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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
