Much of today was high-stress. I didn't do so well.
But, hey, since I went to Jude's instead of IV (night-Mass, my first ever; and with Tom and [arriving late] Chris, rather than Tim and Mike), I got to hear last week's IV sermon passage, as done by Fr. Gene instead.
-Laurel
2.27.2005
2.26.2005
On the stealing--and finding--of treasures
Casey got her room broken into--as I understand it, she essentially walked into the hallway as it was happening. The two perpetrators cursed and ran away...but left their lock-pick, a "paper clip twisted round," behind. She says she talked to the RD.
If I didn't trust her better, I'd think she made these things up. Too many awful happenings have befallen her this year, too many for one person. I wouldn't want to see her leave, but I can understand why she's not sure she wants to stay.
We had an APO thing go on for part of tonight. Since I've been through it before, I was mostly in charge, with Tim and Tom, of the pizza-getting for everyone harder at work than us. Afterwards, there was a cry for ice cream, so we adjourned to the campus center for some, and had a very nice time with old friends and new, the kind of thing that used to happen a lot last year that usually doesn't now. Then I went back to the house for a while. A while.
I had told Tom repeatedly across the day and night that, sorry as I was to keep turning him down, no, I was absolutely not going to watch a movie tonight, I'd been up half of last night with my Spanish paper (four pages = four hours, w00t) and was exhausted. This meant, of course, that Tim was not about to spend two-and-a-half hours in a room just with him, so hopes were dashed completely for that one.
But, back at the house, I called my parents, who'd left me a message: they want to come down tomorrow (well, today) and take Tim and Lily and me out to lunch--in such a way that it was going to be impossible for Tim and me to see National Treasure tomorrow afternoon at the campus theater, about which we'd both been pretty intrigued, particularly Tim. My parents had their way, timing-wise, especially since they're paying for several college-student lunches; I wasn't about to argue with that. So, since it was about 10:45 by the time all was settled, Tim and I decided last-minute to make the eleven o'clock showing.
Leaving a rather shamefaced note (with apologies) about the movie as an away message, I got my keys, caffeine, and car; Tim got the candy (two Twixes from the amazing jar!); we fumbled with sneakers and coats; and we got down to the campus center. They started right on time--we missed the first four minutes, but the rest of the two hours were all right.
More than all right. The movie is not always huge on sticking to the realm of probability (few are), but we, little kids that we are, were taken in by the history, the humor, and the cool gadgets. I won't say anything, of course, but by the end, I had Tim's twitching hand, he had my arm, and we were all like, ohhhh... It was, given a basic suspension of disbelief, quite good.
The movie ended, the lights came on, and I picked up my empty Pepsi can and got my coat. I saw Juliane when I turned and she and I waved furiously to each other.
This was the point where, predictably to my audience, but not to me at the time, I got poked in both sides by a figure who'd materialized behind me. I don't know how much of the film Tom missed, but there he was--"That was low...but it was a good movie..."
::shrugs:: As startled as he probably was with my glomping him completely, it was the only thing that had bothered me about a very good couple of hours.
"...and I can sleep in the car!"
Yeah. Did I mention that Tom has an education-major Great Big Test earlyish tomorrow/this morning, far enough away that his parents are coming to campus as well, but only to pick him up and take him there? That's kind of why he kept bugging us about a movie earlier in the evening. Right.
So all is well, except for a caffeine high on a body going on just over four hours of sleep (counting nap) and a slight creep up the spine left over from near the end of the movie, 'cause tombs and really old dead things, even when they're supposed to be cool, always freak me out just a little. If it doesn't shake soon, I'll read happy stuff 'til I fall asleep.
Here's the sticky-sweet but truthful point: in November of twelfth grade, I remember making reference to people being luckier to have friends than to know--what did I say?--all the heights and depths of love? Something.
Anyway, it's been a good week, and especially a good day, and as someone who's now at least learned a little about romance (though perhaps not much), it's time for a revision. I guess the real answer, for all I know, may be this: that only if you don't know one will you feel complete without the other, but for the grace of God. Tim is perhaps my best friend here, except for Lily. I'm incredibly happy. But he and I, of course, are not self-sufficient. I can have him holding my hand, our arms intertwined, and feel like something's missing.
What I'm trying to say is the same "I love you all" that I see splashed across Ananda and Tom's away messages sometimes. (Not Tom, her new boyfriend. Tom, my boyfriend's brother. Oh, great, am I gonna have to come up with another differentiation? ::giggles::)
I tried and tried to come up with a stylistic way to say it, but they all reminded me, inexplicably, of some New Year's Eve rendition of "Auld Lang Syne." So hey, why not?--I love you all.
-Laurel
If I didn't trust her better, I'd think she made these things up. Too many awful happenings have befallen her this year, too many for one person. I wouldn't want to see her leave, but I can understand why she's not sure she wants to stay.
We had an APO thing go on for part of tonight. Since I've been through it before, I was mostly in charge, with Tim and Tom, of the pizza-getting for everyone harder at work than us. Afterwards, there was a cry for ice cream, so we adjourned to the campus center for some, and had a very nice time with old friends and new, the kind of thing that used to happen a lot last year that usually doesn't now. Then I went back to the house for a while. A while.
I had told Tom repeatedly across the day and night that, sorry as I was to keep turning him down, no, I was absolutely not going to watch a movie tonight, I'd been up half of last night with my Spanish paper (four pages = four hours, w00t) and was exhausted. This meant, of course, that Tim was not about to spend two-and-a-half hours in a room just with him, so hopes were dashed completely for that one.
But, back at the house, I called my parents, who'd left me a message: they want to come down tomorrow (well, today) and take Tim and Lily and me out to lunch--in such a way that it was going to be impossible for Tim and me to see National Treasure tomorrow afternoon at the campus theater, about which we'd both been pretty intrigued, particularly Tim. My parents had their way, timing-wise, especially since they're paying for several college-student lunches; I wasn't about to argue with that. So, since it was about 10:45 by the time all was settled, Tim and I decided last-minute to make the eleven o'clock showing.
Leaving a rather shamefaced note (with apologies) about the movie as an away message, I got my keys, caffeine, and car; Tim got the candy (two Twixes from the amazing jar!); we fumbled with sneakers and coats; and we got down to the campus center. They started right on time--we missed the first four minutes, but the rest of the two hours were all right.
More than all right. The movie is not always huge on sticking to the realm of probability (few are), but we, little kids that we are, were taken in by the history, the humor, and the cool gadgets. I won't say anything, of course, but by the end, I had Tim's twitching hand, he had my arm, and we were all like, ohhhh... It was, given a basic suspension of disbelief, quite good.
The movie ended, the lights came on, and I picked up my empty Pepsi can and got my coat. I saw Juliane when I turned and she and I waved furiously to each other.
This was the point where, predictably to my audience, but not to me at the time, I got poked in both sides by a figure who'd materialized behind me. I don't know how much of the film Tom missed, but there he was--"That was low...but it was a good movie..."
::shrugs:: As startled as he probably was with my glomping him completely, it was the only thing that had bothered me about a very good couple of hours.
"...and I can sleep in the car!"
Yeah. Did I mention that Tom has an education-major Great Big Test earlyish tomorrow/this morning, far enough away that his parents are coming to campus as well, but only to pick him up and take him there? That's kind of why he kept bugging us about a movie earlier in the evening. Right.
So all is well, except for a caffeine high on a body going on just over four hours of sleep (counting nap) and a slight creep up the spine left over from near the end of the movie, 'cause tombs and really old dead things, even when they're supposed to be cool, always freak me out just a little. If it doesn't shake soon, I'll read happy stuff 'til I fall asleep.
Here's the sticky-sweet but truthful point: in November of twelfth grade, I remember making reference to people being luckier to have friends than to know--what did I say?--all the heights and depths of love? Something.
Anyway, it's been a good week, and especially a good day, and as someone who's now at least learned a little about romance (though perhaps not much), it's time for a revision. I guess the real answer, for all I know, may be this: that only if you don't know one will you feel complete without the other, but for the grace of God. Tim is perhaps my best friend here, except for Lily. I'm incredibly happy. But he and I, of course, are not self-sufficient. I can have him holding my hand, our arms intertwined, and feel like something's missing.
What I'm trying to say is the same "I love you all" that I see splashed across Ananda and Tom's away messages sometimes. (Not Tom, her new boyfriend. Tom, my boyfriend's brother. Oh, great, am I gonna have to come up with another differentiation? ::giggles::)
I tried and tried to come up with a stylistic way to say it, but they all reminded me, inexplicably, of some New Year's Eve rendition of "Auld Lang Syne." So hey, why not?--I love you all.
-Laurel
2.25.2005
::giggles:: Whee...
96 on my Spanish paper with British epic elements. Rock on for being a blatant English major.
It is time for a nap, oh man.
-Laurel
It is time for a nap, oh man.
-Laurel
2.24.2005
It's actually happening...
Luanne scheduled a guys-only rehearsal today--and Quiz Bowl isn't meeting this week--so I have...absolutely...nowhere...that I have to be today. Hurrah! The only obligation I have--
--is a mountain of Spanish homework. Awwww.
But, which I should have mentioned first, yaaaaaaaay for 'Nanda and her new boyfriend! I will try not to be too giggly about his name sounding like my boyfriend's twin. ::grins::
And, which I should mention now, I got a 91 on the Psych Test of Doom, so I got off easy this time, but next time I really should study. Or at least read the articles on which he's testing us in part. Anthro: stay tuned.
Is it true that heat causes really cracked-out dreams? 'Cause I seem to have freaky ones in these flannel pajamas I'm wearing, last night included.
And owww, I wish someone did free and sterile tonsillectomies. I know the sore throats are causing the swollen tonsils and not the other way around, but the fact remains that my tonsils have spent the better part of winter in swollen-globule form, the only part of my throat that protests when I yawn. The health center looked the last time this happened to me, back when, and gave me a cold kit and a sheet with a Latin phrase that translated to "swollen throat." 'Cause, you know, what the heck else could they do? It wasn't strep.
Okay, back to stuff. I keep being like Gabe and thinking about ending "good purchase," but that's not very original, is it?
-Laurel
--is a mountain of Spanish homework. Awwww.
But, which I should have mentioned first, yaaaaaaaay for 'Nanda and her new boyfriend! I will try not to be too giggly about his name sounding like my boyfriend's twin. ::grins::
And, which I should mention now, I got a 91 on the Psych Test of Doom, so I got off easy this time, but next time I really should study. Or at least read the articles on which he's testing us in part. Anthro: stay tuned.
Is it true that heat causes really cracked-out dreams? 'Cause I seem to have freaky ones in these flannel pajamas I'm wearing, last night included.
And owww, I wish someone did free and sterile tonsillectomies. I know the sore throats are causing the swollen tonsils and not the other way around, but the fact remains that my tonsils have spent the better part of winter in swollen-globule form, the only part of my throat that protests when I yawn. The health center looked the last time this happened to me, back when, and gave me a cold kit and a sheet with a Latin phrase that translated to "swollen throat." 'Cause, you know, what the heck else could they do? It wasn't strep.
Okay, back to stuff. I keep being like Gabe and thinking about ending "good purchase," but that's not very original, is it?
-Laurel
2.22.2005
What the heck...?
Movement towards peace in Palestine, earthquake in Iran, dye scare seemingly everywhere, Winn-Dixie goes out of business and blames Wal-Mart, and Hunter S. Thompson blows his brains out.
Jeez Louise, what a stinking weird week it's been. It can't be the apocalypse already; my Peanuts calendar doesn't say anything about that!
Yeah, yeah, not that it would.
-Laurel
Jeez Louise, what a stinking weird week it's been. It can't be the apocalypse already; my Peanuts calendar doesn't say anything about that!
Yeah, yeah, not that it would.
-Laurel
2.21.2005
Random thoughts on the twins (not too mushy, I promise), food, and church
There is something about winter nights that makes me want to hug everybody and not let go. ...Tom says he agrees with this, for anything that's worth.
Speaking of: Tim growled at me, scowled at me, and then tickled me half to death tonight simply because I told him that the funniest part about SERVE last November was watching him and Tom fall asleep, side by side, on the very same bed, in a shared ten-minute nap during one of the two days that they spent absolutely flat-out refusing to share any mattress whatsoever. It annoys him greatly that, no matter how hard he tries, he continues to do things that make him look like he loves his twin brother. ::giggles::
Actually, what probably annoys him is that, despite his best efforts, everyone, including me, still says, oh, genetic clones, look how cute. That would annoy the heck out of me, and, having a father who's a twin (albeit fraternal) who doesn't get along with his twin, I should know better. Except that I don't. Connectedly, anyone who pretended to have an identical twin long enough to write a multi-chapter story about it in the eighth grade should be banned from later dating one. But I'm glad I'm not.
I have discovered, too, that Tim is very possessive of his homemade Chex Mix. It was almost gone, and he seriously scowled at like every bite I took, 'cause he likes it a lot and he knows I'm not nearly as passionate about it. This was funny, but a little odd, inasmuch as I've never seen him do that before. ...Then again, I've never asked for his Chex Mix when it was running low before.
Today before church I went down to the dining hall to get breakfast, only to discover that I'd arrived during the only half-hour between 9 AM and 7 PM that they don't serve any food at all. So I went down to the cafe in an attempt to get a muffin, only to find that it didn't open until noon (an hour and a quarter away).
So I went down to the vending machine and amused all the adults in chapel by eating Keebler Sugar Wafers for breakfast. 'Cause, at least on the surface, they're the most breakfasty junk food out there.
Church was cool. I learned some new things about wells. And Samaritans.
I'm up later than I said I would be (this is news?), so I think I'll go to bed now. Cheerio!
-Laurel
Speaking of: Tim growled at me, scowled at me, and then tickled me half to death tonight simply because I told him that the funniest part about SERVE last November was watching him and Tom fall asleep, side by side, on the very same bed, in a shared ten-minute nap during one of the two days that they spent absolutely flat-out refusing to share any mattress whatsoever. It annoys him greatly that, no matter how hard he tries, he continues to do things that make him look like he loves his twin brother. ::giggles::
Actually, what probably annoys him is that, despite his best efforts, everyone, including me, still says, oh, genetic clones, look how cute. That would annoy the heck out of me, and, having a father who's a twin (albeit fraternal) who doesn't get along with his twin, I should know better. Except that I don't. Connectedly, anyone who pretended to have an identical twin long enough to write a multi-chapter story about it in the eighth grade should be banned from later dating one. But I'm glad I'm not.
I have discovered, too, that Tim is very possessive of his homemade Chex Mix. It was almost gone, and he seriously scowled at like every bite I took, 'cause he likes it a lot and he knows I'm not nearly as passionate about it. This was funny, but a little odd, inasmuch as I've never seen him do that before. ...Then again, I've never asked for his Chex Mix when it was running low before.
Today before church I went down to the dining hall to get breakfast, only to discover that I'd arrived during the only half-hour between 9 AM and 7 PM that they don't serve any food at all. So I went down to the cafe in an attempt to get a muffin, only to find that it didn't open until noon (an hour and a quarter away).
So I went down to the vending machine and amused all the adults in chapel by eating Keebler Sugar Wafers for breakfast. 'Cause, at least on the surface, they're the most breakfasty junk food out there.
Church was cool. I learned some new things about wells. And Samaritans.
I'm up later than I said I would be (this is news?), so I think I'll go to bed now. Cheerio!
-Laurel
2.20.2005
Because you needed to know, I'm sure
Goodness ruddy grapefruit...Dove ice cream bars are amazing.
I think I'm going to read for Literary Art now. And about time, too.
-Laurel
I think I'm going to read for Literary Art now. And about time, too.
-Laurel
2.19.2005
With DDR file stuck in my head; it's Captain Jack, but at least it's semi-sane
Had a v. pleasant day. Slept in late (though it didn't come close to compensating for the sleep I missed on Friday); arranged evening's events; had a late brunch; saw The Incredibles with Tim, Tom, and Chris (was as good the second time as the first, yay!); cleaned my room transferred the crap on my floor to closets and drawers; swept my room (though I never got a chance to vacuum, which is just as needed); got pizza and had it with Mike, Tim, and Chris; had a DDR party; talked to Libby and John for a couple of hours (also very pleasant).
Didn't get any homework done, which I will regret later, but for now, forget it.
Had a dream last night where I had to get into an extremely-slow elevator with a bunch of Chamber Singers, but it wasn't bad. It was a very big elevator, like a hospital one, and well-lit.
Heather's come up with a great big APO project that will be spectacular if it works (we want to save the local animal shelter from having to close its doors), but will take so much work from our chapter that I can't figure out which is the lesser: my energy level for anything difficult or my trust that our chapter can do anything significant without screwing up.
I don't like how little drive I have for servicethese days this semester. I got the job I wanted, right? I run the service program. I can make it happen.
I think I'd have more energy for the stuff if I made myself get more sleep.
-Laurel
Didn't get any homework done, which I will regret later, but for now, forget it.
Had a dream last night where I had to get into an extremely-slow elevator with a bunch of Chamber Singers, but it wasn't bad. It was a very big elevator, like a hospital one, and well-lit.
Heather's come up with a great big APO project that will be spectacular if it works (we want to save the local animal shelter from having to close its doors), but will take so much work from our chapter that I can't figure out which is the lesser: my energy level for anything difficult or my trust that our chapter can do anything significant without screwing up.
I don't like how little drive I have for service
I think I'd have more energy for the stuff if I made myself get more sleep.
-Laurel
2.18.2005
More "yoinking" of Melly's game-thingies
Or at least that's what my brother calls it.
-Laurel
[My name] is the #467 most common female name.
0.029% of females in the US are named [with my name].
Around 36975 US females [have my name]!
source namestatistics.com
0.029% of females in the US are named [with my name].
Around 36975 US females [have my name]!
source namestatistics.com
-Laurel
You'd think I wasn't taking this for a grade, which I am...
Brief greetings from the middle (well, not really) of my Spanish-class essay on poetry.
It must be because it's so late and I'm so tired that I've lost inhibition. Or maybe it's because Ariana's pretty open-minded about how we approach these essays. She said we could pick any Spanish-language poem, and we could write the essay on one of any number of aspects listed on page such-and-such.
In any case, I'm pulling an English-Major Showoff Moment and expanding the given theme of "form and structure of the poem (discuss)" and comparing and contrasting my chosen poem (which is free-verse and has all of, um, 21 lines) with British epic poetry. I kid you not, I didn't even get two paragraphs into this essay before I made reference to Paradise Lost. I have no idea what Ariana's feelings are on an interdisciplinary study, but feel that at least I will have originality going for me (I am the only English major in the class; trust me, nobody else is going to think to do such a thing, especially since our textbook does not even define most conventions of epic poetry).
Just thought I'd share. I'm really caught up in the assignment now that I'm doing something cool and geeky with it. I am probably not caring as much as I should about grammar, but that will be one more way for Ariana to tell that it is, in fact, my own.
And one big APO thing is coming together beautifully, just as we thought it was falling apart.
...Though one part is still a pain in the butt. But hey, .500 is good; ask anyone in baseball.
-Laurel
It must be because it's so late and I'm so tired that I've lost inhibition. Or maybe it's because Ariana's pretty open-minded about how we approach these essays. She said we could pick any Spanish-language poem, and we could write the essay on one of any number of aspects listed on page such-and-such.
In any case, I'm pulling an English-Major Showoff Moment and expanding the given theme of "form and structure of the poem (discuss)" and comparing and contrasting my chosen poem (which is free-verse and has all of, um, 21 lines) with British epic poetry. I kid you not, I didn't even get two paragraphs into this essay before I made reference to Paradise Lost. I have no idea what Ariana's feelings are on an interdisciplinary study, but feel that at least I will have originality going for me (I am the only English major in the class; trust me, nobody else is going to think to do such a thing, especially since our textbook does not even define most conventions of epic poetry).
Just thought I'd share. I'm really caught up in the assignment now that I'm doing something cool and geeky with it. I am probably not caring as much as I should about grammar, but that will be one more way for Ariana to tell that it is, in fact, my own.
And one big APO thing is coming together beautifully, just as we thought it was falling apart.
...Though one part is still a pain in the butt. But hey, .500 is good; ask anyone in baseball.
-Laurel
2.17.2005
'Cause I've been meaning to put this up for Zinni:
(whom I hope is having fun in Florida) :)
-Laurel
Describe yourself using one band and song titles from that band | |
| Choose a band/artist and answer only in song TITLES by that band: | The Monkees |
| Are you male or female: | She |
| Describe yourself: | Regional Girl |
| How do some people feel about you: | Good Clean Fun |
| How do you feel about yourself: | Daydream Believer |
| Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend: | You Can't Judge a Book by Looking at the Cover |
| Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend: | Love to Love |
| Describe where you want to be: | The Good Earth |
| Describe what you want to be: | I'm a Believer |
| Describe how you live: | No Time |
| Describe how you love: | Words (not just *what* I love; it does work) |
| Share a few words of wisdom | Tomorrow's Gonna Be Another Day |
-Laurel
2.14.2005
::chair-dance to iTunes!::
Most of today has not bitten the big one. And I have not even given Tim his present yet, which, for lack of any better ideas, is quite a large Swiss-type chocolate bar, such that if he consumed the entire thing in one day, he would have taken in an entire day's worth of fat. That kind of good chocolate.
Still not a big fan of Spanish class--or Chamber Singers--or, today, LoLA. I have to stop letting McDonough make an idiot of me.
But psychology class was amazing today, just like my first days in AP. ::sighs:: Spanish is so going to lose, isn't it?
And I've got good new music, and Tom sent me "Stuff Mart Rap" from VeggieTales, hee!
So whee. Holidays are often so much nicer than regular days, even when they have no good reason to be.
-Laurel
Still not a big fan of Spanish class--or Chamber Singers--or, today, LoLA. I have to stop letting McDonough make an idiot of me.
But psychology class was amazing today, just like my first days in AP. ::sighs:: Spanish is so going to lose, isn't it?
And I've got good new music, and Tom sent me "Stuff Mart Rap" from VeggieTales, hee!
So whee. Holidays are often so much nicer than regular days, even when they have no good reason to be.
-Laurel
::bit of warm fuzziness::
Most of today completely bit the big one. But what Lily wrote about me for LoLA was really nice, probably the purest nice thing I experienced.
She is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an integral part of childhood nourishment. The jelly sticks to my fingers, and I would be able to scrub it off or even suck the sweetness away, if I wanted to. But it reminds me of lazy book sales on the front lawn (twenty-five cents a pop) and Eureka's Castle on Saturday mornings, so I don't.
She is the sweetest sugary jelly, instantly gratifying, and sweet enough to make me remember the taste and miss it after I have swallowed the last bite. She is the protein in the peanut butter, a simple, long link of amino acids that will fortify my bones, helping me grow big and strong and assured.
Back to my LoLA assignment, my analysis of figuration in Robert Frost's "Desert Places." I came up with something vaguely intelligent, and I am not in a creative mood.
What I need is sleep. And maybe to drop out of chamber-singers before I lose it at Luanne.
Heh, too bad I signed the papers already for the Boston trip over spring break.
-Laurel
She is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an integral part of childhood nourishment. The jelly sticks to my fingers, and I would be able to scrub it off or even suck the sweetness away, if I wanted to. But it reminds me of lazy book sales on the front lawn (twenty-five cents a pop) and Eureka's Castle on Saturday mornings, so I don't.
She is the sweetest sugary jelly, instantly gratifying, and sweet enough to make me remember the taste and miss it after I have swallowed the last bite. She is the protein in the peanut butter, a simple, long link of amino acids that will fortify my bones, helping me grow big and strong and assured.
Back to my LoLA assignment, my analysis of figuration in Robert Frost's "Desert Places." I came up with something vaguely intelligent, and I am not in a creative mood.
What I need is sleep. And maybe to drop out of chamber-singers before I lose it at Luanne.
Heh, too bad I signed the papers already for the Boston trip over spring break.
-Laurel
2.12.2005
Sleepy contemplation
Okay, so now I have to decide which minor to drop.
The obvious answer seems to be Spanish, especially after today, where I sat through an entire forty minutes of videotaped Spanish drama and didn't comprehend more than about five sentences of it (separate ones, that is, since the phrase "a las cinco de la tarde" was repeated a good fifteen times). I need it to be written to have any chance of processing it; I've always, always been horrible with accents.
But I am enamored with that beautiful, fascinating language--the sounds of all the words that start with c, rhythms, the map of Spain on the first floor of Allen, the way they change the names in Lord of the Rings translations...even stem-changing verbs and the accents that torment me so. I love food words, pointing out all the vegetables in a stew--papas, guisantes, zanahorias... I love acoustic guitar chords; I love the smell, if not always the taste, of Hispanic cooking. I love Bécquer's poetry, and some of Julia de Burgos, and the Siglo de Oro.
I'll lose it, I'll lose it if I give myself to psychology instead. But psychology as a whole, though I'm bored with my soc-psy class, is an equal love affair, and perhaps even stronger. AP psych startled me, thrilled me, made my eyes stretch wide in awe, gave me epiphanies in the middle of class. I went on and on to my father about what I was learning; for a while he wasn't sure I'd be an English major, though I'd been in adoration of the written word for some fourteen to fifteen years of my life.
If what I want is connection, people, then psych will connect me universally. Spanish will connect me in a much-needed niche, it is true.
But which to give up, and which can I give up without regret? Neither.
I have a long time to decide. Right now I can be grateful that I have enough talent to have to make the decision.
-Laurel
The obvious answer seems to be Spanish, especially after today, where I sat through an entire forty minutes of videotaped Spanish drama and didn't comprehend more than about five sentences of it (separate ones, that is, since the phrase "a las cinco de la tarde" was repeated a good fifteen times). I need it to be written to have any chance of processing it; I've always, always been horrible with accents.
But I am enamored with that beautiful, fascinating language--the sounds of all the words that start with c, rhythms, the map of Spain on the first floor of Allen, the way they change the names in Lord of the Rings translations...even stem-changing verbs and the accents that torment me so. I love food words, pointing out all the vegetables in a stew--papas, guisantes, zanahorias... I love acoustic guitar chords; I love the smell, if not always the taste, of Hispanic cooking. I love Bécquer's poetry, and some of Julia de Burgos, and the Siglo de Oro.
I'll lose it, I'll lose it if I give myself to psychology instead. But psychology as a whole, though I'm bored with my soc-psy class, is an equal love affair, and perhaps even stronger. AP psych startled me, thrilled me, made my eyes stretch wide in awe, gave me epiphanies in the middle of class. I went on and on to my father about what I was learning; for a while he wasn't sure I'd be an English major, though I'd been in adoration of the written word for some fourteen to fifteen years of my life.
If what I want is connection, people, then psych will connect me universally. Spanish will connect me in a much-needed niche, it is true.
But which to give up, and which can I give up without regret? Neither.
I have a long time to decide. Right now I can be grateful that I have enough talent to have to make the decision.
-Laurel
2.10.2005
The promised (non-depressed) narratives
Even though this begins with the funeral.
So last Wednesday, Lily and I got up semi-early and got into Goldilocks (her oldish, gold-colored car, which she describes as "grandma-tastic, yo!") and drove to the funeral together. We talked pretty much nonstop all the way down, a lot of it about family. It was nice.
We got there during calling hours (which was good) and, after giving hellos and hugs to our mothers, went down the street with my dad and brother to get a bite to eat. Fortified by a grilled cheese sandwich, I went back with everyone to the funeral home and was greeted by every well-known relative present (some were not; in a family with so many children, this happens). That is, once the American Legion service-thing was over--my grandma had been president of the Legion for a while; anyone who's part of it gets a service of some sort from them, too, before the actual one is carried out. It was a bigger deal with my grandpa, who'd actually been in the military during either the Second World War or the Korean War (I don't remember, but since Aunt Shirley was born at the end of 1955, which may be cutting it closeish, I'd guess WWII instead), and whose Legion service I'd seen, the old soldiers touching their caps and wishing him Godspeed, and him being buried in the spring with a flag-draped coffin and the 21-gun salute.
It was all ladies at this service-thing; there may be more for her at her spring burial, too, but I don't know yet. Maddie (my newest little cousin) wailed through what little of the service I did see (I think they were trying to have a prayer at that point, too), so I couldn't hear anything, but that was okay.
The whole deal was weird for me because the last time I saw Grandma (living) was at Aunt Joanne's annual pre-Christmas family get-together, and, while she'd been in and out of the hospital, she wasn't deteriorating at that point, so her going over the edge mentally had taken me by surprise, and the family coming together to decide whether or not to basically induce death took me more so. The death itself, after that, was less of a surprise.
The thing was, she didn't really look dead. Just...you know...asleep.
The funeral itself was, for me, a huge sense of déjà vu because I was at my grandfather's (her husband's) back in the sixth grade (whereas Lily was not), and it was the same place, the same setup (even to the angle of the casket), the same guy running the remembrance (who used the same type of funny story about being their paperboy, but I think I was the only one who caught that). Fitting for someone who died on the same day as my grandfather. I think the funeral was the same day, too, because I thought I'd said to myself back in the sixth grade that it was unfortunate for my dad to have to attend a funeral on his birthday. I had to say that (again?) eight years later.
My mom, oddly enough, had it together pretty well, maybe because she'd seen it coming and had been there at the death. It was my dad who looked teary, but what was finally too much for him was a flooring moment when, seemingly from out of nowhere, into the funeral home walked Sheryl, from my mom's office at work, and Joe, from my dad's. They'd driven all the way from home together (it must have been nearly three hours) just to be there for a half-hour ceremony, and delivered the message from my mom's office en masse that they all wished they could be there. My mom was amazed and grateful. My dad started crying. This I don't see much at all (perhaps not since the last funeral), and didn't quite know what to make of it. Mostly I talked to everybody.
I don't remember whether Sheryl knew my grandmother or not, but my parents had come several years back to the funeral of one of her children--her little boy died of SIDS, crib death. But that was at home. They didn't have to go far. Joe actually did know Grandma some, and Grandpa, too. He'd offered to come to my grandpa's funeral all those years before, and my dad hadn't wanted him to make the drive. This time nobody asked permission--they must have figured out from my mom where it was (she didn't expect it, but since she and her coworkers are all in one big office and talk a lot, and because Aunt Cathy probably called her at work with details, they would have put it all together) and just come.
My Aunt Lisa and Uncle Paul were there, too--they're from Dad's side of the family, not Mom's, but were somewhat closer to the funeral home (though, come to think of it, they're not exactly close to it), and knew my grandparents some, so it wasn't as big a surprise (though it was very nice) when they showed up.
The service was short (if my last name was Coffin, I wouldn't want to be a reverend) and rather nice. A lot of singing. ...On the way out, everybody gave last hand-touches and kisses to my grandmother. I ran a fingertip across her hand, which was, to be honest, unsettling. People who don't look dead still feel dead. A little like cardboard.
We went back to the Legion for lunch, which was nice (Sheryl and Joe came briefly, had a little, then went back home). My family gave Lily her Christmas present, finally (a picture frame shaped like a red London telephone booth, with the picture inside of all of us crammed into the real London phone booth). The whole thing broke up faster than the lunch for Grandpa had, I think, and soon our sets of parents were leaving. Lily and I, therefore, drove back, stopping at a Wal-Mart on the way so that she could buy a phone, since the next day she was moving into the House on the Hill (yay!) and needed something with an answering machine.
I think I got a fair amount of sleep that night, but I don't remember. I know I was pretty tired by the end of Thursday.
On Friday we went to Ottawa for Quiz Bowl, taking my car but letting Zack and Ryan drive it. It was a great time--the five of us have similar tastes in music, and enjoyed a lot of acapella, classical music, classic rock, and Beatles. ...And the ubiquitous "Du Hast," which is none of those things, but a long-standing trivia-competition tradition of Ryan's that we have grown to like. (It's a very-hard-rock song in German about this guy with a really deep voice who doesn't want to get married to this girl. It sounds totally evil when you listen to it, but there's not one bad part in the whole song.)
First weird part: the border into Canada. Apparently, at six o'clock on a winter's Friday night, everybody is trying to get into Canada, and the guy on patrol was not in a cheerful mood. We were waiting behind other cars for an hour, and then the guy wouldn't take Zack's driver's license (good thing he had a birth certificate; the rest of us were working from passports, which the guy didn't argue with), and asked us his citizenship, and then wasn't pleased when we said that he was American. "American?" he asked us. "What's that? Isn't Canada part of America? North America?" (In our defense, we asked some of the Canadian teams at Quiz Bowl the next day whether we should have known better, and they were as surprised as we were.)
Anyway, we got into the country without much trouble, and found our way to the motel without any trouble, and then walked up and down the street to find a place to eat. We finally settled on a little place offering "Italian-Canadian cuisine" and had, in most cases, the local fettuccini alfredo. My glass of milk leaked just a little, but since I'd already made a nuisance of myself by missing the waitress's "move your milk off the napkin so I can set your silverware down" signal (she finally removed it for me), I figured I wouldn't push it.
I had a passable night on the floor, curled in Ryan's sleeping bag and padded underside by one of the blankets John didn't want. We found our way to the University of Ottawa and played.
Was a very good time, especially after lunch. Prior to lunch I did not answer one buzzer question, correct or otherwise, and felt pretty useless, but after my slice of cheeseburger pizza, somesoda bubble surprise, kettle chips, and acetaminophen for a bad headache I'd developed, I spent a pleasant, competitive afternoon. Got, let's see, about three questions pertaining to Christianity (but got my very first neg on a fourth :( - since apparently it's harder than I thought to keep track of which letter of Paul's was which), one about the 80s TV show Full House, one about the London Underground (which I knew from the first two words and should have rung in way sooner), one about Monty Python's Knights of the Round Table (that was funny--you should have seen the momentary stares and then looks of epiphany from every other player in the room), one about The Forsyte Saga (for Mom!), one about The Three Musketeers (for Tim!), and almost got the one about Barack Obama (would have been for Dad), 'cept I was beaten by a hair by someone from the other team. There may have been one or two more, even, that I can't think of. I had perhaps my best day ever at Quiz Bowl. At least two power questions, maybe three.
John rang in real late, getting a computer-related question and then singlehandedly sweeping the Ayn-Rand-books team bonus. (We got one about linguistics early on, but I was shameful on that one, and I don't think we got any points at all. Simple vocabulary questions, and the only one I would have gotten, I phrased incorrectly and they wouldn't give it to me.)
And we lost to Cornell by less than a hundred points during the final round-robin, which was amazing. We have never been winning at halftime against them before.
Overall we came in second in our division, fourth overall, as I believe I mentioned. We left, rather pleased with our effort and successes...
...and found a parking ticket on my car from the City of Ottawa, $50 Canadian.
It was a misunderstanding; we should have done something and we didn't, but we were expecting an American parking system and, naturally, didn't get one. The guy running the tournament paid most of it himself, for which we hope to send him a t-shirt, made here in the States, that reads I paid a parking ticket for some stupid Americans and all I got was this lousy shirt!.
...I'm wondering if there should be a strike through "Americans," with "U.S. Citizens" written above it, but since we didn't let him in on the joke, it's probably best the other way.
Anyway, we drove back to school that night, stopping at a diner in Watertown--
--oh, my gosh, I forgot about Fat Nancy's! On the way to Canada, we stopped for gas at a place called Fat Nancy's Bait 'N' Tackle Shop (I think with the 'n', but I could be wrong), which was really funny, even though you kind of had to be there (we'd just passed a huge old sign that said "Diner" that actually had no diner anywhere nearby, and we were just discussing who, if this was a horror movie, would die and who would live, when out of the mist came this humongous lettered roofsign that said FAT NANCY'S, leading us to gas and safety...I couldn't help thinking about the whole Large Marge thing from Pee-Wee Herman, which is just about the only part of that movie that I've ever seen).
Anyway, on the way back, once we crossed the border (the U.S. patrolgirl was way nicer, which is unusual for our side of the line), we stopped at this diner that, in accordance with what Chris says should be a Law of Operating a Diner, served breakfast 24 hours a day. Opting for at least some semblance of nutrition, at least 1950s-style, I had a grilled-bacon-and-cheese, a chocolate milkshake, and a bowl of applesauce. Chris did the breakfast thing, but the others went for things like mozzarella sticks, barbecue sandwiches, fries with gravy and cheese, etc. (::laughs:: I love eating with them. It's always so much fun, and you're pretty much forbidden to worry about how healthy/unhealthy something is, lest they force you to consume a slice of pie as penance or something.) And then I rode up front until the next gas break, at which point I retreated to the back, curled up with my pillow, and slept virtually all the way back to school.
So I have to go to lunch now, but that was my weekend.
I will try not to be so manic-depressive, strike the manic. I am almost certainly dropping one of my minors, and without making a major out of the other. The only question is which one.
-Laurel
So last Wednesday, Lily and I got up semi-early and got into Goldilocks (her oldish, gold-colored car, which she describes as "grandma-tastic, yo!") and drove to the funeral together. We talked pretty much nonstop all the way down, a lot of it about family. It was nice.
We got there during calling hours (which was good) and, after giving hellos and hugs to our mothers, went down the street with my dad and brother to get a bite to eat. Fortified by a grilled cheese sandwich, I went back with everyone to the funeral home and was greeted by every well-known relative present (some were not; in a family with so many children, this happens). That is, once the American Legion service-thing was over--my grandma had been president of the Legion for a while; anyone who's part of it gets a service of some sort from them, too, before the actual one is carried out. It was a bigger deal with my grandpa, who'd actually been in the military during either the Second World War or the Korean War (I don't remember, but since Aunt Shirley was born at the end of 1955, which may be cutting it closeish, I'd guess WWII instead), and whose Legion service I'd seen, the old soldiers touching their caps and wishing him Godspeed, and him being buried in the spring with a flag-draped coffin and the 21-gun salute.
It was all ladies at this service-thing; there may be more for her at her spring burial, too, but I don't know yet. Maddie (my newest little cousin) wailed through what little of the service I did see (I think they were trying to have a prayer at that point, too), so I couldn't hear anything, but that was okay.
The whole deal was weird for me because the last time I saw Grandma (living) was at Aunt Joanne's annual pre-Christmas family get-together, and, while she'd been in and out of the hospital, she wasn't deteriorating at that point, so her going over the edge mentally had taken me by surprise, and the family coming together to decide whether or not to basically induce death took me more so. The death itself, after that, was less of a surprise.
The thing was, she didn't really look dead. Just...you know...asleep.
The funeral itself was, for me, a huge sense of déjà vu because I was at my grandfather's (her husband's) back in the sixth grade (whereas Lily was not), and it was the same place, the same setup (even to the angle of the casket), the same guy running the remembrance (who used the same type of funny story about being their paperboy, but I think I was the only one who caught that). Fitting for someone who died on the same day as my grandfather. I think the funeral was the same day, too, because I thought I'd said to myself back in the sixth grade that it was unfortunate for my dad to have to attend a funeral on his birthday. I had to say that (again?) eight years later.
My mom, oddly enough, had it together pretty well, maybe because she'd seen it coming and had been there at the death. It was my dad who looked teary, but what was finally too much for him was a flooring moment when, seemingly from out of nowhere, into the funeral home walked Sheryl, from my mom's office at work, and Joe, from my dad's. They'd driven all the way from home together (it must have been nearly three hours) just to be there for a half-hour ceremony, and delivered the message from my mom's office en masse that they all wished they could be there. My mom was amazed and grateful. My dad started crying. This I don't see much at all (perhaps not since the last funeral), and didn't quite know what to make of it. Mostly I talked to everybody.
I don't remember whether Sheryl knew my grandmother or not, but my parents had come several years back to the funeral of one of her children--her little boy died of SIDS, crib death. But that was at home. They didn't have to go far. Joe actually did know Grandma some, and Grandpa, too. He'd offered to come to my grandpa's funeral all those years before, and my dad hadn't wanted him to make the drive. This time nobody asked permission--they must have figured out from my mom where it was (she didn't expect it, but since she and her coworkers are all in one big office and talk a lot, and because Aunt Cathy probably called her at work with details, they would have put it all together) and just come.
My Aunt Lisa and Uncle Paul were there, too--they're from Dad's side of the family, not Mom's, but were somewhat closer to the funeral home (though, come to think of it, they're not exactly close to it), and knew my grandparents some, so it wasn't as big a surprise (though it was very nice) when they showed up.
The service was short (if my last name was Coffin, I wouldn't want to be a reverend) and rather nice. A lot of singing. ...On the way out, everybody gave last hand-touches and kisses to my grandmother. I ran a fingertip across her hand, which was, to be honest, unsettling. People who don't look dead still feel dead. A little like cardboard.
We went back to the Legion for lunch, which was nice (Sheryl and Joe came briefly, had a little, then went back home). My family gave Lily her Christmas present, finally (a picture frame shaped like a red London telephone booth, with the picture inside of all of us crammed into the real London phone booth). The whole thing broke up faster than the lunch for Grandpa had, I think, and soon our sets of parents were leaving. Lily and I, therefore, drove back, stopping at a Wal-Mart on the way so that she could buy a phone, since the next day she was moving into the House on the Hill (yay!) and needed something with an answering machine.
I think I got a fair amount of sleep that night, but I don't remember. I know I was pretty tired by the end of Thursday.
On Friday we went to Ottawa for Quiz Bowl, taking my car but letting Zack and Ryan drive it. It was a great time--the five of us have similar tastes in music, and enjoyed a lot of acapella, classical music, classic rock, and Beatles. ...And the ubiquitous "Du Hast," which is none of those things, but a long-standing trivia-competition tradition of Ryan's that we have grown to like. (It's a very-hard-rock song in German about this guy with a really deep voice who doesn't want to get married to this girl. It sounds totally evil when you listen to it, but there's not one bad part in the whole song.)
First weird part: the border into Canada. Apparently, at six o'clock on a winter's Friday night, everybody is trying to get into Canada, and the guy on patrol was not in a cheerful mood. We were waiting behind other cars for an hour, and then the guy wouldn't take Zack's driver's license (good thing he had a birth certificate; the rest of us were working from passports, which the guy didn't argue with), and asked us his citizenship, and then wasn't pleased when we said that he was American. "American?" he asked us. "What's that? Isn't Canada part of America? North America?" (In our defense, we asked some of the Canadian teams at Quiz Bowl the next day whether we should have known better, and they were as surprised as we were.)
Anyway, we got into the country without much trouble, and found our way to the motel without any trouble, and then walked up and down the street to find a place to eat. We finally settled on a little place offering "Italian-Canadian cuisine" and had, in most cases, the local fettuccini alfredo. My glass of milk leaked just a little, but since I'd already made a nuisance of myself by missing the waitress's "move your milk off the napkin so I can set your silverware down" signal (she finally removed it for me), I figured I wouldn't push it.
I had a passable night on the floor, curled in Ryan's sleeping bag and padded underside by one of the blankets John didn't want. We found our way to the University of Ottawa and played.
Was a very good time, especially after lunch. Prior to lunch I did not answer one buzzer question, correct or otherwise, and felt pretty useless, but after my slice of cheeseburger pizza, some
John rang in real late, getting a computer-related question and then singlehandedly sweeping the Ayn-Rand-books team bonus. (We got one about linguistics early on, but I was shameful on that one, and I don't think we got any points at all. Simple vocabulary questions, and the only one I would have gotten, I phrased incorrectly and they wouldn't give it to me.)
And we lost to Cornell by less than a hundred points during the final round-robin, which was amazing. We have never been winning at halftime against them before.
Overall we came in second in our division, fourth overall, as I believe I mentioned. We left, rather pleased with our effort and successes...
...and found a parking ticket on my car from the City of Ottawa, $50 Canadian.
It was a misunderstanding; we should have done something and we didn't, but we were expecting an American parking system and, naturally, didn't get one. The guy running the tournament paid most of it himself, for which we hope to send him a t-shirt, made here in the States, that reads I paid a parking ticket for some stupid Americans and all I got was this lousy shirt!.
...I'm wondering if there should be a strike through "Americans," with "U.S. Citizens" written above it, but since we didn't let him in on the joke, it's probably best the other way.
Anyway, we drove back to school that night, stopping at a diner in Watertown--
--oh, my gosh, I forgot about Fat Nancy's! On the way to Canada, we stopped for gas at a place called Fat Nancy's Bait 'N' Tackle Shop (I think with the 'n', but I could be wrong), which was really funny, even though you kind of had to be there (we'd just passed a huge old sign that said "Diner" that actually had no diner anywhere nearby, and we were just discussing who, if this was a horror movie, would die and who would live, when out of the mist came this humongous lettered roofsign that said FAT NANCY'S, leading us to gas and safety...I couldn't help thinking about the whole Large Marge thing from Pee-Wee Herman, which is just about the only part of that movie that I've ever seen).
Anyway, on the way back, once we crossed the border (the U.S. patrolgirl was way nicer, which is unusual for our side of the line), we stopped at this diner that, in accordance with what Chris says should be a Law of Operating a Diner, served breakfast 24 hours a day. Opting for at least some semblance of nutrition, at least 1950s-style, I had a grilled-bacon-and-cheese, a chocolate milkshake, and a bowl of applesauce. Chris did the breakfast thing, but the others went for things like mozzarella sticks, barbecue sandwiches, fries with gravy and cheese, etc. (::laughs:: I love eating with them. It's always so much fun, and you're pretty much forbidden to worry about how healthy/unhealthy something is, lest they force you to consume a slice of pie as penance or something.) And then I rode up front until the next gas break, at which point I retreated to the back, curled up with my pillow, and slept virtually all the way back to school.
So I have to go to lunch now, but that was my weekend.
I will try not to be so manic-depressive, strike the manic. I am almost certainly dropping one of my minors, and without making a major out of the other. The only question is which one.
-Laurel
2.09.2005
(amendment)
Strike the following:
-Psychology minors are only 24 credits. A darn good thing, since Spanish minors are twenty.
-I don't want to be a Spanish major. I think it'd bore the heck out of me.
So far, the best thing seems to be what I have, which's English major with the two minors. But I can't deal with two more Spanish classes like the one I'm in now. If I graduate with a Spanish minor that doesn't allow me to speak to actual Spanish-speaking people, there's going to be some significant self-derision going on.
I know what you're thinking. And just what am I going to say to Ariana or Mark? This is a problem that especially the former cannot help me with. I don't have time. And I don't love Spanish more than community service, more than music, more than folk dancing. Psych I used to love that much, before the thought of any more classes like social-psych (could I not have tested out of this class? It's all AP psych warmed over!) made me want to scream.
Oh, yeah, like I'm too smart to be a psych minor, like Einstein or something. ::snorts::
-Laurel
-Psychology minors are only 24 credits. A darn good thing, since Spanish minors are twenty.
-I don't want to be a Spanish major. I think it'd bore the heck out of me.
So far, the best thing seems to be what I have, which's English major with the two minors. But I can't deal with two more Spanish classes like the one I'm in now. If I graduate with a Spanish minor that doesn't allow me to speak to actual Spanish-speaking people, there's going to be some significant self-derision going on.
I know what you're thinking. And just what am I going to say to Ariana or Mark? This is a problem that especially the former cannot help me with. I don't have time. And I don't love Spanish more than community service, more than music, more than folk dancing. Psych I used to love that much, before the thought of any more classes like social-psych (could I not have tested out of this class? It's all AP psych warmed over!) made me want to scream.
Oh, yeah, like I'm too smart to be a psych minor, like Einstein or something. ::snorts::
-Laurel
What the heck am I doing?
Last night, especially folk dancing, was wonderful--which was good, since the rest of the day was pretty mediocre.
I wish I had a schedule that allowed me to have fun without having to suffer for it later on, either in undone homework, lack of sleep, or usually both. Even folk dancing (especially folk dancing, inasmuch as it comes right before my busiest day of the week) I do not have time for, but that one I blatantly attend anyway, so far unable to believe that something can feel so good, and often even better, every week.
This madness is self-chosen and therefore my own fault, but I've got friends who are doing even more than I am and not seeming to hate most of it, which of course frustrates the heck out of me.
I am tempted to point out that coming from a "peer group" (psych term) that makes me feel ashamed (not deliberately) at taking fewer than 18 credits per semester (plus, in many cases, two imaginary credits for a Chamber Singers audit) probably does not help, but I would not give up my friends here for any amount of free time.
Nor, and here is the supreme problem, am I willing to give up any of the following: Bible study, folk dancing, Chamber Singers, Quiz Bowl, APO. All of these things make up everything about school life that I like right now (though APO and choir, at this moment, also make up a fraction of what I don't).
And since Spanish is still, in the immortal words of Evan, "kickin' me to the curb," I am at a loss here for what to do next. I love the language. But do I drop the minor because my schedule does not--and will not--allow me enough time to properly learn it? Or do I drop the psych minor (freeing up a good 28 credits of time) and make Spanish a second major in a sink-or-swim attempt to make myself learn it? It would give me more time. I could study abroad over the summer, not this summer, but next. That way I wouldn't have to leave everything else.
For those of you who are wondering, then, why I am typing instead of sleeping, the answer is that I tried, but I have been getting up at seven for too many days now to be able to sleep past seven-thirty. Since I allowed a sleep-cushion of 8:40, this is fairly okay, even though it's now 8:30.
I have to figure out what to do about all of this. I have no real idea.
-Laurel
I wish I had a schedule that allowed me to have fun without having to suffer for it later on, either in undone homework, lack of sleep, or usually both. Even folk dancing (especially folk dancing, inasmuch as it comes right before my busiest day of the week) I do not have time for, but that one I blatantly attend anyway, so far unable to believe that something can feel so good, and often even better, every week.
This madness is self-chosen and therefore my own fault, but I've got friends who are doing even more than I am and not seeming to hate most of it, which of course frustrates the heck out of me.
I am tempted to point out that coming from a "peer group" (psych term) that makes me feel ashamed (not deliberately) at taking fewer than 18 credits per semester (plus, in many cases, two imaginary credits for a Chamber Singers audit) probably does not help, but I would not give up my friends here for any amount of free time.
Nor, and here is the supreme problem, am I willing to give up any of the following: Bible study, folk dancing, Chamber Singers, Quiz Bowl, APO. All of these things make up everything about school life that I like right now (though APO and choir, at this moment, also make up a fraction of what I don't).
And since Spanish is still, in the immortal words of Evan, "kickin' me to the curb," I am at a loss here for what to do next. I love the language. But do I drop the minor because my schedule does not--and will not--allow me enough time to properly learn it? Or do I drop the psych minor (freeing up a good 28 credits of time) and make Spanish a second major in a sink-or-swim attempt to make myself learn it? It would give me more time. I could study abroad over the summer, not this summer, but next. That way I wouldn't have to leave everything else.
For those of you who are wondering, then, why I am typing instead of sleeping, the answer is that I tried, but I have been getting up at seven for too many days now to be able to sleep past seven-thirty. Since I allowed a sleep-cushion of 8:40, this is fairly okay, even though it's now 8:30.
I have to figure out what to do about all of this. I have no real idea.
-Laurel
2.07.2005
> >
Oh, and as a final proof that perhaps I should stop reading livejournals of people who don't know I'm reading them, the girl before who was joining APO because of a crush (and who later had talked about us being cool, which had shut me up for a while) now says that besides Heather and Kelly, most of us are skeevy, irritating, and smell bad. ...I don't know whether she's being bipolar about it or not, but at this point, we better make sure she wants to join before we accept her application.
Though there are certainly times that I would grant her the middle adjective in her catalog there.
-Laurel
Though there are certainly times that I would grant her the middle adjective in her catalog there.
-Laurel
2.06.2005
This teaser brought to you by...
Have just gotten back from Canada about half an hour ago. Except in case of a supreme fluke, we will not be going to Nationals (we only got second in the division, not first), but we played very well, especially in the second half of the day. I think I got more questions right than I ever have, though I also got my first neg (and in the same category that I accumulated nearly half of my points). As for what else happened, here is a coming-attraction...
From Chris's away message:
Tolls to cross the bridge to/from Canada - 3 Canadian dollars.
American Mountain Dew - 5 Canadian dollars.
A parking ticket from the Ottawa police - 50 Canadian dollars.
Playing "Born in the USA" while approaching the Canadian border, beating most of Canada in academic competition, and singing the national anthem at the top of our lungs - priceless.
More on all of that later.
-Laurel
From Chris's away message:
Tolls to cross the bridge to/from Canada - 3 Canadian dollars.
American Mountain Dew - 5 Canadian dollars.
A parking ticket from the Ottawa police - 50 Canadian dollars.
Playing "Born in the USA" while approaching the Canadian border, beating most of Canada in academic competition, and singing the national anthem at the top of our lungs - priceless.
More on all of that later.
-Laurel
2.04.2005
::laughs:: Oh my goodness, Chris was right...
...there is a Shotgun Rules website. As in who gets to ride in the front seat of a vehicle.
So okay, all is crazy but right with my world. The funeral came and went (more on that later). Lily got to move into the house I'm in. Tim and Mike got to move into the room next door to theirs, which is almost twice as big. I have heard from Albert.
Today has been absolutely random from the start, culminating in the cancellation of one class and the missing of another, but in about half an hour, Ryan, Zack, John, Chris, and I will be going to Ottawa for Quiz Bowl Regionals. If we win, we get to the Nationals in Louisiana. Apparently our chances aren't bad.
Zack, in his infinite organizational wisdom, got one hotel room for all of us. Two beds. Five people. One female. The logistics never crossed his mind. Needless to say, I am sleeping on the floor. Or in a cot. My parents are actually aware of this, and actually don't care. That's good.
But there is a national festival of some sort going on tonight right in Ottawa, so that should be entertaining. Hurrah for Chris pledging to be my non-drinking-buddy, since we are all legal in Canada.
Okay, it's time I finished packing. Gotta leave infifteen ten minutes now, and I still have clothes in the dryer.
Cheerio!
-Laurel
So okay, all is crazy but right with my world. The funeral came and went (more on that later). Lily got to move into the house I'm in. Tim and Mike got to move into the room next door to theirs, which is almost twice as big. I have heard from Albert.
Today has been absolutely random from the start, culminating in the cancellation of one class and the missing of another, but in about half an hour, Ryan, Zack, John, Chris, and I will be going to Ottawa for Quiz Bowl Regionals. If we win, we get to the Nationals in Louisiana. Apparently our chances aren't bad.
Zack, in his infinite organizational wisdom, got one hotel room for all of us. Two beds. Five people. One female. The logistics never crossed his mind. Needless to say, I am sleeping on the floor. Or in a cot. My parents are actually aware of this, and actually don't care. That's good.
But there is a national festival of some sort going on tonight right in Ottawa, so that should be entertaining. Hurrah for Chris pledging to be my non-drinking-buddy, since we are all legal in Canada.
Okay, it's time I finished packing. Gotta leave in
Cheerio!
-Laurel
2.02.2005
[hypothesis tested]
So there was stuff tonight that I could sort of effectively talk Heather through, but the point is, I tried, and it sort of worked.
Spanish is still biting the big burrito. Heh, look at my choice of words. ...I am not failing the class by any means (especially since we have not, to get down to it, been formally assessed at this point), but I am not making much progress. A little. But not much, especially in the talking-to-and-understanding-the-native-speakers department.
APO tie-dyeing was tonight. Made myself a red shirt, kind of old-school--a solid-color dye job, with just circles formed here and there, or occasionally an attempt at a rosette. All the way they taught us in fifth-grade art class, the same Rit-dye-in-buckets method. No swirls or waves or multicolored patterns or packaged tie-dye kits for me. I like the elementary school way, and like having a tie-dyed shirt again, particularly because it's self-made. ...Soaking it for the extra 45 minutes really helped give it a more ruby shade, too.
But it is high time, as usual, that I went to bed; I leave here around 9:30 tomorrow-now-today, with Lily, as we go to the funeral and then hang out at her house until Thursday. Good thing I have no classes on Thursday 'til choir, 5:20. Not that it would probably matter if I did, inasmuch as getting out of every single class in which I'm enrolled (choir, as I may have mentioned, is an audit), because they all meet on Wednesdays, worked out fine.
Jeesh, I'm hungry, though. Maybe caffeine anytime is a bad idea, 'cause my metabolism is quick enough when I'm unbuzzed, and now I can't fall asleep. ...Oh jeesh, and did I have soda with lunch today? I think I did, which is rare for me. Twice in one day is even rarer (the other was during tie-dye).
Okay, okay, signing off.
-Laurel
Spanish is still biting the big burrito. Heh, look at my choice of words. ...I am not failing the class by any means (especially since we have not, to get down to it, been formally assessed at this point), but I am not making much progress. A little. But not much, especially in the talking-to-and-understanding-the-native-speakers department.
APO tie-dyeing was tonight. Made myself a red shirt, kind of old-school--a solid-color dye job, with just circles formed here and there, or occasionally an attempt at a rosette. All the way they taught us in fifth-grade art class, the same Rit-dye-in-buckets method. No swirls or waves or multicolored patterns or packaged tie-dye kits for me. I like the elementary school way, and like having a tie-dyed shirt again, particularly because it's self-made. ...Soaking it for the extra 45 minutes really helped give it a more ruby shade, too.
But it is high time, as usual, that I went to bed; I leave here around 9:30 tomorrow-now-today, with Lily, as we go to the funeral and then hang out at her house until Thursday. Good thing I have no classes on Thursday 'til choir, 5:20. Not that it would probably matter if I did, inasmuch as getting out of every single class in which I'm enrolled (choir, as I may have mentioned, is an audit), because they all meet on Wednesdays, worked out fine.
Jeesh, I'm hungry, though. Maybe caffeine anytime is a bad idea, 'cause my metabolism is quick enough when I'm unbuzzed, and now I can't fall asleep. ...Oh jeesh, and did I have soda with lunch today? I think I did, which is rare for me. Twice in one day is even rarer (the other was during tie-dye).
Okay, okay, signing off.
-Laurel
2.01.2005
Thoughts the next morning, while checking away messages
Okay, I didn't try to make Heather happy, because I knew it wouldn't work.
But Tim did, knowing it wouldn't, and Kelly apparently spent a significant part of her night trying, and was a lot nicer about it than I would have been.
Should I have tried? Once I would have.
-Laurel
But Tim did, knowing it wouldn't, and Kelly apparently spent a significant part of her night trying, and was a lot nicer about it than I would have been.
Should I have tried? Once I would have.
-Laurel
I bet my Spanish homework wouldn't have to be put off until tomorrow if I'd do that now instead of this.
Ha to the above, ha.
Heather is heartbroken over here because Adam wants nothing to do with her, and is making Tim feel bad because she's basically refusing any comfort. Meryl is crushed because her knee injury might make her have to drop out of ballet.
I am trying to tell myself--it is working better than I expected--that my seeking out an mp3 of "Pata Pata" for Tom, and sending it to his e-mail for him to find in the morning, is an act of combat against the cruelty that Heather and Adam throw at each other, and the sadness of Meryl's threatened love.
I am trying to remember how unmitigatedly warm it felt tonight, how cozy, to spend two-and-a-half hours getting to know better three people that I was acquainted with already, and meet one more.
Because I knew Tom even before Tim, and our friendship was (as mostly it is) a happy one, I still have trouble keeping down a flick of jealousy every time he goes on and on about how happy his IV friends make him. John and Lily used to make me feel like that in one way, and he and Krystal in another. I remember Krystal giving me an open invitation to eat with them, around October of last year, and how I finally felt like a nomadic existence was ending, that I could go beyond having three friends here and three friends only. John, Lily, and Evan were it for quite some time, and as wonderful as they were, I didn't feel adjusted. ...I suppose having a boyfriend eighty miles away didn't help.
But I can certainly understand, now that Tom's made me take a look at it, just how good it must feel some days to have a core beyond APO. Hanging out with some IVers of my own tonight did quite a bit to underscore the point.
Do I still have one? John and Lily and Evan are still there. But not in the same ways. Lily is much the same, though I no longer feel like an everyday, every-moment part of her life, nor her of mine. (That should change if she gets to move into the house, though...) Evan I see through APO, but still not as much as many, and there's a difference now, though he could tell you better than I could, perhaps.
And John? I see him in more classes than ever this semester, but I don't hang out with him every alternate evening anymore. Goodness, the sheer number of the nights I walked back from his dorm last year, so late, because my classes didn't start until 11:20, and homework was nowhere near what it is...it was incredible, how many of those nights there were, at least until Fiddler. So now, talking to him again, there're flashes of what was there, but it's like cleaning off a grimy window--but is it the same glass underneath? Ideological uncertainty, especially in such a devoted politics-fan as he was, seems like a new concept for him...nor do I remember him being so much of a skeptic.
And I? I have always been a spazz, and an insecure one, but I think in the beginning of the year especially, nobody knew what to make of how I was some days. Some ideas of mine are altered, too. I know that doesn't mean it's wrong. But I had thought that more things would be forever.
I needed this night so badly, the part before Meryl was crying and Heather was making me want to cry. But I'm not panicking this time. I had my random act of pleasantry, and I have offered Meryl support before, and I know from Tim that Heather refuses to accept kindness right now (I've done that many times). Against all odds, right now that feels okay.
I could use some sleep, though, obviously.
-Laurel
Heather is heartbroken over here because Adam wants nothing to do with her, and is making Tim feel bad because she's basically refusing any comfort. Meryl is crushed because her knee injury might make her have to drop out of ballet.
I am trying to tell myself--it is working better than I expected--that my seeking out an mp3 of "Pata Pata" for Tom, and sending it to his e-mail for him to find in the morning, is an act of combat against the cruelty that Heather and Adam throw at each other, and the sadness of Meryl's threatened love.
I am trying to remember how unmitigatedly warm it felt tonight, how cozy, to spend two-and-a-half hours getting to know better three people that I was acquainted with already, and meet one more.
Because I knew Tom even before Tim, and our friendship was (as mostly it is) a happy one, I still have trouble keeping down a flick of jealousy every time he goes on and on about how happy his IV friends make him. John and Lily used to make me feel like that in one way, and he and Krystal in another. I remember Krystal giving me an open invitation to eat with them, around October of last year, and how I finally felt like a nomadic existence was ending, that I could go beyond having three friends here and three friends only. John, Lily, and Evan were it for quite some time, and as wonderful as they were, I didn't feel adjusted. ...I suppose having a boyfriend eighty miles away didn't help.
But I can certainly understand, now that Tom's made me take a look at it, just how good it must feel some days to have a core beyond APO. Hanging out with some IVers of my own tonight did quite a bit to underscore the point.
Do I still have one? John and Lily and Evan are still there. But not in the same ways. Lily is much the same, though I no longer feel like an everyday, every-moment part of her life, nor her of mine. (That should change if she gets to move into the house, though...) Evan I see through APO, but still not as much as many, and there's a difference now, though he could tell you better than I could, perhaps.
And John? I see him in more classes than ever this semester, but I don't hang out with him every alternate evening anymore. Goodness, the sheer number of the nights I walked back from his dorm last year, so late, because my classes didn't start until 11:20, and homework was nowhere near what it is...it was incredible, how many of those nights there were, at least until Fiddler. So now, talking to him again, there're flashes of what was there, but it's like cleaning off a grimy window--but is it the same glass underneath? Ideological uncertainty, especially in such a devoted politics-fan as he was, seems like a new concept for him...nor do I remember him being so much of a skeptic.
And I? I have always been a spazz, and an insecure one, but I think in the beginning of the year especially, nobody knew what to make of how I was some days. Some ideas of mine are altered, too. I know that doesn't mean it's wrong. But I had thought that more things would be forever.
I needed this night so badly, the part before Meryl was crying and Heather was making me want to cry. But I'm not panicking this time. I had my random act of pleasantry, and I have offered Meryl support before, and I know from Tim that Heather refuses to accept kindness right now (I've done that many times). Against all odds, right now that feels okay.
I could use some sleep, though, obviously.
-Laurel