Ech.
What a week it's been for moral failure and complete interpersonal weirdness.
I feel like sighing and slumping down and sitting on the nearest floor, with my back against the nearest perpendicular surface, and staying there until I get hugged, but I've gotten much hugging tonight and it didn't hit the tired failing lonely spot, so I'm not entirely certain what will.
Guess I'll wait for the tide. And go to bed in the meantime. I guess it's not a good idea for me to have any caffeine, since last night I had only about two mouthfuls a little after dinner and was thereby wired for half the night, which made a lot of today interesting.
I'm not anything to be worried over; it sounds like I'm depressed, but I'm really more overwhelmed than anything.
-Laurel
10.30.2005
"Think I'll wait for the tide..."
I am back from the Stratford Theatre Festival up in Canada, to which I went with various English-interested friends (since we weren't all majors/minors). We saw Hello, Dolly!, As You Like It (as re-set in the 1960s, which actually worked quite well), and The Tempest.
More on those later, perhaps, but here's a question I came up with on the trip that, even though it isn't really theatre-related, is one that I pondered enough to include here:
What exactly is deliverance? Is it really a complete taking-away of something standing in your path or threatening you? Or is it still that God brings you right up to the point where you're free, but you have to take that final step?
I'd always thought it was the first, but I'm going to have to look at some of the stories again to make sure.
-Laurel
More on those later, perhaps, but here's a question I came up with on the trip that, even though it isn't really theatre-related, is one that I pondered enough to include here:
What exactly is deliverance? Is it really a complete taking-away of something standing in your path or threatening you? Or is it still that God brings you right up to the point where you're free, but you have to take that final step?
I'd always thought it was the first, but I'm going to have to look at some of the stories again to make sure.
-Laurel
10.25.2005
In Which Laurel Has Had Caffeine, But Luckily Has Also Gone to Folk Dancing, Leading (Perhaps) to a Surge in Endorphins Just as the Caffeine Subsides
Course schedules for next semester are out, which means that I am one happy nerd. The riveting questions this time around (since there are always some):
-Do I want to take Text and Image (which, as creative-nonfiction [which I really like, 'cause it's so close to personal essay] done alongside photography students, sounds sa-weeet) badly enough to get up at 7:00 for it, as it's an 8:20 class, a beginning time that I thought I'd never have to suffer? Does it make the situation better or worse that it only meets twice a week (i.e. will that save me from utter doom because staying up 'til one every night, as I'll probably do, won't matter quite as much; or will it aggravate any attempt I would make to actually start going to bed at a more decent hour)?
-If I lobbied for an ocean science class that has finally gone through, should I therefore take it so as not to be an ungrateful snot, even though I no longer need it, and even though I'm possibly going to kill my GPA for something that doesn't matter anymore (Otto is a spectacular person, but his tests are apparently truly evil)?
-Should I wait around for a possibly-better psych class than Cognitive Processes? ...But what better class (that fulfills the category requirement), and what would I put in that space instead?
-Should I rejoin Chamber Singers for the spring semester, now that I'll probably have only one class on Tuesdays and Thursdays? But what if the music is as boring as I think it might be, and Luanne is as stark raving mad as ever? ...I miss the music. I don't miss the class. Dilemma here.
Ah, the delicious mystery of another semester. Sad that this is one of only three more times I'll get to do it.
-Laurel
-Do I want to take Text and Image (which, as creative-nonfiction [which I really like, 'cause it's so close to personal essay] done alongside photography students, sounds sa-weeet) badly enough to get up at 7:00 for it, as it's an 8:20 class, a beginning time that I thought I'd never have to suffer? Does it make the situation better or worse that it only meets twice a week (i.e. will that save me from utter doom because staying up 'til one every night, as I'll probably do, won't matter quite as much; or will it aggravate any attempt I would make to actually start going to bed at a more decent hour)?
-If I lobbied for an ocean science class that has finally gone through, should I therefore take it so as not to be an ungrateful snot, even though I no longer need it, and even though I'm possibly going to kill my GPA for something that doesn't matter anymore (Otto is a spectacular person, but his tests are apparently truly evil)?
-Should I wait around for a possibly-better psych class than Cognitive Processes? ...But what better class (that fulfills the category requirement), and what would I put in that space instead?
-Should I rejoin Chamber Singers for the spring semester, now that I'll probably have only one class on Tuesdays and Thursdays? But what if the music is as boring as I think it might be, and Luanne is as stark raving mad as ever? ...I miss the music. I don't miss the class. Dilemma here.
Ah, the delicious mystery of another semester. Sad that this is one of only three more times I'll get to do it.
-Laurel
Just to prove that I read Evelyn's LJ?
Jumping on her link bandwagon once again:
http://www.thebreastcancersite.com
Go and click, 'cause that's totally the only chance they have at making it to their goal in only another week.
I don't have much to say about Heather's stuff this weekend right now, or possibly ever. I discovered that I can't sing Spanish songs that mention death without crying, so maybe I shouldn't be in the front row. And that it doesn't really look like Tim is crying even when he is.
We went to her gravesite, the better fraction of APO. It's nice, and in a nice spot, though everything'll be better when some grass starts growing on it and she gets a headstone instead of just a marker (they have to wait a year, it turns out, for the ground to firm up, else the stone'll sink down).
I got to see cider pressed on Sunday, which was supercool.
Other than that, I've basically been sucking at life for the past couple of days because I'm substituting caffeine for some of the sleep I should be getting. I've decided that the first bad sign of my being sleep-deprived is my drinking soda with caffeine. The second bad sign (this is when you know it's worse) is me being cranky when my caffeine wears off, instead of just tired. The third and worst bad sign of sleep deprivation is when I'm cranky even when I'm on said caffeine. Right now I'm somewhere between steps one and two, but I'd been, as of last night, between two and three. If you're ever there when I hit three, sedate me and put me to bed; the world will be a better place.
Speaking of, I've got to be up at 7:30 tomorrow, and it's 12:35. And I'm behind on my Hawthorne/Melville homework already. Crud.
Oh, and iharthdarth is ending. And I think that's sad. :(
-Laurel
http://www.thebreastcancersite.com
Go and click, 'cause that's totally the only chance they have at making it to their goal in only another week.
I don't have much to say about Heather's stuff this weekend right now, or possibly ever. I discovered that I can't sing Spanish songs that mention death without crying, so maybe I shouldn't be in the front row. And that it doesn't really look like Tim is crying even when he is.
We went to her gravesite, the better fraction of APO. It's nice, and in a nice spot, though everything'll be better when some grass starts growing on it and she gets a headstone instead of just a marker (they have to wait a year, it turns out, for the ground to firm up, else the stone'll sink down).
I got to see cider pressed on Sunday, which was supercool.
Other than that, I've basically been sucking at life for the past couple of days because I'm substituting caffeine for some of the sleep I should be getting. I've decided that the first bad sign of my being sleep-deprived is my drinking soda with caffeine. The second bad sign (this is when you know it's worse) is me being cranky when my caffeine wears off, instead of just tired. The third and worst bad sign of sleep deprivation is when I'm cranky even when I'm on said caffeine. Right now I'm somewhere between steps one and two, but I'd been, as of last night, between two and three. If you're ever there when I hit three, sedate me and put me to bed; the world will be a better place.
Speaking of, I've got to be up at 7:30 tomorrow, and it's 12:35. And I'm behind on my Hawthorne/Melville homework already. Crud.
Oh, and iharthdarth is ending. And I think that's sad. :(
-Laurel
10.22.2005
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum
So Heather's service is tomorrow(/today), and the Babes are singing "Ave Maria." We're the ones left from the ACDA; we went with her, and when we got together after to sing stuff for the choir concert, she starting calling us the Babes, like we were another female acapella group. There were five of us, counting her, SSAA, but Heather and Barbara were both second sopranos. Heather is gone and there's still one to a part--Jen, Barbara, me, and then Lydia (listed highest to lowest).
So we're singing "Ave Maria," which she was going to sing this summer at her--I think cousin's--wedding, but just SA.
I've had little time to prepare, so today at practice I was the only alto (Lydia was on a thing for APO, actually) and a mediocre one at that, but tonight Tim and I went into the dance studio and he rode his unicycle and I played the harmony line to "Ave Maria" with the sheet music on the piano in there until I more or less got it all.
I'm all in favor of the service, but all of a sudden I don't think it'll mean as much to me as I thought it would. Like, as weird as funerals are, and as much a shell as people in caskets look, at least funerals seem complete. Tomorrow, her family will be there, but Heather will not. And somehow that makes things empty, like a gathering of--of whom? I keep thinking of shipwreck survivors somehow.
It's the living talking solely to the living, though we feel like the music should talk to her. Like somehow that should transcend the divide itself, even though we don't expect the speeches to.
Sudden death must be kindest for the dier, but I can't help thinking it's cruelest for the survivors. People talk about how much pain you watch in a slow death, the hope dangled in front of you for the person's life that then gets snatched away, but at least it happens slowly enough that you can understand. It's straight cause-effect, and even the death has some measure of logic, even when the sickness doesn't. Once given terminal sickness, no matter how illogical in itself, death by it becomes logical. But diabetes isn't terminal, and you get no warning from Rochester of a heart attack some 100 miles away. There were warning signs, but they didn't add up. Not to something so soon, certainly.
My heart goes out to Chris, Jenny, and Allison, familiar with emergency situations, who know far better than I what those last horrible moments must have been like: where my mind has some hazy thought of Heather's eyes shutting, maybe an EKG flat-lining, theirs must have a whole sequence of events from a completely different perspective: from the ambulance tones going off in some faceless EMT's pocket to the paperwork for certifying the death. She died at the hospital; nothing I read said "taken to the hospital, where she was pronounced dead." That means that somewhere is a doctor or a similar figure who tried to help someone beyond helping. I couldn't do it. I'd blame myself. There's already enough I blame myself for.
I'm appalled at how little I've learned from all of this. I mean, I've learned an incredible amount about the aftermath, what kinds of things happen, that whole psychological thing. But I haven't learned to be any kinder or more patient or more appreciative or less argumentative or jealous or nasty, and realizing that doesn't even inspire me to try to change it. And I'm really frustrated by that. Just what will it take, if someone I almost roomed with dropped dead and I'm just as self-centered as ever? How can you go bigger than "maybe you should be kind because at least they're there to give you the choice?" There's no stronger dosage, except maybe threatening me with death and then letting me live. If I'm stupid enough with this, I'm stupid enough with essentially everything.
It's not that I think that Heather died because God wanted me to learn something. (Hmph, maybe my not believing that is why I haven't changed.) I understand that this is much larger than I am on my own. But here I am with it anyway. And now what?
The service is tomorrow. I imagine I'll write a thing on that. But after that, you out there in Readerland should get another long hiatus from these horrible rants. They're valuable to me in retrospect, but I also realize that outside of recording some of my many thoughts, they're completely futile. They don't make me kinder and they don't bring her back.
But it's not even "back" I want; I want it never to have been. Though how would I be any better towards her, with no motive? Even the threat of death, in her, I doubt I'd have learned from in any lasting way.
Sleep now; there's much to do tomorrow, and I don't think I want to do any of the prepwork at all. Maybe I'll sleep until noon, just because it's a Saturday and I can. That'd be nice.
-Laurel
So we're singing "Ave Maria," which she was going to sing this summer at her--I think cousin's--wedding, but just SA.
I've had little time to prepare, so today at practice I was the only alto (Lydia was on a thing for APO, actually) and a mediocre one at that, but tonight Tim and I went into the dance studio and he rode his unicycle and I played the harmony line to "Ave Maria" with the sheet music on the piano in there until I more or less got it all.
I'm all in favor of the service, but all of a sudden I don't think it'll mean as much to me as I thought it would. Like, as weird as funerals are, and as much a shell as people in caskets look, at least funerals seem complete. Tomorrow, her family will be there, but Heather will not. And somehow that makes things empty, like a gathering of--of whom? I keep thinking of shipwreck survivors somehow.
It's the living talking solely to the living, though we feel like the music should talk to her. Like somehow that should transcend the divide itself, even though we don't expect the speeches to.
Sudden death must be kindest for the dier, but I can't help thinking it's cruelest for the survivors. People talk about how much pain you watch in a slow death, the hope dangled in front of you for the person's life that then gets snatched away, but at least it happens slowly enough that you can understand. It's straight cause-effect, and even the death has some measure of logic, even when the sickness doesn't. Once given terminal sickness, no matter how illogical in itself, death by it becomes logical. But diabetes isn't terminal, and you get no warning from Rochester of a heart attack some 100 miles away. There were warning signs, but they didn't add up. Not to something so soon, certainly.
My heart goes out to Chris, Jenny, and Allison, familiar with emergency situations, who know far better than I what those last horrible moments must have been like: where my mind has some hazy thought of Heather's eyes shutting, maybe an EKG flat-lining, theirs must have a whole sequence of events from a completely different perspective: from the ambulance tones going off in some faceless EMT's pocket to the paperwork for certifying the death. She died at the hospital; nothing I read said "taken to the hospital, where she was pronounced dead." That means that somewhere is a doctor or a similar figure who tried to help someone beyond helping. I couldn't do it. I'd blame myself. There's already enough I blame myself for.
I'm appalled at how little I've learned from all of this. I mean, I've learned an incredible amount about the aftermath, what kinds of things happen, that whole psychological thing. But I haven't learned to be any kinder or more patient or more appreciative or less argumentative or jealous or nasty, and realizing that doesn't even inspire me to try to change it. And I'm really frustrated by that. Just what will it take, if someone I almost roomed with dropped dead and I'm just as self-centered as ever? How can you go bigger than "maybe you should be kind because at least they're there to give you the choice?" There's no stronger dosage, except maybe threatening me with death and then letting me live. If I'm stupid enough with this, I'm stupid enough with essentially everything.
It's not that I think that Heather died because God wanted me to learn something. (Hmph, maybe my not believing that is why I haven't changed.) I understand that this is much larger than I am on my own. But here I am with it anyway. And now what?
The service is tomorrow. I imagine I'll write a thing on that. But after that, you out there in Readerland should get another long hiatus from these horrible rants. They're valuable to me in retrospect, but I also realize that outside of recording some of my many thoughts, they're completely futile. They don't make me kinder and they don't bring her back.
But it's not even "back" I want; I want it never to have been. Though how would I be any better towards her, with no motive? Even the threat of death, in her, I doubt I'd have learned from in any lasting way.
Sleep now; there's much to do tomorrow, and I don't think I want to do any of the prepwork at all. Maybe I'll sleep until noon, just because it's a Saturday and I can. That'd be nice.
-Laurel
10.21.2005
10.17.2005
Interrobang
I realize that I haven't read LWW since the ninth grade, but can somebody tell me what Phillip Pullman is on about here?
Also, the way they summarize His Dark Materials...I've only gotten to the end of the first book. Is that really an accurate description itself? It doesn't sound quite like that so far.
-Laurel
Also, the way they summarize His Dark Materials...I've only gotten to the end of the first book. Is that really an accurate description itself? It doesn't sound quite like that so far.
-Laurel
Another update from home
So today the obligatory shopping got done. I ended up with a winter coat (not the warmest ever, but it was the only one to fit all the other qualifications [hood, good fit, decent pockets, long enough, not too puffy or quilted, not easily stainable], so whatever), curtains (boy what a pain that whole thing was), and Chris Rice's Amusing (yaaaaaay!), to which I'm now listening. He's all up into love songs this album, which's weird inasmuch as a) it's always been straight Christian stuff before, and b) he isn't/wasn't married. But I like it. "Love Like Crazy" is going straight onto my "Save-the-World Mix" CD if I ever make it.
I started learning "Ave Maria" for next Saturday. It's okay. Harder than I expected, especially for a song with only two voice parts, but most of that is because the Latin is a big pain, even though it's pretty. Dangit, another reason I should've hung out at Zinni's church more often. :-P
Dinnertime.
-Laurel
I started learning "Ave Maria" for next Saturday. It's okay. Harder than I expected, especially for a song with only two voice parts, but most of that is because the Latin is a big pain, even though it's pretty. Dangit, another reason I should've hung out at Zinni's church more often. :-P
Dinnertime.
-Laurel
10.16.2005
Oooooh...ahhhhh...
So I figured that it was time for a template change, since I think I had that other one for at least two-and-a-half years. Jeesh, I've seen blogs not even survive that long.
The good thing is, as much as I loved the look of the black-gray-white one, it went a little too well with my more melodramatic postings. This one will hopefully help keep some balance, whatever I mean by that.
I'm home on midsemester break, and it's really nice. My brother managed to lightly sprain his ankle in gym on Friday; he likes to make jokes about all the nice things he would be doing for the rest of the family if only he had more freedom of movement (clean his room, pick things up, etc.). He hung around on couches and in chairs with bags of frozen vegetables on the swollen part; today he was better still, though with a bit of a limp. My mom made fondue for dinner, which I don't think we've ever done before. I was impressed that I liked it so much, given that there was a noticeable amount of wine in it (usually that ruins it for me; it did ruin it for the bro), but the fondue was good stuff.
So was the macaroni salad at Dinosaur BBQ today, even though I normally can't stand anything tainted with mayo; my family went, and we brought Erik along. After that, all of us (except Dad) played two games of Chrononauts. My brother won both, extending his lifetime streak to, I think, 5-0-1 (the tie is from when he was about to win, I stopped him, and in his show of anguish he swept the cards off the table and the game had to come to an end). He just doesn't seem to lose that game, ever.
Even before dinner and Erik, he, Mom, and I went and saw Wallace and Gromit. It was very cute and intelligent, but wow did they get away with a lot, for a G-rated movie. Oh, well, I guess.
The garage got painted for the first time practically ever(!) and looks fabulous. I really love how open and airy our house is, except in winter, when that kind of makes everything seem (and feel) cold. You really want a house like the twins' for autumn and winter, all coziness and warm-colored shades of wood.
In an effort to make my dorm room look a little less stark, I'm going to attempt on Monday to get some curtains, or at least some material to drape in that general area. Let's see, the window is 40.5 inches wide, 58.5 inches long...
Everyone on campus appears bored out of their minds. So to them I say, hey, should've come home with me, because nobody did. :-P
And could I have used the word "cool" any more times in the last part of my previous entry? Sheesh.
Yup. This's the part where I get off the computer and sleep so I'm not a zombie in church tomorrow.
The good thing is, as much as I loved the look of the black-gray-white one, it went a little too well with my more melodramatic postings. This one will hopefully help keep some balance, whatever I mean by that.
I'm home on midsemester break, and it's really nice. My brother managed to lightly sprain his ankle in gym on Friday; he likes to make jokes about all the nice things he would be doing for the rest of the family if only he had more freedom of movement (clean his room, pick things up, etc.). He hung around on couches and in chairs with bags of frozen vegetables on the swollen part; today he was better still, though with a bit of a limp. My mom made fondue for dinner, which I don't think we've ever done before. I was impressed that I liked it so much, given that there was a noticeable amount of wine in it (usually that ruins it for me; it did ruin it for the bro), but the fondue was good stuff.
So was the macaroni salad at Dinosaur BBQ today, even though I normally can't stand anything tainted with mayo; my family went, and we brought Erik along. After that, all of us (except Dad) played two games of Chrononauts. My brother won both, extending his lifetime streak to, I think, 5-0-1 (the tie is from when he was about to win, I stopped him, and in his show of anguish he swept the cards off the table and the game had to come to an end). He just doesn't seem to lose that game, ever.
Even before dinner and Erik, he, Mom, and I went and saw Wallace and Gromit. It was very cute and intelligent, but wow did they get away with a lot, for a G-rated movie. Oh, well, I guess.
The garage got painted for the first time practically ever(!) and looks fabulous. I really love how open and airy our house is, except in winter, when that kind of makes everything seem (and feel) cold. You really want a house like the twins' for autumn and winter, all coziness and warm-colored shades of wood.
In an effort to make my dorm room look a little less stark, I'm going to attempt on Monday to get some curtains, or at least some material to drape in that general area. Let's see, the window is 40.5 inches wide, 58.5 inches long...
Everyone on campus appears bored out of their minds. So to them I say, hey, should've come home with me, because nobody did. :-P
And could I have used the word "cool" any more times in the last part of my previous entry? Sheesh.
Yup. This's the part where I get off the computer and sleep so I'm not a zombie in church tomorrow.
10.12.2005
International Moment of Frustration Scream Day
(really. It's on wellcat.com and everything.)
This has been, like, my Semester of Rage, and I don't really know what to do about it. Just deciding that I won't get angry at people apparently doesn't have much effect, because I have like no tolerance for people. Notice that I don't say "stupid people," because people who say that they hate stupid people also make me angry, since they come off as really obnoxiously prideful. My main complaints are against closed-mindedness and lack of follow-through, both of which find a lot of material, especially within APO.
Yeah, I don't know what to do about it. Find a new set of friends springs to mind, but I believe too much in the buried brilliance of APO as an organization, not to mention that I like a lot of the people I associate with most often. So...crud.
But I went to Poder Latino tonight for the first time. That was cool. Conrado's been really nice to me all year, which's cool, 'cause he was one of the coolest people I met in Spanish classes. I got a button; it says soy amada, "I am loved." Which I am, friends included in that equation.
-Laurel
This has been, like, my Semester of Rage, and I don't really know what to do about it. Just deciding that I won't get angry at people apparently doesn't have much effect, because I have like no tolerance for people. Notice that I don't say "stupid people," because people who say that they hate stupid people also make me angry, since they come off as really obnoxiously prideful. My main complaints are against closed-mindedness and lack of follow-through, both of which find a lot of material, especially within APO.
Yeah, I don't know what to do about it. Find a new set of friends springs to mind, but I believe too much in the buried brilliance of APO as an organization, not to mention that I like a lot of the people I associate with most often. So...crud.
But I went to Poder Latino tonight for the first time. That was cool. Conrado's been really nice to me all year, which's cool, 'cause he was one of the coolest people I met in Spanish classes. I got a button; it says soy amada, "I am loved." Which I am, friends included in that equation.
-Laurel
10.11.2005
Things I'm thinking about a lot lately
-In Bible study we just got through the Book of James, which is super-cool, and there's this part (4:13-16) where it basically says not to have too much confidence in what you're doing in the upcoming days, because you don't even know if you'll be living past today. I've been thinking about Heather a lot when I read that part, and I wasn't going to mention that, because a) that's pretty bummerly, and b) I've talked about her a lot already and didn't want to be like, well, *I've* got the biggest application of all, but I didn't have to say anything--Joe brought it up himself, looked right at me.
-I believe that all of the chaos of the past year really has made people think about themselves differently. What makes me think so? Well, I've been meaning to bring this up--last year, beginning of sophomore year, when I went to the Maura Cullen presentation as an OG, and she asked who had grown up with "more than enough," I had stood, and only about two other people had stood with me; everyone else stood for "enough." I felt really stupid for not understanding that she'd really meant--or at least by the result I'd assumed so--"whose families are wealthy," so this year I figured I'd have to fix it. Well, this year my eyebrows shot up about an inch when she did "more than enough" and everyone I watched stood up, except for Evan, whose family was poor. Even he upgraded to "enough." I sat there through the whole thing, too surprised to know what to do.
-"Liberal" does not mean "non-Christian." Some people are liberal based on their takes on environmentalism, gun control, and the death penalty, not abortion and/or gay marriage. And I know Christian conservatives, really strong ones, who support some of those things. And, like, I have read really good-quality, logical arguments in favor of some political idea that I was all ready to give a respectful nod to, only to find the authors completely ruining them in the very last sentence by playing the "liberal media" card. And by the way, liberals are being pretty darn obnoxious themselves; every mention in my English classes of injustice, invasion, etc. is getting that, well, where are we seeing *that* these days, boys and girls? Instead of things that might actually be helpful, like writing letters and holding info sessions, instead of trying to spit in the government's eye, which of course is oh so educated and mature. ...Will everyone please just get a life? Edging toward the middle is not a sign of weakness, people.
Okay, time for homework.
-Laurel
-I believe that all of the chaos of the past year really has made people think about themselves differently. What makes me think so? Well, I've been meaning to bring this up--last year, beginning of sophomore year, when I went to the Maura Cullen presentation as an OG, and she asked who had grown up with "more than enough," I had stood, and only about two other people had stood with me; everyone else stood for "enough." I felt really stupid for not understanding that she'd really meant--or at least by the result I'd assumed so--"whose families are wealthy," so this year I figured I'd have to fix it. Well, this year my eyebrows shot up about an inch when she did "more than enough" and everyone I watched stood up, except for Evan, whose family was poor. Even he upgraded to "enough." I sat there through the whole thing, too surprised to know what to do.
-"Liberal" does not mean "non-Christian." Some people are liberal based on their takes on environmentalism, gun control, and the death penalty, not abortion and/or gay marriage. And I know Christian conservatives, really strong ones, who support some of those things. And, like, I have read really good-quality, logical arguments in favor of some political idea that I was all ready to give a respectful nod to, only to find the authors completely ruining them in the very last sentence by playing the "liberal media" card. And by the way, liberals are being pretty darn obnoxious themselves; every mention in my English classes of injustice, invasion, etc. is getting that, well, where are we seeing *that* these days, boys and girls? Instead of things that might actually be helpful, like writing letters and holding info sessions, instead of trying to spit in the government's eye, which of course is oh so educated and mature. ...Will everyone please just get a life? Edging toward the middle is not a sign of weakness, people.
Okay, time for homework.
-Laurel
10.10.2005
::giggle!::
There's actually, on Quizilla (this is not my fault; by extension I got it off of Chelsea's LJ), a quiz for what book of the Bible you are(?!).
So I'm Romans. Which makes me nerdily happy, even though the accompanying description is a little too accurate, because that's like my favorite one.
Once again, the internet swoops down to show everyone how utterly weird and how utterly normal they are.
-Laurel
So I'm Romans. Which makes me nerdily happy, even though the accompanying description is a little too accurate, because that's like my favorite one.
Once again, the internet swoops down to show everyone how utterly weird and how utterly normal they are.
-Laurel
Quotations
A brother and a sister...grow to a certain age sharing everything. They have read the same comics, climbed the same trees, been pirates or spacemen together, taken up and abandoned stamp-collecting at the same moment. Then a dreadful thing happens. One of them flashes ahead--discovers poetry or science or serious music or perhaps undergoes a religious conversion. His life is flooded with the new interest. The other cannot share it; he is left behind. I doubt whether even the infidelity of a wife or husband raises a more miserable sense of desertion or a fiercer jealousy than this can sometimes do.
-The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis
I've been pretty cranky this weekend with lots of people and things who seem determined to make their lives easier or more pleasant at my expense. Which is a pretty disgusting, false-martyrly position to take on the matter.
So here is a posting inspired by Kristin's away message, which made things feel a little better.
O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
-Walt Whitman
So begins the last week before break. Hope people do decide to come home with me (I've asked John, Tim, and Lily Jo, but I doubt Tim will). It's not that I don't think my parents and I could spend quality time together, but, among other things, it's just happier all around when the house is noisy with people playing DDR and talking to my parents, and my mom has appreciative college-age mouths upon which to lavish lasagna and breakfast food (actually, Friday's project is probably going to be cheese fondue...).
Besides, my brother likes John a lot, and it's mutual. He's still pretty lukewarm on Tim, but I suppose I'd be a little wary of any girl cuddle-nuzzling my brother, so that's fair enough. ...I know that half of his niceness when I've got friends in the house (though it's usually limited to guy-friends, come to think of it) is fueled by wanting new people to play games with, and part of the rest is him rolling his eyes and asking himself what his hospitality-impaired sister would do to entertain these people for so many days if it weren't for him to move things along. But, well, it's hard to argue with that.
I played DDR tonight for the first time all semester. It was good.
Good night.
-Laurel
-The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis
I've been pretty cranky this weekend with lots of people and things who seem determined to make their lives easier or more pleasant at my expense. Which is a pretty disgusting, false-martyrly position to take on the matter.
So here is a posting inspired by Kristin's away message, which made things feel a little better.
O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
-Walt Whitman
So begins the last week before break. Hope people do decide to come home with me (I've asked John, Tim, and Lily Jo, but I doubt Tim will). It's not that I don't think my parents and I could spend quality time together, but, among other things, it's just happier all around when the house is noisy with people playing DDR and talking to my parents, and my mom has appreciative college-age mouths upon which to lavish lasagna and breakfast food (actually, Friday's project is probably going to be cheese fondue...).
Besides, my brother likes John a lot, and it's mutual. He's still pretty lukewarm on Tim, but I suppose I'd be a little wary of any girl cuddle-nuzzling my brother, so that's fair enough. ...I know that half of his niceness when I've got friends in the house (though it's usually limited to guy-friends, come to think of it) is fueled by wanting new people to play games with, and part of the rest is him rolling his eyes and asking himself what his hospitality-impaired sister would do to entertain these people for so many days if it weren't for him to move things along. But, well, it's hard to argue with that.
I played DDR tonight for the first time all semester. It was good.
Good night.
-Laurel
10.08.2005
< <
Heh. Maybe my subconscious wants me to join Rescue Squad: there've been vomiting people in my dreams these days (not, like, a lot, but on more than one occasion), which's a pretty gross concept, and I've been pretty okay with it.
But I have a feeling I'd have to see the real thing to know for sure. I mean, I'm less of a phobe since elementary school, but granted that that's also the last time I had a stomach virus, though not the last time I was sick.
This is a disgusting entry, and I will stop it here. ::giggles::
And the next one's probably going to be about food.
-Laurel
But I have a feeling I'd have to see the real thing to know for sure. I mean, I'm less of a phobe since elementary school, but granted that that's also the last time I had a stomach virus, though not the last time I was sick.
This is a disgusting entry, and I will stop it here. ::giggles::
And the next one's probably going to be about food.
-Laurel
10.07.2005
//
It's four months tomorrow since Heather's death; last time I wondered something like that, it was only about two. I'm...worse than surprised, but not quite shocked.
I say this because it's rainy and everyone's trying to get stuff together for Heather's memorial, even though it isn't for...oh, 15 days. That's fewer than I expected.
I still get these moments, like I got one today, where I remember how ubiquitous she was, and have this horrified moment all over again that she's dead.
Sometimes they make me think of this Newsboys song that I've never heard, I've only read the lyrics to, called "Elle G." I've known it since...oh, probably the summer, maybe even longer, but it wasn't until today that I realized you're supposed to read the word as elegy.
The lyrics (here, if you're in that kind of mood), about a suicide, don't fit, and yet they do. Week nine: I am writing in the sand/Any little clue that could help me understand...
Who it actually fits completely is Rachele, the girl from my church who actually did commit suicide by train, but I knew neither her nor the song at the time, only her brothers, and them but little.
So much has gone on this semester that I don't know how to sketch out, or can't.
I guess I don't do well with uncertainty, and I still have homework, so I'll leave off here.
-Laurel
I say this because it's rainy and everyone's trying to get stuff together for Heather's memorial, even though it isn't for...oh, 15 days. That's fewer than I expected.
I still get these moments, like I got one today, where I remember how ubiquitous she was, and have this horrified moment all over again that she's dead.
Sometimes they make me think of this Newsboys song that I've never heard, I've only read the lyrics to, called "Elle G." I've known it since...oh, probably the summer, maybe even longer, but it wasn't until today that I realized you're supposed to read the word as elegy.
The lyrics (here, if you're in that kind of mood), about a suicide, don't fit, and yet they do. Week nine: I am writing in the sand/Any little clue that could help me understand...
Who it actually fits completely is Rachele, the girl from my church who actually did commit suicide by train, but I knew neither her nor the song at the time, only her brothers, and them but little.
So much has gone on this semester that I don't know how to sketch out, or can't.
I guess I don't do well with uncertainty, and I still have homework, so I'll leave off here.
-Laurel
"You just want somebody listenin' to what you say/It doesn't matter who you are."
In geologic time we aren’t even a speck of dust. Things that take millions of years to form, we take for granted. I suppose I must be very fascinated with time. I like to know what a river is going to eventually do, given enough time. I like to think about how mountains got to be there and what damage can be done in a second of time and what things take billions of years to form.
-Zinni, posting tonight
That was interesting and made me think. I guess I'm not as interested in time. And geology as a major, unlike Zinni, is not for me. Lots of times I'm simply not interested in the non-living. The river, the mountain, so what? What I want to know is, who's near the water and the mountain, and what are they doing in or with them, and how is that working out? If she's fascinated with time, I guess I'm fascinated with human connection. Is that why I'm so drawn to stories? I don't think I ever thought to ask, until late last year or early this, why. It's always been enough to know that I am.
I'm meeting lots of new people this year, but I guess the one to whom "friend" is most strongly applicable is Liz. I hardly know how that started--the best of it is barely a week old--probably something about finding out that we both loved the Chris Rice song "Me and Becky." But a lot of it has been her, messaging out of the blue to say this or ask that, and it just feels really good to get to know her. I feel kind of like she's telling me secrets, like it's some junior-high sleepover, and I want to giggle and whisper back. It's weird. But it's really nice.
In fact, just about all of my new friends this part-semester are female, which for my college career is a switch. ...Speaking of, the one-year anniversary of the London trip is in about a week. I wonder if we really will gather, sans the two that aren't with us right now (I think Lauren must have transferred), to have tea and lemon drizzle cake. We talked about it. Perhaps I should have thought of that while I was in Wegmans today, picked up a cake mix or something. Ah, well, we'll see how things develop.
I need to not try to talk to Tom when I'm bored and lonely anymore, like I did in the weeks of school when he wasn't going out with Emily.
Glenn's life these days is reminding me of just how much of freshman life is t3h dr4m4. I don't wish that back, though I miss a lot of things about my first year here.
The leaves are starting to turn. That was one of the first parts of my finally being happy here, first year. There were a lot of others--meeting Krystal and then the twins, having Erik here...Chamber Singers, though that eventually soured a little. At the time, it was amazing. And it gave me success, familiarity, and an outlet at a time when I needed all of those.
I don't miss the class, but I do miss the music and the friendship, and the way it felt some evenings to have night fall as we were rehearsing.
You can tell I really ought to go to bed.
-Laurel
-Zinni, posting tonight
That was interesting and made me think. I guess I'm not as interested in time. And geology as a major, unlike Zinni, is not for me. Lots of times I'm simply not interested in the non-living. The river, the mountain, so what? What I want to know is, who's near the water and the mountain, and what are they doing in or with them, and how is that working out? If she's fascinated with time, I guess I'm fascinated with human connection. Is that why I'm so drawn to stories? I don't think I ever thought to ask, until late last year or early this, why. It's always been enough to know that I am.
I'm meeting lots of new people this year, but I guess the one to whom "friend" is most strongly applicable is Liz. I hardly know how that started--the best of it is barely a week old--probably something about finding out that we both loved the Chris Rice song "Me and Becky." But a lot of it has been her, messaging out of the blue to say this or ask that, and it just feels really good to get to know her. I feel kind of like she's telling me secrets, like it's some junior-high sleepover, and I want to giggle and whisper back. It's weird. But it's really nice.
In fact, just about all of my new friends this part-semester are female, which for my college career is a switch. ...Speaking of, the one-year anniversary of the London trip is in about a week. I wonder if we really will gather, sans the two that aren't with us right now (I think Lauren must have transferred), to have tea and lemon drizzle cake. We talked about it. Perhaps I should have thought of that while I was in Wegmans today, picked up a cake mix or something. Ah, well, we'll see how things develop.
I need to not try to talk to Tom when I'm bored and lonely anymore, like I did in the weeks of school when he wasn't going out with Emily.
Glenn's life these days is reminding me of just how much of freshman life is t3h dr4m4. I don't wish that back, though I miss a lot of things about my first year here.
The leaves are starting to turn. That was one of the first parts of my finally being happy here, first year. There were a lot of others--meeting Krystal and then the twins, having Erik here...Chamber Singers, though that eventually soured a little. At the time, it was amazing. And it gave me success, familiarity, and an outlet at a time when I needed all of those.
I don't miss the class, but I do miss the music and the friendship, and the way it felt some evenings to have night fall as we were rehearsing.
You can tell I really ought to go to bed.
-Laurel
10.04.2005
Slogging through (an ode, haha, to Dr. Tolhurst)
Tolhurst is yet going to whip my writing into shape, I think.
I'm busy writing my 5-to-7-page paper on the writing styles of Julian of Norwich in her Revelations of Divine Love and Peter Abelard in his Historia Calamitatum (how do they function as confessional writers? do aspects of their writing styles interfere with their attempts to instruct others through confessing their own failings?), incredibly grateful for the one-day extension-on-top-of-an-extension that my class got for it, since my entire weekend was shot from APO stuff (three-point-two-five-hour Adopt-a-Highway project, campout, meeting, compiling service reports).
I've done two things already for this paper that I pretty much never do: I outlined my paper (not formally, but informally) and I looked at the two assignments of mine that she's already graded to try to get some insight into what she's looking for. No, you don't understand: I actually reviewed graded work when I wasn't assigned to make corrections. This never happens, because I don't deal at all well with comments on stuff I've written, even when they're good ones. Across the board, they make me squirm. (Why, then, have a comment box on my blog? I guess I'm looking more for opinions on what I've written than how I've written it. I'm in it for the "hey, me too" especially. I mean, a fair number of comments also make me squirm, but in that case I'll deal with that.)
I knew that at some point I was going to have to start doing this, because a lot of my writing has been too similar. I mean, the good and meaty part is making the connections and answering the question, and I don't have a problem with that, but I've been feeling a lot like it's cheaply gotten, thrown together in the same ways on tight deadlines. I still pay pretty close attention to whether the words I'm writing are correctly-used, but it's been a long time since I've taken quite so much care to use fewer of them and keep clarity to a maximum. Rasmussen, ex-journalist professor from my thankfully-brief days in Writing II, really tried to smack us upside the head with that. The thing is, in my opinion, she crossed the line in how tightly she enforced it (I believe that nonfiction prose has room for elements of poetry, intellectualism, and storytelling; just read, like, anything Adam Gopnik has ever written), but Tolhurst seems to be able to appreciate style as long as it's also easy to read. I'm not good at that yet, but I'm working on it.
I'm glad my second assignment turned out better than the first, because when I put some thought into how similarly 100s got treated to 88s, and when I realized she'd outlined exactly what the difference was, I guess I came to trust her with my writing a lot more. I'm not afraid of Westby harshness, that my paper will be slammed as "self-indulgent" or "glib" if I don't stay alert (the fates that befell Chris and Bequi in the twelfth grade), but I do understand what Andrew meant when he said that Tolhurst "ran a tight ship," and I'm really having to try to avoid complacency, 'cause dang will she catch it. But hey, if I can make it here, I'm starting to think, I've got a shot at making it anywhere.
Medieval Women Writers does not have the mental liveliness of Hawthorne/Melville; that's the class I really look forward to as something that makes me glad to be an English major. But if I'm going to learn more about reading there, I'm going to learn a lot more about writing here. The paper is not progressing quickly, but it is progressing, and my style is, too.
So it's time to go back to it. It's not due for another 27 hours, but I'd like to get to folk dancing for a little while tonight, unlikely as that's coming to be.
-Laurel
I'm busy writing my 5-to-7-page paper on the writing styles of Julian of Norwich in her Revelations of Divine Love and Peter Abelard in his Historia Calamitatum (how do they function as confessional writers? do aspects of their writing styles interfere with their attempts to instruct others through confessing their own failings?), incredibly grateful for the one-day extension-on-top-of-an-extension that my class got for it, since my entire weekend was shot from APO stuff (three-point-two-five-hour Adopt-a-Highway project, campout, meeting, compiling service reports).
I've done two things already for this paper that I pretty much never do: I outlined my paper (not formally, but informally) and I looked at the two assignments of mine that she's already graded to try to get some insight into what she's looking for. No, you don't understand: I actually reviewed graded work when I wasn't assigned to make corrections. This never happens, because I don't deal at all well with comments on stuff I've written, even when they're good ones. Across the board, they make me squirm. (Why, then, have a comment box on my blog? I guess I'm looking more for opinions on what I've written than how I've written it. I'm in it for the "hey, me too" especially. I mean, a fair number of comments also make me squirm, but in that case I'll deal with that.)
I knew that at some point I was going to have to start doing this, because a lot of my writing has been too similar. I mean, the good and meaty part is making the connections and answering the question, and I don't have a problem with that, but I've been feeling a lot like it's cheaply gotten, thrown together in the same ways on tight deadlines. I still pay pretty close attention to whether the words I'm writing are correctly-used, but it's been a long time since I've taken quite so much care to use fewer of them and keep clarity to a maximum. Rasmussen, ex-journalist professor from my thankfully-brief days in Writing II, really tried to smack us upside the head with that. The thing is, in my opinion, she crossed the line in how tightly she enforced it (I believe that nonfiction prose has room for elements of poetry, intellectualism, and storytelling; just read, like, anything Adam Gopnik has ever written), but Tolhurst seems to be able to appreciate style as long as it's also easy to read. I'm not good at that yet, but I'm working on it.
I'm glad my second assignment turned out better than the first, because when I put some thought into how similarly 100s got treated to 88s, and when I realized she'd outlined exactly what the difference was, I guess I came to trust her with my writing a lot more. I'm not afraid of Westby harshness, that my paper will be slammed as "self-indulgent" or "glib" if I don't stay alert (the fates that befell Chris and Bequi in the twelfth grade), but I do understand what Andrew meant when he said that Tolhurst "ran a tight ship," and I'm really having to try to avoid complacency, 'cause dang will she catch it. But hey, if I can make it here, I'm starting to think, I've got a shot at making it anywhere.
Medieval Women Writers does not have the mental liveliness of Hawthorne/Melville; that's the class I really look forward to as something that makes me glad to be an English major. But if I'm going to learn more about reading there, I'm going to learn a lot more about writing here. The paper is not progressing quickly, but it is progressing, and my style is, too.
So it's time to go back to it. It's not due for another 27 hours, but I'd like to get to folk dancing for a little while tonight, unlikely as that's coming to be.
-Laurel
10.03.2005
Just to prove that I am still the Duck-in-a-Box, haha!
You Are A: Duckling!
The cutest of the cute, these baby ducks are often spotted in the spring following closely behind their mother. As a duckling you will grow up quickly, becoming one of the adult ducks seen commonly in ponds and streams. Playful and timid, charming and vulnerable, ducklings are nature's very definition of innocence.You were almost a: Kitten or a Lamb
You are least like a: Turtle or a MonkeyWhat Cute Animal Are You?
...I don't know how I got some of those adjectives, especially since I was pretty clear about being more of a leader than a follower (though I did say I usually do what I'm told, since the only alternative was that I usually didn't). But hey.
Today was good. Funny, cool chemist guy in church. Very tasty lunch thereafter. An APO meeting that actually didn't make me want to scream. I haven't gotten as much homework done as I'd have liked, considering that it's long after midnight, but I did finish House of the Seven Gables for Hawthorne/Melville. Dang, but the chapter "Governor Pyncheon" is pretty darn creepy, especially reading it at quarter to midnight.
I had sesame chicken tonight, because I've been wanting some all week.
Lessee, anything more interesting, any thoughts on life? I keep musing about things and thinking that they should be blog fodder, and not this recitation of my doings.
...
I got nothin'. I'm going to bed.
-Laurel