Archived Posts: February, 2006

When I grow up
“Want my advice?” He waited for me to nod, then sighed. “You want to go to college?”

I nodded, still frowning with great concern. He was stealing my “what I want to be when I grow up” answer!

“Don’t study journalism. Learn something else – science, technology, history, political science, religion. Then you can write about it. But if you’re going to school, learn something good. That’s how you get the good jobs.” With that, he tapped the stack of stories from the AP. He shook my hand, accepted my thanks for his time, and sent me on my way.

Red velvet problems
This cake wasn’t trying hard enough. It was reddish, but not red. I scraped my fork through the frosting, distrustful of the red velvet cake that wasn’t very red. The frosting was some cream cheese derivative. I do like cream cheese. So I tentatively separated a small bite from the slice, and lifted it from the plate. It fell from the fork, landing on the table, sad and dry and not red enough. I felt badly for the cake – it was clearly inferior. The frosting was good though.

Monday morning
I shuffled to the bathroom, squinting at the brightness. My eyes are sensitive to light – pupils always too dilated. Tears will come if I forget my sunglasses, as if my eyes can’t protect themselves adequately by constricting, limiting the light that comes in, like normal people. So I avoid harsh light, protecting myself, always seeking the comfortable. I don’t use the light about the sink, I use the light near the center of my long bathroom. In the indirect glow, I forced eyes wide to insert contacts.

Squint and shield
“I know. You just have abnormally sensitive eyes.”

I sometimes wonder if my heart matches them. Things hurt me, sometimes events leave glancing blows, other times there are deep wounds. But events, statements, people often leave me rubbing at bruises while others emerge untouched.

Teaching
“So, 1x1 is 1 – that goes here. 1 x this 1 is 1, and that goes next to the first 1. Then we put a 0 here in the next row to hold the place, and use this left 1. That goes there, then this goes here, and we add. So…121, right? Does that look right?”

Nods from 2. One cocked his head. The other shook hers. “That’s not right. You have this 1, then another 1, then the other 1 just goes out front. 111.”

Taken aback, I think, no! You can’t just make up math rules!

Comparisons
So I pushed to finish. Wrote my thesis in about 6 weeks, editing thereafter. I finished paperwork, always trying to think of an answer to “You’re finishing already?” other than “George is finishing! And he started after me! I’m not losing again! Dammit!” as I stomped my foot, crossed my arms and pouted.

Ghosts are scary
“You’re very smart.” He told me, blue eyes serious and kind. “People will try to make you doubt that, or feel bad about it. You can’t let them. You just do what you can, then find people to help you learn what you don’t know. And if people don’t like it, that’s too bad. They’re just jealous because they’re not as smart as you.” He’s wise, my dad. I’ve never doubted how much he loves me or how very proud he is.

Same goes for Mom. But her instinct was to soothe, fighting to suppress her own fury to ease my injured feelings. She laid next to me after I’d showered and put on pajamas. Tucked under my covers in my double bed, blanket under my arm, we talked. She was the one who explained that Ms. Awful was going through a hard time.

Update
So today was
5AM awaken, look at clock at shock and dismay, sigh and progress to living room to read blogs
8AM back to bed
11AM awaken again, read a book, eat lunch
1:30PM back to bed
3:30PM awaken again, assure the dog I'm not dying, and return to the laptop.

Aveda
I’ve always loved getting my hair cut. Watching the old fall away and the new emerge. But this time, I looked at the pile of my hair on the floor and wondered if this was the last time I’d see the color in masses like that. Or if it was slowly being replaced by gray – symbols of stress and age, but with little dignity in my case.

Flirt
Sexy voice popped his head out the window to reach the woman ahead of me – handing her a pastry and hot coffee. Disheveled, scruffy, and in short sleeves, unafraid of the cold, I was immediately sure we were kindred spirits. Destined to fall deeply in love and frolic in the mild Southern winters.

Dating, part 1: desperation
“You just want to throw them up against a wall sometimes, don’t you?” He said from around a mouthful of French fries. Waitress laughed. I turned to him with raised eyebrows.

She wasn’t offended, but it bothered me that he would joke about hurting a toddler. So I gave a cue that I didn’t love it. Had he dropped it, we would have been fine. But he didn’t.

“Or throw them right out a window! So you can watch them bounce off the sidewalk!” He laughed and Waitress giggled.

I settled into a glare and wondered if I could just leave him there with her.

Dating, part 2: what doesn't kill me
I think I laughed – a nervous response to the knowledge that there’s a good chance that you just really f**ked up and could end up pieces of human being in a trash can in the woods behind some awful apartment complex. I debated opening the door and throwing myself out of the truck, careful to avoid the monstrous mirrors. He’d hunt you down like a kangaroo, I decided.

I interrupt this series
So you marvel over it, think about it, and it makes you really happy. Because it’s new. And shiny. And ever so pretty. So maybe I would have drawn a picture of my toy (which would have been awful, because my drawing skills, even then, were not so good) or write a little story about how much I like it. I guarded those things, much as I would protect my newfound gift. As happy as they make me, I hunch over them protectively when people walk by, frowning in warning that they should leave me alone. Because it's mine.

Small diversion
“There’s Fiona Apple. She’s wearing some kind of hippie jewelry, and – Oh! There’s Garth Brooks, and black on black on black!" What’s the third black? I didn’t get it, but there was no time for him to elaborate, because

"Well, I don’t know who that girl is. Pretty though. Skirt’s a little short.” Someone in a long gold dress appears before he can finish his analysis.

“She’s showing a lot of skin in that dress, got a thing in the back that makes it look like there’s nothing there!" A cleavage shot appears – you can barely make out some woman’s chin.

"And again, there’s a lot of skin." He says. Still more cleavage - who edited this thing?!

"Well, that’s just a little trashy.”

So at this point, I’m trying to control my laughter enough to enjoy the rest of it.

“Ah, that’s – “ but she was off the screen in seconds, before he could remember her name. “And this…young man…is wearing a rather large necklace.”

Dating, part 3: in 3 parts
There’s a section in Ortberg that discusses 2 groups of people who were going to make clay pots. The first group was going to be graded on quantity - they just had to produce as many pots as they possibly could. The second group was graded on quality - they could only keep a single piece as the proof of their efforts. They had as much time as the first group, but they had to look at each piece of work and decide whether it was good enough or if they should throw it out to try again.

So, of course, the best pots came from the first group, because as you try things, you learn and become better, even if your goal was just to do a lot of the same thing. The second group got all stressed out and over-thought the whole process, constantly trying to reconcile reality – the pot in front of them – with the mental ideal – the pot they thought they could produce if ideal circumstances happened to occur.

The second group sucked. By not finishing the process, seeing something through and noticing where it went wrong, then letting the path to the ideal occur naturally, they missed out on creating something special.

Dating, part 4: Dieting
Dieting killed that love. I had so completely indoctrinated myself into this mindset that everything was just part of the plan. I traded all the pleasure of eating for the knowledge that I was doing something good for myself. Yogurt and carrot sticks and protein – I saw them as nourishment, something you had to give your body so it would function correctly and continue to utilize the fat you’d stored so foolishly before. Traded the sharp sweetness of soda, sucking milkshakes through straws, even indulging in wine or alcohol at all (because my references said there were calories, and calories should be only used for the good of your body) for hydrating with water. Gallons of water every day.

So all those things that used to bring pleasure – the sweet, the creamy, the intensely fatty – now were not a factor. I didn’t miss them, didn’t want them at all. I would turn up my nose at fast food, wondering, in all seriousness, how people could do that to their bodies. Shame on you, I’d think as I drove by the restaurants. You should be drinking water instead! Forgetting that hamburgers and french fries bring a certain joy to my life. Rather than noting the value of small amounts of fast food - the convenience perhaps, or memories attached to having certain dining experiences, I was so used to doing without that I couldn't even see the appeal.

Dating, part 5: Practice
So with a raise of my eyebrows and philosophical shrug, I said that was fine.

That makes it sound as if I was handling this quite well, but I remember the intense nervous feelings I endured before meeting. Applying my lipstick three times, constant checking of clothes, shoes, hair, everything. It was incredibly nerve-wracking. Though he probably wouldn't be the one, it was hard not have a bit of hope that he was. Plus, it's nice when people like me - think I'm impressive in some way.

Dating, part 6: the games begin
I learned something about myself – that the games were hard for me. Much as I wish I could report that I never participated, separating myself to deal with men in an honest, dignified way, it turns out that I just got really good at playing them myself. Decided that withholding attention, sending mixed signals, making sure I was busy on nights he might call so he thought I was popular and important, was the way to trick someone into falling for me.

Dating, part 7: retreat...
After hanging up, I shook my head at him, then rolled over and picked up my book. I spent the evening nestled in my fluffy comforter in my small studio apartment, reading. I could have talked, but had decided that lying was part of the game. In addition, did he think that being rude was worthy of my lofty attentions? I think not.

Dating, part 8: ...then return
Finding an envelope in the open space beside my printer, I addressed it, got a stamp, and put Chienne on her leash. We walked to the mailbox sometime before dawn, and tucked my letter inside.

Returning to the apartment, I turned on the television and curled up on the couch. Chienne tucked herself behind my knees. I wouldn’t sleep for a long time that night – stress, worry, a bit of hope.

I was back in.

Dating, part 9: first date back
“So last time I was a wizard, but this time, I’m a warrior!”

Wait. What?

“I have this alliance with another warrior, though he’s not as powerful as me. If we gather enough power, we can conquer! And defeat the monster!”

Again, I think, seriously. Wait. What?

“Dale,” I finally interrupted, “what does D&D mean?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me as I slowed to turn a corner. His mouth dropped open and there was such a look of dismay and shock - I smiled apologetically.

Dating, part 10: dates 6-9
I debated writing up the rest of the dates as separate entries – picking up dialogue, trying to find humor and remembering every lesson. Then I realized it would be strangely appropriate to lump them together. After all, I was just pushing forward at this point, wanting to finish the experience so I could say I didn’t quit. If nothing else, I finished it.

Dating, part 11: conclusion
Then I’d lean in to whisper, because this is kind of new and special for me, even as I sit here and write.

“As for the man? The one we really want? I promise I’ll keep looking for him. I’m actually pretty sure he’s out there somewhere. So while I can’t say I’ll give it everything, I am watching for him, and will continue to do so. Because I remember being here – dreaming by the light of tiny white bulbs – and giving that up, letting years and dates and loneliness make it less important or special, isn’t possible for me.

“So we’re not done yet. But I know it’s been good – getting from there to here. And I’m absurdly certain that if I lie down to sleep tonight, and a version of myself – aged 10 years – arrives to talk to me, that she’d say we’re still doing fine. Finding joy, feeling pain, doing admirably well in this business of living.”

Her dreams were sweet, that girl who watched the lights so hopefully. My reality, though it isn’t always, can be sweeter.

Round 2 with the mice
But then there was talk of “washing” certain organs, and how young the mice had to be, and someone asked a technical question about the surgeries. As one of the students went into detail, the incision site, how the organ was removed, what was injected, how it looked…

Have I told you I have physical reactions to stress? Bad headaches, frequent stomach issues? I started having problems at that point in the meeting.

You’re fine, I told myself, removing my cardigan and wondering when it had gotten so hot in the small conference room. Casually putting the back of my hand against one cheek, I realized I was flushed. Think about something else, I warned internally, turning so I could see out the window.

It was almost too late – there was a roaring in my ears a moment before I stopped hearing at all, then the blackness descended around the edges of my vision. Do NOT pass out! I told myself. No fainting, no fainting, no fainting. As people filed out of the room moments later, I remained in my chair, clinging to consciousness.


Again with the mice
Head Mouse Scientist picked up a clean cage and we walked into a room that housed one of her colonies. Stepping in the door, I had a moment of blind panic. There were 7 racks of animals, 4 to my left, 3 to the right. These racks are about 6 feet wide and equally tall. Cages containing mice – tiny creatures in their brown, white, black, or spotted coats – face both directions, leaving narrow rows between the carts so you can pick the appropriate animals to take away.

God: some opening remarks
I wrote a series on faith last Sunday. It’s an idea I’ve been mulling over for some time now, but couldn’t get on paper. It’s good – important for me – and I find myself eager to share it since it’s been sitting with other posts that may not ever see publication.

God, part 1: Love
“Do you know how much I love you?” Mom asked. “How much we all love you? How we keep you safe and want you to learn and buy you presents and take you places?”

I nodded and smiled, because I liked the love – cuddles and books, Care Bears and trips to the mall.

“Well, I love you as much as I can. I’ve never loved anyone more. I would do anything for you, Katie. Anything at all. If someone told me to jump off a cliff to save your life, I’d do it.”

Then I frowned because nobody needed to jump off cliffs. That got back to this death thing that had aroused my initial concern. I was her first child though, born when she was 30 after 10 years of deliberating over having one at all. So permit her the intensity of her love for me.

“Well, as much as I love you, it’s nowhere close to how much God loves you. So when I say this prayer, I think about how no matter what bad things might happen, He’s watching over you, loving you so so much, and He’ll make sure you’re safe and cared for. Even when Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa and I aren’t around.”

God, part 2: Growing up
I prayed daily and watched some of the needs get met. Realized that the requests God decided against were inappropriate anyway. I realized that for me “Your will be done.” was an overlooked yet vital part of the Lord’s Prayer which I now favored using at night. That in asking for things or worrying over them, I needed to institute some reminder to myself that I didn’t always know what was right for me. Though I knew God would provide what I needed rather than wanted, it was comforting to remember that very fact.

God, part 3: Terrifying Power
“I prayed with Katie. I don’t remember anything else.” He told Mom when she asked.

God, part 4: Laughter
Faith to me is serious, deep and personal. I’ll only be able to make a dent in how I view it in my life. In a way, that’s good. It’s dynamic and fluid and grows with me as I expand to make room for the new revelations. Part of it though, a vital and moving and divine part, is the absurd, and the laughter.