I'm trying to get back into my life, bit by bit. Bear with me, okay?
1. You might be a Pharisee if . . .
2. This made me literally laugh out loud.
3. This, on the other hand, made me want to stand on a table and cheer. But i didn't, because i was alone in my house, so that would have been weird. Actually, on reflection, i guess that would have made it less weird. Whatever. Just read it.
4. i used to think i had arrived somewhere,
until i realized there is no shore of arriving.
5. And if you're wondering how i've been the past few weeks, read this.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Monday, September 23, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
So there's a thing that exists that is bad and scary. Well. There are a lot of those things, but only one that i'm talking about right now.
That thing is "pro ana" culture. "Ana" is short for "anorexic", and "pro" means exactly what you think it does.
There are people who believe that anorexia, bulimia, and other eating disorders, are perfectly fine and valid and healthy ways to live. In fact, at the very far end of the spectrum, there are people who speak directly to "Ana". You could say they worship her. They ask her for the strength of will and body to deny themselves food. They believe that they have been chosen for something special. And they look down on those who try to emulate them, calling them "wannarexics".
In middle school, and in high school, and in college, and this week, i am and have been a wannarexic.
I lack the willpower and physical strength to deny myself food entirely. If i skip a meal and do not snack, i am shaking and nauseous and dizzy and seeing spots by the time the next meal rolls around. One meal is all it takes, and i'm falling apart at the seams.
I used to be angry with myself for this. I used to be angry that i couldn't hold out for more than one meal a day, angry that i could rarely go more than a few days in a row before i stopped skipping meals and ate regularly, angry that i couldn't just stop. Stop everything. Stop being fat, stop being ugly, stop being awkward, stop feeling uncomfortable in my skin, stop feeling uncomfortable in my head, stop saying and doing embarrassing things, stop being lonely, stop being afraid, stop being sad, stop being numb, stop being.
When i got a little older and a little wiser and learned a little more about myself and nutrition and mental health, i developed a healthy fear of that anger. I figured out better, healthier habits that would actually result in weight loss without making me physically ill. I climbed mountains, i swam oceans, i lost the "freshman 15", i gained the sophomore/junior 20ish, i lost the senior year haven't-even-been-weighed-in-years-but-all-my-pants-keep-falling-down, put on the real job with an actual paycheck and car now-i-can-afford-food-and-don't-have-to-walk-two-miles-for-it. And none of it bothered me that much. I would like, even now, to jiggle a little less. I would like to feel healthier and happier in my skin. But i would also like to eat all of the chocolate cream pie right now please, thankyouverymuch, and then you can bring me the fresh bread with butter and the beer and the buffalo chicken waffle fries with extra cheese and then maybe a bowl of whipped cream. To dip my peanut butter cups in.
Anyway. I'm mostly in a much better place, and things were going well for a while, and then i lost my gym momentum and while the ten pounds i lost in the first quarter of the year have stayed off, none of their friends have joined them.
And lately i've been depressed and anxious, what with all the uncertainty about jobs and student loans and will i even be able to afford groceries this winter and oh my God what if something happens to my car and everyone in my family keeps getting rushed to the emergency room and my boyfriend and i keep having uncomfortable conversations and i can't sleep and i really wish my thighs were a little slimmer, a little firmer. I wish my stomach was flatter. I wish i didn't have the tiniest shadow of a double chin. Because somehow, if i could magically become super hot and fit overnight, that would obviously fix all of my terrifying life problems.
And then i start to feel out of control.
And then i start to wish that i was chosen. I start to be angry at myself for my lack of control, for eating more food when i really wasn't hungry (even though the "more food" was fresh veggies, or raw almonds with dried fruit, or chicken lettuce wraps). I'm angry about my lack of motivation to go to the gym. I'm angry at my apathy. I'm angry at my depression. I'm angry at my body. I'm angry at Ana.
This week, i have honestly and legitimately had a lot of work to do, and it's been hard to go home for lunch. And every day, there's been some fresh disaster on top of the huge piles of work that i didn't get a chance to finish the day before. And ordering out is, unfortunately, not in my budget right now. So i really don't have a lot of options.
But i could still leave my desk and go eat lunch. Nothing i do at my job is so urgent, so crucial, that delaying it for an hour would spell the downfall of Western civilization. It wouldn't even spell the downfall of my job. And i could still pack myself a lunch to eat at my desk, knowing how hard it will be to get away and go home. I don't have a lot of options, but "not a lot" is more than "none".
And yet.
I keep skipping lunch. I skip lunch and i eat a spoonful of peanut butter at my desk, and then i go home and eat a snack and get busy until it's too late to eat a full meal, so then i go to sleep hungry. And then i wake up hungry and don't have anything fast and easy, so i eat a spoonful of peanut butter at my desk, or some almonds and dried cherries, and i drink a lot of water and tea and pretend that the hunger pangs are dehydration.
I don't have anything clever to say about any of this. I don't have any hope to offer. I don't have a light at the end of the tunnel. But it is two o'clock now and i am heading home for lunch.
That thing is "pro ana" culture. "Ana" is short for "anorexic", and "pro" means exactly what you think it does.
There are people who believe that anorexia, bulimia, and other eating disorders, are perfectly fine and valid and healthy ways to live. In fact, at the very far end of the spectrum, there are people who speak directly to "Ana". You could say they worship her. They ask her for the strength of will and body to deny themselves food. They believe that they have been chosen for something special. And they look down on those who try to emulate them, calling them "wannarexics".
In middle school, and in high school, and in college, and this week, i am and have been a wannarexic.
I lack the willpower and physical strength to deny myself food entirely. If i skip a meal and do not snack, i am shaking and nauseous and dizzy and seeing spots by the time the next meal rolls around. One meal is all it takes, and i'm falling apart at the seams.
I used to be angry with myself for this. I used to be angry that i couldn't hold out for more than one meal a day, angry that i could rarely go more than a few days in a row before i stopped skipping meals and ate regularly, angry that i couldn't just stop. Stop everything. Stop being fat, stop being ugly, stop being awkward, stop feeling uncomfortable in my skin, stop feeling uncomfortable in my head, stop saying and doing embarrassing things, stop being lonely, stop being afraid, stop being sad, stop being numb, stop being.
When i got a little older and a little wiser and learned a little more about myself and nutrition and mental health, i developed a healthy fear of that anger. I figured out better, healthier habits that would actually result in weight loss without making me physically ill. I climbed mountains, i swam oceans, i lost the "freshman 15", i gained the sophomore/junior 20ish, i lost the senior year haven't-even-been-weighed-in-years-but-all-my-pants-keep-falling-down, put on the real job with an actual paycheck and car now-i-can-afford-food-and-don't-have-to-walk-two-miles-for-it. And none of it bothered me that much. I would like, even now, to jiggle a little less. I would like to feel healthier and happier in my skin. But i would also like to eat all of the chocolate cream pie right now please, thankyouverymuch, and then you can bring me the fresh bread with butter and the beer and the buffalo chicken waffle fries with extra cheese and then maybe a bowl of whipped cream. To dip my peanut butter cups in.
Anyway. I'm mostly in a much better place, and things were going well for a while, and then i lost my gym momentum and while the ten pounds i lost in the first quarter of the year have stayed off, none of their friends have joined them.
And lately i've been depressed and anxious, what with all the uncertainty about jobs and student loans and will i even be able to afford groceries this winter and oh my God what if something happens to my car and everyone in my family keeps getting rushed to the emergency room and my boyfriend and i keep having uncomfortable conversations and i can't sleep and i really wish my thighs were a little slimmer, a little firmer. I wish my stomach was flatter. I wish i didn't have the tiniest shadow of a double chin. Because somehow, if i could magically become super hot and fit overnight, that would obviously fix all of my terrifying life problems.
And then i start to feel out of control.
And then i start to wish that i was chosen. I start to be angry at myself for my lack of control, for eating more food when i really wasn't hungry (even though the "more food" was fresh veggies, or raw almonds with dried fruit, or chicken lettuce wraps). I'm angry about my lack of motivation to go to the gym. I'm angry at my apathy. I'm angry at my depression. I'm angry at my body. I'm angry at Ana.
This week, i have honestly and legitimately had a lot of work to do, and it's been hard to go home for lunch. And every day, there's been some fresh disaster on top of the huge piles of work that i didn't get a chance to finish the day before. And ordering out is, unfortunately, not in my budget right now. So i really don't have a lot of options.
But i could still leave my desk and go eat lunch. Nothing i do at my job is so urgent, so crucial, that delaying it for an hour would spell the downfall of Western civilization. It wouldn't even spell the downfall of my job. And i could still pack myself a lunch to eat at my desk, knowing how hard it will be to get away and go home. I don't have a lot of options, but "not a lot" is more than "none".
And yet.
I keep skipping lunch. I skip lunch and i eat a spoonful of peanut butter at my desk, and then i go home and eat a snack and get busy until it's too late to eat a full meal, so then i go to sleep hungry. And then i wake up hungry and don't have anything fast and easy, so i eat a spoonful of peanut butter at my desk, or some almonds and dried cherries, and i drink a lot of water and tea and pretend that the hunger pangs are dehydration.
I don't have anything clever to say about any of this. I don't have any hope to offer. I don't have a light at the end of the tunnel. But it is two o'clock now and i am heading home for lunch.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
blocked
It's been a tough few months for writing.
I thought i had an artist for my comic book, but she's realized she's too busy to commit to this project and has gracefully backed out. I'm not mad at her or anything, and i completely understand (and was half-expecting) her refusal, but it's still really disappointing.
My workshop group hasn't met in ages. We kept getting delayed by various things: work commitments, school, migraines, lack of new things to review, weather disasters, holidays, and so on and so forth. I really miss that weekly gathering of creative intellectuals, as well as the motivation of a deadline.
I found a journal of women's environmental poetry that was looking specifically for prose poems, and i was all geared up to send them a submission, when i realized there was a reading fee to do so. Never send out anything you have to pay for; there's no guarantee of publication, and there are plenty of places that are more than happy to reject you for free. Hypothetically.
There's a lot of really emotional stuff happening for me right now, but it's happening right now, so it's hard to write about it clearly.
Since discovering Netflix, i'm much less inclined to sit reading or writing in the evenings, and much more inclined to knit and binge-watch Dr. Who. Which, while good for my knitting projects, is bad for my writing.
But.
Two of my roommates have moved out, and have been replaced by only one person. And it is absolutely worth the $100/month increase in rent to reclaim a little more peace, stability, and room in the house. We are hanging superhero posters in the hallway and organizing a library/bar/office in the corner room. The one with roof access.
I've been living in a nest for two years because i was too afraid to put my things in the house, because of what might happen to them. There also wasn't a lot of room, with four people crammed into a three-bedroom apartment. Now i'm de-cluttering my room and living like a human adult, instead of a magpie. My desk is in the library bar, in front of a window, with elephants and pictures of Boyfriend and Christina Hendricks for inspiration.
I have a shiny new phone that i mostly don't hate. (I've been resisting the smartphone upgrade since the debut of the Blackberry, but there's no escape now. The Samsung Galaxy Stellar, however, isn't terrible. If i have to have a smartphone, i'm glad i got this one.)
I have a nerdy friend who is going with me to the Neil Gaiman reading and signing this weekend. I am going to the Neil Gaiman reading and signing this weekend.
I have another nerdy friend who wants to have a sewing and cooking and drinking date with me soon. I'm really excited at the prospect of getting back into sewing.
I have a sexy, smart, caring, wonderfully weird boyfriend who snuggles me and is patient with me and goes on adventures with me and helped me make sangria last week. (My sangria recipe is amazing, by the way. I'll have to post it some time.) Sometimes i write terribly sappy poems about him and then send them to him through snail mail. Isn't that so cute you want to vomit?
I have, like, six different jars of fancy honey in my kitchen waiting for me to eat them. I also have an ice cream maker. I see honey-sweetened ice cream in my future.
I have Netflix! And tons of yarn! And, currently, not a lot going on in my life! This equals SWEATERS!!! It doesn't get much better than handmade sweaters in New England. (Unless, of course, it's July and they keep posting heat advisories. But i'll be glad of them in the winter, which is probably when they'll be finished, anyway.)
I have an awesome tattoo idea that will, someday, when i have money again (when i die), be an awesome tattoo.
I got fan-ish mail yesterday.
My cat is super cute.
I thought i had an artist for my comic book, but she's realized she's too busy to commit to this project and has gracefully backed out. I'm not mad at her or anything, and i completely understand (and was half-expecting) her refusal, but it's still really disappointing.
My workshop group hasn't met in ages. We kept getting delayed by various things: work commitments, school, migraines, lack of new things to review, weather disasters, holidays, and so on and so forth. I really miss that weekly gathering of creative intellectuals, as well as the motivation of a deadline.
I found a journal of women's environmental poetry that was looking specifically for prose poems, and i was all geared up to send them a submission, when i realized there was a reading fee to do so. Never send out anything you have to pay for; there's no guarantee of publication, and there are plenty of places that are more than happy to reject you for free. Hypothetically.
There's a lot of really emotional stuff happening for me right now, but it's happening right now, so it's hard to write about it clearly.
Since discovering Netflix, i'm much less inclined to sit reading or writing in the evenings, and much more inclined to knit and binge-watch Dr. Who. Which, while good for my knitting projects, is bad for my writing.
But.
Two of my roommates have moved out, and have been replaced by only one person. And it is absolutely worth the $100/month increase in rent to reclaim a little more peace, stability, and room in the house. We are hanging superhero posters in the hallway and organizing a library/bar/office in the corner room. The one with roof access.
I've been living in a nest for two years because i was too afraid to put my things in the house, because of what might happen to them. There also wasn't a lot of room, with four people crammed into a three-bedroom apartment. Now i'm de-cluttering my room and living like a human adult, instead of a magpie. My desk is in the library bar, in front of a window, with elephants and pictures of Boyfriend and Christina Hendricks for inspiration.
I have a shiny new phone that i mostly don't hate. (I've been resisting the smartphone upgrade since the debut of the Blackberry, but there's no escape now. The Samsung Galaxy Stellar, however, isn't terrible. If i have to have a smartphone, i'm glad i got this one.)
I have a nerdy friend who is going with me to the Neil Gaiman reading and signing this weekend. I am going to the Neil Gaiman reading and signing this weekend.
I have another nerdy friend who wants to have a sewing and cooking and drinking date with me soon. I'm really excited at the prospect of getting back into sewing.
I have a sexy, smart, caring, wonderfully weird boyfriend who snuggles me and is patient with me and goes on adventures with me and helped me make sangria last week. (My sangria recipe is amazing, by the way. I'll have to post it some time.) Sometimes i write terribly sappy poems about him and then send them to him through snail mail. Isn't that so cute you want to vomit?
I have, like, six different jars of fancy honey in my kitchen waiting for me to eat them. I also have an ice cream maker. I see honey-sweetened ice cream in my future.
I have Netflix! And tons of yarn! And, currently, not a lot going on in my life! This equals SWEATERS!!! It doesn't get much better than handmade sweaters in New England. (Unless, of course, it's July and they keep posting heat advisories. But i'll be glad of them in the winter, which is probably when they'll be finished, anyway.)
I have an awesome tattoo idea that will, someday, when i have money again (when i die), be an awesome tattoo.
I got fan-ish mail yesterday.
My cat is super cute.
Monday, July 8, 2013
slutty sluts, pubes, and babies eating lemons
1. This is so accurate it's almost not even funny. Almost: The Comment Section for Every Article Every Written About Intimate Grooming
2. This was a really important epiphany for me today.
3. Birth control is such a touchy subject in America, even in this day and age. Just a few weeks ago, i heard someone call "keeping a nickel between your knees" contraception. If dumb nasty slutty sluts could just keep their legs closed and not murder their tiny innocent babies, we'd all be better off, and if you want to take my tax dollars to pay for some slutty slut's sinful choices, you'll have to pry the cash out of my cold, dead hands!
Except that "Family planning could prevent up to 30 percent of the more than 287,000 maternal deaths that occur every year, by enabling women to delay their first pregnancy and space later pregnancies at the safest intervals. If all babies were born three years apart, the lives of 1.6 million children under the age of five would be saved each year.
"That's a lot of children's lives.
"At home in the US, a study conducted among people most likely to get abortions has found . . . that free birth control dramatically cuts the rate of abortion:
"4.4 to 7.5 abortions per 1,000 women in the study, compared with 13.4 to 17 abortions per 1,000 women overall.
"For me, these are compelling reasons to consider widely accessible subsidized birth control as a moral imperative: It saves lives -- lots of them, and allows for the flourishing of those lives. That's why it's been written into laws, and funded by taxes."
Birth control is not just about nasty slutty sluts being sinful and slutty. It's also about a responsible, married couple who have a decent annual income and one baby, but want to wait a little while before they have another baby, to make sure they can still budget for their family in an uncertain economy, and to give them lots of time to figure out this whole parenting thing while they're still stacked 2-1, but they're young and in love and can't keep their hands off each other. It's about a woman with health issues that demand treatment (such as chemotherapy or antidepressants) that may be harmful to a baby, or a couple who has trouble conceiving and who has suffered one too many miscarriages and wants a break from that pain for a while, or a rape victim who doesn't want to have to choose whether or not to keep her rapist's baby. And yes, it's also about the slutty sluts, because this is America, and everyone can make their own choices, even if you disagree, even if they are wrong. (Plus, sluttiness is just so much fun).
The reality is, you can't control everyone's behavior, and there simply aren't enough nickels or aspirins in the world to keep everyone's knees together, especially the teenagers and young adults and regular adults and even old people who aren't even your kids or part of your church, and whose choices you therefore have absolutely no sway over. The reality is, you have to choose which is less objectionable: lots of women having lots of abortions, or almost no one even having to make that choice. Birth control SAVES LIVES. If you oppose abortion, the only sane position is to make sure that safe and effective birth control is available to everyone. Even if they need to take your tax dollars to fund it.
4. I'm pretty sure i don't want any babies myself (and certainly not for another ten years or so), because of reasons. But then i see something like this, and i want ALL THE BABIES. But just for a few hours, and then i want to send them home where someone else can change their diapers for the third time in an hour or try to get them to stop crying at 3 am or spend thousands of dollars on absurdly tiny shoes and sun hats and winter coats. I just want to play with them and feed them lemons.
5. I really, really, really, really, really wish i'd had this Barbie to play with when i was a kid.
2. This was a really important epiphany for me today.
3. Birth control is such a touchy subject in America, even in this day and age. Just a few weeks ago, i heard someone call "keeping a nickel between your knees" contraception. If dumb nasty slutty sluts could just keep their legs closed and not murder their tiny innocent babies, we'd all be better off, and if you want to take my tax dollars to pay for some slutty slut's sinful choices, you'll have to pry the cash out of my cold, dead hands!
Except that "Family planning could prevent up to 30 percent of the more than 287,000 maternal deaths that occur every year, by enabling women to delay their first pregnancy and space later pregnancies at the safest intervals. If all babies were born three years apart, the lives of 1.6 million children under the age of five would be saved each year.
"That's a lot of children's lives.
"At home in the US, a study conducted among people most likely to get abortions has found . . . that free birth control dramatically cuts the rate of abortion:
"4.4 to 7.5 abortions per 1,000 women in the study, compared with 13.4 to 17 abortions per 1,000 women overall.
"For me, these are compelling reasons to consider widely accessible subsidized birth control as a moral imperative: It saves lives -- lots of them, and allows for the flourishing of those lives. That's why it's been written into laws, and funded by taxes."
Birth control is not just about nasty slutty sluts being sinful and slutty. It's also about a responsible, married couple who have a decent annual income and one baby, but want to wait a little while before they have another baby, to make sure they can still budget for their family in an uncertain economy, and to give them lots of time to figure out this whole parenting thing while they're still stacked 2-1, but they're young and in love and can't keep their hands off each other. It's about a woman with health issues that demand treatment (such as chemotherapy or antidepressants) that may be harmful to a baby, or a couple who has trouble conceiving and who has suffered one too many miscarriages and wants a break from that pain for a while, or a rape victim who doesn't want to have to choose whether or not to keep her rapist's baby. And yes, it's also about the slutty sluts, because this is America, and everyone can make their own choices, even if you disagree, even if they are wrong. (Plus, sluttiness is just so much fun).
The reality is, you can't control everyone's behavior, and there simply aren't enough nickels or aspirins in the world to keep everyone's knees together, especially the teenagers and young adults and regular adults and even old people who aren't even your kids or part of your church, and whose choices you therefore have absolutely no sway over. The reality is, you have to choose which is less objectionable: lots of women having lots of abortions, or almost no one even having to make that choice. Birth control SAVES LIVES. If you oppose abortion, the only sane position is to make sure that safe and effective birth control is available to everyone. Even if they need to take your tax dollars to fund it.
4. I'm pretty sure i don't want any babies myself (and certainly not for another ten years or so), because of reasons. But then i see something like this, and i want ALL THE BABIES. But just for a few hours, and then i want to send them home where someone else can change their diapers for the third time in an hour or try to get them to stop crying at 3 am or spend thousands of dollars on absurdly tiny shoes and sun hats and winter coats. I just want to play with them and feed them lemons.
5. I really, really, really, really, really wish i'd had this Barbie to play with when i was a kid.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
perfect love casts out fear
One of the things i like least about Catholicism is confession. The veil in the Temple was torn at the hour of Jesus' death! We no longer have to appeal to any other person for access to God! For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present not the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth nor anything else in all Creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord! I don't like the idea of being compelled to tell my sin to anyone but Jesus, to have anyone but the Holy Spirit tell me how to make amends for what i've done. I don't like being told that someone else has more clout with God than i do. And my shriveled little feminist heart is REALLY pissed that confession must be to a priest, who is necessarily male.
One of the things i like best about Catholicism is confession. We are to live in community with one another, to hold each other accountable, to rejoice and mourn together. It's important to show each other our wounds, our scars, our vulnerabilities, our imperfections. It's important to struggle together, to lift one another up. I love the acknowledgement that no one is so holy that they have nothing to confess (except maybe the Pope. I'm not really sure how that works out.). Everyone has someone to confess to, and something to confess, and you should go regularly, because you're going to fuck up regularly. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. Confession requires a level of self-awareness of our flaws that does not come naturally, and that must be practiced and learned. Confession teaches that self-awareness, as well as humility and contrition.
Lately, i've been confessing a lot. Mostly i've been confessing my fear. I'm afraid that i won't find a part-time job to carry me through student teaching. I'm afraid that i won't find a full-time job when i'm done student teaching and that i'll be skating through life by the skin of my teeth forever. I'm afraid that there will be some huge emergency (i'll get cancer, my car will explode, my apartment will burn down), and i'll be unable to work for a while/unable to get to work and student teaching/homeless, and will have to wipe out my entire savings account just to survive, which will then prevent me from finishing my student teaching and then i'll be back to square one, trying to finish this damned degree and become a teacher and start the new chapter of my life.
I wish i could tell you that this confession comes from a desire for a more holy and transparent life and all that other stuff i was talking about above, but that's simply not true. It's mostly because i am too desperately afraid to hide it any longer. I can't keep pretending that i'm blindly optimistic about the future. I can't keep smiling when i talk about leaving my steady, dependable job that pays my bills. I can't hold back the floodgates any longer.
I'm also confessing out of a tiny, slim hope that one of these times, when i'm telling someone about how badly i need a job, they will say, "My best friend was telling me about an opening in her company that sounds exactly like what you described! She owns the company, so she can hire anyone she wants, and she trusts me, so she'll hire anyone I tell her to, and you're awesome, so I'll tell her to hire you!" And then i'll be editing magazine articles online on my own schedule, or cleaning someone's house, or sorting mail, or flipping burgers, or spreading manure, or telemarketing, and bringing home $250/week, and getting through this scary, uncertain chapter.
But mostly it's fear. It's a clinging, clawing black parasite of fear and anxiety that climbs into my body and squeezes my heart and ties my stomach in knots and keeps me awake all night in terror and nausea and anxiety. It whispers in my ear that i will be homeless; that i will have to work as a stripper; that i will have to move back in with my mother; that i will never be able to leave my current job; that i will ruin my credit; that i will die at forty-seven as a cashier at 7-11, coughing nicotine tar out of my lungs and telling hobos and drunk teenagers about how i was going to be a teacher and a poet; that my boyfriend will tire of my anxiety and depression and will leave me to pursue his own happiness; or that worst of all i will do it, i will make it through and get my job and student teach and then get a real teaching job and i'll be living my dreams and i will hate the reality, it will be even worse than the terror i live in now and all of the worry, all of the stress and anxiety and work and hardship, it will all have been for naught.
And so i confess. I tell my friends that i have not been sleeping at night. I tell my co-workers that i don't really have a plan, and that it's freaking me out. I tell my parents that i'm stalling. I tell my boyfriend that i've been sending out applications since January and have only had one interview and that it didn't go anywhere, and i'm starting to lose hope. And when it's late at night and i can't sleep, and the parasite is all twisted up inside of me, i whisper to God that i am afraid, i am so afraid.
And God reminds me that He has called me to this, and that He does not call without a purpose. He reminds me to trust in Him, that when i graduated and had no direction, He provided a full-time job making more money than i could ever have hoped for, a job in the same building as my classes and within walking distance of my apartment, He provided that apartment and a generous lender so i could pay my deposit, He provided roommates who could move in exactly as the old ones moved out, He provided friends to buy me dinner when i couldn't afford to feed myself and an almost free car when i needed transportation, He provided cash when i needed a bus ticket to see my brother before his deployment, He gave me a window between classes so i could see my brother when he was hospitalized, He has provided second and third and fourth jobs and paid internships and cheap chocolate flavored wine and teacher friends to learn from and a support system at home and at work that i can confess to, not a sparrow falls that He doesn't see it, and though i stumble i will not fall down, because His hand is upon me.
And He reminds me that even if things don't work out the way i thought they would, even if my fate is to live out my worst fears (though probably not the stripper one; that's unrealistic. I'm a terrible dancer.), even if i never do the things i want to do, He has called me to try, and He does not call without a purpose. If my fate is to be a cashier at a 7-11, and if i have to get a masters degree in education to get there, it's because that's what God wants, and He will be there with me. I will find Him wherever i am, because He goes before me to lead the way.
Bless me, Father, for i have sinned. It has been far too long since my last confession. I have let my heart be ruled by fear. I have failed to trust in You. I have forgotten Your promises. I have believed that fate and luck were more powerful than Your will. I have held my fear close to my heart, closer than Your word, closer than my friends, closer than my memories of what You've done for me before, closer than You. I have pretended to be self-sufficient. I have pretended to be certain. I have not cast my cares on You. I have not taken Your yoke upon me. I have worried about tomorrow. I have believed that no one could help me, not even You. I have believed that You would let me fail. I have doubted Your purpose. I have doubted my calling. I have doubted Your perfect love. I have forgotten the sparrows. I have been afraid, so afraid.
For these and all the sins of my past life, I am truly sorry.
One of the things i like best about Catholicism is confession. We are to live in community with one another, to hold each other accountable, to rejoice and mourn together. It's important to show each other our wounds, our scars, our vulnerabilities, our imperfections. It's important to struggle together, to lift one another up. I love the acknowledgement that no one is so holy that they have nothing to confess (except maybe the Pope. I'm not really sure how that works out.). Everyone has someone to confess to, and something to confess, and you should go regularly, because you're going to fuck up regularly. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. Confession requires a level of self-awareness of our flaws that does not come naturally, and that must be practiced and learned. Confession teaches that self-awareness, as well as humility and contrition.
Lately, i've been confessing a lot. Mostly i've been confessing my fear. I'm afraid that i won't find a part-time job to carry me through student teaching. I'm afraid that i won't find a full-time job when i'm done student teaching and that i'll be skating through life by the skin of my teeth forever. I'm afraid that there will be some huge emergency (i'll get cancer, my car will explode, my apartment will burn down), and i'll be unable to work for a while/unable to get to work and student teaching/homeless, and will have to wipe out my entire savings account just to survive, which will then prevent me from finishing my student teaching and then i'll be back to square one, trying to finish this damned degree and become a teacher and start the new chapter of my life.
I wish i could tell you that this confession comes from a desire for a more holy and transparent life and all that other stuff i was talking about above, but that's simply not true. It's mostly because i am too desperately afraid to hide it any longer. I can't keep pretending that i'm blindly optimistic about the future. I can't keep smiling when i talk about leaving my steady, dependable job that pays my bills. I can't hold back the floodgates any longer.
I'm also confessing out of a tiny, slim hope that one of these times, when i'm telling someone about how badly i need a job, they will say, "My best friend was telling me about an opening in her company that sounds exactly like what you described! She owns the company, so she can hire anyone she wants, and she trusts me, so she'll hire anyone I tell her to, and you're awesome, so I'll tell her to hire you!" And then i'll be editing magazine articles online on my own schedule, or cleaning someone's house, or sorting mail, or flipping burgers, or spreading manure, or telemarketing, and bringing home $250/week, and getting through this scary, uncertain chapter.
But mostly it's fear. It's a clinging, clawing black parasite of fear and anxiety that climbs into my body and squeezes my heart and ties my stomach in knots and keeps me awake all night in terror and nausea and anxiety. It whispers in my ear that i will be homeless; that i will have to work as a stripper; that i will have to move back in with my mother; that i will never be able to leave my current job; that i will ruin my credit; that i will die at forty-seven as a cashier at 7-11, coughing nicotine tar out of my lungs and telling hobos and drunk teenagers about how i was going to be a teacher and a poet; that my boyfriend will tire of my anxiety and depression and will leave me to pursue his own happiness; or that worst of all i will do it, i will make it through and get my job and student teach and then get a real teaching job and i'll be living my dreams and i will hate the reality, it will be even worse than the terror i live in now and all of the worry, all of the stress and anxiety and work and hardship, it will all have been for naught.
And so i confess. I tell my friends that i have not been sleeping at night. I tell my co-workers that i don't really have a plan, and that it's freaking me out. I tell my parents that i'm stalling. I tell my boyfriend that i've been sending out applications since January and have only had one interview and that it didn't go anywhere, and i'm starting to lose hope. And when it's late at night and i can't sleep, and the parasite is all twisted up inside of me, i whisper to God that i am afraid, i am so afraid.
And God reminds me that He has called me to this, and that He does not call without a purpose. He reminds me to trust in Him, that when i graduated and had no direction, He provided a full-time job making more money than i could ever have hoped for, a job in the same building as my classes and within walking distance of my apartment, He provided that apartment and a generous lender so i could pay my deposit, He provided roommates who could move in exactly as the old ones moved out, He provided friends to buy me dinner when i couldn't afford to feed myself and an almost free car when i needed transportation, He provided cash when i needed a bus ticket to see my brother before his deployment, He gave me a window between classes so i could see my brother when he was hospitalized, He has provided second and third and fourth jobs and paid internships and cheap chocolate flavored wine and teacher friends to learn from and a support system at home and at work that i can confess to, not a sparrow falls that He doesn't see it, and though i stumble i will not fall down, because His hand is upon me.
And He reminds me that even if things don't work out the way i thought they would, even if my fate is to live out my worst fears (though probably not the stripper one; that's unrealistic. I'm a terrible dancer.), even if i never do the things i want to do, He has called me to try, and He does not call without a purpose. If my fate is to be a cashier at a 7-11, and if i have to get a masters degree in education to get there, it's because that's what God wants, and He will be there with me. I will find Him wherever i am, because He goes before me to lead the way.
Bless me, Father, for i have sinned. It has been far too long since my last confession. I have let my heart be ruled by fear. I have failed to trust in You. I have forgotten Your promises. I have believed that fate and luck were more powerful than Your will. I have held my fear close to my heart, closer than Your word, closer than my friends, closer than my memories of what You've done for me before, closer than You. I have pretended to be self-sufficient. I have pretended to be certain. I have not cast my cares on You. I have not taken Your yoke upon me. I have worried about tomorrow. I have believed that no one could help me, not even You. I have believed that You would let me fail. I have doubted Your purpose. I have doubted my calling. I have doubted Your perfect love. I have forgotten the sparrows. I have been afraid, so afraid.
For these and all the sins of my past life, I am truly sorry.
Monday, May 13, 2013
numbers now? yes.
1. Oh, Cosmo. I stopped reading Cosmo when i realized that, far from the hundreds of brand-new sex tips promised on every cover, they really only have about six and rotate them with slight variations. (Suck on a piece of ice before giving oral! Suck on a Popsicle before giving oral! Chew a piece of ice before giving oral!) Also, brand-new sex tips? Something tells me that as long as there has been ice, people have been bringing it into the bedroom. Because if there is one area of scientific exploration that refuses to be held back by lack of government funding, it's ways to make your genitals feel good.
Here's a beautiful analysis of Cosmo's bizarre stance on human (wait, not human, female) sexuality:
"Your fantasy: Watching two women get it on
Why it revs you up: You know what it's like to be a woman but have no idea what a man experiences. So with only females in the picture, every kiss, touch, and lick is something you can relate to. Plus, girl-on-girl action is usually portrayed as more sensual.
Remember, kids, there's no such thing as bisexuality! Hell, I'm not sure there's such a thing as female sexuality at all; are you, like, attracted to people? That's pretty gross.
How to use it: To get more sensual lovin' from your guy, set the scene for it: Put on slow tunes, light a candle, and slip into delicate lingerie. He'll get the message that you want to take things slow.
That's right, kids, when you feel attracted to women, the best way to explore that desire is with a man. That'll keep ya on the straight and narrow.
Also note Cosmo's continuing dedication to not saying anything, but conveying the message entirely through set design and costuming. Because, let's face it, most guys would be pretty turned off by their girlfriend whispering in their ear, "I had a fantasy about two women and tonight you're going to do me nice and slow while I tell you allllll about it."
2. I'm honestly not sure what the point of this image is supposed to be. It's tagged "funny pictures"? I don't get it. But i do think it's interesting, for two reasons: look at the food in Mexico, Italy, and Australia, and compare it to the food in Britain, the US, and Germany. What i see in Mexico, Italy, and Australia is lots and lots of fresh produce (and in Australia, an unholy amount of red meat), compared to the huge piles of packages in Britain, the US, and Germany. Canada is almost entirely fresh food (including a whole fresh fish; no frozen fillets here, apparently!), Japan is mostly packages, and so forth. The second thing i notice is amounts. The family in Chad is six people with three large bags of what looks like grains, several smaller bags of what i guess are spices, and maybe half a gallon of water. Fifteen people in Mali have maybe twice as much food as the family in Chad, but it looks like they have more variety and maybe some fresh fruit. The family in Turkey, on the other hand, is only six people with two or three times as much food as the family in Chad, and it's almost entirely fresh fruit and vegetables. There's no caption or accompanying article, so i'm not totally confident in the take-away, but it is something to think about.
And on a totally unrelated note, i like that the family in Japan is watching TV.
3. If you have a few minutes (or hours, maybe) to kill, play with this website. It's mesmerizing, and after a few minutes you feel like a world-class artist.
4. Hey, look! Rape prevention advice that contains zero victim-blaming!
5. My whole perspective on gender has undergone a massive shift in the last few years. It's probably not done, because guess what? I'm a person, and we're allowed to learn new things and have new experiences and then change our minds based on that new knowledge. But right now, this is making a lot of sense to me.
"Imagine a big table with tons of dishes laid out. Some of them are physical traits, some of them are psychological. There's everything here from "big biceps" to "played with dolls as a child." And there are all traits here, not just things you'd associate with gender -- this is a table of traits, not of mixed up boy things and girl things. "Brown hair" and "likes classical music" are on there too.
Go ahead, load up your plate. Load it with anything.
And the really important thing here is that the dishes are not paired off. "Chest hair" and "breasts" are not a dichotomy. You can get one, or both, or neither. Ditto "watches pro wrestling" and "sews prom dresses". Certainly some dishes are popularly eaten together -- "penis" and "testicles" is a perennial favorite combo, and "penis" and "likes racecars" do seem to have some mysterious association -- but they're not locked together. It's possible and acceptable to have one and not the other."
6. I would watch the fuck out of these shows. Actually, i think "Bob Loves Luisa" is "Modern Family", and i do indeed watch the fuck out of that. Read the comments for even more awesome TV show ideas.
"In this hilarious family sitcom, the husband and wife genuinely understand and want to work with each other. One of their children is very intelligent and the other is very creative, and Bob and Luisa encourage them both to do what they love! Dramatic conflict arises from temporary misunderstandings and outside challenges, and is resolved through open -- but wacky -- communication and teamwork! Also there is a goofy next-door neighbor.
7. Allie Brosh is one of the best people in the world. Like, better than your mom, probably. I've been reading her blog, Hyperbole and a Half, for several years now. In October of 2011, she wrote a hilarious and touching (and slightly troubling) post about depression. And then she disappeared from the Internet. A post showed up on Reddit at one point where she explained that she was taking some time to get better and would be back when she could.
Finally, last week, she had healed enough to get back to work.
On a human level, i am so very proud of her for all the hard work she has done in her life. Being depressed is hard. Stopping being depressed is even harder. She is an incredible person, and i am so glad that she exists in my lifetime, that she has worked so hard and come so far. She is an inspiration to us all, and it is amazing to know that a human being can be as wonderful as she is.
On a personal level, HYPERBOLE AND A HALF IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!! With her trademark absurdist wit and wonderfully shitty artwork, Allie has chronicled her recent struggles. These posts should be taught in psych classes for all of eternity.
The part that resonated most with me was the fish metaphor.
"It would be like having a bunch of dead fish, but no one around you will acknowledge that the fish are dead. Instead, they offer to help you look for the fish or try to help you figure out why they disappeared."
Here's a beautiful analysis of Cosmo's bizarre stance on human (wait, not human, female) sexuality:
"Your fantasy: Watching two women get it on
Why it revs you up: You know what it's like to be a woman but have no idea what a man experiences. So with only females in the picture, every kiss, touch, and lick is something you can relate to. Plus, girl-on-girl action is usually portrayed as more sensual.
Remember, kids, there's no such thing as bisexuality! Hell, I'm not sure there's such a thing as female sexuality at all; are you, like, attracted to people? That's pretty gross.
How to use it: To get more sensual lovin' from your guy, set the scene for it: Put on slow tunes, light a candle, and slip into delicate lingerie. He'll get the message that you want to take things slow.
That's right, kids, when you feel attracted to women, the best way to explore that desire is with a man. That'll keep ya on the straight and narrow.
Also note Cosmo's continuing dedication to not saying anything, but conveying the message entirely through set design and costuming. Because, let's face it, most guys would be pretty turned off by their girlfriend whispering in their ear, "I had a fantasy about two women and tonight you're going to do me nice and slow while I tell you allllll about it."
2. I'm honestly not sure what the point of this image is supposed to be. It's tagged "funny pictures"? I don't get it. But i do think it's interesting, for two reasons: look at the food in Mexico, Italy, and Australia, and compare it to the food in Britain, the US, and Germany. What i see in Mexico, Italy, and Australia is lots and lots of fresh produce (and in Australia, an unholy amount of red meat), compared to the huge piles of packages in Britain, the US, and Germany. Canada is almost entirely fresh food (including a whole fresh fish; no frozen fillets here, apparently!), Japan is mostly packages, and so forth. The second thing i notice is amounts. The family in Chad is six people with three large bags of what looks like grains, several smaller bags of what i guess are spices, and maybe half a gallon of water. Fifteen people in Mali have maybe twice as much food as the family in Chad, but it looks like they have more variety and maybe some fresh fruit. The family in Turkey, on the other hand, is only six people with two or three times as much food as the family in Chad, and it's almost entirely fresh fruit and vegetables. There's no caption or accompanying article, so i'm not totally confident in the take-away, but it is something to think about.
And on a totally unrelated note, i like that the family in Japan is watching TV.
3. If you have a few minutes (or hours, maybe) to kill, play with this website. It's mesmerizing, and after a few minutes you feel like a world-class artist.
4. Hey, look! Rape prevention advice that contains zero victim-blaming!
5. My whole perspective on gender has undergone a massive shift in the last few years. It's probably not done, because guess what? I'm a person, and we're allowed to learn new things and have new experiences and then change our minds based on that new knowledge. But right now, this is making a lot of sense to me.
"Imagine a big table with tons of dishes laid out. Some of them are physical traits, some of them are psychological. There's everything here from "big biceps" to "played with dolls as a child." And there are all traits here, not just things you'd associate with gender -- this is a table of traits, not of mixed up boy things and girl things. "Brown hair" and "likes classical music" are on there too.
Go ahead, load up your plate. Load it with anything.
And the really important thing here is that the dishes are not paired off. "Chest hair" and "breasts" are not a dichotomy. You can get one, or both, or neither. Ditto "watches pro wrestling" and "sews prom dresses". Certainly some dishes are popularly eaten together -- "penis" and "testicles" is a perennial favorite combo, and "penis" and "likes racecars" do seem to have some mysterious association -- but they're not locked together. It's possible and acceptable to have one and not the other."
6. I would watch the fuck out of these shows. Actually, i think "Bob Loves Luisa" is "Modern Family", and i do indeed watch the fuck out of that. Read the comments for even more awesome TV show ideas.
"In this hilarious family sitcom, the husband and wife genuinely understand and want to work with each other. One of their children is very intelligent and the other is very creative, and Bob and Luisa encourage them both to do what they love! Dramatic conflict arises from temporary misunderstandings and outside challenges, and is resolved through open -- but wacky -- communication and teamwork! Also there is a goofy next-door neighbor.
7. Allie Brosh is one of the best people in the world. Like, better than your mom, probably. I've been reading her blog, Hyperbole and a Half, for several years now. In October of 2011, she wrote a hilarious and touching (and slightly troubling) post about depression. And then she disappeared from the Internet. A post showed up on Reddit at one point where she explained that she was taking some time to get better and would be back when she could.
Finally, last week, she had healed enough to get back to work.
On a human level, i am so very proud of her for all the hard work she has done in her life. Being depressed is hard. Stopping being depressed is even harder. She is an incredible person, and i am so glad that she exists in my lifetime, that she has worked so hard and come so far. She is an inspiration to us all, and it is amazing to know that a human being can be as wonderful as she is.
On a personal level, HYPERBOLE AND A HALF IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!! With her trademark absurdist wit and wonderfully shitty artwork, Allie has chronicled her recent struggles. These posts should be taught in psych classes for all of eternity.
The part that resonated most with me was the fish metaphor.
"It would be like having a bunch of dead fish, but no one around you will acknowledge that the fish are dead. Instead, they offer to help you look for the fish or try to help you figure out why they disappeared."
Monday, April 22, 2013
sharing is caring
On October 8 2011, i was cleaning my room. It was a Saturday, and my boyfriend was rehearsing on campus. He was planning to come over during the afternoon break for . . . Well, for some afternoon delight. I was cleaning my room and watching the West Wing; i like to have the TV on in the background while i work. I put on a DVD of a show i've seen a million times and i grade papers, or write papers, or cook, or clean. And this particular episode was 'In Excelsis Deo'. When my sister called to say that Adam had been blown up, it didn't really make sense to me right away. My roommate walked by as i was hanging up the phone. Sensing that something was wrong, she asked what was going on.
"My brother was just blown up," i said. And i laughed a little: isn't it ridiculous? My brother, getting blown up? Isn't that the silliest thing you've ever heard? Big things hit me slowly.
It wasn't until half an hour or so later when John came into the room that it really sank in. I began to tell him what had happened, and i began to cry. He took me in his arms and sat on the edge of the bed and held me. And then the funeral scene in the episode began.
"Sobbing" is not the word for what i did then. "Bawling" is closer the mark, but still doesn't quite hit it. You have to use old, outdated vocabulary to come close to my reaction to that funeral scene: keening, lamenting, wailing. John jumped up and turned off the TV.
A year and a half later, after my brother completed the Boston marathon, after the marathon was the focus of a terrorist attack, after i was stranded in Boston and then in Revere, trying to get back home, after i finally got home and then went to work all day, Mark Oshiro posted his review of 'In Excelsis Deo'. Everything comes full circle.
Those who have experienced mental illness first-hand will probably see flashes of themselves in this post. Those who have not experienced it themselves but have seen it in a loved one might find this interesting. Those who have no experience, either first- or second-hand, with mental illness are first of all either lying or deluded, and second of all should still read this for the writing.
Sometimes, commercials are just plain dumb. And sometimes, they're a little bit worse than dumb.
But this almost makes up for it.
I fell in love with Kate Inglis' writing last year in a way i haven't fallen for words in a long time, in a way where i want to kill her so her talent can stop eclipsing mine and i want to sit at her feet and learn from her and i want to be her pen pal and friend and i want to write something that will impress her and i want to quit writing so there's no chance of overshadowing her brilliance and i want to quit everything and just read her words, all of them, even her journals and shopping lists and birthday cards. And here, she marries words with images and rekindles that first flame. She doesn't post often these days, but the posts are well worth waiting for.
And the brilliant and lovely Hayley Campbell posts a second collection of Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. Not to be confused with Men Call Me Things, though i'd argue that they are related, Hayley's transcripts of actual conversations is hilarious and terrifying and acidic and very very typical.
"My brother was just blown up," i said. And i laughed a little: isn't it ridiculous? My brother, getting blown up? Isn't that the silliest thing you've ever heard? Big things hit me slowly.
It wasn't until half an hour or so later when John came into the room that it really sank in. I began to tell him what had happened, and i began to cry. He took me in his arms and sat on the edge of the bed and held me. And then the funeral scene in the episode began.
"Sobbing" is not the word for what i did then. "Bawling" is closer the mark, but still doesn't quite hit it. You have to use old, outdated vocabulary to come close to my reaction to that funeral scene: keening, lamenting, wailing. John jumped up and turned off the TV.
A year and a half later, after my brother completed the Boston marathon, after the marathon was the focus of a terrorist attack, after i was stranded in Boston and then in Revere, trying to get back home, after i finally got home and then went to work all day, Mark Oshiro posted his review of 'In Excelsis Deo'. Everything comes full circle.
Those who have experienced mental illness first-hand will probably see flashes of themselves in this post. Those who have not experienced it themselves but have seen it in a loved one might find this interesting. Those who have no experience, either first- or second-hand, with mental illness are first of all either lying or deluded, and second of all should still read this for the writing.
Sometimes, commercials are just plain dumb. And sometimes, they're a little bit worse than dumb.
But this almost makes up for it.
I fell in love with Kate Inglis' writing last year in a way i haven't fallen for words in a long time, in a way where i want to kill her so her talent can stop eclipsing mine and i want to sit at her feet and learn from her and i want to be her pen pal and friend and i want to write something that will impress her and i want to quit writing so there's no chance of overshadowing her brilliance and i want to quit everything and just read her words, all of them, even her journals and shopping lists and birthday cards. And here, she marries words with images and rekindles that first flame. She doesn't post often these days, but the posts are well worth waiting for.
And the brilliant and lovely Hayley Campbell posts a second collection of Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. Not to be confused with Men Call Me Things, though i'd argue that they are related, Hayley's transcripts of actual conversations is hilarious and terrifying and acidic and very very typical.
Monday, February 25, 2013
saving me (writing)
Last but not least, the ability to put words to paper is the one thing that has saved me time and time again. It's the whole reason for this blog. Well, that and my crippling inability to display my latent narcissistic tendencies. (Kidding. Mostly.)
Monday, February 18, 2013
saving me (vulgarity)
You know George Carlin's famous seven words?* Shout them out. Scream them at the top of your lungs. If you're not quite ballsy enough for those seven, something milder is okay. Find the dirtiest word that you can comfortably say out loud and yell it. Think of it as catharsis: there's all that darkness and filth and pain inside of you, and it has to come out one way or another. This way is fast and a lot more fun than you might think.
*Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits.
*Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Chicken Little
Okay. So.
The sky was falling.
For those of you who don't live on the East Coast, let me explain: we had a record-breaking blizzard this weekend, called Nemo. Several fronts and airs and precipitations (i don't know weather terms) all combined and worked their way up the coast. In lower states like Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania, it was mostly rain and wind, but by the time it reached New Jersey, it was snowing. NJ got about 15 inches, and coastal towns had some flooding, but it wasn't too bad (although they haven't really bounced back from Sandy). But as Nemo got closer to New England, it turned into a full-scale disaster storm.
We got 30 inches of snow, with drifts and snowbanks reaching 4-5 feet. Also? Thundersnow. (bucket list: check). That's exactly what you think it is: thunder and lightning while it is snowing. Power was out all over several cities. I personally lost power for about fourteen hours, but some places lost power Friday night and won't get it back till Thursday. The roads are so clogged with snow and ice and cars stuck in snowbanks that plows can't do much to help, and there's nowhere to put all the excess snow, anyway. Storm surges caused flooding, and several towns were evacuated.
I've had power outages before, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for a few hours. But never in the dead of winter, and never for very long. It was fun for a while: me and my boyfriend and his roommate and his roommate's cat all snuggled together with candlelight and booze, but when i woke up in the morning and realized we still had no power (no heat, no lights, no refrigeration), i got a little scared. They have a gas stove, so i made pancakes and the heat from the burners and the warm food helped. Then we all put on lots of layers and went out to start shoveling. When the power came back, a cheer rippled through the whole neighborhood.
My office was closed for four days (Friday-Monday), so this is my first day back. It's going to be a hell of a week.
Oh and also, my brother is having a really rough time dealing with his recovery and my friend is dying. Very soon, in fact. So i may be traveling some next week to see him.
On a happier note? The boyfriend and i had our Valentine's celebration last night, partly because we needed some joy and love and partly because he was thinking about leaving on Thursday or Friday to see our friend. And it was a wonderful Valentine's day. We had steak and rice and veggies (lovingly prepared by John), and wine (lovingly selected by me) and Black Forest Cake with wine-stewed cherries (lovingly prepared by me). Then we exchanged presents (slippers and fun socks for him, pearls for me). Then we watched "Wanted" (because Angelina Jolie is on his list and James McAvoy is on mine), and then we snuggled and went to bed.
So. Once more into the breach.
The sky was falling.
For those of you who don't live on the East Coast, let me explain: we had a record-breaking blizzard this weekend, called Nemo. Several fronts and airs and precipitations (i don't know weather terms) all combined and worked their way up the coast. In lower states like Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania, it was mostly rain and wind, but by the time it reached New Jersey, it was snowing. NJ got about 15 inches, and coastal towns had some flooding, but it wasn't too bad (although they haven't really bounced back from Sandy). But as Nemo got closer to New England, it turned into a full-scale disaster storm.
We got 30 inches of snow, with drifts and snowbanks reaching 4-5 feet. Also? Thundersnow. (bucket list: check). That's exactly what you think it is: thunder and lightning while it is snowing. Power was out all over several cities. I personally lost power for about fourteen hours, but some places lost power Friday night and won't get it back till Thursday. The roads are so clogged with snow and ice and cars stuck in snowbanks that plows can't do much to help, and there's nowhere to put all the excess snow, anyway. Storm surges caused flooding, and several towns were evacuated.
I've had power outages before, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for a few hours. But never in the dead of winter, and never for very long. It was fun for a while: me and my boyfriend and his roommate and his roommate's cat all snuggled together with candlelight and booze, but when i woke up in the morning and realized we still had no power (no heat, no lights, no refrigeration), i got a little scared. They have a gas stove, so i made pancakes and the heat from the burners and the warm food helped. Then we all put on lots of layers and went out to start shoveling. When the power came back, a cheer rippled through the whole neighborhood.
My office was closed for four days (Friday-Monday), so this is my first day back. It's going to be a hell of a week.
Oh and also, my brother is having a really rough time dealing with his recovery and my friend is dying. Very soon, in fact. So i may be traveling some next week to see him.
On a happier note? The boyfriend and i had our Valentine's celebration last night, partly because we needed some joy and love and partly because he was thinking about leaving on Thursday or Friday to see our friend. And it was a wonderful Valentine's day. We had steak and rice and veggies (lovingly prepared by John), and wine (lovingly selected by me) and Black Forest Cake with wine-stewed cherries (lovingly prepared by me). Then we exchanged presents (slippers and fun socks for him, pearls for me). Then we watched "Wanted" (because Angelina Jolie is on his list and James McAvoy is on mine), and then we snuggled and went to bed.
So. Once more into the breach.
Monday, February 11, 2013
saving me (time)
There is no quick fix. There is no perfect solution. There is no switch to turn the lights back on. Work as hard as you can, fight as hard as you can, but know that you will have to wait for the dawn.
Monday, February 4, 2013
saving me (secret)
Have things that you cherish. Have things that are important to you. Don't give them away. Sometimes selfishness is okay. Keep parts of yourself to yourself -- don't give everything you are to everyone you meet. Have some secrets.
Monday, January 28, 2013
saving me (revolution)
Find something new, something that excites you. Find something old, something that bothers you. Find something you want to change. Find a change being made that you want to get behind. Find something you want to oppose. Find something you want to support. Find something to be passionate about. Revolt. And in so doing, revolt against the darkness.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Exodus 7-40, Leviticus 1-24
The schedule i set up for my Bible reading (back in May) really has me powering through the Old Testament. Which is fine with me; i've read the books of the Law approximately seven times in their entirety, and i was in a weekly Bible study on Leviticus last semester, so i feel like i don't need to take that much time with it.
Also, i need to be honest: i'm kind of in a dry spell right now, spiritually.
Faith goes through seasons, just like everything else in life (to everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven), but Christians are sometimes made to feel guilt about being in one season or another. I've heard preachers saying that every day should be full of joy, that we should be overflowing with joy in Christ, that we should be so full of the boundless love and grace and mercy that we have received that nothing can bring us down.
I have a friend who suffered from clinical depression and was told to pray more and deepen her faith, and that Christ would fill her with joy.
Because nothing balances the chemicals in my brain like yet another fucking chorus of "Our God Reigns".
This semester, my Bible study is focusing on the non-fuzzy images of God. We're looking at the Jesus who hurled racial slurs at a woman who asked for His help, the Christ who withered a fig tree because it wasn't bearing fruit, at the God who ordered the slaughter of babies, the God who sent lying angels to prophets so that people would die. We're looking at Hagar, who got pile after pile of rancid shit dumped on her, and was ignored by God, except for when He was telling her to go back and take more abuse.
Last week, i went to a writing retreat where Benji talked about how the Church doesn't have sad songs. The Bible has psalms of lament, where we talk about how life sucks and we don't know why God won't rescue us. But in modern Christian contexts, the best we get is "Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well with my soul." We don't make room for doubt, for sorrow, for anger. We must be happy.
In our Bible study, Benji said that theology should be "a testimony for conversion". In other words, what we say about God should make people want to know Him for themselves. This does NOT mean that you should walk up to strangers in the parking lot of a rest stop in New Jersey, hand them a tract, and tell them that God wants to save them from their sins (this happened to me over Christmas vacation). What it means is, the things you believe about God, the things you know about God, the things you say about God, should be compelling and attractive.
That doesn't necessarily mean that you should tell people that everything with Jesus is sunshine and roses. Even Jesus didn't say that (the Son of Man has no place to lay His head, He came to turn families against each other, people are going to hate you and treat you terribly, etc.) If i asked someone about their religion and they said, "It makes everything happy forever!", i would run away.
Some day, someone you love will die. If it hasn't happened already, it will. My grandmother is dead. My great aunt is dead. One of my friends is dying. My parents will die. My cousins will die. My siblings will die. My spouse, my kids, my co-workers, my pastor, my professors, my favorite musicians, the students i teach. Everyone i know and love will die some day. I will die. And maybe i'll go before some of the people i know and love and won't have to be there when it happens, but that just means that they will have to mourn my death.
People die. It's a part of life. And it is good and right to mourn them. We may be able to draw some comfort by thoughts of them in a happy afterlife, or by knowing that their pain and sickness are ended, but the reality is that they are dead in a box in the ground, rotting away. They will never again laugh with you. They will never again cry with you. They will not see you grow old. You will not see them grow old. My friend who is dying is in his 20s. I will never dance at his wedding, never meet his children, never tease him for his grey hairs. And it is good and right to mourn this.
And there's a whole lot of other shit in life, too. People get sick and injured. Children get raped. People get fired. Hearts get broken. Spouses cheat on one another and lie about it. Houses burn down. Cancer exists. Homelessness exists. Malnutrition, starvation, poverty exist. Do you ever think about how fucked up it is that we have social workers? We have people whose job is to make sure you are taking care of your kids, and to remove them from your care if you are not. They make sure you are going to rehab. They make sure your kids are going to school. They make sure that there is food in the refrigerator and that you are not doing drugs or having sex in front of your toddler. Because there are SO MANY people who cannot take care of their own lives and the lives of their children that we have entire undergraduate, graduate, and postgraduate programs devoted to training other people to take care of them.
There is a whole lot of shit in life, and it is right and good to mourn it. It is right and good to be angry over it. It is right and good to respond with negative emotions to these things. There are only two ways to completely remove yourself from all negative emotional response: heavy doses of psychiatric medication and death. Meds can also dull or remove positive feelings, and death is, well, death. A religion that promises that everything will be sunny all the time always is either lying or deluded, and either way you shouldn't drink any kool-aid they offer you.
I'm still reading my Bible. I'm still praying. I'm still having spiritual conversations with people, still writing about my feelings, still processing. I'm still a Christian. I'm still a doubter. Recently, someone asked me the question i've been fearing: what's the point of religion? Bad things still happen to good people, and there are good people who are not Christians, and even some good people who don't believe in any God at all, so what are you getting out of it?
I told him i didn't know. I don't know why i have faith. I don't know what i'm getting out of this whole religion thing.
This is true and not true. I can't point you to the pile of gold i've amassed because of God's financial blessings on my life. I can't point you to the perfect job He provided for me. My brother may be alive, but he's lost a leg and a year of his life and lots of memories and joy and God may have brought him miraculously out of his injuries but God still allowed him to be injured in the first place. I can't give you a bulleted list of reasons to follow God. I can't show you tangible things that God has done in my life. I believe that i have experienced miracles, but they all come with caveats (my brother's miraculous recovery wouldn't have been necessary if God hadn't let him be blown up in the first place).
But if you're in religion for what you're getting out of it, you're missing the point. I can tell you things that i've "gotten out of" my relationship with my boyfriend, but i'm not with him because he buys me nice presents or takes me out to eat or listens to me complain. I'm not with him because of what i'm "getting out of" the relationship. If that was all i wanted, i'd be dating someone with more money and time to lavish on me.
I'm with my boyfriend because i love him, and he loves me. I'm with God because i love Him, and He loves me.
I'm still mad at Him for a lot of the stuff in the Old and New Testaments. I'm mad at Him because of my brother, and because of the shooting in Connecticut, and because of people who say that God hates fags, and because of poverty and cancer and AIDS, and because i don't have enough money to student teach and buy everything i want from Amazon, and because my parents are divorced and shouldn't have been married in the first place so maybe i shouldn't even be alive, and because Republicans keep trying to take rights away from women and non-whites, and because of earthquakes and tsunamis and war and oppression and starvation and mental illness.
But being in a relationship means experiencing a whole range of shifting emotions, sometimes even many emotions at once. And my God lets me work through that stuff, even when that means i yell at Him or don't represent Him well to others or regard my personal devotional time with Him as a chore.
So i guess what i'm "getting out of" this is a love greater and freer and fuller and more compelling and empowering and gracious and overwhelming and gentle and sweet than any love i have ever known. It's a love that enables me to love better. It's a love that makes me better. It's a love that withstands my anger and weariness and confusion. And i don't know how to say any of that in a way that makes other people want to know God too, but i guess that's something that He and i can work on.
Also, i need to be honest: i'm kind of in a dry spell right now, spiritually.
Faith goes through seasons, just like everything else in life (to everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven), but Christians are sometimes made to feel guilt about being in one season or another. I've heard preachers saying that every day should be full of joy, that we should be overflowing with joy in Christ, that we should be so full of the boundless love and grace and mercy that we have received that nothing can bring us down.
I have a friend who suffered from clinical depression and was told to pray more and deepen her faith, and that Christ would fill her with joy.
Because nothing balances the chemicals in my brain like yet another fucking chorus of "Our God Reigns".
This semester, my Bible study is focusing on the non-fuzzy images of God. We're looking at the Jesus who hurled racial slurs at a woman who asked for His help, the Christ who withered a fig tree because it wasn't bearing fruit, at the God who ordered the slaughter of babies, the God who sent lying angels to prophets so that people would die. We're looking at Hagar, who got pile after pile of rancid shit dumped on her, and was ignored by God, except for when He was telling her to go back and take more abuse.
Last week, i went to a writing retreat where Benji talked about how the Church doesn't have sad songs. The Bible has psalms of lament, where we talk about how life sucks and we don't know why God won't rescue us. But in modern Christian contexts, the best we get is "Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well with my soul." We don't make room for doubt, for sorrow, for anger. We must be happy.
In our Bible study, Benji said that theology should be "a testimony for conversion". In other words, what we say about God should make people want to know Him for themselves. This does NOT mean that you should walk up to strangers in the parking lot of a rest stop in New Jersey, hand them a tract, and tell them that God wants to save them from their sins (this happened to me over Christmas vacation). What it means is, the things you believe about God, the things you know about God, the things you say about God, should be compelling and attractive.
That doesn't necessarily mean that you should tell people that everything with Jesus is sunshine and roses. Even Jesus didn't say that (the Son of Man has no place to lay His head, He came to turn families against each other, people are going to hate you and treat you terribly, etc.) If i asked someone about their religion and they said, "It makes everything happy forever!", i would run away.
Some day, someone you love will die. If it hasn't happened already, it will. My grandmother is dead. My great aunt is dead. One of my friends is dying. My parents will die. My cousins will die. My siblings will die. My spouse, my kids, my co-workers, my pastor, my professors, my favorite musicians, the students i teach. Everyone i know and love will die some day. I will die. And maybe i'll go before some of the people i know and love and won't have to be there when it happens, but that just means that they will have to mourn my death.
People die. It's a part of life. And it is good and right to mourn them. We may be able to draw some comfort by thoughts of them in a happy afterlife, or by knowing that their pain and sickness are ended, but the reality is that they are dead in a box in the ground, rotting away. They will never again laugh with you. They will never again cry with you. They will not see you grow old. You will not see them grow old. My friend who is dying is in his 20s. I will never dance at his wedding, never meet his children, never tease him for his grey hairs. And it is good and right to mourn this.
And there's a whole lot of other shit in life, too. People get sick and injured. Children get raped. People get fired. Hearts get broken. Spouses cheat on one another and lie about it. Houses burn down. Cancer exists. Homelessness exists. Malnutrition, starvation, poverty exist. Do you ever think about how fucked up it is that we have social workers? We have people whose job is to make sure you are taking care of your kids, and to remove them from your care if you are not. They make sure you are going to rehab. They make sure your kids are going to school. They make sure that there is food in the refrigerator and that you are not doing drugs or having sex in front of your toddler. Because there are SO MANY people who cannot take care of their own lives and the lives of their children that we have entire undergraduate, graduate, and postgraduate programs devoted to training other people to take care of them.
There is a whole lot of shit in life, and it is right and good to mourn it. It is right and good to be angry over it. It is right and good to respond with negative emotions to these things. There are only two ways to completely remove yourself from all negative emotional response: heavy doses of psychiatric medication and death. Meds can also dull or remove positive feelings, and death is, well, death. A religion that promises that everything will be sunny all the time always is either lying or deluded, and either way you shouldn't drink any kool-aid they offer you.
I'm still reading my Bible. I'm still praying. I'm still having spiritual conversations with people, still writing about my feelings, still processing. I'm still a Christian. I'm still a doubter. Recently, someone asked me the question i've been fearing: what's the point of religion? Bad things still happen to good people, and there are good people who are not Christians, and even some good people who don't believe in any God at all, so what are you getting out of it?
I told him i didn't know. I don't know why i have faith. I don't know what i'm getting out of this whole religion thing.
This is true and not true. I can't point you to the pile of gold i've amassed because of God's financial blessings on my life. I can't point you to the perfect job He provided for me. My brother may be alive, but he's lost a leg and a year of his life and lots of memories and joy and God may have brought him miraculously out of his injuries but God still allowed him to be injured in the first place. I can't give you a bulleted list of reasons to follow God. I can't show you tangible things that God has done in my life. I believe that i have experienced miracles, but they all come with caveats (my brother's miraculous recovery wouldn't have been necessary if God hadn't let him be blown up in the first place).
But if you're in religion for what you're getting out of it, you're missing the point. I can tell you things that i've "gotten out of" my relationship with my boyfriend, but i'm not with him because he buys me nice presents or takes me out to eat or listens to me complain. I'm not with him because of what i'm "getting out of" the relationship. If that was all i wanted, i'd be dating someone with more money and time to lavish on me.
I'm with my boyfriend because i love him, and he loves me. I'm with God because i love Him, and He loves me.
I'm still mad at Him for a lot of the stuff in the Old and New Testaments. I'm mad at Him because of my brother, and because of the shooting in Connecticut, and because of people who say that God hates fags, and because of poverty and cancer and AIDS, and because i don't have enough money to student teach and buy everything i want from Amazon, and because my parents are divorced and shouldn't have been married in the first place so maybe i shouldn't even be alive, and because Republicans keep trying to take rights away from women and non-whites, and because of earthquakes and tsunamis and war and oppression and starvation and mental illness.
But being in a relationship means experiencing a whole range of shifting emotions, sometimes even many emotions at once. And my God lets me work through that stuff, even when that means i yell at Him or don't represent Him well to others or regard my personal devotional time with Him as a chore.
So i guess what i'm "getting out of" this is a love greater and freer and fuller and more compelling and empowering and gracious and overwhelming and gentle and sweet than any love i have ever known. It's a love that enables me to love better. It's a love that makes me better. It's a love that withstands my anger and weariness and confusion. And i don't know how to say any of that in a way that makes other people want to know God too, but i guess that's something that He and i can work on.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Monday, January 14, 2013
Monday, January 7, 2013
Monday, December 31, 2012
saving me (negation)
Sometimes when everything is slipping away from you, you can hold onto the things you're not. I'm not poor. I'm not alone. I'm not unintelligent. I'm not untalented. I'm not living at home. The list could go on and on.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
saving me (love)
Love in all forms. Love from others. Love for others. Love of others for each other. Love for books. Love from my cat. Love for steak. Love from the earth. Promised love. Past love. The hope of future love. Making love. The love of others for one another. Ingrid Michaelson's songs about love. Love, love, love.
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