As much as I'd like to preach productivity and responsibility to your readers, alas, I cannot.
We are coasting in to the last week of regular classes and then after that, the week of finals and then I feel as though my life can begin again.
Exhaustion is the tip of the emotional iceberg at the moment. Other than that, it's as though someone threw every emotion that it is possible to feel into a blender. That was a horrible metaphor.
Everything and nothing, all at once.
So I will be back soon enough, stealing time to write things. Hopefully during night class tonight I will be able to get some stuff done.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
A Pedestrian Glimpse of Chicago
The train pulls into the station slowly as passengers stand and progress toward the doors. We wait patiently, or not so much, either standing stoically or tapping their feet in time to unheard music. The very second the doors slid open, they burst from the train, turning right toward the stairs. The stairs are where everything becomes streamlined, a steady progression of down, down, down, down, but a careful one. Metal bars that were once painted white but now show spots of rust provide access to the street. Turn, turn, turnstile, the people slowly beg. They don't stop moving, not for a single second as they wait their turn to exit.
And then we disperse, a silent collection of lonely individuals on our way to better things.
I walk past the chain link fence that holds the trash and equipment, past the dark alley, past the crumbling building bearing barely used storefronts. I see a nearly homeless looking man with a cane, wearing baggy cottons and a hat limp out to meet a dark Escalade, parked glittering under a street light. The rims on the tires gleam, winking at me. They shake hands, a quick exchange, and then the car pulls away and the man limps toward his companion.
I smile to myself, staring at the school bus ahead of me unloading a soccer team home from a late away game, staring into the tree-lined, dimly lit night and think, I'm going to miss this place.
I arrived home and found a long-awaited piece of mail: Simon's registration tags. I am no longer on the run. However, I have waited longer than two weeks to contest this ticket, so that shall be first on tomorrow's agenda. Oh dear me, let's please fast forward until May 7th. That is when I shall be done (for the most part) with my undergraduate career.
Graduation party will be held at Maddie's house in their backyard area at 11am the morning following my graduation. We will be doing a Costco run to get the necessities and such, so don't expect anything too lovely or wild. But it should be quite communal and pleasant.
And then we disperse, a silent collection of lonely individuals on our way to better things.
I walk past the chain link fence that holds the trash and equipment, past the dark alley, past the crumbling building bearing barely used storefronts. I see a nearly homeless looking man with a cane, wearing baggy cottons and a hat limp out to meet a dark Escalade, parked glittering under a street light. The rims on the tires gleam, winking at me. They shake hands, a quick exchange, and then the car pulls away and the man limps toward his companion.
I smile to myself, staring at the school bus ahead of me unloading a soccer team home from a late away game, staring into the tree-lined, dimly lit night and think, I'm going to miss this place.
I arrived home and found a long-awaited piece of mail: Simon's registration tags. I am no longer on the run. However, I have waited longer than two weeks to contest this ticket, so that shall be first on tomorrow's agenda. Oh dear me, let's please fast forward until May 7th. That is when I shall be done (for the most part) with my undergraduate career.
Graduation party will be held at Maddie's house in their backyard area at 11am the morning following my graduation. We will be doing a Costco run to get the necessities and such, so don't expect anything too lovely or wild. But it should be quite communal and pleasant.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Details of nothing
Much apologies for the delay: this has indeed been the week of all things crazy.
However, today I am going to take some deep breaths, go for a bike ride and do some laundry. Perhaps I shall even read a book for fun.
I slept late, probably an indicator that I should not stay out until three in the morning.
It was a weird night. I drank a bottle of wine and felt only anxious, tense, out of place. It wasn't pleasant drunk, or really even any drunk at all, just a disconnected reality growing in front of me. I talked and talked, and there was talking and maybe some laughter, but I wanted to go home.
And so finally I did.
Checking the mail at 3 am is something you do when you're expecting a special envelope from the state of Colorado, but alas, I have never been so disappointed to see the Economist in my life. There it was. That and the RCN (cable) bill.
I was happy to curl up with Cat and sleep.
Lately, he's been a better snuggler. He now has a spot right by my shoulder that he curls up in and then I wrap my arm around him and he buries his head in my hand. It's adorable, to say the least. Currently, he's stomping around my bed trying to get comfortable. Yesterday, he sighed the cutest cat sigh ever. He loves to walk all over my computer keyboard, probably just to annoy me. Perhaps today I'll take him for another walk and let him get some exercise.
Alas, school is winding to a close. The graduation party is going to be a wildly informal affair: we're going to do it at like 11am on the Saturday after graduation (so it will be the day after, May 15) at Maddie's apartment. There's a picnic table area in the back of the apartment next door and we're just going to do some chair arranging, etc. and get dip and trays.
But yes. Last night I had Ethiopian food for the first time. I disliked the bread, but I really enjoyed what I ordered, which I'm assuming is standard fare the world over, beef with peppers and onions. You are served the food in a large, round metal dish. The bottom of the dish is covered in a spongy, flat bread. On top of the bread is piles of food. And so you rip a piece of bread (there are also separate servings of the bread) and then use it as if it was a utensil to eat the food.
Delicious, but I found that I'd prefer to eat the food without the bread. It was a bit sour for my taste.
Surviving the week, but pulling in with a lost cell phone charger, I've found that perhaps I'm going to attempt to stay away from all things mechanical this week.
Bike rather than car, etc.
I fixed my bike all by myself! (It has no front brakes, btw. No one told me that last summer....good thing I checked before I started riding.) I took off the back tire and had to deal with the chain and replacing a tire, etc. all of which are things I've never done before! Feeling incredibly proud of myself at the moment, don't judge me.
It's something, right?
However, today I am going to take some deep breaths, go for a bike ride and do some laundry. Perhaps I shall even read a book for fun.
I slept late, probably an indicator that I should not stay out until three in the morning.
It was a weird night. I drank a bottle of wine and felt only anxious, tense, out of place. It wasn't pleasant drunk, or really even any drunk at all, just a disconnected reality growing in front of me. I talked and talked, and there was talking and maybe some laughter, but I wanted to go home.
And so finally I did.
Checking the mail at 3 am is something you do when you're expecting a special envelope from the state of Colorado, but alas, I have never been so disappointed to see the Economist in my life. There it was. That and the RCN (cable) bill.
I was happy to curl up with Cat and sleep.
Lately, he's been a better snuggler. He now has a spot right by my shoulder that he curls up in and then I wrap my arm around him and he buries his head in my hand. It's adorable, to say the least. Currently, he's stomping around my bed trying to get comfortable. Yesterday, he sighed the cutest cat sigh ever. He loves to walk all over my computer keyboard, probably just to annoy me. Perhaps today I'll take him for another walk and let him get some exercise.
Alas, school is winding to a close. The graduation party is going to be a wildly informal affair: we're going to do it at like 11am on the Saturday after graduation (so it will be the day after, May 15) at Maddie's apartment. There's a picnic table area in the back of the apartment next door and we're just going to do some chair arranging, etc. and get dip and trays.
But yes. Last night I had Ethiopian food for the first time. I disliked the bread, but I really enjoyed what I ordered, which I'm assuming is standard fare the world over, beef with peppers and onions. You are served the food in a large, round metal dish. The bottom of the dish is covered in a spongy, flat bread. On top of the bread is piles of food. And so you rip a piece of bread (there are also separate servings of the bread) and then use it as if it was a utensil to eat the food.
Delicious, but I found that I'd prefer to eat the food without the bread. It was a bit sour for my taste.
Surviving the week, but pulling in with a lost cell phone charger, I've found that perhaps I'm going to attempt to stay away from all things mechanical this week.
Bike rather than car, etc.
I fixed my bike all by myself! (It has no front brakes, btw. No one told me that last summer....good thing I checked before I started riding.) I took off the back tire and had to deal with the chain and replacing a tire, etc. all of which are things I've never done before! Feeling incredibly proud of myself at the moment, don't judge me.
It's something, right?
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Cat and keys and everything else.
Oh my. It has been a wild week indeed.
After the fiasco that was the plane ticketing, I got a last minute babysitting gig. Thinking, yeah, I'll be fiscally responsible; I won't go play trivia; this is going to be alright....
And so I went.
And then my keys got flushed down the toilet by a 2 year old.
And now I'm out more money than I made.
On the upside, I bought Cat a little harness and leash. We went for a walk today. I don't know that it was necessarily a walk; it involved a lot of him rolling around in dirt and wandering around smelling things. But I think he was happy about being able to be outside. Taking him inside was like taking a toddler home from the park. There was sad cat meowing and a hesitancy to climb the stairs. But at least he got to go out.
Exhaustion. More of this later.
After the fiasco that was the plane ticketing, I got a last minute babysitting gig. Thinking, yeah, I'll be fiscally responsible; I won't go play trivia; this is going to be alright....
And so I went.
And then my keys got flushed down the toilet by a 2 year old.
And now I'm out more money than I made.
On the upside, I bought Cat a little harness and leash. We went for a walk today. I don't know that it was necessarily a walk; it involved a lot of him rolling around in dirt and wandering around smelling things. But I think he was happy about being able to be outside. Taking him inside was like taking a toddler home from the park. There was sad cat meowing and a hesitancy to climb the stairs. But at least he got to go out.
Exhaustion. More of this later.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Pixels
I should like to buy a new camera.
I've been holding off since my last (how many have we been through now? 4?) camera broke on Halloween. Usually, it's my fault (sand, it getting stolen at a bar, more sand...) but this time it was nobody's fault and that upset me. I take responsibility (I don't know why, it's my own sense of responsibility to myself, I guess) and then buy a new one. But this time I held off.
Now that I'm realizing that my time here is numbered (cue heavy melodramatic music), I'm wanting to document my life here. My college-self isn't necessarily dying, but she's being pushed aside for real-life-grown-up-Katie and I'm nervous to lose the things that I love here. My routine. The funny things I see every day. My neighborhood.
And I've realized that the very first thing I buy when I graduate (because I'll still be here, still be in school, but at least I'll have the hopes of summer in my mind and heart) will be a new camera. That way I can document my life here and keep it safe.
I miss picture blogs, and I hope you do too.
I'm not going to buy a point and shoot and I'm not going to buy a super nice one either, I'm going to go straight down the middle. Perhaps a digital with a nice lens?
Also, it snowed today in Chicago. That was lame. A little cold. A little tired. This week stretches on, but I'm excited to get to Denver tomorrow. It will be a quick break and then a quicker slide to graduation. And then a break, for which I will be back in Denver for the obligatory doctor's appointments and settlement figured out, and then summer classes and then home.
Where is home?
I want to travel. I want to pick up and go somewhere. South America?
I've been holding off since my last (how many have we been through now? 4?) camera broke on Halloween. Usually, it's my fault (sand, it getting stolen at a bar, more sand...) but this time it was nobody's fault and that upset me. I take responsibility (I don't know why, it's my own sense of responsibility to myself, I guess) and then buy a new one. But this time I held off.
Now that I'm realizing that my time here is numbered (cue heavy melodramatic music), I'm wanting to document my life here. My college-self isn't necessarily dying, but she's being pushed aside for real-life-grown-up-Katie and I'm nervous to lose the things that I love here. My routine. The funny things I see every day. My neighborhood.
And I've realized that the very first thing I buy when I graduate (because I'll still be here, still be in school, but at least I'll have the hopes of summer in my mind and heart) will be a new camera. That way I can document my life here and keep it safe.
I miss picture blogs, and I hope you do too.
I'm not going to buy a point and shoot and I'm not going to buy a super nice one either, I'm going to go straight down the middle. Perhaps a digital with a nice lens?
Also, it snowed today in Chicago. That was lame. A little cold. A little tired. This week stretches on, but I'm excited to get to Denver tomorrow. It will be a quick break and then a quicker slide to graduation. And then a break, for which I will be back in Denver for the obligatory doctor's appointments and settlement figured out, and then summer classes and then home.
Where is home?
I want to travel. I want to pick up and go somewhere. South America?
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Evasion of the Best Kind
Ah, the things one learns when one lives in Chicago.
Unlike Colorado, Illinois does not have a 30-day grace period for vehicle registration.
Alas, I woke Monday morning to a perfectly placed parking ticket bearing that oh-so-familiar orange coloring. My windshield and those things are well acquainted.
Funny thing, though: I had parked legally.
Pssh, idiots, I thought. Then I looked at the date of registration. 3/10.
It's now 4.
Shit.
It had totally slipped my mind. So the past few days have been a blur of frantic attempts to get an emissions test (finally accomplished this afternoon), faxing papers and registration, googling the exact statute for Colorado that gives me extra time, etc. etc.
And so, I have been hiding Simon from the police.
Hiding in plain sight.
That car cover that I bought so long ago, which has been languishing in the closet, was pulled out and put on. He looks ridiculous. He's the only car on the block that is buried under a white (now dirty brown-white) sheet. But, hedging my bet that I'm legally bound to Colorado law and not Illinois, I've managed to escape ticketing by assuming that the police are too lazy to pull back the sheet in order to look at the license plate. And thus far, I've been correct. Since Monday, I've remained ticketless and Simon has managed to be covered through the first hail of the spring.
Ha, take that Chicago.
I'm fighting the first ticket based on the registration laws but also based on the fact that no circle was filled in about why the ticket was being issued. Stay tuned for updates on that ordeal.
Unlike Colorado, Illinois does not have a 30-day grace period for vehicle registration.
Alas, I woke Monday morning to a perfectly placed parking ticket bearing that oh-so-familiar orange coloring. My windshield and those things are well acquainted.
Funny thing, though: I had parked legally.
Pssh, idiots, I thought. Then I looked at the date of registration. 3/10.
It's now 4.
Shit.
It had totally slipped my mind. So the past few days have been a blur of frantic attempts to get an emissions test (finally accomplished this afternoon), faxing papers and registration, googling the exact statute for Colorado that gives me extra time, etc. etc.
And so, I have been hiding Simon from the police.
Hiding in plain sight.
That car cover that I bought so long ago, which has been languishing in the closet, was pulled out and put on. He looks ridiculous. He's the only car on the block that is buried under a white (now dirty brown-white) sheet. But, hedging my bet that I'm legally bound to Colorado law and not Illinois, I've managed to escape ticketing by assuming that the police are too lazy to pull back the sheet in order to look at the license plate. And thus far, I've been correct. Since Monday, I've remained ticketless and Simon has managed to be covered through the first hail of the spring.
Ha, take that Chicago.
I'm fighting the first ticket based on the registration laws but also based on the fact that no circle was filled in about why the ticket was being issued. Stay tuned for updates on that ordeal.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Sourcing and the future. Or, the way we were.
I'm slowly being squeezed to death by gender theory. Simultaneously, I am being force fed Foucault and Butler. Two separate classes, teaching the same theorists. No one else knows this pain, the gradual tightening of the noose of gender theory.
I'm realizing that there are some things in life you just don't want to understand. I don't want to think more about it. It is what it is, I want to write on the paper that's due Thursday. It is what it is and what I think doesn't matter now and won't ever.
But that's not why we throw money at education, is it?
I'd like to have learned something useful; been forced to take classes about resume building and interviewing, ideas of lives well-led. The journeys that the professors themselves have been on to get to where they are today.
Not everyone skyrockets straight to the top, but they don't tell you that.
They string you along and then dump you, indebted and lonely, a twenty two year old graduate with a bachelor's degree in something you thought you'd love. Then what?
I found a quote that I loved, in a memoir by a transsexual. I love this book. I started it last night. I relate to this woman (not sexuality-wise) but I love her life and her observations and her humor and her narrative voice.
"Briefly I was a journalist in my twenties, although not a very good one. I didn't quite grasp the whole concept of accuracy. Whenever I needed a quote, I'd just make one up and attribute it to an 'anonymous source.' On one occasion, I alleged that something had been stated 'according to someone that would know.'"
-From She's Not There, by Jennifer Boylan.
This morning in the pouring rain, a very soaked me was handed the free newspaper. I accepted, then remember, shit, now you're obligated to tip. She's a nice lady, she stands there every morning. I shrugged when she asked me if I had any change and then dug in my pockets.
"It's fresh from the closet," I said apologetically. She laughed in a good natured way. Then I turned and ran into a man while waiting to cross Sheridan Rd. He asked me if I was a Taurus, to which I replied yes. He showed me his Illinois state ID. May 18, same birthday as me. I told him so.
"You play sports?" he asked. I laughed and shook my head. "You've got the legs for it." I laughed again.
He told me something about his fingernails, then asked me if I was a smoker. "It was bad nail polish," I said defensively. (I currently have yellow nails stained from the dark red nail polish of last week.)
"Brittle," he replied.
True.
He told me he was a musician, "like the Beatles," and then proceeded to keep talking as I crossed the street. "My brother....KRS-One....rap artist...." I heard as the light changed and I walked away.
I'm going to miss mornings like that. I'm not quite sure that Denver will have them.
I'm realizing that there are some things in life you just don't want to understand. I don't want to think more about it. It is what it is, I want to write on the paper that's due Thursday. It is what it is and what I think doesn't matter now and won't ever.
But that's not why we throw money at education, is it?
I'd like to have learned something useful; been forced to take classes about resume building and interviewing, ideas of lives well-led. The journeys that the professors themselves have been on to get to where they are today.
Not everyone skyrockets straight to the top, but they don't tell you that.
They string you along and then dump you, indebted and lonely, a twenty two year old graduate with a bachelor's degree in something you thought you'd love. Then what?
I found a quote that I loved, in a memoir by a transsexual. I love this book. I started it last night. I relate to this woman (not sexuality-wise) but I love her life and her observations and her humor and her narrative voice.
"Briefly I was a journalist in my twenties, although not a very good one. I didn't quite grasp the whole concept of accuracy. Whenever I needed a quote, I'd just make one up and attribute it to an 'anonymous source.' On one occasion, I alleged that something had been stated 'according to someone that would know.'"
-From She's Not There, by Jennifer Boylan.
This morning in the pouring rain, a very soaked me was handed the free newspaper. I accepted, then remember, shit, now you're obligated to tip. She's a nice lady, she stands there every morning. I shrugged when she asked me if I had any change and then dug in my pockets.
"It's fresh from the closet," I said apologetically. She laughed in a good natured way. Then I turned and ran into a man while waiting to cross Sheridan Rd. He asked me if I was a Taurus, to which I replied yes. He showed me his Illinois state ID. May 18, same birthday as me. I told him so.
"You play sports?" he asked. I laughed and shook my head. "You've got the legs for it." I laughed again.
He told me something about his fingernails, then asked me if I was a smoker. "It was bad nail polish," I said defensively. (I currently have yellow nails stained from the dark red nail polish of last week.)
"Brittle," he replied.
True.
He told me he was a musician, "like the Beatles," and then proceeded to keep talking as I crossed the street. "My brother....KRS-One....rap artist...." I heard as the light changed and I walked away.
I'm going to miss mornings like that. I'm not quite sure that Denver will have them.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Anywhere, just to be.
Exhaustion has set in. I feel as though it's a Monday tradition.
I really do love to pack up and go, I'm learning. I love the feeling of being somewhere new. I've realized that I don't get stressed when I'm lost (which I'm also realizing doesn't happen often when I'm trying to get somewhere new) or when I'm somewhere I've never been before.
I'm quick to pick up on directions and to orient myself within a space.
I enjoy new places and changes of pace. I find it exhilarating and calming.
I am my own person and I am in my own space. I have no future and no past, only present. Only conversation and today.
I would like to explore that feeling more.
This is, of course, the complete opposite of the segment of my personality that cannot handle change. I think that it's only the future and permanent change that throws me. Perhaps I'm not as much of a homebody as I had once thought. As long as it's not something I'll have to do often, I'm fine. I like being transient and anonymous, unnoticed.
The first day of school still terrifies me, as does getting a job. But that's what's in store for me. The settling, to a certain degree.
But passing through seems just fine to me.
I'll go anywhere, just to be.
I've been through you
Worked and worked so hard to maintain,
create a life,
build one,
then to run away.
Nothing left behind,
a whisper, maybe,
but certainly no other trail in my wake.
Time, the imprint of what once was
Remains.
Sustained solely by thoughts and feelings.
Those fade too, replaced
by thoughts and feelings.
Emotions that beget emotions
that upset, then force regret,
then, finally, if only to forget.
It's the forgotten ones you've got to be careful of.
Mind them, just like the gap,
until you're just as lost and
nothing's left.
Are you safer than you were before?
Running from the sea
to the middle of the nowhere,
the dead center of that
folded, crumpled map.
Not even sand, the sand that made the shore
left in the indents at the bottom of your shoes.
Gone like those little grains
that held and clung,
transported as if my magic
somewhere else.
New home, to them, is where you left them be.
Days pass.
Shattered glass picked up to go a thousand different ways.
Sweep, sweep, swept.
Again, again, repeat, regress.
Forgive me for that ill-fated attempt. I've not written poetry in awhile, but it slipped out and I let it go.
I really do love to pack up and go, I'm learning. I love the feeling of being somewhere new. I've realized that I don't get stressed when I'm lost (which I'm also realizing doesn't happen often when I'm trying to get somewhere new) or when I'm somewhere I've never been before.
I'm quick to pick up on directions and to orient myself within a space.
I enjoy new places and changes of pace. I find it exhilarating and calming.
I am my own person and I am in my own space. I have no future and no past, only present. Only conversation and today.
I would like to explore that feeling more.
This is, of course, the complete opposite of the segment of my personality that cannot handle change. I think that it's only the future and permanent change that throws me. Perhaps I'm not as much of a homebody as I had once thought. As long as it's not something I'll have to do often, I'm fine. I like being transient and anonymous, unnoticed.
The first day of school still terrifies me, as does getting a job. But that's what's in store for me. The settling, to a certain degree.
But passing through seems just fine to me.
I'll go anywhere, just to be.
I've been through you
Worked and worked so hard to maintain,
create a life,
build one,
then to run away.
Nothing left behind,
a whisper, maybe,
but certainly no other trail in my wake.
Time, the imprint of what once was
Remains.
Sustained solely by thoughts and feelings.
Those fade too, replaced
by thoughts and feelings.
Emotions that beget emotions
that upset, then force regret,
then, finally, if only to forget.
It's the forgotten ones you've got to be careful of.
Mind them, just like the gap,
until you're just as lost and
nothing's left.
Are you safer than you were before?
Running from the sea
to the middle of the nowhere,
the dead center of that
folded, crumpled map.
Not even sand, the sand that made the shore
left in the indents at the bottom of your shoes.
Gone like those little grains
that held and clung,
transported as if my magic
somewhere else.
New home, to them, is where you left them be.
Days pass.
Shattered glass picked up to go a thousand different ways.
Sweep, sweep, swept.
I'll slip through time
in the past tense.
You're lost, I'm gone and nothing's left.Again, again, repeat, regress.
Forgive me for that ill-fated attempt. I've not written poetry in awhile, but it slipped out and I let it go.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Life as a lady, or something like it.
In a world full of women, it's interesting to think how many of us are completely controlled by our synthetic hormones.
I know I am.
I can predict what days I'm going to cry. Today is that day. Although I have not cried, I've noticed an incredible drop in mood. It's interesting, probably, to watch the way we react.
I personally dislike it and can't wait for the day that I am not ruled by medical creations, but for the time being, it serves some necessarily normalizing purpose.
I'm upset tonight. I'm hurt. I'm tired. I'm scared.
I'm a million different emotions that I can't quite put a finger on.
I've been feeling invalid lately, which is to say that I'm not feeling validation from any aspect of my life. Not romantically, not career-wise, not motivationally, with friends, etc. I'm stagnant and terrified about it. Of course, when I get scared, I shut down.
There are times like this, obviously. This is what makes life life. These are the learning periods, the times when things are ironed out, when one becomes self-sustaining. Learn, I keep telling myself. Grow and blossom out of this shit. But growing and blossoming are hard, even though I have enough manure around me to seemingly sustain myself for life.
But it's all rough and disheartening.
I'm embarrassed by my inability to move past certain things. It's time. Everything is time but I wish I could fast forward. But then I'd miss so much. So here I am, embracing the roller coaster I've put myself on. Allowing it to creep up, slowly, cresting and then falling. Let's free fall into the next solid up of life, and then let's watch this all begin again.
You're never exactly where you think you are.
I tried on my cap and gown tonight. I look absurd.
I went to the bookstore. I love books. I will never own enough books. I can't even be mad at myself when I spend money on literature. There's no reason that one should chide oneself for wanting to invest in words. Knowledge. Art in the best form. I'm excited. I'm glad for tonight's solitude, it's given me the long awaited opportunity to curl up and read.
I know I am.
I can predict what days I'm going to cry. Today is that day. Although I have not cried, I've noticed an incredible drop in mood. It's interesting, probably, to watch the way we react.
I personally dislike it and can't wait for the day that I am not ruled by medical creations, but for the time being, it serves some necessarily normalizing purpose.
I'm upset tonight. I'm hurt. I'm tired. I'm scared.
I'm a million different emotions that I can't quite put a finger on.
I've been feeling invalid lately, which is to say that I'm not feeling validation from any aspect of my life. Not romantically, not career-wise, not motivationally, with friends, etc. I'm stagnant and terrified about it. Of course, when I get scared, I shut down.
There are times like this, obviously. This is what makes life life. These are the learning periods, the times when things are ironed out, when one becomes self-sustaining. Learn, I keep telling myself. Grow and blossom out of this shit. But growing and blossoming are hard, even though I have enough manure around me to seemingly sustain myself for life.
But it's all rough and disheartening.
I'm embarrassed by my inability to move past certain things. It's time. Everything is time but I wish I could fast forward. But then I'd miss so much. So here I am, embracing the roller coaster I've put myself on. Allowing it to creep up, slowly, cresting and then falling. Let's free fall into the next solid up of life, and then let's watch this all begin again.
You're never exactly where you think you are.
I tried on my cap and gown tonight. I look absurd.
I went to the bookstore. I love books. I will never own enough books. I can't even be mad at myself when I spend money on literature. There's no reason that one should chide oneself for wanting to invest in words. Knowledge. Art in the best form. I'm excited. I'm glad for tonight's solitude, it's given me the long awaited opportunity to curl up and read.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Why I hate Black History month
Before I begin, I need to impart some important information: 55 whole grain Goldfish crackers only have 150 calories.
Secondly, I love my cat. Even if he only loves me because I feed him, I feel as though the feeling is mutual. We've become fast friends. He's having a biting issue at the moment though. When we snuggle, which he seems to enjoy, he likes to playfully bite me. The problem is that being bitten isn't quite so fun as you might think.
I had this whole post typed out at the library yesterday morning and then I logged into Gmail to check an email and the entry got deleted. This is round two. Not pleased, I'm not pleased. But nonetheless:
This is the post I've meaning to get around to since February, if not before.
At last, we've arrived at the intersection of race and gender in class and I find that it's pertinent now more than ever to discuss the issues that rise out of our cultural consciousness to permeate through our sense of being and direct each and every one of us in our outward behavior.
It's something that I've noticed lately, being as inundated with theory as I am. Women's struggles are often related to the struggle of the Black American. True, there are struggles there, but I'm always fundamentally annoyed by the comparison.
Anyway. Yesterday we watched a film about the portrayal of black men in hip hop. The portrayal of masculinity seen through the music videos shows that power comes through money, intimidation, violence and women.
The artists themselves agree that it's all a front, that the posturing that they're doing has more to do with their image and sales than it does with their actual experiences.
At a hip hop convention in Florida, young women walk around in short shorts and bikini tops, upset that the young men are aggressively harassing them; touching them and grabbing at them. The police do very little. Talking about the lyrics that refer to women as "bitches" or "hos," one woman says that she knows those lyrics aren't about her.
So who are they about?
White suburban kids who listen to rap music are interviewed. One of them says "colored people." The interviewer, shocked, asks him, "Did you seriously just say 'colored people'?"
Another group of white students say that rap music gives them a chance to get into another culture, to understand the ways that other people live. They also say that rap music upholds stereotypes.
Wait. That doesn't even make sense. Those two statements don't belong together.
This is where the racism begins to filter in. Race consciousness is all too obvious in our society, especially in Chicago.
But let's start with an example.
On the train one day, a group of young black teenagers are causing a disturbance. Generally being loud and obnoxious. Passengers glare at them. I'm glaring at them. They assume that it's because they're black and say so. I disagree. It's not because you're black; it's because you're annoying. I would have been equally annoyed by any group of people, age, race, gender, whatever being obnoxious on the train.
I understand that certain groups of people have disadvantages, but I think it has more to do with access to education and socio-economic status than it does skin color.
I hate Black History month. By continuing to highlight difference, we are making it impossible to live as people of all colors. Instead, we are segregating subtly as we attempt to counteract years of racism in the country. I understand why things such as that were a good idea at one time. But they are no longer relevant in our society.
To move forward, we must embrace each other as people not as skin colors. Instead, we're in a holding pattern. We've got segregation in the schools (Chicago is one of the worst cities for diversity among schools) that leads to the inability of groups of people to interact with each other. We've got segregation in our cities. We've got misinformation being spread around. We've got stereotypes. We've got a whole mess on our hands and the only way to fix it is to move past it.
Seems impossible.
Quite right, but it might not be.
I'm sick of race being used as a crutch. I wasn't born white on purpose. I just was. You weren't born Asian on purpose. You just were. It's not your fault. It's not my fault. Don't hate people for being a skin color or a race that they had no part in choosing. I'm sick of hearing that your skin color prevents you from doing something. You're letting yourself be put into a box.
True, as white woman I cannot claim to fully understand certain aspects of the race issues in our country since I am part of the hegemonic description. But I have been a victim of both sexism and ageism, as well as countless other isms. So when I speak of the problems, I'm speaking of moving toward acceptance of all people. Don't blame your actions on your race.
Grandpa Joe always says that you are who you associate with. You absolutely are. Chances are, people aren't afraid of you based on your skin color, they're afraid of you based on the way you look. Trust me, I know this. Now that I'm no longer black haired and outwardly angst-ridden, I get treated much differently than I did before.
It might be because you're sketchy in your baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirt. It might be because you won't make eye contact. It might be because you're lurking in an alley at night. It's probably not your skin. It's probably your generally creepy self.
Ghetto is not the only option of outward appearance, just as rap music does not define an entire culture.
This month's Esquire magazine had comments from a story that appeared last month. "Blagojevich thinks because he grew up poor, cleaning shoes, he is blacker than Obama, and then Taddeo describes Jay-Z as 'black black'? Statements like these do nothing but perpetuate stereotypes. Let's not forget that black people have varying interests, personalities, cultures, and yes, socioeconomic classes." -Mel McKenzie.
Also, "I'm black, and I grew up in an inner city in the Midwest. I never sold drugs, didn't curse, and I never followed urban fashion. I listen to alternative, grunge, rock, reggae and R&B. I eat quinoa more frequently than fried chicken. But I guess that means I'm not 'black black.' Jay-Z's story is interesting enough without stereotyping an entire diverse community." -B. Doutherd.
Anyway, it's not just a black-white thing. It's an everything thing.
We can never ignore our races. They're what make us unique. They're what define us as human beings. But let's stop letting race get in the way of progress as people. Let's be black. And white. And all the colors in between.
But realistically, that can't happen unless we start to change the way we think.
I hope I got it all. Probably not.
Secondly, I love my cat. Even if he only loves me because I feed him, I feel as though the feeling is mutual. We've become fast friends. He's having a biting issue at the moment though. When we snuggle, which he seems to enjoy, he likes to playfully bite me. The problem is that being bitten isn't quite so fun as you might think.
I had this whole post typed out at the library yesterday morning and then I logged into Gmail to check an email and the entry got deleted. This is round two. Not pleased, I'm not pleased. But nonetheless:
This is the post I've meaning to get around to since February, if not before.
At last, we've arrived at the intersection of race and gender in class and I find that it's pertinent now more than ever to discuss the issues that rise out of our cultural consciousness to permeate through our sense of being and direct each and every one of us in our outward behavior.
It's something that I've noticed lately, being as inundated with theory as I am. Women's struggles are often related to the struggle of the Black American. True, there are struggles there, but I'm always fundamentally annoyed by the comparison.
Anyway. Yesterday we watched a film about the portrayal of black men in hip hop. The portrayal of masculinity seen through the music videos shows that power comes through money, intimidation, violence and women.
The artists themselves agree that it's all a front, that the posturing that they're doing has more to do with their image and sales than it does with their actual experiences.
At a hip hop convention in Florida, young women walk around in short shorts and bikini tops, upset that the young men are aggressively harassing them; touching them and grabbing at them. The police do very little. Talking about the lyrics that refer to women as "bitches" or "hos," one woman says that she knows those lyrics aren't about her.
So who are they about?
White suburban kids who listen to rap music are interviewed. One of them says "colored people." The interviewer, shocked, asks him, "Did you seriously just say 'colored people'?"
Another group of white students say that rap music gives them a chance to get into another culture, to understand the ways that other people live. They also say that rap music upholds stereotypes.
Wait. That doesn't even make sense. Those two statements don't belong together.
This is where the racism begins to filter in. Race consciousness is all too obvious in our society, especially in Chicago.
But let's start with an example.
On the train one day, a group of young black teenagers are causing a disturbance. Generally being loud and obnoxious. Passengers glare at them. I'm glaring at them. They assume that it's because they're black and say so. I disagree. It's not because you're black; it's because you're annoying. I would have been equally annoyed by any group of people, age, race, gender, whatever being obnoxious on the train.
I understand that certain groups of people have disadvantages, but I think it has more to do with access to education and socio-economic status than it does skin color.
I hate Black History month. By continuing to highlight difference, we are making it impossible to live as people of all colors. Instead, we are segregating subtly as we attempt to counteract years of racism in the country. I understand why things such as that were a good idea at one time. But they are no longer relevant in our society.
To move forward, we must embrace each other as people not as skin colors. Instead, we're in a holding pattern. We've got segregation in the schools (Chicago is one of the worst cities for diversity among schools) that leads to the inability of groups of people to interact with each other. We've got segregation in our cities. We've got misinformation being spread around. We've got stereotypes. We've got a whole mess on our hands and the only way to fix it is to move past it.
Seems impossible.
Quite right, but it might not be.
I'm sick of race being used as a crutch. I wasn't born white on purpose. I just was. You weren't born Asian on purpose. You just were. It's not your fault. It's not my fault. Don't hate people for being a skin color or a race that they had no part in choosing. I'm sick of hearing that your skin color prevents you from doing something. You're letting yourself be put into a box.
True, as white woman I cannot claim to fully understand certain aspects of the race issues in our country since I am part of the hegemonic description. But I have been a victim of both sexism and ageism, as well as countless other isms. So when I speak of the problems, I'm speaking of moving toward acceptance of all people. Don't blame your actions on your race.
Grandpa Joe always says that you are who you associate with. You absolutely are. Chances are, people aren't afraid of you based on your skin color, they're afraid of you based on the way you look. Trust me, I know this. Now that I'm no longer black haired and outwardly angst-ridden, I get treated much differently than I did before.
It might be because you're sketchy in your baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirt. It might be because you won't make eye contact. It might be because you're lurking in an alley at night. It's probably not your skin. It's probably your generally creepy self.
Ghetto is not the only option of outward appearance, just as rap music does not define an entire culture.
This month's Esquire magazine had comments from a story that appeared last month. "Blagojevich thinks because he grew up poor, cleaning shoes, he is blacker than Obama, and then Taddeo describes Jay-Z as 'black black'? Statements like these do nothing but perpetuate stereotypes. Let's not forget that black people have varying interests, personalities, cultures, and yes, socioeconomic classes." -Mel McKenzie.
Also, "I'm black, and I grew up in an inner city in the Midwest. I never sold drugs, didn't curse, and I never followed urban fashion. I listen to alternative, grunge, rock, reggae and R&B. I eat quinoa more frequently than fried chicken. But I guess that means I'm not 'black black.' Jay-Z's story is interesting enough without stereotyping an entire diverse community." -B. Doutherd.
Anyway, it's not just a black-white thing. It's an everything thing.
We can never ignore our races. They're what make us unique. They're what define us as human beings. But let's stop letting race get in the way of progress as people. Let's be black. And white. And all the colors in between.
But realistically, that can't happen unless we start to change the way we think.
I hope I got it all. Probably not.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Metaphor Metamorphosis
I hate metaphors. I'm filling this post with them unintentionally.
I feel as though my life is reminiscent of the Colorado weather: give me 20 minutes, and I've completely changed my mind.
This time, it's nothing that drastic. You might even call it rational.
But I've never made a rational decision in my life, so perhaps not.
Business school is not off the table. It's actually very much on the table, so much so that it might be the table. (I hate metaphors that can't or won't end.)
I just need more time. I want to make sure that my math skills are on par with the rest of the world so that I might have a fighting chance. (For some reason, I always type "change" instead of "chance" and vice versa.)
So, the GMAT book is still being pored through, yet I am not preparing to take the test until at least the fall. I've even considered the possbility of getting an outside tutor.
I've come to see myself as headstrong lately; had I made this realization earlier, my life could have been made very much easier. I never want to ask for help or advice. And if I do, I'm not actually listening to what you're saying, I've already made up my mind.
At least now I understand that.
I'm going to buiness school, I would just like to have some time to make some flashcards and get some more math in me before I do so.
I am terrible at math. Learned helplessness, but actually maybe not. Long division was the first sign of trouble. I never told anyone that. You shouldn't either, fifth grade Katie will be very hurt. Pre-algebra. Geometry. It's geometry that gets me. I don't get it.
But. To succeed at getting into business school without really trying, you at least have to understand your math. And alas, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. I'd like to get a paddle, so I'm going to take some classes at Metro (maybe) or get a private tutor (definitely, but with reservations. We can't forget the effects of private direction on a young mind. Vern and his mole, anyone?) in order to be prepared to take the test and improve my score in the fall.
I can do a lot with business school and I've long been seduced by the lure of the corporate world. (Men in suits, anyone? If that's not enough, I have a strange love of office supplies - I'll blame my mother for that one - and a strong desire to lead a life of structure - something that the 9-5 could help with.) None of those answers will be going into my "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" or "Why do you think business school is a good fit for you?" essays.
For now, I'm settling myself to the idea of being back in Denver. I'm terrified. Part of me thinks I should stay in Chicago, but I've lived here for four years knowing that I won't stay here, so I've not established any realistically permanent roots. Going home will be nice because I have my family, but other than that, I've not got much. Making friends will come in time, I'm sure. (Unless it doesn't and then I die a cat lady at the age of 23, but that's realistically not going to happen, probably.)
Anyway, the logistics of the move have yet to be ironed out and I'm getting a little bit antsy about it. But time will tell. In all honesty, I'm just going to end up selling stuff (hopefully) or breaking down all my shelves, etc and throwing them in the back of a hastily acquired moving van.
Excitement, fear, dread, anxiety, relief, hope....my god, it's an emotional stew over here.
The melancholy waxes and wanes like a tide. Last night, news came to me from the lips of the person who had set it in motion, and I felt my heart collapse a tiny bit. I don't regret my decision, not for a moment. Child bride, indeed. But I feel sometimes that I've lost the ability to find someone suitable. I find myself not projecting outwardly my inner being. I'm more than what I look like. I'm not sure if it's confidence issue caused by the transitory period I'm in or if it's more than that. Perhaps I am plain (both in outward appearance and in personality) and unsuitable to date, lacking in grace and charm, not to mention social fluidity, but I'd prefer to blame my current situation. Stress and the post-graduate, it will be called. It will be a memoir for posterity.
Ugh, and onward with the ever-upping stack of assignments and duties. My room has lost any hope of resembling that of a sane woman, and instead speaks of post-hurricane destruction (without the mold and rotting things, of course). Focus. Focus. Focus. These are the words I wish I could hear.
I feel as though my life is reminiscent of the Colorado weather: give me 20 minutes, and I've completely changed my mind.
This time, it's nothing that drastic. You might even call it rational.
But I've never made a rational decision in my life, so perhaps not.
Business school is not off the table. It's actually very much on the table, so much so that it might be the table. (I hate metaphors that can't or won't end.)
I just need more time. I want to make sure that my math skills are on par with the rest of the world so that I might have a fighting chance. (For some reason, I always type "change" instead of "chance" and vice versa.)
So, the GMAT book is still being pored through, yet I am not preparing to take the test until at least the fall. I've even considered the possbility of getting an outside tutor.
I've come to see myself as headstrong lately; had I made this realization earlier, my life could have been made very much easier. I never want to ask for help or advice. And if I do, I'm not actually listening to what you're saying, I've already made up my mind.
At least now I understand that.
I'm going to buiness school, I would just like to have some time to make some flashcards and get some more math in me before I do so.
I am terrible at math. Learned helplessness, but actually maybe not. Long division was the first sign of trouble. I never told anyone that. You shouldn't either, fifth grade Katie will be very hurt. Pre-algebra. Geometry. It's geometry that gets me. I don't get it.
But. To succeed at getting into business school without really trying, you at least have to understand your math. And alas, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. I'd like to get a paddle, so I'm going to take some classes at Metro (maybe) or get a private tutor (definitely, but with reservations. We can't forget the effects of private direction on a young mind. Vern and his mole, anyone?) in order to be prepared to take the test and improve my score in the fall.
I can do a lot with business school and I've long been seduced by the lure of the corporate world. (Men in suits, anyone? If that's not enough, I have a strange love of office supplies - I'll blame my mother for that one - and a strong desire to lead a life of structure - something that the 9-5 could help with.) None of those answers will be going into my "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" or "Why do you think business school is a good fit for you?" essays.
For now, I'm settling myself to the idea of being back in Denver. I'm terrified. Part of me thinks I should stay in Chicago, but I've lived here for four years knowing that I won't stay here, so I've not established any realistically permanent roots. Going home will be nice because I have my family, but other than that, I've not got much. Making friends will come in time, I'm sure. (Unless it doesn't and then I die a cat lady at the age of 23, but that's realistically not going to happen, probably.)
Anyway, the logistics of the move have yet to be ironed out and I'm getting a little bit antsy about it. But time will tell. In all honesty, I'm just going to end up selling stuff (hopefully) or breaking down all my shelves, etc and throwing them in the back of a hastily acquired moving van.
Excitement, fear, dread, anxiety, relief, hope....my god, it's an emotional stew over here.
The melancholy waxes and wanes like a tide. Last night, news came to me from the lips of the person who had set it in motion, and I felt my heart collapse a tiny bit. I don't regret my decision, not for a moment. Child bride, indeed. But I feel sometimes that I've lost the ability to find someone suitable. I find myself not projecting outwardly my inner being. I'm more than what I look like. I'm not sure if it's confidence issue caused by the transitory period I'm in or if it's more than that. Perhaps I am plain (both in outward appearance and in personality) and unsuitable to date, lacking in grace and charm, not to mention social fluidity, but I'd prefer to blame my current situation. Stress and the post-graduate, it will be called. It will be a memoir for posterity.
Ugh, and onward with the ever-upping stack of assignments and duties. My room has lost any hope of resembling that of a sane woman, and instead speaks of post-hurricane destruction (without the mold and rotting things, of course). Focus. Focus. Focus. These are the words I wish I could hear.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Drastic Change and a Newly Minted Five Year Plan
It hit me like a ton of bricks. Life is funny; there's always a reason for everything. Of course, the conference in Boston reaffirmed everything I couldn't quite figure out. Curiosity about the professional world, the realization that a degree in Communications won't do much for me and a romance novel that can't seem to get past twenty pages because I'm constantly distracted have led me to a simple answer:
Business school.
Terrified about my future, I have realized that there's nothing I'd like more than to be in school longer. But legitimate school. Purposeful and focused. Who cares about gender studies?
I'm dropping my third minor unless I can figure something out, but other than that, all should be well. I've emailed the department, hoping for a resolution of some sort.
The possibility of getting a dual MBA/MS in Marketing for under $25,000 exists. (How sweet would that be?)
I've been afraid because I thought it was all math. It can't be all math. And I can emphasize philanthropic marketing so I'll still be able to do some of the social work aspects (sort of, but not really) in my future life.
More details to come as I figure out what the hell I'm doing. (The application deadline is June 1. Let's get this one in way before, so I'll know.)
Ha, I bet I'm the only person preparing to take the GMAT at the end of March/early April.
This time I'm not going to tell anybody, except you dear readers, for fear of being rejected again. (I really don't get rejected often. It hurts. I'm not a fan.) But CU Denver, where I've decided to apply, shouldn't reject me unless I screw up on the GMAT, which I won't. Hopefully. I've never gotten a bad grade on a standardized test in my life.
*
My Tuesdays and Thursdays are my busiest days but they're also my favorite days of the week. I have a break between 9:45 and 11:30, so I go to the Information Commons (the library at Loyola) and sit in one of the leather chairs overlooking the lake. You might also remember this as the place where the body was discovered back in November.
I came to Loyola four years ago based on a hunch that I had, a feeling that I got while I was standing not far from where I'm sitting now, looking out over Lake Michigan. I still feel the same way. I love the way the water seems endless. I love the way it changes colors, from gray to green to the deepest blue. I love the power, the solitude...I love the hours that I get to spend here. I don't think I've spent nearly enough.
Either way.
I've been procrastinating. Spanish test in a few hours and my favorite, Virginia Woolf, next.
(Surprisingly, that wasn't sarcasm.)
Business school.
Terrified about my future, I have realized that there's nothing I'd like more than to be in school longer. But legitimate school. Purposeful and focused. Who cares about gender studies?
I'm dropping my third minor unless I can figure something out, but other than that, all should be well. I've emailed the department, hoping for a resolution of some sort.
The possibility of getting a dual MBA/MS in Marketing for under $25,000 exists. (How sweet would that be?)
I've been afraid because I thought it was all math. It can't be all math. And I can emphasize philanthropic marketing so I'll still be able to do some of the social work aspects (sort of, but not really) in my future life.
More details to come as I figure out what the hell I'm doing. (The application deadline is June 1. Let's get this one in way before, so I'll know.)
Ha, I bet I'm the only person preparing to take the GMAT at the end of March/early April.
This time I'm not going to tell anybody, except you dear readers, for fear of being rejected again. (I really don't get rejected often. It hurts. I'm not a fan.) But CU Denver, where I've decided to apply, shouldn't reject me unless I screw up on the GMAT, which I won't. Hopefully. I've never gotten a bad grade on a standardized test in my life.
*
My Tuesdays and Thursdays are my busiest days but they're also my favorite days of the week. I have a break between 9:45 and 11:30, so I go to the Information Commons (the library at Loyola) and sit in one of the leather chairs overlooking the lake. You might also remember this as the place where the body was discovered back in November.
I came to Loyola four years ago based on a hunch that I had, a feeling that I got while I was standing not far from where I'm sitting now, looking out over Lake Michigan. I still feel the same way. I love the way the water seems endless. I love the way it changes colors, from gray to green to the deepest blue. I love the power, the solitude...I love the hours that I get to spend here. I don't think I've spent nearly enough.
Either way.
I've been procrastinating. Spanish test in a few hours and my favorite, Virginia Woolf, next.
(Surprisingly, that wasn't sarcasm.)
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
More rambling and a titch of life analysis
After a sleepless night, I woke ready to face the world. That's a lie. I hit the sleep button for over an hour while I held Cat and tried not to think about my upcoming statistics test.
However, I got the notecard completed and then went and took the test. My tired self wrote "without replacement" and then again, "without replacement" without thinking, so for the first half of the test, I was doing all the without replacement problems incorrectly. After a brief moment of panic, during which I frantically looked down at my notecard, I realized that my powers of observation and innate intelligence are stronger than my fear, and I corrected myself and the problems on the paper.
And so I'm predicting a high B on the test. It is probably the most ironic thing in the world that of all of my classes, I think the only one that I have a solid A in right now is Stats. I love the class. I love the teacher's charismatic style and I love the fact that we have no book. I've gotten all of my homework in and I aced the first test. (It's funny, when I get a low A, I get really annoyed that it's not higher. If only that could work for B and C work that I've been turning in lately.)
I have purchased my cap and gown! Graduation, here I come! (Commencement, rather.)
Post-convention news: I've been thrown into a self-depricating tailspin of terror about the future. I need to remind myself to breathe. I am still a real person who matters, despite the fact that I'm nothing but a soon-to-be-college graduate with no tangible resume to speak of (besides the PR gig, the extensive babysitting, although it's called child care...or actually, maybe even something better on my resume and the DQ. I need to boost volunteer work). That said, I need to focus on daily life rather than the future and on small accomplishments for the time being.
And so, I am going to tackle tomorrow. I'm going to embrace homework and attempt to hear back from the Chicago Public Schools.
I've got a meeting set up for Friday with a social worker for my doomed Social Work class. That actually might be interesting and fun. I'm going to help her cook for Passover.
I've got two stories due on Monday. The CPS is the most horrible group to deal with and I hate them. Also, none of their information is public. Thus, I've been unable to get access to write the stories that I need to write. I've also got a rewrite due. Excellent.
Babysitting a lot this weekend for my newest family. I really enjoy them, actually, so it shouldn't be hard at all. (Also, desperate for cash.)
Tomorrow is always my long day, and I have a Spanish test and homework due. A rewrite of my midterm for Social Work (ugh, APA format is going to kill me as is my professor's miserable and illegible handwriting). Getting my Hemingway paper back. It was only after I had turned it in that I realized I neglected to mention the title of the novel anywhere, however, I did allude to it in both my title and introduction.
Ugh frazzled brains need to neglectful academics. (This is my fault, I am well aware.)
Ah, the weekend. Let's begin the big push toward the end of the semester and end on a high note.
However, I got the notecard completed and then went and took the test. My tired self wrote "without replacement" and then again, "without replacement" without thinking, so for the first half of the test, I was doing all the without replacement problems incorrectly. After a brief moment of panic, during which I frantically looked down at my notecard, I realized that my powers of observation and innate intelligence are stronger than my fear, and I corrected myself and the problems on the paper.
And so I'm predicting a high B on the test. It is probably the most ironic thing in the world that of all of my classes, I think the only one that I have a solid A in right now is Stats. I love the class. I love the teacher's charismatic style and I love the fact that we have no book. I've gotten all of my homework in and I aced the first test. (It's funny, when I get a low A, I get really annoyed that it's not higher. If only that could work for B and C work that I've been turning in lately.)
I have purchased my cap and gown! Graduation, here I come! (Commencement, rather.)
Post-convention news: I've been thrown into a self-depricating tailspin of terror about the future. I need to remind myself to breathe. I am still a real person who matters, despite the fact that I'm nothing but a soon-to-be-college graduate with no tangible resume to speak of (besides the PR gig, the extensive babysitting, although it's called child care...or actually, maybe even something better on my resume and the DQ. I need to boost volunteer work). That said, I need to focus on daily life rather than the future and on small accomplishments for the time being.
And so, I am going to tackle tomorrow. I'm going to embrace homework and attempt to hear back from the Chicago Public Schools.
I've got a meeting set up for Friday with a social worker for my doomed Social Work class. That actually might be interesting and fun. I'm going to help her cook for Passover.
I've got two stories due on Monday. The CPS is the most horrible group to deal with and I hate them. Also, none of their information is public. Thus, I've been unable to get access to write the stories that I need to write. I've also got a rewrite due. Excellent.
Babysitting a lot this weekend for my newest family. I really enjoy them, actually, so it shouldn't be hard at all. (Also, desperate for cash.)
Tomorrow is always my long day, and I have a Spanish test and homework due. A rewrite of my midterm for Social Work (ugh, APA format is going to kill me as is my professor's miserable and illegible handwriting). Getting my Hemingway paper back. It was only after I had turned it in that I realized I neglected to mention the title of the novel anywhere, however, I did allude to it in both my title and introduction.
Ugh frazzled brains need to neglectful academics. (This is my fault, I am well aware.)
Ah, the weekend. Let's begin the big push toward the end of the semester and end on a high note.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Boston, Massachusetts. (Or Why Maddie Needs to Move Here)
I knew nothing of Boston before I came here.
That's a lie. I knew a few things: it was the site of the Boston Tea Party, it's home to Harvard and the Celtics and the people here love their baseball and have the most hilarious accents.
We had a bit of trouble befriending the stewardesses on the flight out. Something about the orange bag not fitting in the overhead compartment and then me dropping my glass bead bracelet. Anyway, we were served complimentary cold coffee. I laughed when I took my first sip, which the flight attendant of course overheard. And then after my first use of an airplane bathroom is a few years, I accidentally opened the door on her.
Great.
We landed just after midnight. The cab ride to the hotel involved tunnels that looked a lot like the Eisenhower tunnel, just a lot longer. We went to a bar called Whiskeys in the Back Bay area and enjoyed ourselves immensely for the hour that the bars were still open.
A friend of mine told me that the men in Boston would be really sweet, and they were. I was asked out on a date by a guy that I met in line at one of the bars that we went to. And by date, he wanted to do dinner and then a walk through Boston Commons (think giant old park). Adorable.
But alas, my trip was not a dating adventure. It was just a pure adventure.
The rain started yesterday morning. Maddie and I were exhausted after a night of late bowling the night before. I love business people. I know this seems strange, but the idea of entering the business world exhilarates me. Perhaps I shall give it a try after graduation. Something about suits. I love men in suits and I love the way I look in a suit. I feel like everyone I met this weekend was an engineer, which fits into my new life plan which involves no actors/artists/white rappers/philosophers as lovers. (If you've ever seen the tv show "Dharma and Greg," you'll understand that I'm Dharma and I'm trying to find my Greg.)
I got to pretend (for a very quick minute) that I worked for Xcel Energy and talk to random people from other utilities and random clients. I also have a new pair of bowling shoes courtesy of Lucky Strike Boston.
We went to see a movie because we realized there was no way were were going to walk around all day in the rain. We saw "She's Out of My League." Don't see it. It's terrible. And then we snuck into "Alice in Wonderland." Better by far. Much better. Tim Burton's gothic elements really put a nice spin on the classic, and they did it out of the original story. We had to get 3D glasses out of the recycle bin. It was hilarious and the perfect way to spend an afternoon.
Madeline and I tried to find trivia. We finally did that yesterday after sneaking onto the concierge's computer at the hotel (because they were trying to charge $7 for 15 minutes of internet) and printing my boarding passes (3 of them, just in case).
Last night, after exploring Harvard and the Cambridge area, we cabbed it to the south side of Boston (not far from our hotel) to do trivia. Best shepherd's pie I've ever eaten, hands down. It was amazing. We got third in trivia (not bad, but we had help from the bartender) and then proceeded to get absolutely ridiculous. At some point during the evening, we ended up having a row with a man about the Patriots. Lessons learned: don't ever call them cheaters on their own turf and don't insult big Bill B.
Also, don't do shots with strange names like "Duck Farts," which were gifted to us by men at the bar.
Boston is surprisingly chivalrous. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, either un-progressive or very old fashioned.
There was cab-hailing in the rain.
There was sleep and Lifetime movies.
This morning, we went to a diner and had mimosas and french toast and then I packed.
My flight was two hours delayed.
On the plane (I flew Southwest....we'll blog about them later), I sat in the aisle and was joined by a man. We started talking. He had two drink coupons. We had whiskey. We spent the entire flight talking. Boston, Catholics, schools, Catholic schools, priests, college, English, punctuation, mathematics, Tarot cards, the Enneagram, bondage, rain, umbrellas, his hatred of flying, Dairy Queen, (you can tell that I talk too much based on subject matter alone), Reuters, Frontier, Alaska, reality tv, hoarders, everything.
He shook my hand and made fun of my eighty pound backpack.
The train ride home was slow due to mechanical malfunctions.
I was so happy to see my beautiful cat. He's been renamed Van the Action Cat. I love him dearly.
And thus begins the final chapter of my last official semester of college.
Oh and did I mention I'm legitimately sick? Like the common cold. Stricken.
I'll draw conclusions and analyze tomorrow. Tired.
That's a lie. I knew a few things: it was the site of the Boston Tea Party, it's home to Harvard and the Celtics and the people here love their baseball and have the most hilarious accents.
We had a bit of trouble befriending the stewardesses on the flight out. Something about the orange bag not fitting in the overhead compartment and then me dropping my glass bead bracelet. Anyway, we were served complimentary cold coffee. I laughed when I took my first sip, which the flight attendant of course overheard. And then after my first use of an airplane bathroom is a few years, I accidentally opened the door on her.
Great.
We landed just after midnight. The cab ride to the hotel involved tunnels that looked a lot like the Eisenhower tunnel, just a lot longer. We went to a bar called Whiskeys in the Back Bay area and enjoyed ourselves immensely for the hour that the bars were still open.
A friend of mine told me that the men in Boston would be really sweet, and they were. I was asked out on a date by a guy that I met in line at one of the bars that we went to. And by date, he wanted to do dinner and then a walk through Boston Commons (think giant old park). Adorable.
But alas, my trip was not a dating adventure. It was just a pure adventure.
The rain started yesterday morning. Maddie and I were exhausted after a night of late bowling the night before. I love business people. I know this seems strange, but the idea of entering the business world exhilarates me. Perhaps I shall give it a try after graduation. Something about suits. I love men in suits and I love the way I look in a suit. I feel like everyone I met this weekend was an engineer, which fits into my new life plan which involves no actors/artists/white rappers/philosophers as lovers. (If you've ever seen the tv show "Dharma and Greg," you'll understand that I'm Dharma and I'm trying to find my Greg.)
I got to pretend (for a very quick minute) that I worked for Xcel Energy and talk to random people from other utilities and random clients. I also have a new pair of bowling shoes courtesy of Lucky Strike Boston.
We went to see a movie because we realized there was no way were were going to walk around all day in the rain. We saw "She's Out of My League." Don't see it. It's terrible. And then we snuck into "Alice in Wonderland." Better by far. Much better. Tim Burton's gothic elements really put a nice spin on the classic, and they did it out of the original story. We had to get 3D glasses out of the recycle bin. It was hilarious and the perfect way to spend an afternoon.
Madeline and I tried to find trivia. We finally did that yesterday after sneaking onto the concierge's computer at the hotel (because they were trying to charge $7 for 15 minutes of internet) and printing my boarding passes (3 of them, just in case).
Last night, after exploring Harvard and the Cambridge area, we cabbed it to the south side of Boston (not far from our hotel) to do trivia. Best shepherd's pie I've ever eaten, hands down. It was amazing. We got third in trivia (not bad, but we had help from the bartender) and then proceeded to get absolutely ridiculous. At some point during the evening, we ended up having a row with a man about the Patriots. Lessons learned: don't ever call them cheaters on their own turf and don't insult big Bill B.
Also, don't do shots with strange names like "Duck Farts," which were gifted to us by men at the bar.
Boston is surprisingly chivalrous. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, either un-progressive or very old fashioned.
There was cab-hailing in the rain.
There was sleep and Lifetime movies.
This morning, we went to a diner and had mimosas and french toast and then I packed.
My flight was two hours delayed.
On the plane (I flew Southwest....we'll blog about them later), I sat in the aisle and was joined by a man. We started talking. He had two drink coupons. We had whiskey. We spent the entire flight talking. Boston, Catholics, schools, Catholic schools, priests, college, English, punctuation, mathematics, Tarot cards, the Enneagram, bondage, rain, umbrellas, his hatred of flying, Dairy Queen, (you can tell that I talk too much based on subject matter alone), Reuters, Frontier, Alaska, reality tv, hoarders, everything.
He shook my hand and made fun of my eighty pound backpack.
The train ride home was slow due to mechanical malfunctions.
I was so happy to see my beautiful cat. He's been renamed Van the Action Cat. I love him dearly.
And thus begins the final chapter of my last official semester of college.
Oh and did I mention I'm legitimately sick? Like the common cold. Stricken.
I'll draw conclusions and analyze tomorrow. Tired.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Incomplete Boston post
We arrived in Boston at about midnight, then made it to the hotel, where we rendezvoused (this computer doesn't have spell check and god forbid I spelled that wrong) with Aunt Judy and then went out to find some fun. We were at the bar a total of an hour and we had a blast.
Today, we are checking out of the hotel here and then moving to a different one. We're hoping to see Boston Commons this afternoon and check out a graveyard. I love old graveyards in cities. The ones in Philadelphia were some of the best that I've seen in my life.
Airplanes. I'm just not on board, so to speak, with Southwest. Their system and I are incompatible. Madeline and I got in with our carry-ons and then attempted to shove them up into the baggage compartments.
Alright, enough for now. Leaving.
Today, we are checking out of the hotel here and then moving to a different one. We're hoping to see Boston Commons this afternoon and check out a graveyard. I love old graveyards in cities. The ones in Philadelphia were some of the best that I've seen in my life.
Airplanes. I'm just not on board, so to speak, with Southwest. Their system and I are incompatible. Madeline and I got in with our carry-ons and then attempted to shove them up into the baggage compartments.
Alright, enough for now. Leaving.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Babbling.
The rough week has come to an end.
I have barely survived and it seems that my exhaustion knows no bounds. How tired can one person get? I may attempt to find out.
I sleep well last night, not nearly long enough though.
I was about to sit down and write one of those, "I am in love with Chicago" sort of posts, but perhaps I shall save that for a later date.
Prayers for Mom, please.
This is instead going to be a post of gratitude. I don't talk about my support systems nearly enough. I love my family and I appreciate everything that they do. And by everything, I mean everything. It makes me smile to know that I have a set of "other grandparents" who love me just as much as Grandmas Mary and Al and Grandpa Joe do. I love knowing that Aunt Sally and Grandma will take good care of Mom this weekend and today. For the record, I did not stress that much about the surgery this time around.
Also, I love Mike. He's the best brother anyone could ask for. I know that if I ever need anything, I can call him and he'll help me in any way he can. He may not tell me he loves me often, but I don't have to hear it, I just know it.
I'm sorry. I can't focus when I'm tired.
I'm meeting Madeline downtown for dinner and drinks and then we're headed to the airport. Our flight leaves at 8:45 central time and we'll land in Boston at 11:55 ET.
I'm bringing my computer and hoping to get some work/writing done while I'm away.
I have barely survived and it seems that my exhaustion knows no bounds. How tired can one person get? I may attempt to find out.
I sleep well last night, not nearly long enough though.
I was about to sit down and write one of those, "I am in love with Chicago" sort of posts, but perhaps I shall save that for a later date.
Prayers for Mom, please.
This is instead going to be a post of gratitude. I don't talk about my support systems nearly enough. I love my family and I appreciate everything that they do. And by everything, I mean everything. It makes me smile to know that I have a set of "other grandparents" who love me just as much as Grandmas Mary and Al and Grandpa Joe do. I love knowing that Aunt Sally and Grandma will take good care of Mom this weekend and today. For the record, I did not stress that much about the surgery this time around.
Also, I love Mike. He's the best brother anyone could ask for. I know that if I ever need anything, I can call him and he'll help me in any way he can. He may not tell me he loves me often, but I don't have to hear it, I just know it.
I'm sorry. I can't focus when I'm tired.
I'm meeting Madeline downtown for dinner and drinks and then we're headed to the airport. Our flight leaves at 8:45 central time and we'll land in Boston at 11:55 ET.
I'm bringing my computer and hoping to get some work/writing done while I'm away.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Smashing Words on the Screen
Oh how the weeks fly by.
Monday night was insane. The story is too wild to tell until I have the pictures to back it up. Champagne bar (too expensive, so we bailed), then the Kerryman and the Fados and then god only knows where. Once again, we hailed toward the sounds of thumping bass and flashing lights.
There were twisted ankles, cab rides, 4am pizzas, mashed potatoes, sleep.
Then Tuesday came.
And went.
Work. Babysitting for three different families three different days.
Tomorrow a paper is due. I'm nearly done, hanging on the edge of my sanity.
Tomorrow starts early and ends late. Not done with class until 930.
Friday, please, Friday.
Flight is at 845. 845. 845.
Need it.
Let it come.
To love, to live, to be eternally annoyed by stupid men.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
I've had terrible dreams lately. Nothing left but a return to where I don't want to be. Myself, my mind exploring things that should not be. Even dream Katie doesn't want to return to him in the end.
And Hemingway rounds out my list of annoying men, writing and writing and making me read it and then consider it:
"Remember everything is right until it's wrong. You'll know when it's wrong." "You think so?" "I'm quite sure. If you don't, it doesn't matter. Nothing will matter then."
Monday night was insane. The story is too wild to tell until I have the pictures to back it up. Champagne bar (too expensive, so we bailed), then the Kerryman and the Fados and then god only knows where. Once again, we hailed toward the sounds of thumping bass and flashing lights.
There were twisted ankles, cab rides, 4am pizzas, mashed potatoes, sleep.
Then Tuesday came.
And went.
Work. Babysitting for three different families three different days.
Tomorrow a paper is due. I'm nearly done, hanging on the edge of my sanity.
Tomorrow starts early and ends late. Not done with class until 930.
Friday, please, Friday.
Flight is at 845. 845. 845.
Need it.
Let it come.
To love, to live, to be eternally annoyed by stupid men.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
I've had terrible dreams lately. Nothing left but a return to where I don't want to be. Myself, my mind exploring things that should not be. Even dream Katie doesn't want to return to him in the end.
And Hemingway rounds out my list of annoying men, writing and writing and making me read it and then consider it:
"Remember everything is right until it's wrong. You'll know when it's wrong." "You think so?" "I'm quite sure. If you don't, it doesn't matter. Nothing will matter then."
Monday, March 15, 2010
Seven weeks to graduation
Made it home safely. The flight was relatively uneventful. TSA gave me no problems trying to get the printer through security; they didn't even make me open the box.
The people next to me were Debbie-Downers the whole time - frustrated about having to gate check their bags, trying to get free tv out of it; frustrated that we left half an hour late; frustrated, blah blah. I did my usual: pull out my sweatshirt, throw it on the tray, put my face in it, sleep.
Of course, my eyelashes are a mess after this sort of nap and any attempts to rectify my appearance as the flight draws to a close are usually thwarted by my inability to conquer the strange curls and bends that have occurred.
Maddie came to pick me up in Simon and we went to have him washed (he hasn't had a wash since June 2009 and sorely needed one). While we were there, I asked the towel dryer if he could get the spray paint off. He produced a razor and began scraping. I am now 95% spray paint free. The one place he couldn't get was the place where the doors close together, since that part isn't glass.
I gave him $8.
Cat was thrilled to see me. We snuggled all night, took a good catnap this afternoon. He loves it when I hold his back feet while we're sleeping, so I did. I was trying to type an assignment this evening and he kept climbing all over me and stepping on my computer and rubbing against me. I was so happy to see him. He loves the new toy that we got from Jeanie.
Katie's in town tonight. Of course, I do not need to be going out. I should be at home catching up on my assignments. But I'm going out.
We're staying downtown, right by the river, across from the bar where Maddie and I infamously rapped Jay-Z's "99 Problems" at karaoke one night. This will be exciting.
Tomorrow night, Wednesday afternoon and Thursday afternoon: babysitting. Three different days, three different families, lots of cash for Boston.
Paper due Thursday.
Someone ate my chicken nuggets while I was gone. I know this because the bag was unzipped. Annoyed.
Maddie and I have decided to get in shape now that we are both single and ready to embrace the world. I'll be interested to see how it goes. I'm excited to craft my adult self and believe that a good regimen will do me good.
Wish me luck tomorrow. It's going to be a LONG day.
This week looks stressful, but I'm alright with it. I'm worried about that paper, discussing Herculine Barbin and Hemingway's Garden of Eden. Hopefully discussing it intellectually, desperate for an A. (Not desperate, but wouldn't it be nice?)
These are advanced reporting notes. I'm multitasking, as usual:
1. Noodling Around
-history
-scopre
-reasons ---follow the money
-impacts
-countermoves
-futures
2. Setting Priorities
3. Reporting
-WiseMen (or women)
-PaperMen
-Rabbi (always knows somebody) --Catholic priests?
1. Immerse
2. Surface and Assess
3. Story Map
4. Reporting at Ground Level
5. Writing
6. Filling gaps
The people next to me were Debbie-Downers the whole time - frustrated about having to gate check their bags, trying to get free tv out of it; frustrated that we left half an hour late; frustrated, blah blah. I did my usual: pull out my sweatshirt, throw it on the tray, put my face in it, sleep.
Of course, my eyelashes are a mess after this sort of nap and any attempts to rectify my appearance as the flight draws to a close are usually thwarted by my inability to conquer the strange curls and bends that have occurred.
Maddie came to pick me up in Simon and we went to have him washed (he hasn't had a wash since June 2009 and sorely needed one). While we were there, I asked the towel dryer if he could get the spray paint off. He produced a razor and began scraping. I am now 95% spray paint free. The one place he couldn't get was the place where the doors close together, since that part isn't glass.
I gave him $8.
Cat was thrilled to see me. We snuggled all night, took a good catnap this afternoon. He loves it when I hold his back feet while we're sleeping, so I did. I was trying to type an assignment this evening and he kept climbing all over me and stepping on my computer and rubbing against me. I was so happy to see him. He loves the new toy that we got from Jeanie.
Katie's in town tonight. Of course, I do not need to be going out. I should be at home catching up on my assignments. But I'm going out.
We're staying downtown, right by the river, across from the bar where Maddie and I infamously rapped Jay-Z's "99 Problems" at karaoke one night. This will be exciting.
Tomorrow night, Wednesday afternoon and Thursday afternoon: babysitting. Three different days, three different families, lots of cash for Boston.
Paper due Thursday.
Someone ate my chicken nuggets while I was gone. I know this because the bag was unzipped. Annoyed.
Maddie and I have decided to get in shape now that we are both single and ready to embrace the world. I'll be interested to see how it goes. I'm excited to craft my adult self and believe that a good regimen will do me good.
Wish me luck tomorrow. It's going to be a LONG day.
This week looks stressful, but I'm alright with it. I'm worried about that paper, discussing Herculine Barbin and Hemingway's Garden of Eden. Hopefully discussing it intellectually, desperate for an A. (Not desperate, but wouldn't it be nice?)
These are advanced reporting notes. I'm multitasking, as usual:
1. Noodling Around
-history
-scopre
-reasons ---follow the money
-impacts
-countermoves
-futures
2. Setting Priorities
3. Reporting
-WiseMen (or women)
-PaperMen
-Rabbi (always knows somebody) --Catholic priests?
1. Immerse
2. Surface and Assess
3. Story Map
4. Reporting at Ground Level
5. Writing
6. Filling gaps
Advanced Reporting: Profile Piece
John Pappas carries his enthusiasm for teaching with him to work each day, even though he’s been through the Chicago Public Schools system himself and has seen its ups and downs firsthand. He may be a fresh face at Perspectives/IIT Math and Science Academy, but in the short time he’s been there, he’s gained an understanding of the job requirements of teaching that will last him a lifetime.
“It's up to us to make sure that students are prepared, not only to go to college, but to graduate from college,” says Tony Seiden, the Director of College Counseling, on the Perspectives website. It’s this goal that makes Perspectives different than other Chicago public high schools. Perspectives boasts that 89 percent of students graduate, and of those, 92 percent go on to college. This statistic is much higher than the Chicago Public Schools average, which shows that in 2009, the five-year graduation rate was only 54.5 percent, according to data provided by the Chicago Public School Office of Research, Evaluation and Accountability.
But Pappas’ experience at Perspectives is strikingly different than the picture painted on the school’s website: a safe, respectful environment in which students thrive academically. According to Pappas, Perspectives follows a structure called “A Disciplined Life.” There are 26 principals that students must follow, including “seek wisdom,” “respect each other’s differences,” and “demonstrate a strong work ethic.”
“Again I’ll repeat the administrators do a great job trying to create this culture, but that is not the culture at the school. Many students don’t find school important to their lives and have this attitude that is has no place in their life,” says Pappas, while talking about the Perspectives mission and the students who are supposed to be following the 26 principals laid out by the Disciplined Life program.
“I get frustrated with the administrators because they do a poor job disciplining the students and holding them accountable for their actions,” he says adamantly.
Pappas is doing his student teaching at Perspectives throughout the spring semester and hopes to get a job teaching science in the Chicago Public Schools in the fall. Because of this, the hours that he works are “longer than I ever anticipated.” On top of the work required for student teachers, including documentation for his supervisors at the Illinois Institute of Technology, where is pursuing his teaching degree, Pappas must also meet the requirements for Perspectives. “The school requires a lot from their staff. We are required to work longer hours than CPS teachers, and required to teach one more class than CPS teachers.”
Pappas says, “in particular my lesson plans have to bring extremely detailed, and my prepping for lessons is intense. Since I teach a synergy class, which is a class that is focused around pure lab work, I find myself doing a lot of extra work to prepare for our labs.”
But when Pappas begins to talk about what he teaches, his excitement is palpable. “I like working with students and doing science. I love science and I love kids so it a good combination. There are times where the students frustrate me but I quickly get over it. As a teacher you can let students get the best of you.” Pappas founded the Spanish club at his school and is also a member of the Earth club. Such extracurricular activities eat up his time, but he finds them enjoyable. At Perspectives, Pappas stays after school to offer homework help to the students.
Not all of his experience has been positive, however. “Fighting is a big problem at our school. During my first two months I have broken up two fights between female students and have had another student walk up to me a throw a fake punch at me. The first week at the school a student brought a gun to school and this past week a student tried to kill herself in the bathroom.”
While many of these are isolated incidents, the source of the problem is often systemic. Pappas, as a new teacher, struggles with classroom control, finding many of his students difficult to work with. “A lot of students find it acceptable to talk back to adults, and not show them any respect. My biggest problem with the students is them not following direction and constantly talking back when I ask them to do something,” he says. This situation can be frustrating to a new teacher, but Pappas is optimistic that he’ll be able to gain a variety of solutions for classroom management through his experience and through other teachers around him.
Even though he works at one of the Chicago Charter Schools, Pappas also has experience doing clinical supervisions at Lane Tech, one of Chicago’s high schools. Even though Lane Tech is a drastically different environment than Perspectives, the mission statement seems to be in line with the goals laid out by Perspectives. “The Vision of Lane Tech College Prep High School is to provide all students with a superior academic, technical, and fine arts education that prepares students for success in their post-secondary endeavors of school, career, community and family life,” their website says.
When asked to compare the two schools, Pappas replied, “Lane Tech is an exceptional school so I think it’s unfair to compare it to a school that has only been around for two years.” Lane Tech has been educating students for over one hundred years, and Pappas certainly makes a valid point.
“Of course have instructional goals and daily goals that I want to meet, but really I just want to change these students’ lives. A lot of them are troubled and don’t have anyone to look up to, so I want to be that role model for these students. I know it’s kind of general," he says when asked about his goals for his future as a teacher.
An article published in Newsweek magazine dated March 15 states, “What really makes a difference, what matters more than the class size or the textbook, the teaching method or the technology, or even the curriculum, is the quality of the teacher.” John Pappas certainly seems to have that certain spark that can light a fire in a child’s mind and inspire a lifelong love of education.
###
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Ohm
The newest addition to myself. I got it this afternoon. It's on my left side, on my ribs. I did so well, no flinching, no crying, nothing. The touch up of the other one, my star, hurt the worst. It no longer looks "antiqued."
Tired. We'll chat again tomorrow.
For the record, I want to be somebody's missed connection on Craigslist. You know, or maybe you don't, that people always post random things....(it was a topic of discussion during my tattoo-inking). I browse them sometimes, because I always need more things to do when I'm procrastinating....but then I found one. It doesn't apply to me, but it made me think that maybe someday I'll have a shot at being someone's.
Posted March 6, it said, "Chicago Misses You" and then "The title says it all."
Cute, right? Some lucky girl and perhaps some wistful, hoping man. I wonder how many people actually get the right person. But you're right, Craigslist is creepy.
Sleep sweet world. Know that I am going to enjoy corned beef and cabbage for breakfast tomorrow. Delicious. My green fingernail-ed self will love it, I guarantee.
It was really nice to see the family tonight. I love everyone. Uncle Mike and Aunt Jan (always make me laugh....you were right, Uncle Mike, it was a bad hair day). Juanita and Marshall (with two Ls). Brian. Aunts Sally and Joan. Grandma. And Mom of course. Missed Fruit, but I'll see him tomorrow.
EDIT: It's 5:28 and I can't sleep. So I thought I'd address something. Katie and I were talking about this the other day, actually, so it's something that comes up a lot. Without fail, people seem to always want to know what your tattoo "means." For my nautical star (arguably the most popular tattoo in the world), I simply say, I like stars. For my ohm, I'll be saying the exact same thing. (Well not "I like stars," exactly) Except it has a deeper meaning, obviously. As does the star. The star represents me in my youth. My restless, rebel self. The ohm is me searching, the solidification of my obsession with threes and the representation of their presence in my life. But you didn't need to know that.
So in short, yes I know I have two of the most popular tattoos in the world. It's not that I'm incapable of coming up with something else creative (I do hope that I demonstrate a certain level of creativity in my everyday life), it's that I got what I want and when I'm eighty (and not old, just to clarify), they won't mean anything different than they mean now. They're inked time capsules reminding me of my life, in a way.
Also, while I understand that everyone has choices and thinks certain aesthetic elements are attractive, I will always keep my body art on my torso. I want to be able to wear a strapless or backless gown and have all of my tattoos/piercings be invisible. I want to wear a one piece bathing suit (I fear I'm getting to that point anyway) and not have them show. I want to be able to wear a suit, any sort of professional attire, open toed shoes, sandals, etc and not have tattoos hanging out. I'm going to be a tattooed mother someday but you'll never know it.
At the Oscar's (which I watched like an hour of), George Clooney's hot new girlfriend's dress displayed the popular-in-the-90s band-around-the-arm-tattoo. Not so hot now. A distraction.
At least one day I'll probably not even be able to find mine due to wrinkles and/or body fat. (Typing that sentence out isn't as funny as when I say it out loud, but trust me, the prospect makes me laugh.) I'm staying away from small detail, color and anything else that has the potential to do anything but exactly what I want it to.
So there.
Again, have a beautiful day and hope I heal soon. I hate not being able to sleep on my left side.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Moderately Redirected Life Planning
Luckily for me, Mike has been getting into Buddhist literature this year.
Three books arrived at the house for him yesterday. I have been begging him to let me read some of them, and I keep forgetting to raid his apartment for ones that he's already read.
He handed me one about compassion, then immediately took it back, declaring me already compassionate.
Instead, I was handed one about energy. (This isn't technically Buddhist literature; it's more in the vein of self-help. Lame, I understand.) I took it upstairs, ran a hot bath and dove in. To the book, not the bath.
Ah, I read the whole thing. It's a silly parable about a miserable man whose life and marriage are on the rocks. He gets a flat tire and then is forced to ride a bus. This bus is the Energy Bus and it changes his life.
Please know that I am aware of the how ridiculous this sounds. I'm not one hundred percent on it, but I'm hoping that I can get myself behind it. All of this motivational crap (and most of it is crap) sells and sells and sells. And since I'm not necessarily in any position to give advice, I'm going to try re-organizing my life and getting myself re-situated as I prepare to start a new phase of my life.
Alright, that's all fine and well, but here's the funny part: http://www.jongordon.com/energybusticketpage.html
You can invite people to join your bus. Read all of those tickets. This is why self help is only for a select group of people. You have to know people who want tickets like that. I have all the support I need, I don't need a piece of paper to prove it. My favorite is the last one. It reads, "GET ON THE BUS." I can just imagine someone screaming that at a child. The mental image might have just given me enough positive energy to start today. (Perhaps that's not the energy he was talking about?)
The other funny part is the book jacket. It was put on incorrectly. It's folded completely off-center, so the spine of the book is actually on the front of the book. But it's all about positive energy right? So a little setback like incorrect alignment shouldn't matter.
Also, for those of you who understand MTV's "Jersey Shore" phenomenon, there was fist pumping as the main character got off the bus one day. Nothing like integration of pop culture and help culture, if you will.
Seriously. Today, I am taking a page out of Mike's book (who ever thought I'd be saying that? He's like a little sage wiseman lately, though) and getting on the bus. (Don't ever tell anyone I told you that). I'm going to collect all the positive energy I can and radiate it outward. I do believe that this might mean making lists. You know me. I'm the most unorganized person ever. I live in my own space and I control it, but that does not mean that it is conventionally organized. Perhaps I'm going to have to start setting small goals daily and then getting them done. You know, building successful life skills for, well, life.
Hah, I'm starting today off with a drive to Greeley and then Ft. Collins to pick up Mike and then run an errand for someone Mom works with. And then I hope there's going to be hiking.
Apparently, the one apartment building that looks too good to be true is. Reviews online say it's horrible. But we're going to check it out anyway, because all reviews of everything are bad.
Positive Energy! (I'll be interested to see how long this lasts.)
Edited: I get upstairs to take a shower and find that there's a broken blood vessel in my eye. I'm going to look perma-hungover or the better part of the day. Nothing says positive energy like red eyes.
Not that long.
I'm pumping myself up with Starbucks. I'm going to go throw $4 away on a delicious twenty ounce drink. And I am going to enjoy it. Deal with it and have a good day.
Three books arrived at the house for him yesterday. I have been begging him to let me read some of them, and I keep forgetting to raid his apartment for ones that he's already read.
He handed me one about compassion, then immediately took it back, declaring me already compassionate.
Instead, I was handed one about energy. (This isn't technically Buddhist literature; it's more in the vein of self-help. Lame, I understand.) I took it upstairs, ran a hot bath and dove in. To the book, not the bath.
Ah, I read the whole thing. It's a silly parable about a miserable man whose life and marriage are on the rocks. He gets a flat tire and then is forced to ride a bus. This bus is the Energy Bus and it changes his life.
Please know that I am aware of the how ridiculous this sounds. I'm not one hundred percent on it, but I'm hoping that I can get myself behind it. All of this motivational crap (and most of it is crap) sells and sells and sells. And since I'm not necessarily in any position to give advice, I'm going to try re-organizing my life and getting myself re-situated as I prepare to start a new phase of my life.
Alright, that's all fine and well, but here's the funny part: http://www.jongordon.com/energybusticketpage.html
You can invite people to join your bus. Read all of those tickets. This is why self help is only for a select group of people. You have to know people who want tickets like that. I have all the support I need, I don't need a piece of paper to prove it. My favorite is the last one. It reads, "GET ON THE BUS." I can just imagine someone screaming that at a child. The mental image might have just given me enough positive energy to start today. (Perhaps that's not the energy he was talking about?)
The other funny part is the book jacket. It was put on incorrectly. It's folded completely off-center, so the spine of the book is actually on the front of the book. But it's all about positive energy right? So a little setback like incorrect alignment shouldn't matter.
Also, for those of you who understand MTV's "Jersey Shore" phenomenon, there was fist pumping as the main character got off the bus one day. Nothing like integration of pop culture and help culture, if you will.
Seriously. Today, I am taking a page out of Mike's book (who ever thought I'd be saying that? He's like a little sage wiseman lately, though) and getting on the bus. (Don't ever tell anyone I told you that). I'm going to collect all the positive energy I can and radiate it outward. I do believe that this might mean making lists. You know me. I'm the most unorganized person ever. I live in my own space and I control it, but that does not mean that it is conventionally organized. Perhaps I'm going to have to start setting small goals daily and then getting them done. You know, building successful life skills for, well, life.
Hah, I'm starting today off with a drive to Greeley and then Ft. Collins to pick up Mike and then run an errand for someone Mom works with. And then I hope there's going to be hiking.
Apparently, the one apartment building that looks too good to be true is. Reviews online say it's horrible. But we're going to check it out anyway, because all reviews of everything are bad.
Positive Energy! (I'll be interested to see how long this lasts.)
Edited: I get upstairs to take a shower and find that there's a broken blood vessel in my eye. I'm going to look perma-hungover or the better part of the day. Nothing says positive energy like red eyes.
Not that long.
I'm pumping myself up with Starbucks. I'm going to go throw $4 away on a delicious twenty ounce drink. And I am going to enjoy it. Deal with it and have a good day.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Rejection Date. Resume Life Planning Immediately Following Reflection
The letter arrived today. In lieu of getting my pants hemmed, I've taken to wearing heels. I click-clacked down the front steps, opened the mailbox with the little key and saw it. The thin envelope. It was already opened. I knew. I didn't need to read it, but I did. I didn't read much; I don't think they expect you to get past the first sentence. I didn't.
My heart caved in and my mind shuddered to a sudden halt. My breathing stopped. Tears swam in my eyes.
It has come to this: I've been formally and methodically rejected.
It wasn't unexpected, just so you know. I applied last minute. I didn't prepare. I have a 3.1. (This is a miserable piece of information, I know.) I had a dream in February that this would happen and it is rare that my dreams lie to me in the form of future address. (They lie about the present and the past all the time, the sneaky bastards.)
And so, in my grieving and in an attempt to remind myself that this cannot be the end (the good news is that the thought of slitting my wrists in the bathtub, although seemingly practical, does not appeal to me at this particular moment), I have resurrected the one journal I still find solace in. I opened it randomly, and found what I was looking for.
I have changed locations in order to not form any emotional ties with my space. I am currently seated in Mom's sewing room, my laptop, flanked by two irons, is perched precariously atop the ironing board and I am seated in a rolling, turning office chair of sorts from the late 80s. This way, when I remember today with a broken heart, I will not feel the pain as coming from anywhere familiar. In fact, this room is still off limits to this day.
And so, treat yourself (ha, humor me as I grieve the only way I know how) to a look into my past:
Note on the journal entries: This was for either Relationships and Sexuality or New Testament, both taught by Mr. McGuire. He was a Renaissance man himself, having not landed at a particular profession until rather late in life (and by this I mean his early 30s). He had a very Catholic family and practiced natural family planning. It didn't work.
They always told us that they didn't read our journals, they just checked to make sure the entries were there. I have little doubt as to why he called me Sister Katherine and I have a sneaking suspicion that the contents of my journals may have been an influential factor. My entries are either complete bullshit or are rather graphic and of a usually inappropriate nature. Fear not, gentle reader, I have edited them for either lack of interesting-ocity or whatever else I don't want to reprint. I do have some semblance of dignity remaining, although I have a long way to go to rebuild my self worth after today.
Well, then, shall we?
You'll notice that my love of overuse of commas was beginning. I love this about myself.
Oh, as I look down, I see bright orange marker in my handwriting: Morality Journal. (Not Mr. McGuire, Mr. Siefker, who was fired for comments to a student the year after I left. I could write for hours about him and his disgusting ideals.)
March 4, 2005:
Quote of the day: "Happiness is activity in accordance with complete virtue." -Aristotle
....Another key point was letting go. People, to be happy, need to let go of everything that is causing them pain and embrace everything. One must effectively transcend their problems and get through the pain. Happiness is not difficult to attain, but is involved with some work.
Faith is a key factor.
Suffering was mentioned as one way to get to happiness....
(This first entry is entirely me attempting to stretch the words so they look like a complete journal entry.)
myself as an adolescent critic:
March 7, 2005
2 or 3 things I learned from the Leonard essay
I thought that the essay did not hold itself up as a critical, or at least insightful, look into the lives of others. The author was obviously attempting to take an artistic view through repetition and use of words. (interjection: use of words? isn't all writing use of words?) She kept alluding to people she knew, thus creating a community. She also ties time to this essay through a weakly worded conclusion....By tying everything together, she loses her sense of simplicity, as well as the point.
I know someone who's wearing pants. But underneath, there is a leg. And even underneath that is flesh and bone. And the only reason that they wear pants, [sic] is to follow and obey the law. To be in dress code.
See even I can do it. While sitting in English. Not paying attention. Throwing my education away. At least, she tried. That's more than I would do, put my work out there. Give a mere religion teacher unlimited liscense [sic] (I've always been unable to spell license without a good deal of thought) to do as he wishes with my work.
(That entry was kept in only for the last paragraph. It's odd how that feeling still resonates.)
March 8, 2005
....I think that the search for happiness really has nothing to do with a frat house drinking death. Well, any life is in essence defined by how it is lived. Drinking is, and has always been, an integral part of the college party scene. (I love that my 17 year old self knew so much about the college "party scene.") ...
March 9, 2005 (This is the entry I read first this afternoon)
Quote of the day: "They say that practice makes perfect. Well, it doesn't! Practice makes permanent. So always practice hard and practice your mechanics correctly. Lousy practice makes your lousy. -Coach Shenbeck
Everything I am about to write on paper is an absolute lie...Judging people on the way their life ends is a cruel practice. And then, when the life is over, you go back and criticize? How can you do that? Were you there to live out every moment, and ride out every storm Sometimes everybody has a bad habit, a bad day. And sometimes that is the last day. Everyone has to die, and no everyone can die a noble, tragically beautiful death. Someone has to have a waste, a way to go that will set an example. Keep people talking. Everyone is drawn to horror, drawn to everything that will make them realize how lucky they really are. She's only famous for the way she died, which is more than some people can say. And thus, it doesn't work. Everyone is someone, living life the only way they know how.
March 11, 2005
(I'll spare you the quotes and the thoughts, but this entry made me laugh because it's my internal struggle between agnosticism, Satanism and Buddhism. The last lines of the entry are: "don't laugh.")
March 14, 2005 (This was during a period in my life where I refused to capitalize my Is when referring to myself. The computer has made the necessary corrections.)
Despising everything I ever let you be. Turned you into what you'd never be....I know you're nothing. You still stick here, so perfect in your youth. Know that I made myself need you. I never wanted you....Keep hiding, we're all doing it, you know. So don't fail me, please keep
(incomplete)
March 15, 2005
(There are so many entries in this journal where I'm lying to myself and I know it. Watching me try to talk around stuff is funny now, but breaks my heart because I remember what it felt like. It still feels like that, sometimes, only know it's with a whole different cast of characters.)
...once said that voices, especially mine, are like fingerprints. Everyone has them...I am no longer jealous. I no longer feel inadequate. Release. Liberation. Growth....She's nervous, will they judge her? of course, they already have. And she knows it.
March 16, 2005
(This entry made me cry. I mean, there have been tears waiting in the wings so it wasn't really a stretch...)
Quote of the day: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." & "The finest emotion of which we are capable is the mystic emotion." -Al Einstein
Every day we write our feelings as though they will release. Awaken inside us something that's long been dead or never quite alive. I am writing now about the fact that I feel no call to faith. It confuses me because I know that faith is a big part of the satisfaction and fulfillment in life. And I guess maybe I'm too cynical to accept any single religion. I am capable of experiencing spiritual moments, the times when you feel one with nature, and when all of a sudden, you know exactly where you stand in the universe. You stand alone, you are nobody. It's such a humbling experience. It scares me, it awakens me. It reminds me of everything, every action. It's beauty, truth, all the simplest truths of life. And my future of religion is, and may always be, nothing structured. I've been looking into everything, every religion. And I'm going to keep looking until I find something that fits me. Be is Catholicism or not. I believe...I wish I knew. It's beautiful, though, knowing nothing and being forced to think for myself. Knowledge of self is something I've always been blessed with and it is an amazing tool for being able to deal with emotions and situations that may occur during the course of one's life.
(Situations such as this. Thank you, 17 year old Katie Barry, whoever you were, for comforting your future self. Also, so fitting are my thoughts on love -- oh god, the one thing I've never understood, the one thing that motivates me...ha, these are a little hilarious.)
March 16, 2005
So today I am questioning love at first sight and everything that goes along with it. I am beginning to think it might exist, or at the very least, there can be a certain curiosity and excitement.....Because there's always the possibility that he's boring. That he has no life. That he might be boring like no other. (I'm sensing a theme.) But I still want to know. Because all these wasted days of wanting may lead somewhere, and they may lead nowhere. But either way it's worth it. (Famous last words.) Don't let the words, the thoughts, the feelings go to waste. It could be great.
March 17, 2005
I cried myself to sleep last night. I cried because of the book I'm reading (The Red Tent, at the time). I was reminded of love lost.....I cried because he'll never know how much he's affected me, how much he meant to me... (this was the first boyfriend I ever had...we reconnected our junior year of high school, not in a romantic way, but as friends)
I cried because I'm jealous. She's absolutely perfect. She's everything I wish I was. (This has also proved to be utterly false.)
I cried because I know he'll disappoint me.....I cried because I am incapable of love. I have so much anger in my heart towards (ew, I hate the word towards) so many people. I cried until I tasted my own tears. I cried until my eyes stung. I cried all my pain out. And then I cried some more.
It was a rather cleansing cry. I woke up happy. My dreams were comforting, peaceful. I did not feel scared, hurt or angry. I woke up happy calm.
That cry cleansed my soul, wiping away the pain my young heart feels. (Oh my, so dramatic)
And I'm ready for the world again. Ready to face my fears. Every day is a trial. Today is the day to make my move. Wish me all the luck I'll need.
(So wish me all the luck I'll need. I'm entering the unknown again, as usual. And I'm heading in blind and headstrong, as usual.)
My heart caved in and my mind shuddered to a sudden halt. My breathing stopped. Tears swam in my eyes.
It has come to this: I've been formally and methodically rejected.
It wasn't unexpected, just so you know. I applied last minute. I didn't prepare. I have a 3.1. (This is a miserable piece of information, I know.) I had a dream in February that this would happen and it is rare that my dreams lie to me in the form of future address. (They lie about the present and the past all the time, the sneaky bastards.)
And so, in my grieving and in an attempt to remind myself that this cannot be the end (the good news is that the thought of slitting my wrists in the bathtub, although seemingly practical, does not appeal to me at this particular moment), I have resurrected the one journal I still find solace in. I opened it randomly, and found what I was looking for.
I have changed locations in order to not form any emotional ties with my space. I am currently seated in Mom's sewing room, my laptop, flanked by two irons, is perched precariously atop the ironing board and I am seated in a rolling, turning office chair of sorts from the late 80s. This way, when I remember today with a broken heart, I will not feel the pain as coming from anywhere familiar. In fact, this room is still off limits to this day.
And so, treat yourself (ha, humor me as I grieve the only way I know how) to a look into my past:
Note on the journal entries: This was for either Relationships and Sexuality or New Testament, both taught by Mr. McGuire. He was a Renaissance man himself, having not landed at a particular profession until rather late in life (and by this I mean his early 30s). He had a very Catholic family and practiced natural family planning. It didn't work.
They always told us that they didn't read our journals, they just checked to make sure the entries were there. I have little doubt as to why he called me Sister Katherine and I have a sneaking suspicion that the contents of my journals may have been an influential factor. My entries are either complete bullshit or are rather graphic and of a usually inappropriate nature. Fear not, gentle reader, I have edited them for either lack of interesting-ocity or whatever else I don't want to reprint. I do have some semblance of dignity remaining, although I have a long way to go to rebuild my self worth after today.
Well, then, shall we?
You'll notice that my love of overuse of commas was beginning. I love this about myself.
Oh, as I look down, I see bright orange marker in my handwriting: Morality Journal. (Not Mr. McGuire, Mr. Siefker, who was fired for comments to a student the year after I left. I could write for hours about him and his disgusting ideals.)
March 4, 2005:
Quote of the day: "Happiness is activity in accordance with complete virtue." -Aristotle
....Another key point was letting go. People, to be happy, need to let go of everything that is causing them pain and embrace everything. One must effectively transcend their problems and get through the pain. Happiness is not difficult to attain, but is involved with some work.
Faith is a key factor.
Suffering was mentioned as one way to get to happiness....
(This first entry is entirely me attempting to stretch the words so they look like a complete journal entry.)
myself as an adolescent critic:
March 7, 2005
2 or 3 things I learned from the Leonard essay
I thought that the essay did not hold itself up as a critical, or at least insightful, look into the lives of others. The author was obviously attempting to take an artistic view through repetition and use of words. (interjection: use of words? isn't all writing use of words?) She kept alluding to people she knew, thus creating a community. She also ties time to this essay through a weakly worded conclusion....By tying everything together, she loses her sense of simplicity, as well as the point.
I know someone who's wearing pants. But underneath, there is a leg. And even underneath that is flesh and bone. And the only reason that they wear pants, [sic] is to follow and obey the law. To be in dress code.
See even I can do it. While sitting in English. Not paying attention. Throwing my education away. At least, she tried. That's more than I would do, put my work out there. Give a mere religion teacher unlimited liscense [sic] (I've always been unable to spell license without a good deal of thought) to do as he wishes with my work.
(That entry was kept in only for the last paragraph. It's odd how that feeling still resonates.)
March 8, 2005
....I think that the search for happiness really has nothing to do with a frat house drinking death. Well, any life is in essence defined by how it is lived. Drinking is, and has always been, an integral part of the college party scene. (I love that my 17 year old self knew so much about the college "party scene.") ...
March 9, 2005 (This is the entry I read first this afternoon)
Quote of the day: "They say that practice makes perfect. Well, it doesn't! Practice makes permanent. So always practice hard and practice your mechanics correctly. Lousy practice makes your lousy. -Coach Shenbeck
Everything I am about to write on paper is an absolute lie...Judging people on the way their life ends is a cruel practice. And then, when the life is over, you go back and criticize? How can you do that? Were you there to live out every moment, and ride out every storm Sometimes everybody has a bad habit, a bad day. And sometimes that is the last day. Everyone has to die, and no everyone can die a noble, tragically beautiful death. Someone has to have a waste, a way to go that will set an example. Keep people talking. Everyone is drawn to horror, drawn to everything that will make them realize how lucky they really are. She's only famous for the way she died, which is more than some people can say. And thus, it doesn't work. Everyone is someone, living life the only way they know how.
March 11, 2005
(I'll spare you the quotes and the thoughts, but this entry made me laugh because it's my internal struggle between agnosticism, Satanism and Buddhism. The last lines of the entry are: "don't laugh.")
March 14, 2005 (This was during a period in my life where I refused to capitalize my Is when referring to myself. The computer has made the necessary corrections.)
Despising everything I ever let you be. Turned you into what you'd never be....I know you're nothing. You still stick here, so perfect in your youth. Know that I made myself need you. I never wanted you....Keep hiding, we're all doing it, you know. So don't fail me, please keep
(incomplete)
March 15, 2005
(There are so many entries in this journal where I'm lying to myself and I know it. Watching me try to talk around stuff is funny now, but breaks my heart because I remember what it felt like. It still feels like that, sometimes, only know it's with a whole different cast of characters.)
...once said that voices, especially mine, are like fingerprints. Everyone has them...I am no longer jealous. I no longer feel inadequate. Release. Liberation. Growth....She's nervous, will they judge her? of course, they already have. And she knows it.
March 16, 2005
(This entry made me cry. I mean, there have been tears waiting in the wings so it wasn't really a stretch...)
Quote of the day: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." & "The finest emotion of which we are capable is the mystic emotion." -Al Einstein
Every day we write our feelings as though they will release. Awaken inside us something that's long been dead or never quite alive. I am writing now about the fact that I feel no call to faith. It confuses me because I know that faith is a big part of the satisfaction and fulfillment in life. And I guess maybe I'm too cynical to accept any single religion. I am capable of experiencing spiritual moments, the times when you feel one with nature, and when all of a sudden, you know exactly where you stand in the universe. You stand alone, you are nobody. It's such a humbling experience. It scares me, it awakens me. It reminds me of everything, every action. It's beauty, truth, all the simplest truths of life. And my future of religion is, and may always be, nothing structured. I've been looking into everything, every religion. And I'm going to keep looking until I find something that fits me. Be is Catholicism or not. I believe...I wish I knew. It's beautiful, though, knowing nothing and being forced to think for myself. Knowledge of self is something I've always been blessed with and it is an amazing tool for being able to deal with emotions and situations that may occur during the course of one's life.
(Situations such as this. Thank you, 17 year old Katie Barry, whoever you were, for comforting your future self. Also, so fitting are my thoughts on love -- oh god, the one thing I've never understood, the one thing that motivates me...ha, these are a little hilarious.)
March 16, 2005
So today I am questioning love at first sight and everything that goes along with it. I am beginning to think it might exist, or at the very least, there can be a certain curiosity and excitement.....Because there's always the possibility that he's boring. That he has no life. That he might be boring like no other. (I'm sensing a theme.) But I still want to know. Because all these wasted days of wanting may lead somewhere, and they may lead nowhere. But either way it's worth it. (Famous last words.) Don't let the words, the thoughts, the feelings go to waste. It could be great.
March 17, 2005
I cried myself to sleep last night. I cried because of the book I'm reading (The Red Tent, at the time). I was reminded of love lost.....I cried because he'll never know how much he's affected me, how much he meant to me... (this was the first boyfriend I ever had...we reconnected our junior year of high school, not in a romantic way, but as friends)
I cried because I'm jealous. She's absolutely perfect. She's everything I wish I was. (This has also proved to be utterly false.)
I cried because I know he'll disappoint me.....I cried because I am incapable of love. I have so much anger in my heart towards (ew, I hate the word towards) so many people. I cried until I tasted my own tears. I cried until my eyes stung. I cried all my pain out. And then I cried some more.
It was a rather cleansing cry. I woke up happy. My dreams were comforting, peaceful. I did not feel scared, hurt or angry. I woke up happy calm.
That cry cleansed my soul, wiping away the pain my young heart feels. (Oh my, so dramatic)
And I'm ready for the world again. Ready to face my fears. Every day is a trial. Today is the day to make my move. Wish me all the luck I'll need.
(So wish me all the luck I'll need. I'm entering the unknown again, as usual. And I'm heading in blind and headstrong, as usual.)
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Colorado conversations
Mike and I began our apartment hunt today. Of course, our rental experiences, although based on the same things, have differed drastically in the last two years. When Dad was moving into the first set of apartments post-divorce, there was a lot of looking and negotiating to be done. Finding the apartment in Chicago was actually an incredibly smooth process, and although it has yet to be entirely finalized, I'm expecting to get most of my security deposit back. Actually all of it, but we'll touch on that in September.
Mike has the luxury of living in a beautifully spacious apartment complete with a garbage disposal, double sinks, granite counters, two bathrooms, carpet and perhaps most importantly, counter space. Oh, did I forget to mention the washer and dryer IN UNIT?
I, on the other hand, live in a building that sees more crime and petty thefts than Park Vista has seen since we moved here eighteen years ago. I love my building, we have beautiful vaulted ceilings (we're on the top floor) and a sense of semi-historic charm. We also have about three cubic feet of counter space (or less), a sink, a refrigerator and leaky faucets. Our walls are not nearly soundproof enough, nor were they primed prior to being painted. I love my apartment. It's warm and comfortable; water, heat and gas are included in the rent; I feel safe there: I can see the entire apartment from the living room and when I'm alone, I find that to be a source of great comfort.
It's a shit hole. Let's not kid ourselves. The linoleum (ew) in the kitchen comes up every now and then. The floors are separating from the walls. I wish I could explain that but I'll give you a visual instead: Gerardo, the nicest maintenance man who should have never become a maintenance man, coming by every fall to stuff strange bits of gauzy fabric in the ever-growing gaps between the dirty wooden floors and the walls. I have an ever-expanding crack in my wall that won't seem to stop creeping.
The apartments that we saw today were not way out of our price range, but they were a bit on the nice end. I would prefer, especially during my first post-collegiate year, to live on a more modest scale. Of course I've love something beautiful and stunning, but it's just not realistic in my life-view.
We're going to have to expand our search and remain diligent.
I hate the show "Family Guy." I fall asleep to it sometimes. I put it on because I know I'll be asleep in moments.
Growing up is frustrating at times. My whole life I've been begging to be older and even now, perhaps more so than ever, I find that it matters. I just wish to be taken seriously, but I feel as though there will be new challenges. I'll complain about them, get through them, and then eventually I'll be old and being young will seem like something I should have held onto.
I hate that you can find something that seems to fit, that could have been, and then you find that it can't fit because your life is everywhere else. And then what? It's not like you can hit pause on certain parts of yourself. Wouldn't that be amazing?
I love finding a connection, a conversation, a whisper. But it's heartbreaking to know that sometimes it slips away. I wish it wouldn't. I wish there was a different way to handle certain situations. Sometimes there's not. Sometimes there's only forward, moving forward. Go. There's no holding on there's only progress.
I'm progressing. Also pouting, but progressing. It's all lame.
I'm nervous for real life to begin. I won't lie. I am terrible at dealing with change. I get apprehensive, short in conversation, withdrawn and moody. I'm excited, I know that, but I need to work on not being overwhelmed to the point of inaction. I find that sometimes I am so afraid to begin something that I just give up. But I've identified it as a point of contention between myself and, uh, myself so it's something to move forward from.
Is it wrong that I cannot wait to furnish the apartment? I can't wait to cook. I can't wait to have my own space, where I can leave my stuff out and know it's safe. I cannot wait to ride my bike. I cannot wait to be able to drive to Red Rocks whenever I like. I cannot wait to organize all of my things and de-clutter. I cannot wait to watch the sunsets.
I've missed the sunsets.
I still hate Family Guy. I've been multi-tasking (writing the badly formed blog and trying to complicate my life with facebook chat conversations) and have not yet moved to find the remote, but this is nearly insufferable.
The remote has become my paramount concern. There were other conversation points I had hoped to touch on, of course, but my attention span as well as my annoyance have dwindled and grown exponentially, respectively.
Have a beautiful day, world.
Mike has the luxury of living in a beautifully spacious apartment complete with a garbage disposal, double sinks, granite counters, two bathrooms, carpet and perhaps most importantly, counter space. Oh, did I forget to mention the washer and dryer IN UNIT?
I, on the other hand, live in a building that sees more crime and petty thefts than Park Vista has seen since we moved here eighteen years ago. I love my building, we have beautiful vaulted ceilings (we're on the top floor) and a sense of semi-historic charm. We also have about three cubic feet of counter space (or less), a sink, a refrigerator and leaky faucets. Our walls are not nearly soundproof enough, nor were they primed prior to being painted. I love my apartment. It's warm and comfortable; water, heat and gas are included in the rent; I feel safe there: I can see the entire apartment from the living room and when I'm alone, I find that to be a source of great comfort.
It's a shit hole. Let's not kid ourselves. The linoleum (ew) in the kitchen comes up every now and then. The floors are separating from the walls. I wish I could explain that but I'll give you a visual instead: Gerardo, the nicest maintenance man who should have never become a maintenance man, coming by every fall to stuff strange bits of gauzy fabric in the ever-growing gaps between the dirty wooden floors and the walls. I have an ever-expanding crack in my wall that won't seem to stop creeping.
The apartments that we saw today were not way out of our price range, but they were a bit on the nice end. I would prefer, especially during my first post-collegiate year, to live on a more modest scale. Of course I've love something beautiful and stunning, but it's just not realistic in my life-view.
We're going to have to expand our search and remain diligent.
I hate the show "Family Guy." I fall asleep to it sometimes. I put it on because I know I'll be asleep in moments.
Growing up is frustrating at times. My whole life I've been begging to be older and even now, perhaps more so than ever, I find that it matters. I just wish to be taken seriously, but I feel as though there will be new challenges. I'll complain about them, get through them, and then eventually I'll be old and being young will seem like something I should have held onto.
I hate that you can find something that seems to fit, that could have been, and then you find that it can't fit because your life is everywhere else. And then what? It's not like you can hit pause on certain parts of yourself. Wouldn't that be amazing?
I love finding a connection, a conversation, a whisper. But it's heartbreaking to know that sometimes it slips away. I wish it wouldn't. I wish there was a different way to handle certain situations. Sometimes there's not. Sometimes there's only forward, moving forward. Go. There's no holding on there's only progress.
I'm progressing. Also pouting, but progressing. It's all lame.
I'm nervous for real life to begin. I won't lie. I am terrible at dealing with change. I get apprehensive, short in conversation, withdrawn and moody. I'm excited, I know that, but I need to work on not being overwhelmed to the point of inaction. I find that sometimes I am so afraid to begin something that I just give up. But I've identified it as a point of contention between myself and, uh, myself so it's something to move forward from.
Is it wrong that I cannot wait to furnish the apartment? I can't wait to cook. I can't wait to have my own space, where I can leave my stuff out and know it's safe. I cannot wait to ride my bike. I cannot wait to be able to drive to Red Rocks whenever I like. I cannot wait to organize all of my things and de-clutter. I cannot wait to watch the sunsets.
I've missed the sunsets.
I still hate Family Guy. I've been multi-tasking (writing the badly formed blog and trying to complicate my life with facebook chat conversations) and have not yet moved to find the remote, but this is nearly insufferable.
The remote has become my paramount concern. There were other conversation points I had hoped to touch on, of course, but my attention span as well as my annoyance have dwindled and grown exponentially, respectively.
Have a beautiful day, world.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Mobile Uploads
These are uploads from my phone; mostly taken today. Spring break has arrived, a full week, fully welcomed respite from school for me. Blissful. Thus far, I've nearly finished a book, something I haven't been able to do in a very long time.
I find spending money on literature not a waste at all, even though the books are terribly expensive. While I'm home, I need to make sure I get to the Book Rack and pick up some new novels. (Whether or not I'll have time to get to them before I graduate will remain a mystery.) I only say this because I spent the better part of my babysitting earnings this week on books at the airport. I don't know why I do it, but every time, I can't help the lure of the open, miniature book stores selling brightly colored paper and over-priced snacks. Always. I'm usually able to stop myself from buying magazines, but books, ah, books. My one true love, I think.
Emma, John and Cate were spending the night at Grandma Al's. I love tucking children in and reading books; it's a surprisingly relaxing activity. It was great to see them. They are excited for me to graduate and become "an adult." (God, that's a scary thought, isn't it?)
There were scarves present tonight for some odd reason or another, and Mike and I put them on, as did Cate and Emma. Emma also loved the idea of taking pictures on my phone, so most of these are the result of her endeavors. I mindfully deleted a rather obscene photo of pizza. Not obscene in that is was offensive, but obscene in that it offended my delicate (hah) stomach.
Oh, by the way, the first picture is Cate's "stink eye." Adorable.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Tuesday Thought Jumble
Gray day but things are hopefully looking up.
Marriage and the family. We'll get to that. (Perhaps this afternoon, I'm finding I have quite a bit to say on the subjects.)
My recent overuse of parentheses. Totally alright with it and I hope you are as well. I've also started dropping the subjects out of sentences.
The vet called yesterday. PAWS (the animal shelter) sucks really badly at calling people, apparently. They got all of Cat's cancer-- yes it was a cancerous lump, but the margins around it came back clear.
We have an appointment to take care of his stitches today and I feel pretty good about that. He's been grumpy about having them in and has been picking at them a lot more than I'd like.
He only eats wet food now. Spoiled. I got a case of it at Costco, though. Becky and Maddie are going to watch him while I'm home in Denver.
What to do while I'm home? Ft. Collins, obviously, to see Katie. We're going to be playing Sex and the City next week while she's in Chicago. Her dad is getting a suite somewhere downtown and we're going to spend a few nights in it. (This will be a beautiful adventure.)
I want to see the family. I would also like to go biking. And get a ton of sleep. And watch a ton of Law and Order.
Maybe I'll go get a head start looking for apartments in Denver. I'll ask around.
Trivia with the DQ girls.
Going out with newly-single Heidi to cause trouble.
Boston is coming up. I am more excited about that than I am about coming home, I'm not going to lie. It's going to be the single greatest weekend of my party youth. All legal, though, I assure you. (And it has been quite a wild ride, I'm not going to lie.)
Blegh. Spanish midterm in t-minus two hours. Listening. I'll do fine.
Marriage and the family. We'll get to that. (Perhaps this afternoon, I'm finding I have quite a bit to say on the subjects.)
My recent overuse of parentheses. Totally alright with it and I hope you are as well. I've also started dropping the subjects out of sentences.
The vet called yesterday. PAWS (the animal shelter) sucks really badly at calling people, apparently. They got all of Cat's cancer-- yes it was a cancerous lump, but the margins around it came back clear.
We have an appointment to take care of his stitches today and I feel pretty good about that. He's been grumpy about having them in and has been picking at them a lot more than I'd like.
He only eats wet food now. Spoiled. I got a case of it at Costco, though. Becky and Maddie are going to watch him while I'm home in Denver.
What to do while I'm home? Ft. Collins, obviously, to see Katie. We're going to be playing Sex and the City next week while she's in Chicago. Her dad is getting a suite somewhere downtown and we're going to spend a few nights in it. (This will be a beautiful adventure.)
I want to see the family. I would also like to go biking. And get a ton of sleep. And watch a ton of Law and Order.
Maybe I'll go get a head start looking for apartments in Denver. I'll ask around.
Trivia with the DQ girls.
Going out with newly-single Heidi to cause trouble.
Boston is coming up. I am more excited about that than I am about coming home, I'm not going to lie. It's going to be the single greatest weekend of my party youth. All legal, though, I assure you. (And it has been quite a wild ride, I'm not going to lie.)
Blegh. Spanish midterm in t-minus two hours. Listening. I'll do fine.
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