So my sinus infection is coming back. I'm on new antibiotics for it, but so far they haven't been helping. I don't feel terribly awful, but I'm coughing a lot, my nose is running and my sleeping patterns are crazy. Yesterday I got a bad headache which could be attributed to one, all or any combination of the three following things:
1. the sinus infection (duh)
2. head banging
3. smoked-cheddar flavoured kettle corn (i should have known the stuff was toxic)
So I climbed in bed around 3 PM and woke up around 5:30 with my headache still intact only this time I was groggy and gross feeling, too. My stomach hurt and I didn't feel like eating anything except Chipotle (which I didn't get, so I ate a rice cake). I took some non-drowsy sudafed thinking it was early enough to risk it. Wrong. Went to "sleep" at 10 and just lay there in this sort of semi-conciousness until about 2 AM or so, when I got up, did some exercies (killer restless leg) and read X-Men. I woke up around 7:45 with a sore knee because apparently I didn't do enough exercises and I kept stretching my leg in my sleep. Anyways, I'm just chilling out this morning. I'll be productive soon, I promise.
I feel sort of nervous, though. Last night I kept thinking about prayer meeting. I'm going to my first prayer meeting in awhile (I skipped a few out of pure rebellion, others I was sick for or the roads were too icy). Prayer meeting is tonight and I said I'd be there. So, unless this sinus infection prevents me, I'm going. I'm nervous about going because of how different I look. You have to understand that the last time these people saw me, I had brown hair, wore skirts, and always had an amazing testimony to share. This time they're going to see black emo hair and jeans with me asking a lot of honest questions. I don't have a problem with the questions part, but I'm scared (I hate to admit it) that someone is going to confront me and be like, "What happened to you, Becca?"
Jeannie told me that if someone asked me that I should tell them that it's none of their business, it's between me and God. I hope that's what I'd say. I feel bad, though, because of the Teales. Their daughter Jenae and I are good friends, but now I feel like I'm the Christina to her Becca. I feel like I'm the older girl who can't seem to keep a grip on her Christianity and therefore can't be a proper role-model.
Her mom is going to freak out, I just know it. But then again, I have to remember another thing Jeannie said. She said I'm not being a bad Christian right now, I'm just growing in experince. I'm going out in the world to see if God means business. And I don't hate God. Quite the contrary. I think I'm learning to have a better relationship with Him through all this. I just have to remember that and hopefully people will see that I'm not a stray sheep and take my physical changes in stride. I really hope so. Okay, well, off to be productive! Kinda...
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
G.I. Holiday Jukebox Review
Jeff Korbelik's review of G.I. Holiday Jukebox in the Lincoln Journal Star sucked. So I wrote my own:
Pleasantly Surprised by LCP's G.I. Holiday Jukebox
I went to the Lincoln Community Playhouse production of G.I. Holiday Jukebox, directed by Tom Crew, with the expectation that it would be a long, somewhat boring revue of Christmas songs from the '40s and geared mostly to the elderly who wished to relieve the Christmases past. As a twenty-year-old I didn't plan on being too highly entertained. I went because my mom, Mollie Baldwin Manner, was the pianist and music director. I myself had auditioned for the show at my mother's prompting, not necessarily because I thought it would be a fun show. Obviously, I didn't make it in. However, because of the small amount of people who auditioned for the show, I had gotten to know the five members of the cast through the auditions and I was eager to see how they all worked together on stage. Mr. Crew did made great choices in casting Anna Geis, Bruce Hahn, Leticia Martinez, Bret Olson and Lisa A. Taylor.
From the beginning I was impressed by the quality of the actor's voices and the way they blended. However, the lack of microphones and the blocking often meant that I heard one person better than the rest. Being a very vocally and physically demanding show, I was impressed by how the actors help up under the stress.
Even when things got a little sluggish, my attention was still held by the obvious joy the actors had being on stage. Where the music sometimes lost my attention, the actors' excellent chemistry and ability to improvise kept me smiling. Their interactions with each other and the audience made up for the long length of the show. Even a small boy in the audience responded to Leticia Martinez when she came on stage asking, "Did you miss me?" A hearty "Yes!" was the response.
The choreography was fun, especially when Bruce Hahn and Leticia Martinez tap danced for It's Only a Paper Moon. Bret Olson was a hoot dressed as a girl for the Henderson Sisters Medley (he also had to sing and dance like a girl, which was fantastic). I enjoyed the sing along and the free candy passed out to the audience by the actors. It really made me feel that I was in a tavern in 1943, listening to some talented men and women trying to bring us all some Christmas cheer.
My mom, the pianist, did a wonderful job at the keyboard, which at times sounded like a full band playing. All the songs were fit appropriately with different sounds. She always does a good job with things like this, but I've never seen so many people appreciate it. I leisurely made my way over to the keyboard after the show only to be trampled down by about half a dozen middle aged and elderly folk who were eager to offer their praises to her talent. I'm not complaining, my mom deserves it; although, it did mean I had to wait around a bit longer for her to show up at Village Inn (our traditional post-play stop). Even there, an older couple approached her on their way out saying how much they enjoyed the music and how talented my mom was.
Saturday morning, Jeff Korbelik's review described G.I. Holiday Jukebox as being "mediocre at best". He used the phrase "didn't click" adding that the actor's chemistry was bad. However, I do have to commend him for an excellent review of my mother as the show's saving grace. It's about time she got some public recognition for all the work she puts into shows at the LCP. However, I couldn't disagree more with his review of the actors. The chemistry on stage and with the audience was what I enjoyed most about the show. I would go see this production a second time and highly recommend it even to the younger crowd.
I went to the Lincoln Community Playhouse production of G.I. Holiday Jukebox, directed by Tom Crew, with the expectation that it would be a long, somewhat boring revue of Christmas songs from the '40s and geared mostly to the elderly who wished to relieve the Christmases past. As a twenty-year-old I didn't plan on being too highly entertained. I went because my mom, Mollie Baldwin Manner, was the pianist and music director. I myself had auditioned for the show at my mother's prompting, not necessarily because I thought it would be a fun show. Obviously, I didn't make it in. However, because of the small amount of people who auditioned for the show, I had gotten to know the five members of the cast through the auditions and I was eager to see how they all worked together on stage. Mr. Crew did made great choices in casting Anna Geis, Bruce Hahn, Leticia Martinez, Bret Olson and Lisa A. Taylor.
From the beginning I was impressed by the quality of the actor's voices and the way they blended. However, the lack of microphones and the blocking often meant that I heard one person better than the rest. Being a very vocally and physically demanding show, I was impressed by how the actors help up under the stress.
Even when things got a little sluggish, my attention was still held by the obvious joy the actors had being on stage. Where the music sometimes lost my attention, the actors' excellent chemistry and ability to improvise kept me smiling. Their interactions with each other and the audience made up for the long length of the show. Even a small boy in the audience responded to Leticia Martinez when she came on stage asking, "Did you miss me?" A hearty "Yes!" was the response.
The choreography was fun, especially when Bruce Hahn and Leticia Martinez tap danced for It's Only a Paper Moon. Bret Olson was a hoot dressed as a girl for the Henderson Sisters Medley (he also had to sing and dance like a girl, which was fantastic). I enjoyed the sing along and the free candy passed out to the audience by the actors. It really made me feel that I was in a tavern in 1943, listening to some talented men and women trying to bring us all some Christmas cheer.
My mom, the pianist, did a wonderful job at the keyboard, which at times sounded like a full band playing. All the songs were fit appropriately with different sounds. She always does a good job with things like this, but I've never seen so many people appreciate it. I leisurely made my way over to the keyboard after the show only to be trampled down by about half a dozen middle aged and elderly folk who were eager to offer their praises to her talent. I'm not complaining, my mom deserves it; although, it did mean I had to wait around a bit longer for her to show up at Village Inn (our traditional post-play stop). Even there, an older couple approached her on their way out saying how much they enjoyed the music and how talented my mom was.
Saturday morning, Jeff Korbelik's review described G.I. Holiday Jukebox as being "mediocre at best". He used the phrase "didn't click" adding that the actor's chemistry was bad. However, I do have to commend him for an excellent review of my mother as the show's saving grace. It's about time she got some public recognition for all the work she puts into shows at the LCP. However, I couldn't disagree more with his review of the actors. The chemistry on stage and with the audience was what I enjoyed most about the show. I would go see this production a second time and highly recommend it even to the younger crowd.
Friday, December 7, 2007
I Wrote A Song
Okay, so for the first time since I was like, 14, I've written and composed a song. It's kinda generic. It kinda sucks. But I did write it from my heart. It's about where I am in my life right now. Original, right?
I didn't want to forget how the tune went, so I recorded myself performing it. I don't play guitar too well and at the moment I don't have much of a voice (getting over a sinus infection). That means the the recording sucks. Neverthless, I'll share, but only cuz my rattie Gretchen is in the last two recordings. She was in some weird clingy mood yesterday. Last night she had to sleep in my bed, of course. She's crazy.
Anyways, lyrics then videos:
Trouble
by Rebecca
Time will tell where I belong
But right now the pathway's unclear
I worry not, I watch for your hand
To hold mine and show me when I'm near
CHORUS
You're headed into trouble, son
That don't mean you should just walk away
O wait a little longer, son
We have yet to see the break of day.
My back against the door and I
Can't remember who I was before
I carry on about the dark but
Before long I'll be back for more
CHORUS
My friends are keeping to the trend
But I get tired of the same old songs
The numbers are our biggest yet
But I don't look good on a graph
CHORUS ENDING:
I don't know where am I right now
But I guarantee I'm in my right mind
Don't go away I need someone to hear what I'm sayin
And not be afraid.
Video 1
Video 2
Video 3
Please don't laugh at me.
I didn't want to forget how the tune went, so I recorded myself performing it. I don't play guitar too well and at the moment I don't have much of a voice (getting over a sinus infection). That means the the recording sucks. Neverthless, I'll share, but only cuz my rattie Gretchen is in the last two recordings. She was in some weird clingy mood yesterday. Last night she had to sleep in my bed, of course. She's crazy.
Anyways, lyrics then videos:
Trouble
by Rebecca
Time will tell where I belong
But right now the pathway's unclear
I worry not, I watch for your hand
To hold mine and show me when I'm near
CHORUS
You're headed into trouble, son
That don't mean you should just walk away
O wait a little longer, son
We have yet to see the break of day.
My back against the door and I
Can't remember who I was before
I carry on about the dark but
Before long I'll be back for more
CHORUS
My friends are keeping to the trend
But I get tired of the same old songs
The numbers are our biggest yet
But I don't look good on a graph
CHORUS ENDING:
I don't know where am I right now
But I guarantee I'm in my right mind
Don't go away I need someone to hear what I'm sayin
And not be afraid.
Video 1
Video 2
Video 3
Please don't laugh at me.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Snow
I woke up to find it was snowing outside. And golly did it ever snow and snow. I tried to go to prayer meeting, I really did; but what felt like 5 thousand hit curbs later, I turned around and headed home. This innocent trip had turned into a suicide mission. It doesn't help that my car seriously goes out of its way to crash. I mean, it really has no idea what to do in the snow. This afternoon it's stopped snowing but there's quite a bit of white stuff on the ground, so I can't go to the Xtreme Rat Challenge, which I've been looking forward to all year. But I did stay home and clean rat cages.
On a side note, this Harry/Ron relationship video cracks me up
On a side note, this Harry/Ron relationship video cracks me up
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Drama Day
This morning I woke up a bitch. I went way too long without my antidepressant. My doctor told me to stop, but I knew that was going to crash and burn, which it did. I popped one after I realized I wanted the whole world to go to hell and leave me alone, which is not a normal thought for me. Anyway, I’m feeling a little better now.
I went to Unionaires, though of course I sat out since I have no voice. My friend Owen joined me. He still has a voice, but he’s got congestion that’s keeping him from singing very high and he’s a tenor. Esther was a bit ticked I hadn’t told her I was sick. “I would have brought you soup!” she exclaimed. Crap, why didn’t I tell her I was sick? She said her sister (who is, according to Esther, my long lost twin) lost her voice too. Very odd coincidence. The other coincidence of the day was that I told Tim I’d had a dream where I was going to have surgery and he had turned out to be my surgeon. Surprisingly, Tim responded by telling me if he wasn’t in music, he’d probably be studying to be a surgeon. I don’t think I’m psychic; I was just jacked up on nasal decongestants at the time.
But what’s going to keep me up tonight? Stupid boys. Trevor gave me this kind of raised-eyebrows smile today. My first thought was “Oh, crap.” That’s the kind of thing that has the most pathetic effect on me. I’m jumping up and down in my head thinking, “Someone of the male race noticed me!” It doesn’t help that I was madly in love with that certain male for a week. I mean, I’m over Trevor. Totally. I think. Owen talked to me and didn’t mentally jump up and down quite as much as when Trevor looked at me. ’Course, Owen’s taken. Later on I’m thinking, “Trevor is such a jerk. I mean, I tell him I like him. I ask him out. We talk online now and again, but only because I initiate the conversation. Surely he would deduce that I’m either lonely or I just really like him. You’d think that he would acknowledge that in some way, but he never does. Every time I see him he acts like I’m not there and the online contact is nil. But he must realize that I want to be his friend. So then he gives me this tiny bit of acknowledgement and I’m supposed to what? Smile back? If he really is ignorant of my presence it’s because he’s a selfish moron.” But I can beat against Trevor all I want; God knows I’d fly to him in the blink of an eye if given the chance. Slapping myself all the way, I might add.
On my way to my car after Unionaires I saw an accident. I don’t know what happened, but I saw an ambulance and people pulling someone (who looked conscious) from a car and putting him on a stretcher. As if that wasn’t enough for one day, my sister comes home telling me to turn on the radio because there’s been a shooting at the Von Maur in Omaha. We ended up looking it up online. Some random dude opened fire in Von Maur, killed someone and wounded others. Now the shooter was loose somewhere in the mall, which was being evacuated. Ginny kept up with the reports, filling me in while I washed dishes. It’s over now and the final count is 8 dead and others wounded. The guy who was shooting killed himself in the end.
So now this thing is national news, splashed across the front page of my email. These horrible things always happen in the most unexpected places. I mean, Von Maur? I shop there. I could have been me. My mom and I, we go to Omaha for my checkups at the Transplant center and sometimes we go do something fun afterwards. What if we had been there today? What if we had done what my mom and sister had done before and stopped at the Panera right outside that same Von Maur? We could have been killed. But, thank You God, we were here in Lincoln. We were safe. But it just goes to show, it could have been anyone.
I went to Unionaires, though of course I sat out since I have no voice. My friend Owen joined me. He still has a voice, but he’s got congestion that’s keeping him from singing very high and he’s a tenor. Esther was a bit ticked I hadn’t told her I was sick. “I would have brought you soup!” she exclaimed. Crap, why didn’t I tell her I was sick? She said her sister (who is, according to Esther, my long lost twin) lost her voice too. Very odd coincidence. The other coincidence of the day was that I told Tim I’d had a dream where I was going to have surgery and he had turned out to be my surgeon. Surprisingly, Tim responded by telling me if he wasn’t in music, he’d probably be studying to be a surgeon. I don’t think I’m psychic; I was just jacked up on nasal decongestants at the time.
But what’s going to keep me up tonight? Stupid boys. Trevor gave me this kind of raised-eyebrows smile today. My first thought was “Oh, crap.” That’s the kind of thing that has the most pathetic effect on me. I’m jumping up and down in my head thinking, “Someone of the male race noticed me!” It doesn’t help that I was madly in love with that certain male for a week. I mean, I’m over Trevor. Totally. I think. Owen talked to me and didn’t mentally jump up and down quite as much as when Trevor looked at me. ’Course, Owen’s taken. Later on I’m thinking, “Trevor is such a jerk. I mean, I tell him I like him. I ask him out. We talk online now and again, but only because I initiate the conversation. Surely he would deduce that I’m either lonely or I just really like him. You’d think that he would acknowledge that in some way, but he never does. Every time I see him he acts like I’m not there and the online contact is nil. But he must realize that I want to be his friend. So then he gives me this tiny bit of acknowledgement and I’m supposed to what? Smile back? If he really is ignorant of my presence it’s because he’s a selfish moron.” But I can beat against Trevor all I want; God knows I’d fly to him in the blink of an eye if given the chance. Slapping myself all the way, I might add.
On my way to my car after Unionaires I saw an accident. I don’t know what happened, but I saw an ambulance and people pulling someone (who looked conscious) from a car and putting him on a stretcher. As if that wasn’t enough for one day, my sister comes home telling me to turn on the radio because there’s been a shooting at the Von Maur in Omaha. We ended up looking it up online. Some random dude opened fire in Von Maur, killed someone and wounded others. Now the shooter was loose somewhere in the mall, which was being evacuated. Ginny kept up with the reports, filling me in while I washed dishes. It’s over now and the final count is 8 dead and others wounded. The guy who was shooting killed himself in the end.
So now this thing is national news, splashed across the front page of my email. These horrible things always happen in the most unexpected places. I mean, Von Maur? I shop there. I could have been me. My mom and I, we go to Omaha for my checkups at the Transplant center and sometimes we go do something fun afterwards. What if we had been there today? What if we had done what my mom and sister had done before and stopped at the Panera right outside that same Von Maur? We could have been killed. But, thank You God, we were here in Lincoln. We were safe. But it just goes to show, it could have been anyone.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
The Honest to God Truth
I want to be honest. Painfully honest. I am Rebecca Baldwin Manner and I’ve never been anyone else. I don’t know what it is to be anyone else. I’ve always been in my own world (which is often wrapped up in other worlds, but it’s my world nonetheless). I’ve never lived in any body but this one, never seen out of any other eyes but these. I’m just a 5’1, 140 lb person and what is that in the midst of the world? So I may as well be honest about what I am. Or rather, what I know about myself.
I lied to a friend and that lie got bigger and bigger after I hung up the phone because I kept going deeper and deeper into something I said was a shallow love. I said, “It’s not like that anymore because I know the ending and I can let go. Now it’s just a good book.” I suppose there is some truth in that. But really, when I read the 7th book the last time, I didn’t totally surrender to it. Now I have. I don’t regret it. I’m not saying that. And I guess I don’t regret my lie either because there really is no explaining. I best keep it to myself and inject my overflowing passion into outlets where it will not be recognized for what it is. I need to make my passion relevant to my own life because if I don’t then I may as well kill myself; because then I would only be able to focus on that world and never another. I would die of longing and being completely unproductive. Stupid, really. So I have to build my own life around the passion and let the passion seep through the woodwork, manifesting itself in my endeavors.
I suppose that’s kind of what it’s like to be a Christian. But as a Christian most things are clear cut. And does God give you this constant flow of passion, of fire? No, He doesn’t. And things are so clear cut that you can say, “well, there it is, that’s what is going to happen and here’s the map.” And then what is there? Waiting. Being boring. Looking at old, pixilated pictures of fake flowers strewn over an old Bible and thinking, “here’s my world. This must be happiness.” No, sorry. I don’t want it. I want God, sure. I really want God. But there has to be another way.
I want to live with passion, even though it drives me up the wall. Because this Harry Potter mental disease I get…well, I know I’ve been trying to sort out what to do with it, how to make sense of it for eight years. But there has to be some way. It’s on the tip of my mind. But it’s been in the tip of my mind for years. It threatens to drive one crazy if there isn’t redemption of some sort. Usually, instead of redemption I use a band-aid. A band-aid would be a distraction from a less demanding world. I put in a different movie, read a different book. But I feel so completely lonely. Because once I close one of those Harry Potter books, I’ve lost my friends and the fake-reality hits. I don’t have any friends. But that’s not true. I have wonderful friends. But I’m always chasing. I always want something better. And I usually end up embarrassing myself because, let’s face it, my social skills aren’t the best in the world. I have absolutely no figgin idea how to act around people my own age.
And don’t even get me started on boys. I want guy friends. Any male influence would be more than welcome. The male race is as foreign to me as Catholicism to a Seventh - day Adventist. I know about guys, but to the record I currently have only one real, male friend. Seriously. It makes me want to cry. Human beings were meant to be surrounded my both sexes. We’re supposed to have a mom and dad. Than, maybe, we’re supposed to have a brother. Then guy friends. Then a husband. All I know is the world of women and frankly, I’m a bit sick of it.
Okay, so obviously I’m alive which means I must have a father. And I do, of course, but I think I’m better acquainted with my uncles I see once a year than my father. The dad thing is a touchy subject and not one I’m going to talk about right now. I have no brothers (I don’t count my step-brother). I have one guy friend. And, obviously, I’m not married.
I shouldn’t sell anyone short here, though. I do have other guy friends of all ages. But I hardly ever talk to them. They’re not the kind of people I call up on a Saturday night and ask if they want to do something, or text while I’m in the check-out line at Wal-Mart. And I should really stop talking about this because it’s pissing me off more than it should. I give up. I’ve tried, I really have, but I don’t think that the guys like me. Maybe my problem is that I’m just not involved in anything where there are guys. It’s just Unionaires. But let’s not go into my lack of involvement with the human race because then I’ll just feel sorry for myself.
The point is I’m wondering if the passion, the longing I feel from Harry Potter is in any way related to my loneliness (or maybe I’m not really lonely and it just makes me feel lonely). Because really, there are times when I just don’t want to talk to people or hang out or anything. Not because I’m grumpy, but just because). I don’t know. I can’t figure myself out. Maybe I just like having fits of emotion, regardless of whether or not those emotions have any rational ground in my real life.
And I tell my friend on the phone that I would rather have this life, where there is nothing clear-cut, but it is a constant longing with seas of emotions with the world looking different every minute than the bland, dusty Christian experience (wrought with adventure as it is). I think it’s all emotional and I’m a failure as a Christian because I rely too much on emotion and she says, “I don’t think this is about emotion at all because you are trusting God to bring you through. That trust is not based on emotion.” I admit it’s not. She adds that emotion does play a role in our lives as Christians, as one of the factors included in decision making. It’s just not a deciding factor; and I shouldn’t be afraid of it.
So here I am, confused out of my mind and I don’t care. I’m just going to live and I’m going to try my best not to freak out because no new friendships are blossoming and I’m going to try and remember that this is my life and I need to live it as I see fit and not wallow in a world with no future.
And now that I’ve mapped that out in a grand total of ten paragraphs, I’m going to talk about something else. Let’s see…Today I saw the doctor and the UNL student who was helping him said I was “text-book”. This was referring to my symptoms. Apparently what I’ve had since Wednesday is a sinus infection, so now I’m on antibiotics. The UNL guy kept asking me questions and I would misinterpret them (no doubt due to the “text book” sinus pressure in my ears). Like he says, “So you’ve had kidney transplants?”
“Liver,” I say
“Liver…What for?”
“No, I had two.”
“You had two…what caused you to need the transplants?”
“Primary sclerosing cholangitis .”
After that I walked around Walgreens for about half and hour waiting for my prescription. I filled up my cart with Kleenex and other essentials needed at home and then added some Christmas cookies, strawberry jam, a bag of chips (hey people, I was starving), and a clearanced hair serum. I had to put most of it back because I called my mom and she said I could only use the credit card she gave me for the prescription and I’d have to buy the rest with my own credit card, which I know she’s having trouble keeping money on. I got the essentials…and the hair serum. I forgot to get toothpaste. On my way to get the drugs (“Prescription ready for Rebecca Manner!”) I got a horrible cough and added a bottled water to my bill. I told mom sorry, but I don’t think it mattered. Dad isn’t going to care about one extra dollar on my medical expenses credit card. Wow, my life is just so darn exciting.
After sitting like a lazy bum in front of my computer and playing guitar for a few hours I went to see my sister in the one-act play at her school. She has a German accent in it which she does really well. My mom says that when my sister is at home you just want to kill her because she’s mean and messy and totally selfish and then she sort of redeems herself every time a report card comes or she performs one of her many talents. I think my mom is right. I want to hate Ginny, but can’t. She let me drive her car home from the play so I didn’t have to wait around for my ride (I found myself car-less thirty minutes before the play) and I drove it home without my glasses on (I left them at home by accident). It was pretty dangerous I guess. I was driving a car I’d never driven before…blind. I mean, it took me 5 minutes to turn the lights on because I didn’t realize they came on automatically when you took off the brake. Everyone walking past probably thought I looked like an idiot sitting there with the windshield wipers going all different speeds.
I lied to a friend and that lie got bigger and bigger after I hung up the phone because I kept going deeper and deeper into something I said was a shallow love. I said, “It’s not like that anymore because I know the ending and I can let go. Now it’s just a good book.” I suppose there is some truth in that. But really, when I read the 7th book the last time, I didn’t totally surrender to it. Now I have. I don’t regret it. I’m not saying that. And I guess I don’t regret my lie either because there really is no explaining. I best keep it to myself and inject my overflowing passion into outlets where it will not be recognized for what it is. I need to make my passion relevant to my own life because if I don’t then I may as well kill myself; because then I would only be able to focus on that world and never another. I would die of longing and being completely unproductive. Stupid, really. So I have to build my own life around the passion and let the passion seep through the woodwork, manifesting itself in my endeavors.
I suppose that’s kind of what it’s like to be a Christian. But as a Christian most things are clear cut. And does God give you this constant flow of passion, of fire? No, He doesn’t. And things are so clear cut that you can say, “well, there it is, that’s what is going to happen and here’s the map.” And then what is there? Waiting. Being boring. Looking at old, pixilated pictures of fake flowers strewn over an old Bible and thinking, “here’s my world. This must be happiness.” No, sorry. I don’t want it. I want God, sure. I really want God. But there has to be another way.
I want to live with passion, even though it drives me up the wall. Because this Harry Potter mental disease I get…well, I know I’ve been trying to sort out what to do with it, how to make sense of it for eight years. But there has to be some way. It’s on the tip of my mind. But it’s been in the tip of my mind for years. It threatens to drive one crazy if there isn’t redemption of some sort. Usually, instead of redemption I use a band-aid. A band-aid would be a distraction from a less demanding world. I put in a different movie, read a different book. But I feel so completely lonely. Because once I close one of those Harry Potter books, I’ve lost my friends and the fake-reality hits. I don’t have any friends. But that’s not true. I have wonderful friends. But I’m always chasing. I always want something better. And I usually end up embarrassing myself because, let’s face it, my social skills aren’t the best in the world. I have absolutely no figgin idea how to act around people my own age.
And don’t even get me started on boys. I want guy friends. Any male influence would be more than welcome. The male race is as foreign to me as Catholicism to a Seventh - day Adventist. I know about guys, but to the record I currently have only one real, male friend. Seriously. It makes me want to cry. Human beings were meant to be surrounded my both sexes. We’re supposed to have a mom and dad. Than, maybe, we’re supposed to have a brother. Then guy friends. Then a husband. All I know is the world of women and frankly, I’m a bit sick of it.
Okay, so obviously I’m alive which means I must have a father. And I do, of course, but I think I’m better acquainted with my uncles I see once a year than my father. The dad thing is a touchy subject and not one I’m going to talk about right now. I have no brothers (I don’t count my step-brother). I have one guy friend. And, obviously, I’m not married.
I shouldn’t sell anyone short here, though. I do have other guy friends of all ages. But I hardly ever talk to them. They’re not the kind of people I call up on a Saturday night and ask if they want to do something, or text while I’m in the check-out line at Wal-Mart. And I should really stop talking about this because it’s pissing me off more than it should. I give up. I’ve tried, I really have, but I don’t think that the guys like me. Maybe my problem is that I’m just not involved in anything where there are guys. It’s just Unionaires. But let’s not go into my lack of involvement with the human race because then I’ll just feel sorry for myself.
The point is I’m wondering if the passion, the longing I feel from Harry Potter is in any way related to my loneliness (or maybe I’m not really lonely and it just makes me feel lonely). Because really, there are times when I just don’t want to talk to people or hang out or anything. Not because I’m grumpy, but just because). I don’t know. I can’t figure myself out. Maybe I just like having fits of emotion, regardless of whether or not those emotions have any rational ground in my real life.
And I tell my friend on the phone that I would rather have this life, where there is nothing clear-cut, but it is a constant longing with seas of emotions with the world looking different every minute than the bland, dusty Christian experience (wrought with adventure as it is). I think it’s all emotional and I’m a failure as a Christian because I rely too much on emotion and she says, “I don’t think this is about emotion at all because you are trusting God to bring you through. That trust is not based on emotion.” I admit it’s not. She adds that emotion does play a role in our lives as Christians, as one of the factors included in decision making. It’s just not a deciding factor; and I shouldn’t be afraid of it.
So here I am, confused out of my mind and I don’t care. I’m just going to live and I’m going to try my best not to freak out because no new friendships are blossoming and I’m going to try and remember that this is my life and I need to live it as I see fit and not wallow in a world with no future.
And now that I’ve mapped that out in a grand total of ten paragraphs, I’m going to talk about something else. Let’s see…Today I saw the doctor and the UNL student who was helping him said I was “text-book”. This was referring to my symptoms. Apparently what I’ve had since Wednesday is a sinus infection, so now I’m on antibiotics. The UNL guy kept asking me questions and I would misinterpret them (no doubt due to the “text book” sinus pressure in my ears). Like he says, “So you’ve had kidney transplants?”
“Liver,” I say
“Liver…What for?”
“No, I had two.”
“You had two…what caused you to need the transplants?”
“Primary sclerosing cholangitis .”
After that I walked around Walgreens for about half and hour waiting for my prescription. I filled up my cart with Kleenex and other essentials needed at home and then added some Christmas cookies, strawberry jam, a bag of chips (hey people, I was starving), and a clearanced hair serum. I had to put most of it back because I called my mom and she said I could only use the credit card she gave me for the prescription and I’d have to buy the rest with my own credit card, which I know she’s having trouble keeping money on. I got the essentials…and the hair serum. I forgot to get toothpaste. On my way to get the drugs (“Prescription ready for Rebecca Manner!”) I got a horrible cough and added a bottled water to my bill. I told mom sorry, but I don’t think it mattered. Dad isn’t going to care about one extra dollar on my medical expenses credit card. Wow, my life is just so darn exciting.
After sitting like a lazy bum in front of my computer and playing guitar for a few hours I went to see my sister in the one-act play at her school. She has a German accent in it which she does really well. My mom says that when my sister is at home you just want to kill her because she’s mean and messy and totally selfish and then she sort of redeems herself every time a report card comes or she performs one of her many talents. I think my mom is right. I want to hate Ginny, but can’t. She let me drive her car home from the play so I didn’t have to wait around for my ride (I found myself car-less thirty minutes before the play) and I drove it home without my glasses on (I left them at home by accident). It was pretty dangerous I guess. I was driving a car I’d never driven before…blind. I mean, it took me 5 minutes to turn the lights on because I didn’t realize they came on automatically when you took off the brake. Everyone walking past probably thought I looked like an idiot sitting there with the windshield wipers going all different speeds.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Just FYI
Um, so my profile is really confusing me and probably some other people. I'm in the "in-between" again. The "deciding not to decide". If you've read my old blogs from you know I went through an 8 month period of basically not being a Christian. Kinda. It's not that I didn't believe in God, not that I didn't pray. I was just...doing things that I wouldn't have done before. So here I am again, with Harry Potter and Ellen White's books right next to each other on the BOOKS section of my profile. I kinda drive myself crazy sometimes.
Basically, all my old blogs are now relevant. I pretty much feel the same way. It's funny, as a true Christian I cannot, for the life of me, understand the stuff I wrote when I wasn't being very Christ-like. But right now I can't, for the life of me, understand the stuff I wrote while being a true Christian.
Ya know, I hate being 20-almost-21 sometimes. I had a couple nights in a row where I had dreams that guys I knew were asking me out and I had to sit them down and explain that I was a kind of moody, unpredictable, sometimes flaky person. As much as it would be cool to have a boyfriend, I'd have to warn anyone expressing intrest that I'm kinda crazy. But maybe all girls are like that. I dunno. But what can I say? I'm an artist! And Italian, I might add.
Basically, all my old blogs are now relevant. I pretty much feel the same way. It's funny, as a true Christian I cannot, for the life of me, understand the stuff I wrote when I wasn't being very Christ-like. But right now I can't, for the life of me, understand the stuff I wrote while being a true Christian.
Ya know, I hate being 20-almost-21 sometimes. I had a couple nights in a row where I had dreams that guys I knew were asking me out and I had to sit them down and explain that I was a kind of moody, unpredictable, sometimes flaky person. As much as it would be cool to have a boyfriend, I'd have to warn anyone expressing intrest that I'm kinda crazy. But maybe all girls are like that. I dunno. But what can I say? I'm an artist! And Italian, I might add.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Faith Instead of a Warning
Dear God,
I'm writing You this letter because I'm a coward, I guess. I'm afraid of what might happen if I were to kneel and pray (though I must admit that there is fear in my heart just from writing this). I'm afraid that something horrible might happen. I dunno, maybe I'd be struck down, or maybe I'd just start crying and then get angry and, well…let the spiritual warfare commence.
But I'm here, God. I'm here. I answered You call on my heart. You showed me in a glimpse my position. You've warned me against going further. But I still don't want to be a Christian. I want God, not religion.
Why do I keep tiring myself out? What am I doing wrong? I guess I don't love You as much as I think I do. Please, God, teach me to love You so much that it is a joy to obey. Teach me to love You so much that I do not grow weary. Teach me to survive here. Because seriously, at this rate I'm going to hell.
I'll be doing so well, I'll be on fire and in love with You and then it seems like overnight I change. The temptation becomes strong. I compromise. I make some choices. Before I know it, I'm back to my old ways. Without a twinge of conscience. Dear God, help me. It seems I can't live without a longing. I'm not satisfied with being satisfied.
Obviously You know me better than I do because I thought I was fine. Evidently something in my heart wasn't right. But really, God, could You give me some warning? Guess not…guess You gave me faith instead.
Can't I be different? Do I have to be a clone?
Psalm 38:1-12, 16-22
O LORD, rebuke me not in Your wrath, And chasten me not in Your burning anger.
For Your arrows have sunk deep into me, And Your hand has pressed down on me.
There is no soundness in my flesh because of Your indignation; There is no health in my bones because of my sin.
For my iniquities are gone over my head; As a heavy burden they weigh too much for me.
My wounds grow foul {and} fester Because of my folly.
I am bent over and greatly bowed down; I go mourning all day long.
For my loins are filled with burning, And there is no soundness in my flesh.
I am benumbed and badly crushed; I groan because of the agitation of my heart.
Lord, all my desire is before You; And my sighing is not hidden from You.
My heart throbs, my strength fails me; And the light of my eyes, even that has gone from me.
My loved ones and my friends stand aloof from my plague; And my kinsmen stand afar off.
Those who seek my life lay snares {for me;} And those who seek to injure me have threatened destruction, And they devise treachery all day long.
…
For I said, "May they not rejoice over me, {Who,} when my foot slips, would magnify themselves against me."
For I am ready to fall, And my sorrow is continually before me.
For I confess my iniquity; I am full of anxiety because of my sin.
But my enemies are vigorous {and} strong, And many are those who hate me wrongfully.
And those who repay evil for good, They oppose me, because I follow what is good
Do not forsake me, O LORD; O my God, do not be far from me!
Make haste to help me, O Lord, my salvation!
Psalm 39:10-13
Remove Your plague from me; Because of the opposition of Your hand I am perishing.
With reproofs You chasten a man for iniquity; You consume as a moth what is precious to him; Surely every man is a mere breath. Selah.
Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear to my cry; Do not be silent at my tears; For I am a stranger with You, A sojourner like all my fathers.
Turn Your gaze away from me, that I may smile {again} Before I depart and am no more."
Lithium
by Evanescence
Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...
Lithium, I want to stay in love with my sorrow.
Oh, but God, I want to let it go
.Come to bed, don't make me sleep alone.
Couldn't hide the emptiness, you let it show.
Never wanted it to be so cold.
Just didn't drink enough to say you love me.
I can't hold on to me,
Wonder what's wrong with me.
Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...Lithium,
I want to stay in love with my sorrow.
Don't want to let it lay me down this time.
Drown my will to fly.Here in the darkness I know myself.
Can't break free until I let it go.
Let me go.
Darling, I forgive you after all.
Anything is better than to be alone.
And in the end I guess I had to fall.
Always find my place among the ashes.
I can't hold on to me,
Wonder what's wrong with me.
Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...Lithium,
...stay in love with my sorrow.I'm gonna let it go.
Bad Dream
By Keane
(excerpts)
Why do I have to flyover every town up and down the line?
I'll die in the clouds above
and you that I defend, I do not love.
I wake up, it's a bad dream,
No one on my side,I was fighting
But I just feel too tiredto be fighting,
guess I'm not the fighting kind.
Where will I meet my fate?
Baby I'm a man, I was born to hate.
And when will I meet my end?
Where do we go?
I don't even know,
My strange old face,
And I'm thinking about those days,
And I'm thinking about those days.
I'm writing You this letter because I'm a coward, I guess. I'm afraid of what might happen if I were to kneel and pray (though I must admit that there is fear in my heart just from writing this). I'm afraid that something horrible might happen. I dunno, maybe I'd be struck down, or maybe I'd just start crying and then get angry and, well…let the spiritual warfare commence.
But I'm here, God. I'm here. I answered You call on my heart. You showed me in a glimpse my position. You've warned me against going further. But I still don't want to be a Christian. I want God, not religion.
Why do I keep tiring myself out? What am I doing wrong? I guess I don't love You as much as I think I do. Please, God, teach me to love You so much that it is a joy to obey. Teach me to love You so much that I do not grow weary. Teach me to survive here. Because seriously, at this rate I'm going to hell.
I'll be doing so well, I'll be on fire and in love with You and then it seems like overnight I change. The temptation becomes strong. I compromise. I make some choices. Before I know it, I'm back to my old ways. Without a twinge of conscience. Dear God, help me. It seems I can't live without a longing. I'm not satisfied with being satisfied.
Obviously You know me better than I do because I thought I was fine. Evidently something in my heart wasn't right. But really, God, could You give me some warning? Guess not…guess You gave me faith instead.
Can't I be different? Do I have to be a clone?
Psalm 38:1-12, 16-22
O LORD, rebuke me not in Your wrath, And chasten me not in Your burning anger.
For Your arrows have sunk deep into me, And Your hand has pressed down on me.
There is no soundness in my flesh because of Your indignation; There is no health in my bones because of my sin.
For my iniquities are gone over my head; As a heavy burden they weigh too much for me.
My wounds grow foul {and} fester Because of my folly.
I am bent over and greatly bowed down; I go mourning all day long.
For my loins are filled with burning, And there is no soundness in my flesh.
I am benumbed and badly crushed; I groan because of the agitation of my heart.
Lord, all my desire is before You; And my sighing is not hidden from You.
My heart throbs, my strength fails me; And the light of my eyes, even that has gone from me.
My loved ones and my friends stand aloof from my plague; And my kinsmen stand afar off.
Those who seek my life lay snares {for me;} And those who seek to injure me have threatened destruction, And they devise treachery all day long.
…
For I said, "May they not rejoice over me, {Who,} when my foot slips, would magnify themselves against me."
For I am ready to fall, And my sorrow is continually before me.
For I confess my iniquity; I am full of anxiety because of my sin.
But my enemies are vigorous {and} strong, And many are those who hate me wrongfully.
And those who repay evil for good, They oppose me, because I follow what is good
Do not forsake me, O LORD; O my God, do not be far from me!
Make haste to help me, O Lord, my salvation!
Psalm 39:10-13
Remove Your plague from me; Because of the opposition of Your hand I am perishing.
With reproofs You chasten a man for iniquity; You consume as a moth what is precious to him; Surely every man is a mere breath. Selah.
Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear to my cry; Do not be silent at my tears; For I am a stranger with You, A sojourner like all my fathers.
Turn Your gaze away from me, that I may smile {again} Before I depart and am no more."
Lithium
by Evanescence
Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...
Lithium, I want to stay in love with my sorrow.
Oh, but God, I want to let it go
.Come to bed, don't make me sleep alone.
Couldn't hide the emptiness, you let it show.
Never wanted it to be so cold.
Just didn't drink enough to say you love me.
I can't hold on to me,
Wonder what's wrong with me.
Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...Lithium,
I want to stay in love with my sorrow.
Don't want to let it lay me down this time.
Drown my will to fly.Here in the darkness I know myself.
Can't break free until I let it go.
Let me go.
Darling, I forgive you after all.
Anything is better than to be alone.
And in the end I guess I had to fall.
Always find my place among the ashes.
I can't hold on to me,
Wonder what's wrong with me.
Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...Lithium,
...stay in love with my sorrow.I'm gonna let it go.
Bad Dream
By Keane
(excerpts)
Why do I have to flyover every town up and down the line?
I'll die in the clouds above
and you that I defend, I do not love.
I wake up, it's a bad dream,
No one on my side,I was fighting
But I just feel too tiredto be fighting,
guess I'm not the fighting kind.
Where will I meet my fate?
Baby I'm a man, I was born to hate.
And when will I meet my end?
Where do we go?
I don't even know,
My strange old face,
And I'm thinking about those days,
And I'm thinking about those days.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Getting Ready For Sabbath: Observations
The pre-Sabbath rat cage cleaning is made difficut by heathen fuzzies. Somebody, I still don't know who, stole a box of my Junior Mints. I just happened to hear them rattling the box under my bed. So there I am on the floor with my head stuck under the bed yelling at who knows which rat, "GIMMIE MY CHOCOLATE!!!". Francis and some other rat came over, obviously trying to distract me, and started grooming my face with zeal. I tried to fight them off, but eventually I just had to pull out the bed to get to my mints. I hope God knows what I go through to get ready for Sabbath....*sigh*Meanwhile...why in the world is Greenpeace sending me address labels with whales on them? Being a vet tech/animal welfare activist is like being an Adventist: you end up recycling a lot of useless paper you get in the mail. Bah, it's sunny outside. I ain't gonna sit in front of my computer writing a pointless blog. Toddles!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
The Harry Potter Surprise
About a month ago I decided to go back to Harry Potter. I had distanced myself from anything to do with the phenomenon for three years. Maybe my conscience was seared, but it didn't feel like a huge scary step to me. And while the experience of re-reading the fifth book, reading the sixth book for the first time and watching all the current movies was engrossing, I didn't turn into a tortured soul like my younger years. Life carried on.
My sister was re-reading the last two books in preparation for the seventh and final book. I yearned to join her and talk with her about Harry Potter things, just like old times. I realized, in my reading, that I could trace the pattern of my teenage years through these books. Not only did Harry Potter seem to be going through some of the same challenges that I had, but I could remember other details of what had been going on in my life when I had read each book, seen each movie. My life was shaped and patterned around Harry Potter's from the time I was twelve to the time I turned sixteen.
And so there I was, reading again and remembering. I knew what I was doing was wrong and part of me feared that, from Satan's point of view, I had made the final surrender. I told no one of my little adventure, partly out of pride and partly because I really did want to do this thing quietly. I didn't want to get caught up in the scene. I was sick of the scene.
My close friends knew, but that had been with me through my "Harry Potter years". Talking to them about Potter stuff was a comfort rather than a frustration. It felt like…my youth. But I couldn't stand talking to anyone else about it.
Soon I had caught up on my reading and movie viewing. I had a short reprieve until the seventh and final book came out. Surprisingly, I started to really come back to God during this time. I'm not sure why, but I have a few guesses. Maybe the seeds from family camp had started to grow. Maybe it was because I was so enthralled with the book I was reading, The Visitation. Maybe now that I had done the worst I was capable of doing I could only go uphill, back towards God. That is not to say that I didn't love God all that time, but I wasn't living for Him as I should have been.
I told myself often that I should make that choice now and stop this Potter business and make a full surrender to God. But I chose not to. I had to see this through or I would never be able to leave my teenage years behind me.
Last night I finished reading the last book. Harry lived, quite frankly, happily ever after and now, I could too. There is was, the conclusion to my teenage years. I could live on never having to worry. Never having to be haunted about Harry Potter.
Today, the day after, I feel the tell-tale signs of an unexplainable Potter depression; but my sister says this will pass in a day or two. It happened to her, too. But I am glad and thanking God for this new beginning.
Patience
By Take That
Just have a little patience
Still hurting from a love I lost,
Feeling your frustration,
Any minute all the pain will stop,
Just hold, me close, inside your arms,
tonight,don't be too hard on my emotions,
'Cause I, need time.
My heart is numb, has no feeling.
So while I'm still healing,
Just try, and have a little patience
I really want to start over again,
I know you wanna be my salvation.
The one that I could always depend,
I'll try to be strong believe me,
I'm trying to move on,
It's complicated but understand me.
'Cause I, need time,
My heart is numb has no feeling,
So while I'm still healing,
Just try, and have a little patience,
have a little patience,
'Cause the scars run so deep,
It's been hard
But I have to believe.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
God sped
Well, I've been hard at work with school and writing The Master Painter. Huge props to my friend Becky for being the editor of my dreams. As they say, to write is human, to edit is divine. With Becky's help this story is coming together and I hope to finish it in about a week.
In rodent news, we have a new mouse named Twinkle and my dear Biscuit died. Biscuit wasn't my rat, but a friend's. Last time I saw him he was just a tiny baby and he would be almost a year old now.
I saw a licence plate the other day that read "GOD SPED". I think it was supposed to say 'God speed' but all it ended up doing was accusing God of not obeying traffic laws. Mildly humorous.
So it's a Sabbath afternoon and I'm bored out of my socks. I should really go take a shower or at least change clothes since I have the Slobber of the Northside Church Babies all over me.
Nakies is up for her afternoon constitutional. She says hi. I love my Nakies...:-)
In rodent news, we have a new mouse named Twinkle and my dear Biscuit died. Biscuit wasn't my rat, but a friend's. Last time I saw him he was just a tiny baby and he would be almost a year old now.
I saw a licence plate the other day that read "GOD SPED". I think it was supposed to say 'God speed' but all it ended up doing was accusing God of not obeying traffic laws. Mildly humorous.
So it's a Sabbath afternoon and I'm bored out of my socks. I should really go take a shower or at least change clothes since I have the Slobber of the Northside Church Babies all over me.
Nakies is up for her afternoon constitutional. She says hi. I love my Nakies...:-)
Saturday, April 7, 2007
My First Post
Oh my. It's my first post on Blogger. Salutations world-of-blogging-on Blogger! So far I like it.
I'm being lazy thing morning. I was supposed to be at College View Church (CVC) at 8 AM since Unionaires in singing for both services. It's 10:13 and I am still in my pajamas...
I thought about it and thought about it and eventually decided that, what with my health being in such a delicate state, I needed to rest and take it easy today. Tomorrow will be very busy and I'll need my energy.
There is still a possibility that I will go and perform for the second service, but it is a rather small possibility. Is it bad that I'm just having an off day where I don't do anything I'm supposed to? I seem to do that quite often. What can I say, I'm an artist and can't be counted on to be constant.
Meanwhile I am wishing it were not so cold because otherwise I would go for a walk. It looks so pretty and sunny outside, making me want to go play and prance around, but I can't abide by the cold, so I guess I'll just sit inside and knit and read The Fellowship of the Ring. It is my second time reading it, by the way, and I just finished the chapter about Weathertop/Amon Sul.
Baby Crash is up and says hi.
I'm being lazy thing morning. I was supposed to be at College View Church (CVC) at 8 AM since Unionaires in singing for both services. It's 10:13 and I am still in my pajamas...
I thought about it and thought about it and eventually decided that, what with my health being in such a delicate state, I needed to rest and take it easy today. Tomorrow will be very busy and I'll need my energy.
There is still a possibility that I will go and perform for the second service, but it is a rather small possibility. Is it bad that I'm just having an off day where I don't do anything I'm supposed to? I seem to do that quite often. What can I say, I'm an artist and can't be counted on to be constant.
Meanwhile I am wishing it were not so cold because otherwise I would go for a walk. It looks so pretty and sunny outside, making me want to go play and prance around, but I can't abide by the cold, so I guess I'll just sit inside and knit and read The Fellowship of the Ring. It is my second time reading it, by the way, and I just finished the chapter about Weathertop/Amon Sul.
Baby Crash is up and says hi.
Friday, March 30, 2007
A Long, But Meaningful Blog
I haven't written a journal in a long time and, with so many thoughts and theories floating around my head I thought it best to get them down on paper, or, rather, my hard drive.
Its spring now here in Lincoln, Nebraska. The daffodils, crocus and tulips are blooming, the trees are budding and grass is green. Constant showers encourage God's work to shine. How beautiful the earth can turn in what seems like overnight. It makes me think of how someday this earth with transform into something even more beautiful than what we see now.
Why, just last night I had a dream that the world was dark, with war in every land. There was a tower in the middle of the land that was grey and covered in dead ivy. It had once been the palace of a good king who ruled the earth with love and, under his care, it flourished. But the hearts of the people turned to darkness and soon the king was forced to retreat into his palace to lay dormant until enough people with true hearts should call him forth to reclaim the land.
I was standing with my mother in front of the dark palace with a small group of others. When we called upon the king to come and rescue us from the darkness, the tower transformed into a beautiful green and gold structure with carvings and statues of creatures long gone on it. Bells chimed and two heralds stepped out of the palace. They were the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen looking as if they were part of nature. The king was about to come out when I woke up.
So, yes, sort of Lord of the Rings-y, but whatever. The point is that the transformation of nature in the springtime is such a magical thing to watch and holds me mesmerized. And I think of how much I really do love it here in Lincoln. As I drive through town I see kids riding bikes, young couples walking dogs, pushing strollers. I see children walking home from school with backpacks slung over their shoulders, and I can't help but fall in love with this city again. When I was young
I used to think that Lincoln was the safest place ever. In Minnesota I shied away from everyone since most of them were drunks with guns. But I thought that should I ever lived in Lincoln I would not be afraid to approach someone on the street to ask the time or some other such thing. I know now, of course, that Lincoln is no city of angels, but it is by far the best city I have ever lived in.
I ask myself, would I ever leave Lincoln? I can't really know the answer any more than I can really know the answer to a question like, what would you do if the boogieman was real and lived under your bed? I can't know what I would do in that given situation unless I was actually in it. There are potential circumstances to be considered, like, maybe the boogieman is friendly? Perhaps he is allergic to peanut butter? Likewise, I can't know if I'll ever leave Lincoln until I am in the actual predicament.
Northside has a new pastor, Pastor Martinez. He's okay. I've only heard him preach twice, since he's only been here two Sabbaths. I like his preaching okay. I don't really know yet, I haven't gotten to know him as a person, so we'll see. Anyway, his first sermon was about heaven. The sermon was okay, but not gripping or anything (I'm a firm believer that if you're going to preach on heaven, its got to be gripping and that doesn't mean use the same pictures and thoughts as every other preacher out there). However, it was a reminder that God chooses some of the weakest things to make His point and to touch us. Pastor Martinez was using power point for his sermon and he had up some pretty pictures from nature (I'm a sucker for those things). He probably said something then that sent me contemplating for the remainder of the sermon. I thought about how, since I was about fourteen, I've had this little world of my own in my head that I retreat to. Some of it is forests, some moors or rolling hills. Some is ocean and beaches, some is prairie. And I have little houses scattered throughout. I fit the world to the mood I'm in.
Maybe its sounds strange to you, but I've lived a very strange life and without a place of escape I would not have made it. I'm guessing that not everyone has my wide expanse of imagination, but I'm sure we all have a "happy place" in our minds. Anyway, I had surprisingly never thought of it before, but this little world of mine was probably a glimpse of what heaven would be like. "They shall build houses and inhabit them," says the Bible. I started to think about that.
Then I thought about how I had heard that the desire of a man's heart was to have a beautiful life to enjoy and someone to enjoy it with. I thought about how, sometimes my little world served it purpose in letting me get away, but it was rather lonely. I wanted someone to share it with, someone who understood it. This world to me is my heart and I wanted to share my heart. This world also spills out and meshes with the real world. I guess what I mean by that is, the way I interpret and see the real world around me is echoed in the world of my heart/mind. Am I getting too philosophical? This probably makes no sense to anyone but me.
Anyway, then I thought of how nature is God's second book, how it is His finger print. I enjoy nature so much more now because I am not letting myself be constrained to some Adventist mind set devoid of all individuality. God forbid I should be a cookie-cutter Adventist explaining everything with common phrasing and mind set. Once I let myself free of that, I was able to see what a big and creative force our God is and to enjoy Him for who He is, not the over-theologized God from my Sabbath School quarterly. What if I were to let that God be the force, the meaning behind the world of my heart? I remember that sometimes, when I needed to be very honest with God I would "meet" Jesus in my world and talk to Him there. It was a more meaningful kind of prayer that is individual to me and not a patented-by-the-church approach.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm coming back to 14-year-old perception of God, which is probably more correct. It is that perception of God that drew me into the New Age movement. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not doing that again, but I'm coming back to a more sacred, peaceful place where much more emphasis is placed on nature, on awareness of the living things around you. Many of these things I know the church tried to teach me, but I just couldn't grasp it. It seems to me that the church likes to focus on God's government; the rules, the prophecies and all other such things. We don't focus enough on a relationship, on a personal, living experience. The only Seventh-Day Adventist Ministry that I've seen do this is Empowered Living Ministries. They are totally on the ball, but it is sad that they are so few.
Another dream I had: I was with the Christian people because, while straying for a time from all of those beliefs, I counted myself among them. We were climbing white stairs up into the clouds. All the faces around me were shining with joy and in everyone's hands was a treasure from their life on earth to lay before the throne. The higher up the stairs I got the more nervous I became. What if I was not deemed good enough to enter before God's presence with my people? Had I tarried too long in my wayward journey? Did I miss the call home? Then I started to despair; I'm not good enough! I'll be made a fool of! But I was, at the same time, at peace knowing that God's judgment would be fair. I reached the throne and watched as a dear friend of mine who was ahead of me put down her gift, smiled into the face of her creator and walked on. I walked hesitantly up to the throne and put down my gift. I think it was my journals, but I can't quite remember. I was nervous, but the hand of grace, though not physical, was reached out to me and a voice said, "I have placed you on this journey and you will be granted time." With relief I turned followed those ahead of me back down another staircase back to earth.
I'm not claiming to be any Ellen White or anything, but I have always had meaningful dreams. My dreams are one of the main ways in which God speaks to me and the dreams are personally for me. They are not prophetic or aimed to guide anyone else, However, if you should get a blessing from hearing them, then I am glad.
On a more physical note, things are being worked out Sunrider-wise to prevent me from ever having my colon removed. I have glasses, too. But who cares about that stuff anyway?
Its spring now here in Lincoln, Nebraska. The daffodils, crocus and tulips are blooming, the trees are budding and grass is green. Constant showers encourage God's work to shine. How beautiful the earth can turn in what seems like overnight. It makes me think of how someday this earth with transform into something even more beautiful than what we see now.
Why, just last night I had a dream that the world was dark, with war in every land. There was a tower in the middle of the land that was grey and covered in dead ivy. It had once been the palace of a good king who ruled the earth with love and, under his care, it flourished. But the hearts of the people turned to darkness and soon the king was forced to retreat into his palace to lay dormant until enough people with true hearts should call him forth to reclaim the land.
I was standing with my mother in front of the dark palace with a small group of others. When we called upon the king to come and rescue us from the darkness, the tower transformed into a beautiful green and gold structure with carvings and statues of creatures long gone on it. Bells chimed and two heralds stepped out of the palace. They were the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen looking as if they were part of nature. The king was about to come out when I woke up.
So, yes, sort of Lord of the Rings-y, but whatever. The point is that the transformation of nature in the springtime is such a magical thing to watch and holds me mesmerized. And I think of how much I really do love it here in Lincoln. As I drive through town I see kids riding bikes, young couples walking dogs, pushing strollers. I see children walking home from school with backpacks slung over their shoulders, and I can't help but fall in love with this city again. When I was young
I used to think that Lincoln was the safest place ever. In Minnesota I shied away from everyone since most of them were drunks with guns. But I thought that should I ever lived in Lincoln I would not be afraid to approach someone on the street to ask the time or some other such thing. I know now, of course, that Lincoln is no city of angels, but it is by far the best city I have ever lived in.
I ask myself, would I ever leave Lincoln? I can't really know the answer any more than I can really know the answer to a question like, what would you do if the boogieman was real and lived under your bed? I can't know what I would do in that given situation unless I was actually in it. There are potential circumstances to be considered, like, maybe the boogieman is friendly? Perhaps he is allergic to peanut butter? Likewise, I can't know if I'll ever leave Lincoln until I am in the actual predicament.
Northside has a new pastor, Pastor Martinez. He's okay. I've only heard him preach twice, since he's only been here two Sabbaths. I like his preaching okay. I don't really know yet, I haven't gotten to know him as a person, so we'll see. Anyway, his first sermon was about heaven. The sermon was okay, but not gripping or anything (I'm a firm believer that if you're going to preach on heaven, its got to be gripping and that doesn't mean use the same pictures and thoughts as every other preacher out there). However, it was a reminder that God chooses some of the weakest things to make His point and to touch us. Pastor Martinez was using power point for his sermon and he had up some pretty pictures from nature (I'm a sucker for those things). He probably said something then that sent me contemplating for the remainder of the sermon. I thought about how, since I was about fourteen, I've had this little world of my own in my head that I retreat to. Some of it is forests, some moors or rolling hills. Some is ocean and beaches, some is prairie. And I have little houses scattered throughout. I fit the world to the mood I'm in.
Maybe its sounds strange to you, but I've lived a very strange life and without a place of escape I would not have made it. I'm guessing that not everyone has my wide expanse of imagination, but I'm sure we all have a "happy place" in our minds. Anyway, I had surprisingly never thought of it before, but this little world of mine was probably a glimpse of what heaven would be like. "They shall build houses and inhabit them," says the Bible. I started to think about that.
Then I thought about how I had heard that the desire of a man's heart was to have a beautiful life to enjoy and someone to enjoy it with. I thought about how, sometimes my little world served it purpose in letting me get away, but it was rather lonely. I wanted someone to share it with, someone who understood it. This world to me is my heart and I wanted to share my heart. This world also spills out and meshes with the real world. I guess what I mean by that is, the way I interpret and see the real world around me is echoed in the world of my heart/mind. Am I getting too philosophical? This probably makes no sense to anyone but me.
Anyway, then I thought of how nature is God's second book, how it is His finger print. I enjoy nature so much more now because I am not letting myself be constrained to some Adventist mind set devoid of all individuality. God forbid I should be a cookie-cutter Adventist explaining everything with common phrasing and mind set. Once I let myself free of that, I was able to see what a big and creative force our God is and to enjoy Him for who He is, not the over-theologized God from my Sabbath School quarterly. What if I were to let that God be the force, the meaning behind the world of my heart? I remember that sometimes, when I needed to be very honest with God I would "meet" Jesus in my world and talk to Him there. It was a more meaningful kind of prayer that is individual to me and not a patented-by-the-church approach.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm coming back to 14-year-old perception of God, which is probably more correct. It is that perception of God that drew me into the New Age movement. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not doing that again, but I'm coming back to a more sacred, peaceful place where much more emphasis is placed on nature, on awareness of the living things around you. Many of these things I know the church tried to teach me, but I just couldn't grasp it. It seems to me that the church likes to focus on God's government; the rules, the prophecies and all other such things. We don't focus enough on a relationship, on a personal, living experience. The only Seventh-Day Adventist Ministry that I've seen do this is Empowered Living Ministries. They are totally on the ball, but it is sad that they are so few.
Another dream I had: I was with the Christian people because, while straying for a time from all of those beliefs, I counted myself among them. We were climbing white stairs up into the clouds. All the faces around me were shining with joy and in everyone's hands was a treasure from their life on earth to lay before the throne. The higher up the stairs I got the more nervous I became. What if I was not deemed good enough to enter before God's presence with my people? Had I tarried too long in my wayward journey? Did I miss the call home? Then I started to despair; I'm not good enough! I'll be made a fool of! But I was, at the same time, at peace knowing that God's judgment would be fair. I reached the throne and watched as a dear friend of mine who was ahead of me put down her gift, smiled into the face of her creator and walked on. I walked hesitantly up to the throne and put down my gift. I think it was my journals, but I can't quite remember. I was nervous, but the hand of grace, though not physical, was reached out to me and a voice said, "I have placed you on this journey and you will be granted time." With relief I turned followed those ahead of me back down another staircase back to earth.
I'm not claiming to be any Ellen White or anything, but I have always had meaningful dreams. My dreams are one of the main ways in which God speaks to me and the dreams are personally for me. They are not prophetic or aimed to guide anyone else, However, if you should get a blessing from hearing them, then I am glad.
On a more physical note, things are being worked out Sunrider-wise to prevent me from ever having my colon removed. I have glasses, too. But who cares about that stuff anyway?
Friday, February 23, 2007
It's Been A Long Time
Its been a long time since I've last written a journal. I'm sort of disappointed in myself. I write journals when I feel alive. I have to write about life and all its intricacies and generalities. When I don't write I've lost some of that passion. I'm off in some other world. And so I've been.
I do chores, run errands, do schoolwork and then in my spare time I disappear. That wasn't my plan when this started. I didn't want to have my head in the clouds. Now that original mind set is coming back to me every now and then. Reminding me. That's not to say I regret anything, although I'm sure if I thought about it long and hard enough I'd find something. This is a journey, not a mapped out course. I'm growing up and flowing in and out of experiences, worlds…I suppose that is why it is so important to me that no one judge me. I don't yet have my feet on the ground about what I want, who I am. I'm never constant. Save judgment for another time.
Lately I've been reading too much X-Men and listening to t.A.T.u. Yeah, pretty deep, huh? I've had a really cool, but scary dream I call The Master Painter. I should have written it as a short story when I'd first woken up, but I didn't. Perhaps I will soon. I had a very disturbing dream in which a certain someone was trying to woo me. Can you guess who that was? I, of course, spent most of my time making snide remarks or yelling at him.
I've been meaning to write a letter to someone I've yet to meet. It would start, 'Dear potential boyfriend…". It was going to be a this-is-who-I-am-and-this-is-what-you're-getting-into letter, but I think I would just put in the lyrics to Bitch. That song pretty much sums it up. It's the one that goes, "I'm a bitch/I'm a lover/I'm a child/I'm a mother/I'm a sinner/I'm a saint".
I've been thinking about friendship issues. Like, listening to what James and Gina went through with Christina and it all making sense. Then I think about when I go back to being a full-time Christian and if they will still love and accept me as they do now. I won't be who I was before, certainly, but I will be different than I am now. But I'll still be me. All the time.
I do chores, run errands, do schoolwork and then in my spare time I disappear. That wasn't my plan when this started. I didn't want to have my head in the clouds. Now that original mind set is coming back to me every now and then. Reminding me. That's not to say I regret anything, although I'm sure if I thought about it long and hard enough I'd find something. This is a journey, not a mapped out course. I'm growing up and flowing in and out of experiences, worlds…I suppose that is why it is so important to me that no one judge me. I don't yet have my feet on the ground about what I want, who I am. I'm never constant. Save judgment for another time.
Lately I've been reading too much X-Men and listening to t.A.T.u. Yeah, pretty deep, huh? I've had a really cool, but scary dream I call The Master Painter. I should have written it as a short story when I'd first woken up, but I didn't. Perhaps I will soon. I had a very disturbing dream in which a certain someone was trying to woo me. Can you guess who that was? I, of course, spent most of my time making snide remarks or yelling at him.
I've been meaning to write a letter to someone I've yet to meet. It would start, 'Dear potential boyfriend…". It was going to be a this-is-who-I-am-and-this-is-what-you're-getting-into letter, but I think I would just put in the lyrics to Bitch. That song pretty much sums it up. It's the one that goes, "I'm a bitch/I'm a lover/I'm a child/I'm a mother/I'm a sinner/I'm a saint".
I've been thinking about friendship issues. Like, listening to what James and Gina went through with Christina and it all making sense. Then I think about when I go back to being a full-time Christian and if they will still love and accept me as they do now. I won't be who I was before, certainly, but I will be different than I am now. But I'll still be me. All the time.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Prodigal
Two nights ago I did something big: I picked up my Bible. I was ready to read just a little bit. It's like I went on this detox to get all this "dogma" out of my system, all of the opinions of men. Now the detox is nearing its end and I'm ready for something pure, I'm ready to hear what God has to say. I needed to know that I couldn't find love that satisfies fully out in the world. I had to know that for sure so that I could come back to God and say, "I know You're the real thing". I had to come back to the primitive belief that, yes, there is a God. Perhaps that's easier for me than most. For me, its never been a question. All I have to do is look at nature to know there's a God. All I have to do is look at people, circumstances, and I know. We have a big God. A creative God. And He's a lot different that what people tell you. You can only tell someone about God so much; they have to experience God. I know that sounds preacher-ish, but I think its true. You have to know for yourself and you have to see God for who He is. Human words can't describe it. Maybe that's why the Bible is so big-people trying to describe God in every way they can.
So, anyway, I was ready to open up my Bible again. I think I opened to the book of Job. I read a bit there and then went on the Psalms. I didn't read a whole lot, but let me tell you, I was captivated! After not reading this Book for so long and having shed the glasses of the ideas of men, this Book was amazing! The beauty of words that I had no doubt came straight from God. I've been reading a lot of really good books the past few months, but they seemed so trite compared to what I was reading at the moment. It was a magical experience.
Now, I've done more praying through this whole ordeal than you may think I have. I've had at least one heart-to-heart with God. What surprised me was that God still loved me. He wasn't looking at me sin, I could just tell. He was looking at me, His creation, who I was. He was looking at me on this journey and He understood because He had lain the path beneath my feet. The reason I was surprised at this was that I have trained myself to believe that if I so much as don't say my morning prayers, God hates me and I'm going to have to put on one heck of a show to prove to Him that I'm sorry (even if I don't truly feel it). I have a lot of unconfessed sins at the moment, but somehow I get the idea that God isn't interested in hearing my confessions; He's interesting in hearing my thoughts, my heart.
So, after I'd read a bit of the Bible, I turned of the light, lay down in bed and prayed. I used to do this a lot, and most of my real praying is done as I'm falling asleep. I recall someone calling it "pillow talk" with God. I just talked to God about what I thought about Him, about me, and about what was going on. I reminded God that I do love Him, that I always have. He knows. This journey is far from over, but I think I've taken the first steps home. And I know the God wants me to take my time and that He will always be there to guide me, the prodigal daughter.
So, anyway, I was ready to open up my Bible again. I think I opened to the book of Job. I read a bit there and then went on the Psalms. I didn't read a whole lot, but let me tell you, I was captivated! After not reading this Book for so long and having shed the glasses of the ideas of men, this Book was amazing! The beauty of words that I had no doubt came straight from God. I've been reading a lot of really good books the past few months, but they seemed so trite compared to what I was reading at the moment. It was a magical experience.
Now, I've done more praying through this whole ordeal than you may think I have. I've had at least one heart-to-heart with God. What surprised me was that God still loved me. He wasn't looking at me sin, I could just tell. He was looking at me, His creation, who I was. He was looking at me on this journey and He understood because He had lain the path beneath my feet. The reason I was surprised at this was that I have trained myself to believe that if I so much as don't say my morning prayers, God hates me and I'm going to have to put on one heck of a show to prove to Him that I'm sorry (even if I don't truly feel it). I have a lot of unconfessed sins at the moment, but somehow I get the idea that God isn't interested in hearing my confessions; He's interesting in hearing my thoughts, my heart.
So, after I'd read a bit of the Bible, I turned of the light, lay down in bed and prayed. I used to do this a lot, and most of my real praying is done as I'm falling asleep. I recall someone calling it "pillow talk" with God. I just talked to God about what I thought about Him, about me, and about what was going on. I reminded God that I do love Him, that I always have. He knows. This journey is far from over, but I think I've taken the first steps home. And I know the God wants me to take my time and that He will always be there to guide me, the prodigal daughter.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
I Wish...
My wishes. What I want to have done in my life, but will probably never get done. Life is too short. I do wish reincarnation was real, sometimes. Most of the time. These wishes are limited to reality.
I want to learn to speak German, French, Vietnamese, Spanish, Russian, Welsh and an Asian language (perhaps Japanese) fluently. I would also like to work short-term jobs at translators for all of those languages.
I want to go to Ireland (perhaps with a good friend, or as my honeymoon) with one suitcase and a large amount of money. When I get there I would like to buy a car and then drive around Ireland with no specific destination. I would like to have adventures consisting mainly of new people, places and food.
I want to be a secretary, preferably at a hospital.
I want to be an anesthesiologist, while I’m on the subject of hospitals.
I want to be involved in a large, dramatic rat rescue.
I want to save an animal’s life in a heroic endeavor.
I want to rent a small, chilly flat in London and smoke cigarettes.
I want to stay at a Victorian bed and breakfast for a long period of time and write something.
I want to go to a big, old college somewhere out of the country and study literature.
I want to study abroad for a year.
I want to write a book and see it made into a movie.
I want to live on a moor.
I want to be a chef.
I want to star in an opera.
I want to learn to play the piano, the violin and a wooden flute.
I want to own at least one of each once in my lifetime: sugar glider, munchkin cat, chinchilla, skunk, leopard gecko, frog, many fish (saltwater and fresh), ring necked dove, squirrel, hamster, gerbil, mouse, African Gambian rat, a large snake, turtle, degu, dog, rabbit, goat, horse, pig, and a sheep.
I want to be a zoologist and in that career aid in keeping an endangered species.
I want to be a wildlife rehabilitator.
I want to be a wonderful gardener and grow beautiful flowers and organic produce.
I want to adopt a child.
I want to have my own child.
I want to be an astronomer.
I want to have my own, small house and have only just enough money.
I would like to have a faithful pen pal whom I have never met and never will meet.
I want to dance ballet…independently.
I want to have a large, old library willed to me.
I want to be the librarian of a large, old, library. Or a small, old library.
I want to do the Beatrix Potter/Edwardian Lady thing: go outside everyday exploring, writing and painting.
I want to visit Vietnam for Tet.
I want to read the dictionary.
I want to go shopping in France with no budget.
I want to learn to have beautiful handwriting (not calligraphy).
I want to be a coffee barista.
I want to see the John Knox house in Scotland.
I want to see my family in Italy.
I want to go to bed…
I want to learn to speak German, French, Vietnamese, Spanish, Russian, Welsh and an Asian language (perhaps Japanese) fluently. I would also like to work short-term jobs at translators for all of those languages.
I want to go to Ireland (perhaps with a good friend, or as my honeymoon) with one suitcase and a large amount of money. When I get there I would like to buy a car and then drive around Ireland with no specific destination. I would like to have adventures consisting mainly of new people, places and food.
I want to be a secretary, preferably at a hospital.
I want to be an anesthesiologist, while I’m on the subject of hospitals.
I want to be involved in a large, dramatic rat rescue.
I want to save an animal’s life in a heroic endeavor.
I want to rent a small, chilly flat in London and smoke cigarettes.
I want to stay at a Victorian bed and breakfast for a long period of time and write something.
I want to go to a big, old college somewhere out of the country and study literature.
I want to study abroad for a year.
I want to write a book and see it made into a movie.
I want to live on a moor.
I want to be a chef.
I want to star in an opera.
I want to learn to play the piano, the violin and a wooden flute.
I want to own at least one of each once in my lifetime: sugar glider, munchkin cat, chinchilla, skunk, leopard gecko, frog, many fish (saltwater and fresh), ring necked dove, squirrel, hamster, gerbil, mouse, African Gambian rat, a large snake, turtle, degu, dog, rabbit, goat, horse, pig, and a sheep.
I want to be a zoologist and in that career aid in keeping an endangered species.
I want to be a wildlife rehabilitator.
I want to be a wonderful gardener and grow beautiful flowers and organic produce.
I want to adopt a child.
I want to have my own child.
I want to be an astronomer.
I want to have my own, small house and have only just enough money.
I would like to have a faithful pen pal whom I have never met and never will meet.
I want to dance ballet…independently.
I want to have a large, old library willed to me.
I want to be the librarian of a large, old, library. Or a small, old library.
I want to do the Beatrix Potter/Edwardian Lady thing: go outside everyday exploring, writing and painting.
I want to visit Vietnam for Tet.
I want to read the dictionary.
I want to go shopping in France with no budget.
I want to learn to have beautiful handwriting (not calligraphy).
I want to be a coffee barista.
I want to see the John Knox house in Scotland.
I want to see my family in Italy.
I want to go to bed…
Friday, January 12, 2007
Doing the Hospital Thing, Big Girl Style
It’s the day after my procedures. I feel like crap, but I am grateful for food and water. I’m not accustomed to recording the practical things that are going on in my life, but rather my little thoughts and revelations. However, I suppose I should, for the sake of any future events or readings, record yesterday’s goings-on.
My appointment was for eleven A.M., but I wasn’t expecting to actually get my procedures done until one at the latest. Radiology is never on time. One the way out I was parched and hungry. I hadn’t been allowed to drink anything since midnight and I hadn’t eaten in about three days. I had pushed myself beyond what I thought I was physically and mentally capable of in those past three days. Most of that happened trying to get down the last laxative, which tasted so bad I actually ended up gagging on it mid-sip. In all seriousness, if I am ever holed up in prison being tortured and starved because of my religion or something, I’ll be an old hat at it. I just know I’ll be thinking, “Well, at least I’m here because I believe in something and I’m not being forced against my will to eat nothing but chicken broth and jell-o and swallow laxatives like Go Lytely.” I only got down half of that stuff before quitting, by the way. If you could taste it you would think highly of me for getting that far.
Anyway, we (my mom and I) were in the car headed to Omaha for the big day and I was ignoring my bag of amusements and looking out the window, thinking. This is my usual style. I was thinking about how the littlest things can be a big sign of how much a person has grown up. Through the whole bowel cleanse ordeal and I didn’t whine and cry as I usually would (okay, so I whined, but in an adult manner). I wasn’t putting numbing cream all over my hands and arms for the I.V.. I knew when I got there that I wouldn’t make my usual list of demands (keep the oxygen mask away from my face until I’m out, make sure to pull out the intubation tube while I’m still out, explain to me clearly when you are going to put any drugs in my I.V. that would make me sleepy and let me watch you do it, and for goodness sakes, let my mom come into the room with me until I’m out. Oh, yeah, and the stuffed animal stays with me.). And, of course, I wouldn’t be a pediatric anymore. I would be with the old stuffy people, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use what cuteness I had left to get people to treat me sweet like.
My mom said I should make as many demands as I wanted to but I said, no, I wasn’t doing this because I was trying to be grown up, I was doing it because I was. I didn’t need those things any more. I put my trust in whoever was running the show in that room and I was going to let them have their own way (to a point, of course).
So when I got there it was the same story I’ve been through countless times, except my mom wasn’t allowed to come back until I was all ready to go. I had to put on one of those ugly gowns with no ties in back except one around the neck. And of course I wasn’t allowed to wear anything underneath except my pink fuzzy socks, which had to be covered up with the most ugly blue paper things you’ll ever see. Another robe went around me and tied in front so I could walk about with dignity. The robes had this pattern on them that mom and I spent awhile contemplating, which is what you do when you have to sit around with nothing else to do for over two hours.
“Someone out there has the job of designing these patterns,” I said. Mom nodded.
“But isn’t even totally original. Its just these weird dashes and a box with that little paisley thing in it. Its like generic paisley.” So that’s what we called it from then on. Generic paisley.
After my generic paisley robes and blue foot things were put on I was told what would happen during the procedures (live biopsy, colonoscopy and endoscopy). Then I had to sign a bunch of consent forms. After that this poor nurse tried to put an I.V. in me that I said would be a sure stick. I had been working this vein in my hand all morning as happy to finally have something that would work. Well, apparently that vein decided it didn’t want to come out anymore by the time I was at the hospital. Not that you can blame it, I hadn’t had anything to drink in quite awhile. It was a rather painful experience and the nurse tried to see if she’d gotten the I.V. to thread by putting in some saline, which only sat under my skin and made a bruise. She felt really bad and refused to try on me again. Another nurse, who was obviously more experienced got a vein on my other arm.
Since that was done my mom was allowed to come back. She was quite relieved, actually because she had been sitting in a waiting room with two middle aged ladies who could do nothing but talk about their children’s sports, the latest sale and Penny’s. My poor mother. She doesn’t really fit in with most people her age. Kind of like me.
So there we waited and waited talking about generic paisley and the like. I was remembering why I always used to be so upbeat and original in hospitals. It was because I was surrounded with the kind of people who were passing by my bed that day. Old, say ghosts who shuffled about with their heads down, looking like poor excuses for human beings in their bed-creased generic paisley robes. I had to balance all that out somehow, so I became this witty, intelligent, and rather demanding girl who always wanted nothing more that to put on her normal clothes and go to the bathroom by herself. I told my mom I would try to be a ray of sunshine that day and it was a good thing I’d taken my Lexapro that morning.
My dear Dr. Gilroy was running the show in there, which was cool because I really like him. I mean, come on, he has an Aussie accent and calls me ‘boss’. It was about a quarter until two when he wheeled me into the procedure room.
“I don’t have a license for this,” he warned me, speaking of rolling beds around. He was quite right because we bumped into more than a few corners. When we got into the room he picked up an Ipod and said, “What do you fancy?” or something equally un-American. I chose classical. He put on a beautiful guitar version of a song I like that Sarah Brightman sings.
My I.V. wasn’t hooked up to anything so he just took my hand and put in two syringes of drugs right in front of me and then told me to turn on my side. I turned, but before I touched the pillow the drugs kicked in. I put my head down on the pillow and blanked out. The next thing I remember is feeling like someone had stuck a tube into my intestines (which they had) and was pushing it as hard as they could against the wall of the intestines (though what was really happening was they were inflating my intestines with air). I heard myself moan and maybe say, “ow” or something and then Dr. Gilroy give a command for more drugs. After that, I was waking up back in recovery. I asked Dr. Gilroy how it went and he said they’d had to take a lot of biopsies, which mean that they found a lot of weird stuff in my intestines, I guess. I asked if they’d done the liver biopsy and he said no, they were going to do that now. That was odd to me, since I had always been asleep for liver biopsies. He ushered in a couple people with a ultrasound machine. I was kind of drifting in and out of sleep, or whatever those drugs made me do. Next thing I know, Dr. Gilroy is numbing the area with lidocaine, which hurt because he had to go deep with it. Then he took the long biopsy needle and warned me that it might sting, but the lidocaine did the trick and I didn’t feel a thing. Turns out I have cirrhosis (hardening) of the liver. We’ll have to see how that turns out.
From then on it was just a two hour recovery. I was offered a glass of ice water, my first liquid in 15 hours. It tasted as sweet as if Moses himself had brought it. I was still a little tipsy-turkey, but I got my clothes on and we went straight to the gift show for my first food in three days: Twizzlers and Chex Mix. Delicious. One the way back we stopped at a gas station and I got a Krispy Kreme, a turkey sandwich and the gas station’s rendition of french vanilla cappuccino. It was great.
By the time we got home I was dead beat. I couldn’t breath in or out all the way because the lidocaine from the biopsy had worn off and was starting to really hurt. I got online and sent a quick email to James and talking to Jordan and Christina. Pretty soon I had to go lie down.
I woke up this morning at five A.M. Its been a rough day because of the biopsy site giving me so much grief. I’ve had to lie in bed and focus on breathing. I finished two books, clipped out pictures from magazines and watched one of the many movies Kathy brought over for me to watch. I also had mac and cheese. Its so great to eat, even if I can’t eat a whole lot in one sitting yet (my poor intestines have been through a lot). I’ve been acting like those ghost people from the hospital I hate so much. I forgot to take my anti-depressant and I’m in a lot of pain. So I just sort of lay in bed with my poker face and shuffle around the house as needed. My good mood comes and goes.
In other news, my dad is coming tomorrow, which is awesome. It snowed again today. And best of all, Baby Crash actually snuggled with me! We’re still waiting for her to brux, though. Eloise gave me some lip, also, which I suppose is her trying to take after Baby Crash a bit. She couldn’t do it properly, however; she squeaked instead of meeping.
So I’ve filled up about three pages and I guess the writer in my got a little carried away. I didn’t think I’d enjoy telling that whole story. Now I hurt like heck so its time to go back to bed after a spell check.
My appointment was for eleven A.M., but I wasn’t expecting to actually get my procedures done until one at the latest. Radiology is never on time. One the way out I was parched and hungry. I hadn’t been allowed to drink anything since midnight and I hadn’t eaten in about three days. I had pushed myself beyond what I thought I was physically and mentally capable of in those past three days. Most of that happened trying to get down the last laxative, which tasted so bad I actually ended up gagging on it mid-sip. In all seriousness, if I am ever holed up in prison being tortured and starved because of my religion or something, I’ll be an old hat at it. I just know I’ll be thinking, “Well, at least I’m here because I believe in something and I’m not being forced against my will to eat nothing but chicken broth and jell-o and swallow laxatives like Go Lytely.” I only got down half of that stuff before quitting, by the way. If you could taste it you would think highly of me for getting that far.
Anyway, we (my mom and I) were in the car headed to Omaha for the big day and I was ignoring my bag of amusements and looking out the window, thinking. This is my usual style. I was thinking about how the littlest things can be a big sign of how much a person has grown up. Through the whole bowel cleanse ordeal and I didn’t whine and cry as I usually would (okay, so I whined, but in an adult manner). I wasn’t putting numbing cream all over my hands and arms for the I.V.. I knew when I got there that I wouldn’t make my usual list of demands (keep the oxygen mask away from my face until I’m out, make sure to pull out the intubation tube while I’m still out, explain to me clearly when you are going to put any drugs in my I.V. that would make me sleepy and let me watch you do it, and for goodness sakes, let my mom come into the room with me until I’m out. Oh, yeah, and the stuffed animal stays with me.). And, of course, I wouldn’t be a pediatric anymore. I would be with the old stuffy people, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use what cuteness I had left to get people to treat me sweet like.
My mom said I should make as many demands as I wanted to but I said, no, I wasn’t doing this because I was trying to be grown up, I was doing it because I was. I didn’t need those things any more. I put my trust in whoever was running the show in that room and I was going to let them have their own way (to a point, of course).
So when I got there it was the same story I’ve been through countless times, except my mom wasn’t allowed to come back until I was all ready to go. I had to put on one of those ugly gowns with no ties in back except one around the neck. And of course I wasn’t allowed to wear anything underneath except my pink fuzzy socks, which had to be covered up with the most ugly blue paper things you’ll ever see. Another robe went around me and tied in front so I could walk about with dignity. The robes had this pattern on them that mom and I spent awhile contemplating, which is what you do when you have to sit around with nothing else to do for over two hours.
“Someone out there has the job of designing these patterns,” I said. Mom nodded.
“But isn’t even totally original. Its just these weird dashes and a box with that little paisley thing in it. Its like generic paisley.” So that’s what we called it from then on. Generic paisley.
After my generic paisley robes and blue foot things were put on I was told what would happen during the procedures (live biopsy, colonoscopy and endoscopy). Then I had to sign a bunch of consent forms. After that this poor nurse tried to put an I.V. in me that I said would be a sure stick. I had been working this vein in my hand all morning as happy to finally have something that would work. Well, apparently that vein decided it didn’t want to come out anymore by the time I was at the hospital. Not that you can blame it, I hadn’t had anything to drink in quite awhile. It was a rather painful experience and the nurse tried to see if she’d gotten the I.V. to thread by putting in some saline, which only sat under my skin and made a bruise. She felt really bad and refused to try on me again. Another nurse, who was obviously more experienced got a vein on my other arm.
Since that was done my mom was allowed to come back. She was quite relieved, actually because she had been sitting in a waiting room with two middle aged ladies who could do nothing but talk about their children’s sports, the latest sale and Penny’s. My poor mother. She doesn’t really fit in with most people her age. Kind of like me.
So there we waited and waited talking about generic paisley and the like. I was remembering why I always used to be so upbeat and original in hospitals. It was because I was surrounded with the kind of people who were passing by my bed that day. Old, say ghosts who shuffled about with their heads down, looking like poor excuses for human beings in their bed-creased generic paisley robes. I had to balance all that out somehow, so I became this witty, intelligent, and rather demanding girl who always wanted nothing more that to put on her normal clothes and go to the bathroom by herself. I told my mom I would try to be a ray of sunshine that day and it was a good thing I’d taken my Lexapro that morning.
My dear Dr. Gilroy was running the show in there, which was cool because I really like him. I mean, come on, he has an Aussie accent and calls me ‘boss’. It was about a quarter until two when he wheeled me into the procedure room.
“I don’t have a license for this,” he warned me, speaking of rolling beds around. He was quite right because we bumped into more than a few corners. When we got into the room he picked up an Ipod and said, “What do you fancy?” or something equally un-American. I chose classical. He put on a beautiful guitar version of a song I like that Sarah Brightman sings.
My I.V. wasn’t hooked up to anything so he just took my hand and put in two syringes of drugs right in front of me and then told me to turn on my side. I turned, but before I touched the pillow the drugs kicked in. I put my head down on the pillow and blanked out. The next thing I remember is feeling like someone had stuck a tube into my intestines (which they had) and was pushing it as hard as they could against the wall of the intestines (though what was really happening was they were inflating my intestines with air). I heard myself moan and maybe say, “ow” or something and then Dr. Gilroy give a command for more drugs. After that, I was waking up back in recovery. I asked Dr. Gilroy how it went and he said they’d had to take a lot of biopsies, which mean that they found a lot of weird stuff in my intestines, I guess. I asked if they’d done the liver biopsy and he said no, they were going to do that now. That was odd to me, since I had always been asleep for liver biopsies. He ushered in a couple people with a ultrasound machine. I was kind of drifting in and out of sleep, or whatever those drugs made me do. Next thing I know, Dr. Gilroy is numbing the area with lidocaine, which hurt because he had to go deep with it. Then he took the long biopsy needle and warned me that it might sting, but the lidocaine did the trick and I didn’t feel a thing. Turns out I have cirrhosis (hardening) of the liver. We’ll have to see how that turns out.
From then on it was just a two hour recovery. I was offered a glass of ice water, my first liquid in 15 hours. It tasted as sweet as if Moses himself had brought it. I was still a little tipsy-turkey, but I got my clothes on and we went straight to the gift show for my first food in three days: Twizzlers and Chex Mix. Delicious. One the way back we stopped at a gas station and I got a Krispy Kreme, a turkey sandwich and the gas station’s rendition of french vanilla cappuccino. It was great.
By the time we got home I was dead beat. I couldn’t breath in or out all the way because the lidocaine from the biopsy had worn off and was starting to really hurt. I got online and sent a quick email to James and talking to Jordan and Christina. Pretty soon I had to go lie down.
I woke up this morning at five A.M. Its been a rough day because of the biopsy site giving me so much grief. I’ve had to lie in bed and focus on breathing. I finished two books, clipped out pictures from magazines and watched one of the many movies Kathy brought over for me to watch. I also had mac and cheese. Its so great to eat, even if I can’t eat a whole lot in one sitting yet (my poor intestines have been through a lot). I’ve been acting like those ghost people from the hospital I hate so much. I forgot to take my anti-depressant and I’m in a lot of pain. So I just sort of lay in bed with my poker face and shuffle around the house as needed. My good mood comes and goes.
In other news, my dad is coming tomorrow, which is awesome. It snowed again today. And best of all, Baby Crash actually snuggled with me! We’re still waiting for her to brux, though. Eloise gave me some lip, also, which I suppose is her trying to take after Baby Crash a bit. She couldn’t do it properly, however; she squeaked instead of meeping.
So I’ve filled up about three pages and I guess the writer in my got a little carried away. I didn’t think I’d enjoy telling that whole story. Now I hurt like heck so its time to go back to bed after a spell check.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
A Mess
Feel like shit today. Useless and unproductive. A melting mess. We have to get Cosette put to sleep. I feel like crying every time I look into her cage. She’s smiling through the cancer, through the fact that she can’t eat solid food and can’t move much. I love her so much. I have a lot to do today, my hair is a mess and I feel fat. Life feels like a stomach full of coffee and I have icy feet.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Sunday Morning Snow
Woke up Sunday morning to much snow. Snow in Nebraska is like a pregnant lady-- it’s late. Ha. I’m so lame. Anyway, I didn’t make it down the block, much less to St. Mark’s for work. The ice was crazy. I was pissed off the rest of the morning so I went back to bed because my head was killing me. I didn’t appreciate the snow as much as I thought I would.
You know, I think I really would go crazy if I couldn’t write my journals. My thoughts constantly scream to be known, to be put into pretty sentences for the appearance of order. If I couldn’t record things on paper (or, rather, on my laptop) I would feel like they never existed. If you can’t remember something it may as well have never happened. I’m not a very good speaker, meaning that I can’t speak my mind very well in conversation. Get me in front of an audience and suddenly I’m the queen of sentence structure, diction and clarity. Go figure. But I’m better at expressing myself if I can write it down. I suppose it is because I spent so many years reading novels instead of having conversation. I understand written communication better than oral. I think I’m getting better, though. And Crash just squeezed under my door. Excuse me. I swear that rat will be the end of me.
Well, Baby Crash was intent on escaping and ignoring my commands to come back. I caught her sliding on the wood floor into mom’s room. Took me some yelling to find her, but she eventually turned up by my feet looking at me with big innocent eyes. That crazy baby. I gave her a talking to while she complained and put on her whole woe-is-me act. Baby Crash is a rare rat because she talks so that we can hear her. She seriously does talk and most of it is protest.
So, anyways, I have got to stop eating cheese because I’ve had two migraines in that past 56 hours or so. I’m in a poor-girl mood, meaning that I’m not wearing much make-up, wearing jeans and t-shirts, not eating much or buying much, drinking coffee and forgetting about my hair. I thought of cutting it really short because I’m in a sort of rebellion at the moment but I knew that would be too impulsive, I’d look awful and plus, I’ve been wanting to grow my hair out for a long time. It’s still tempting, though. I’ll let you know.
I need to clean those cages, get some serious school work done and return things to blockbuster and the library. The latter two I’m kind of procrastinating on because of the ice outside. We’ll see. It’s the last day of vacation for poor Ginny.
You know, I think I really would go crazy if I couldn’t write my journals. My thoughts constantly scream to be known, to be put into pretty sentences for the appearance of order. If I couldn’t record things on paper (or, rather, on my laptop) I would feel like they never existed. If you can’t remember something it may as well have never happened. I’m not a very good speaker, meaning that I can’t speak my mind very well in conversation. Get me in front of an audience and suddenly I’m the queen of sentence structure, diction and clarity. Go figure. But I’m better at expressing myself if I can write it down. I suppose it is because I spent so many years reading novels instead of having conversation. I understand written communication better than oral. I think I’m getting better, though. And Crash just squeezed under my door. Excuse me. I swear that rat will be the end of me.
Well, Baby Crash was intent on escaping and ignoring my commands to come back. I caught her sliding on the wood floor into mom’s room. Took me some yelling to find her, but she eventually turned up by my feet looking at me with big innocent eyes. That crazy baby. I gave her a talking to while she complained and put on her whole woe-is-me act. Baby Crash is a rare rat because she talks so that we can hear her. She seriously does talk and most of it is protest.
So, anyways, I have got to stop eating cheese because I’ve had two migraines in that past 56 hours or so. I’m in a poor-girl mood, meaning that I’m not wearing much make-up, wearing jeans and t-shirts, not eating much or buying much, drinking coffee and forgetting about my hair. I thought of cutting it really short because I’m in a sort of rebellion at the moment but I knew that would be too impulsive, I’d look awful and plus, I’ve been wanting to grow my hair out for a long time. It’s still tempting, though. I’ll let you know.
I need to clean those cages, get some serious school work done and return things to blockbuster and the library. The latter two I’m kind of procrastinating on because of the ice outside. We’ll see. It’s the last day of vacation for poor Ginny.
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