 9am. I need to get ready for that, but I'm blogging briefly in hopes that I wake up soon.

Anyhow, I woke up this morning, grumbling at my phone's alarm clock, and realized that in the middle of a texting conversation, I'd fallen asleep last night. The difference between the last text that I replied to and the two that followed it was five minutes. So I fell asleep quickly. Furthermore, I has holding my phone in my hand, up near my pillow. My phone not only vibrates but also beeps when I receive text messages--when the phone is not silenced. So I must have fallen asleep hard. Oi.

So rolling out of bed and hoping my sleepy muscles held me on the descent from Mt. Bedverest, I evaded the piles on the floor--my current roommate and I are matched in our nonchalant attitudes towards messiness--and went to turn on the light. In my room, the light switch is beside the door, which contains a full length mirror. Upon turning on the light, I was apalled by the sight before me. My hair was poofy--I don't know HOW that happened--and my unwashed eye-makeup was smeared. I looked like Jack Sparrow with a hangover. (But in my pjs, I looked cute...)

But anyway. (Look! It's a complete sentence fragment!) Last night at practice, one of the actors playfully accused the other actor of being "so emo," citing various behaviors that exemplified that quality. Of course, in the ensuing discussion of emo-ness, the idea of cutting came up--it always does. (Like the phrase: "I wish my lawn was emo so that it would cut itself.") Another thing that came up was listing different musicians who are emo. One of my favorites was mentioned, but I'd always considered them punk, not emo.

The bizarre twist in all this is that for the longest time "emo" did not exist. Then when it did, I didn't have the faintest clue what the heck it was. Only recently have I figured it out, and now I feel like I am "emo." Whatever that's supposed to mean. Especially in light of this past week, it's odd to be suddenly associated--even though most people don't know the association--with a group of people that...well, that I didn't even think I was part of.

Well, now I'm going to go take an emo shower wherein the fluctuating water temperatures will represent the inconsistency of life. *angsty sigh*

*eye roll*

step in the right direction

Today was a hard day. I was tired, very tired. I felt thoroughly worn out, and I didn't realize until late in the afternoon that part of the exhaustion was stemming from a headache. Fortunately, some level of intelligence kicked in and I ended up taking some meds for teh hurting with my dinner. By the way, Wendy's is a nice pick-me-up over caf food when one feels low. :)

Anyhow, today is actually turning out to be a good-ish day. At least, good things are coming from it. Let me continue with this strain because looking at it, it doesn't seem like today should have been a good day at all.

I went to chapel this morning, feeling tired and having a headache, and as a result, I didn't pay much attention. One of my friends in chapel--not one of my closest friends, but definitely a wonderful woman--spontaneously greeted me and told me I was beautiful. I was loathe to agree to that as...well, in my state of mind this morning, I didn't think that someone who was semi-suicidal/semi-self-destructive could be beautiful. (I guess this is geared more towards the "true" me that's hiding under all this insanity.)

Partway through chapel I wanted to leave. Here was my thought process: "If I totally ditched chapel, I would fail. So I'm not going to totally ditch chapel. I can leave my stuff in the row, even my shoes. I can go downstairs to the classrooms and either look for something sharp or borrow a pair of scissors from one of the profs down there, claiming needing something to cut. Then I can cut myself, return the scissors, go back to chapel for the last bit, and leave." That was what I was thinking. Thank you, God, for keeping me in my chair!

After chapel, I went to class where someone asked me how I was doing. It was like she knew...but I don't think she did. I wasn't giving off some "I want to hurt myself" vibe that I could tell, so I brushed it off, claiming fatigue--which was partially true.

I rested through one of my afternoon classes, then went to choir, feeling exhausted still, like I had mono or something. I haven't felt that drained in such a long time. (I think I could attribute that feeling to both physical and supernatural causes.) After choir, I went back to my room to try to get some more rest. (I'd emailed work earlier in the day to say I might not be going in.)

I originally went to bed to try to nap, but I couldn't sleep, and I was getting the strange urge to cut again. This is something that still boggles my mind. I never used to understand what drove a person to self-mutilation. And yet, all of a sudden, it was an acceptable practice and an effective coping mechanism. How quickly do I become addicted to what is harmful...

So I sat at my desk and picked up my scissors again. I started scratching at my arm, a different spot this time. (I currently have parallel scratches on my arm.) In the middle of this, I stopped and it sort of hit me as to what I was doing. "I have a sharp object and I am cutting my own flesh. Something does not add up here." I was, again, horrified by what I was doing. Horrified and scared. So I texted Tyler--who was still in class--asking if I could meet him afterwards. Then I changed my mind and texted him back saying not to. (I was going to give him my scissors.) He, of course, would not accept "never mind" and said he would meet me.

Really, I was surprised that he'd texted me back because I didn't think he'd get my text. I was half challenging God during this "cutting" time today. Thinking, "If You really want me to stop, if You really care about me, You'll send someone to talk to me or ask how I'm doing, etc." Basically, I learned today that by challenging God, I'm really being an idiot. I bet He laughs sometimes at how foolish we are. :) I would!

All this explanation to say: I gave Tyler my sharp objects this afternoon--my scissors, my leatherman, a kitchen knife. We talked for a while, which was something I needed, personal conversation with personal connection. A common thread: I can do a lot more harm when I isolate myself from others. (Also, when I help other people...attention is drawn from my problems, and that is also a good thing.)

Anyhow, so when I got back to my room tonight after practice, I was talking with friends online, singing along to Wicked, writing this blog, and I got a knock on my door. Random, but I figured it would actually be for my absent roommate. Surprise, it was my friend who talked to me in chapel this morning. She said that she felt compelled to come talk to me, to tell me that she loved me. I was kind of blown away. She went on to say that I'm an encouragement to her and have been in the past, and how I don't know how I am a blessing to her and others on campus, how I bring peace to people just by being around. Again: stunned!

And throughout the day, I've had several other people encouraging me, leaving me notes and text messages. It's been a big blessing.

God, You are awesome. I can only attribute all of this to You.

self-sabotage

I don't fully understand myself, but I think I'm hitting on something with that subject line. I don't believe anyone starts out the day thinking, "How can I effectively destroy my life?" I think it is a product of negative thoughts and circumstances that are not properly dealt with. Furthermore, it seems that it is a poor coping method. It is easier to get through circumstances if one sees oneself as the victim. "I'm not to blame, everyone ELSE has done this to me."

And so I sabotage my own life. I feel like I've blogged about this before, but if so, the idea obviously didn't stick in my head and I need to hash it out again.

I don't believe good things will ever happen for me, so I keep them from happening. When people get close, I try to keep them from getting too close because what if they did? Would my life be miraculously better? Maybe not miraculously, but it couldn't hurt too much. At the same time, it's only when people are close that they can hurt me. I don't like the past to repeat itself anymore than the next person...and I'm terrified that it will.

And when good things happen, it seems that they are immediately followed by bad things. But my question for myself is this: how much am I responsible for these effects? What portion of my problems do I create for myself? And why do I prefer to dwell in my problems than to face the solutions and stride forward?

So many questions. So few answers.

poetry and horror

In women writers today, we were discussing the poet Amy Lowell--brilliant artist! As she made mention to Emily Dickinson in one of her poems, and as there was some confusion as to her reference, we looked back at some of Dickinson's poetry that is in this anthology we are using.

The lines that started the confusion were in a poem called "The Sisters." "But Emily would set doors ajar and slam them/And love you for your speed of observation." So the question was raised as to what the heck Lowell was referring. If you are familiar with Dickinson's poetry, you will know that her poems are frequently short and also hyphenated with dashes, so that they just keep rushing forward. (That's what Lowell was talking about.)

So as we were glancing over the selections of Dickinson's poetry, I came across poem 280 and was struck by it. So I strike you, my readers, in turn:

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading--treading--till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through--

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum--
Kept beating--beating--till I thought
My Mind was going numb--

And then I heard them life a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space--began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here--

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down--
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing--then--

And it ends. I'm not sure if it's meant to be incomplete, but I like that it is. It seems purposeful. The reason I included it here, well, is because I can really relate to this emotion these days. I feel like I'm honestly going crazy...slowly...and it pretty much sucks. I guess that's life, but I don't like it.

Something else: I have this curious, raised pink lump on my arm. It's about an inch long and about an eighth of an inch wide. I know what it's from--I put it there. I'm trying to determine why I did. I used a pair of scissors and started scraping at my arm last night. Again, I'm not sure why. Maybe there was this morbid fascination of whether or not I could get my arm to bleed. I was unsuccessful, but I wasn't necessarily trying to "cut" myself. Goodness, if I had the guts to do that, I would have just done it. But I don't. Instead, now I have this strange pink line on my arm.

And that's why I'm horrified. I'm a little taken back that I actually did this to myself.

beauty

No wonder our view of beauty is so distorted; we've distorted beauty.

Little Miss Sunshine

I just got back from watching Little Miss Sunshine with Eli. I haven't laughed that hard in such a long time. I really needed that tonight. I mean, seriously, I think this was a huge blessing to have today.

Dropping off the parental units at the airport wasn't too bad. The poor cat was drugged up, so he didn't have much of an emotional outburst, and really, no one else did either. I managed to keep from outright bawling while I was around my mom and dad, but I started crying on the way back to the car. I'm glad Eli was with me. It helped.

Before the airport, however, we went to dinner at Denny's--breakfast sounded good, okay?--and while there, I managed to convince my dad to tell us a Georgina and Bertha story. For those of you who do not know about these tales--which would be pretty much EVERYONE--these are stories that my dad has told my sister and me since wee infancy.

Granted, at that time, it didn't take as much to keep our attention, but the stories have continued till present day whenever my sister and me ask for one. Usually, they come out at big events--graduation, marriage, another move--and they are a perfect example of art imitating life. As we've grown up, the quality of the stories has changed--there's more irony and plot development--but the heart of them is still there.

Today, when I asked my dad to tell us a Georgina and Bertha story, I did so as a preventative measure against tears. I wanted to be able to have fun before we said our goodbyes. Plus, a LOT has happened since the last batch of stories, and there were some much needed additions.

Some of the highlights: Tie-dye, Can-Can, Mr. Goo-goo-gra-vi, Eggs, and a laurel costume. Also, Hector the Shrubber and his special gardening shears. And an artificial limb. If you REALLY want the details, you'll have to ask me because it's WAY too long to put in here.

Anyhow, so by the time Eli and I got back from the airport, we figured we'd catch a movie, giving us something else to think about. However, as we got back before seven, I was able to go to our second rehearsel of the evening and thoroughly enjoyed the time. Our cast, again, is phenomenal. After the rehearsel, Eli and I hit up Starbucks and, since it was uber full, decided to sit in the car and talk.

And talk we did.

Or rather, I spilled my guts about the events of the past week or so, ending up in some serious crying with not quite enough tissues. Eli loaned me her shoulder to cry on and some good advice. It's good to have good girl friends. Every woman needs 'em.

Tomorrow, and the rest of the weekend, I plan on being busy. I'm looking forward to it, actually, because if I keep going, I won't have time to dwell on today's sadness. At the same time, I think all I have to do is think of the ending of Little Miss Sunshine and I'll be fine.

see saw

I feel like I'm an emotional see-saw right now. I have my ups and downs and they pretty much balance each other out. I guess that's really life, isn't it? Life is cyclical, life comes in waves. Good times. Bad times. In between times. How zen.

I'm currently somewhat in the middle because I have both extremes fighting for my attention. So they've successfully canceled each other out and I am now in the middle. Usually I like being in the middle, but right now, since each side is beating the crap out of the other side, I'm not particularly fond of this situation.

My parents are leaving today.

I'll see them at Christmas break, so this isn't the end of our familial relationships. I will be seeing them relatively soon. And THEN there is the huge break of not seeing them for about two years--at least until grad. But I can handle this. I've dealt with international separation before, I think I can handle this.

And for some reason, today I feel very worn out. I got enough sleep last night, my classes aren't wearing me out this week, and I've eaten enough to keep my blood sugar at a decent level. But maybe there are more underlying emotions that I'm not owning up to at the moment. Maybe that's why I feel so dead today. (bleh)

After class ends this afternoon, I'm going with my parents to the airport and dropping them off, saying goodbye. I don't know if Ty will be going with me or Eli. I almost want to go by myself and have that personal time with my parents. I kind of want to have the drive back to school by myself so that I don't have to deal with people trying to comfort me.

I kind of want to do this on my own. Yikes....maybe that's not such a good thing. *shrug* Oh well.

the boathouse

I think I might have mentioned this earlier, but I spent the weekend in a renovated boathouse that, well, looked like it came from a catalog. It was beautiful. A great size, well furnished, amazing view, and it was perfectly cozy.

Some of the details in the pictures posted after this: the personal white sand beach, the hammock, and an incredible view of Mt. Rainier--granted, this picture is a little hazy. Plus, some great wildlife. :)

Enjoy! (But I know you won't be able to enjoy it as much as I did...)

indoor details

seal!

There were more seals, but some boat tried to approach them and scared them into the water. From our house up the hill from the shore, I could hear them at night sometimes. Boisterous little buggers...

Rehearsel

I love being involved in drama. There's a level of camaraderie that exists in theatre that is missing in other activities. Of course, I'm not really involved in other activities like I am in theatre...so this is probably why I have the bias that I do.

But really, as thoroughly exhausting as practice was today, it was amazing. We put in about nine hours total--Meghan and I--with different groups of actors coming and going all day. It was a little frustrating, but mostly good. I'm excited to see how things progress from here.

We ended up sending on of the actors home after twenty minutes of practice b/c he wasn't ready. Instead, Meghan, Martha, and I stayed in Millard Hall and discussed things. We checked our myspace accounts, desperately sending out bulletins regarding a strong desire for smoothies and/or lattes. (We hooked a few different people, God bless 'em!)

We found various show tunes online and sang along with them, acting them out on stage. Apparently, I'd make a good Elphaba...? I don't think anyone can touch Idina Menzel, so I have my big doubts about that. And then we discussed Backstage Cafe from last year--Martha and I were both involved--and we made the joint resolution that Jen changed the production to basically showcase herself. Eh, it's over. I've recently been able to think about the positive aspects of that show, so I'm dropping it. :)

Anyhow, since the time that I started writing this blog, I have moved temporarily back home so that I can get my passport renewed and attend a farewell reception for my parents at church. However, they've moved out of our house and are now living in our neighbor's renovated boathouse until they leave. It's quite beautiful, and I'll be taking pics and posting within the next few days.

But a nap is calling me, and my cat is in the boathouse by himself, so I'm going to go see him.

strange, but GOOD

Today has been kind of a weird day, but so good. Allow me to explain. It's been a very peaceful day--which lately in my life is WEIRD. Things that would normally stress me out--certain people and classes--have not affected me negatively today. Stressors have just rolled off me like water off a duck's back. This is a wonderful relief.

I guess in a way, I've been testing God's deliverance because I doubt. I'm such a faithless person sometimes. Thomas and I have a LOT in common in that respect. But this is somewhat down a rabbit trail.

I was presented with several situations today that normally would--as aforementioned--set me off in various ways. One encounter that normally incites irrational jealousy and/or anxiety incited nothing but friendly banter and genuine conversation. Praise the Lord! When this happened, I mentally went to other subjects that would elicit similar responses and felt...nothing of the kind. When one feels bound by these types of emotions and suddenly they're gone. It's strange. Again, good...but weird.

The class that typically frustrates me and induces major bad attitude did not. Instead, I was able to listen patiently to the prof and discuss my paper with her so that I could fully understand what she was asking of us. (Still not absolutely positive if I get what she's saying, but I have a better feeling about it than I did previously.)

Generally, I've felt peaceful, like no matter the chaos that gets thrown my way, it will somehow be manageable. Furthermore, I am not fixating on my wild emotions. Instead, I have the feeling that it is possible for me to not focus on my issues for awhile. At least, until I have the opportunity to deal with them in a positive, concentrated situation, they will not oppress me.


EDIT: 11:08pm~ I just got blindsided by anxiety. God, when will this end? Are you trying to tell me something through this horrible feeling or is it just me? Okay...I felt something of a calm come over me, so...just me, right? Even calmer. Okay...breathe...pray...read scripture. ...where's my Bible?

Gomer

I feel like Gomer must have felt. I feel how Israel must have felt. I feel how...I feel. (Okay, the depth of that thought vanished.)

I wasn't going to go to Pursuit tonight. I have so much work to get done and so little time this week that I thought, "If I go to Pursuit, I'll just be killing myself by staying up too late. Is spiritual benefit worth it?" (Even to me, I feel that argument is pretty weak.)

Anyhow, I worked all evening and actually was at a reasonable spot by the time Pursuit rolled around, so I went. I'd heard earlier that the topic was going to be deliverance--how fitting for my life these days--so I was torn about whether or not I should go. (Again, the whole "is it worth it" bit.)

So God got me there.

Once I got there, I wanted to find a seat, especially with people that I knew, because I was anticipating some emotional turmoil. I ended up between two good friends...but they both left before the altar call came. I think that must've been a good thing, because I had to make the choice for myself, and within myself, to go up and to pray.

So I went during the altar time, and waited to pray with one of the leaders. The thing is, the prayer leaders were a little overwhelmed with people wanting to pray. Also, I wasn't about to push forward for prayer because I was still wrestling with the idea of needing deliverance from all this stuff. I can't even point out what it all is. There's so much and it's all interrelated...this is why I'm going to counseling. (Two weeks more. Two weeks more. Two weeks more.)

I stayed back and prayed quietly, willing myself not to cry. I didn't want to cry anymore--I still don't--so I was keeping myself together as best I could. There was a girl standing near me who'd been praying with some of the girls who weren't able to get to the prayer leaders, and she asked me if I was...okay, not sure how it all came about. I didn't hear her very well, but we managed to communicate that I was not doing well and that prayer needed to happen.

I didn't say what I was seeking prayer for because I didn't fully know myself, but she started praying. I've doubted the Holy Spirit before, thinking "He can do that...but not this." No more. Everything she prayed for pertained to my life. Family, hurt, "rough spots." Wow.

The thing is, I'm not suddenly 100% better. In fact, on the way down the hill afterwards, I had to keep wrestling with myself, arguing back at the oppression, that I wasn't going to succumb to everything that God has delivered me from. I'm saying this in faith because it's still there, but I know that God will continue to work with me as I go through all of this healing. It's a process.

But God is here, and I have renewed faith and hope for endurance.

good thought

(hopefully, the picture is properly linked to the appropriate website so that all honor is given where it is due)

I found this picture while searching for the lyrics of a song called "Still" by Hillsong. I'm not sure why I always search for them, since I already know them. But I think part of it is because I always want to make sure that if I'm to mention them, I don't rely on my memory for what it says. (Memory often fails, y'know.)

Now that I mention this song, I have the distinct feeling I've mentioned it in this blog before. If so, and if you have already it, I apologize. But if not, I do hope that you are equally encouraged by the lyrics to this song as I am (again).

Still
Reuben Morgan

Hide me now
Under your wings
Cover me
Within your mighty hand

(chorus)
When the oceans rise and thunders roar
I will soar with you above the storm
Father, you are king over the flood
I will be still and know you are God

Find rest my soul
In Christ alone
Know his power
In quietness and trust

(repeat chorus)

Tonight, this song means even more to me than it did before. A very good reminder.

Saturday (long, full, happy day)

Okay, so it's really only been a few days since I posted a blog, but it feels like a really long time. I've been blogging on myspace--oh the heresy--and I guess I've been foolishly returning to it like a dog to its vomit. (I feel like I've been using that picture a lot lately. Memo: stop.)

Today was such a full day. It was pretty good, actually, which is great for a Saturday. Three separate things happened--sort of the three different parts of my life--and it was pretty cool that it all happened in one day. And I still got to sleep!

The day started off with my going up to the chapel to help participate in a 24 hr prayer event focused on stopping human trafficking. Last year, our school made the pledge to raise $100,000 to help build a rescue/restoration facility in India--in conjunction with a foundation started by Natalie Grant. We only raised half of the money last year, so we're continuing with that focus this year.

I was contacted roughly a week and a half ago and was asked to be a leader for this event. I was pretty stunned by that because I do not in any way, shape, or form, see myself as a spiritual leader on campus. In fact, I still have no idea how the intern in charge of it picked my name. I'm thinking it must have been a God-thing because it was wonderful to have been a part of the event. The thing is, if I hadn't been required to show up for my time slot, I wouldn't have gone at all. So I'm glad--by whatever means--that I was picked to help.

Also, having an hour's worth of time to focus prayer on such a great need, it made me realize how important it is that we schedule the time to pray. I know that we're supposed to pray without ceasing, but in the busyness of life, I find it very difficult to focus. I value prayer. That's one of the downfalls to having a roommate...I don't feel like I can have the privacy to pray when I really need that kind of solitude. This summer, I spent a lot of time on my face, crying and praying, and it's a little awkward to do that with a roommate perched nearby.

Oh yeah, something else about prayer. I'm doubly glad for having had the opportunity to go to pray. This summer, I was given a word concerning spiritual capability. At that time, some seeds of faith were planted. I thought to myself, "I can do this because God's in it with me; He chose me." But then the seeds were buried for awhile--as I am apt to do. By participating in prayer, I felt like those seeds came to a greater fruition, maybe a sprouting stage. I don't know the results of the 24 hr prayer, but I do know that God will use it and that our obedience in stepping in and not remaining complacent will bring about a positive change.

Anyhow, after prayer, I went back to my room and slept. I had been planning on going to the library to work on some homework--I'm really screwed now--but I was soooo tired, and I felt a cold coming on, so I hit the hay instead. I couldn't fall asleep for a long time because a) the room was too cold and b) I kept thinking...and thinking too often prevents sleeping. It was weird, because I was still pretty exhausted, but I wasn't able to fall asleep. (Usually pretty uncommon.)

I woke up before an afternoon rehearsel. Oh...in case I haven't mentioned it, I'm the assistant directore of a student-run production of "The Nina Variations." I honestly don't know why I'm in this position. I don't really feel capable, but I do know that I've done small services in being one of Meghan's righthand girls. (The stage manager is definitely the other right hand...) Practice was great. Our cast: phenomenal. I get chills and such a rush from watching them perform--and this is only the second week! We're well on our way to getting a great performance. Meghan and I are already planning on bringing coffee, chocolate, and tissues to each performance. I think we're going to need them.

After practice, I called my sister briefly--neither of us had much time to talk--then took a shower. Yeah, I was pretty grubby all day... Afterward, went up to Ty's apartment and ate dinner--spaghetti made with venison (mmm! :) )--and then he and I went to a movie later. (FYI: The Guardian is a good movie.)

But now I'm tired, and I REALLY don't want to get another cold. !Adios!