I am down the the last drops of diluted iced tea, on the last day of the week, waiting for the last office hours to run down quickly. Maybe I can prolong my tea for that long. It really has helped this day go by more quickly. This was an unpleasantly eventful week, and I'm only retelling the story to remind myself how lucky I am to still have my legs.
Last Saturday, I woke up so deliriously excited that I could take my parents kayaking. I assumed that they had not been before, and Derek and I had just purchased hardshell kayaks for an incredible deal. This was money that I had not anticipated spending, but we had never seen kayaks for so great a price in the two years that we have been looking. We did have a lot of fun on the trip. It was worth the giddy anticipation. IF I was so excited that my parents had never been kayaking, then I should have considered that an hour and a half trip might have taken four for newbies unable to move forward...on a moving river. I don't judge. I forgot that I tired out in ten minuets trying to learn how to paddle correctly years ago.
The sunscreen had unfortunately been left in the wrong car. We would only be gone an hour, right? What is sunscreen anyway? Stinky lotion? No. Very much no...lotion from God. I had not realized that was what sunscreen really was. That thought was on my mind. I had not realized that more than $100 later, I would only be able to dream of what life would have been this week had we remembered the sunscreen.
I came back burnt. So did everyone. I can't say that it was even the worse looking burn I've ever had in my life. Three and a half hours under the death rays of the sun without any shade would take a tole on anyone. I didn't think it was a big deal. I am no wimpy girl. I've been sunburned a hundred million times. In May, we went to Tybee Island in celebration of graduation. I confess, because no one reads this, that I did NOT put on sunscreen then. I KNOW! This means I lied to all my coworkers who cried on my behalf when I came back to work, looking as if I had been dipped in red-purple paint, or wearing the wrinkled skin of a pale, eighty year old Aborigine. I did lie to you. I told you that I did not put on enough rather than none at all, so I wouldn't look completely hopeless. Everything burned and stung for about three days, but you know the drill. Eventually you ask for assistance in skin peeling, or gross others out from the trail of skin dandruff left in your pathway. I was told I would never forget the sunscreen again. Wow, people have such faith in me.
A few weeks later, I helped my parents in a yard sale. We were busy. The sunscreen wasn't even considered. Again, I burnt my face and arms. I wore long sleeves that week so no one would notice. Nothing like proving imbecility, but I did last Saturday anyway.
After the kayak trip, I was feeling sick. I tried to buy a venti Starbuck's iced coffee, and establish friendships with the employees like always. It didn't even make me feel better. It ALWAYS does. I was told that Saturday night, in bed, I started screaming about my legs, and crying louder than Derek had ever heard me cry before. I don't remember this. I remember being unable to sleep well. Derek said that I had scared him, and that he stayed up with me for about an hour. He tried to put aloe with painkillers on my legs, and gave me Advil. I remember being in a lot of pain, and then the pain subsiding so that I could sleep. That was the beginning of my relationship to Advil.
The next morning, I tried to get up to go to the bathroom, and fell to the floor. I couldn't put any weight on my legs. I felt paralyzed! I didn't know that my legs had gone into shock, and weren't working right. They weren't burning or stinging. The burns on my legs were numb, but my muscles were in a lot of pain. I felt like my legs were broken. I got back up in bed using only my arms. I stayed in bed until 12:30p. Derek had to carry my down the stairs when I started hating the bed. I tried several times to walk that day, but really couldn't. I was planning on taking Monday off, but I had to deliver birthday ingredients at work, and toughed it out. All I could do was waddle. My right legs was almost completely useless. I was waddling AND limping. By Monday afternoon, my legs were double in size. I've never been in so much pain in my entire life. I felt like I should have been in a wheelchair. The burn itself was still numb. Advil was my only comfort. Derek told me to take three, and I just took three whenever the pain became unbearable again. I knew that I was taking a minimum of 9 Advil a day. I've never seen my legs grow so big, and on Tuesday night I weighed myself out of curiosity. The swelling wasn't just my imagination. I was shocked. I had gained seven pounds in four days.
On Wednesday, I thought that the pain had gotten just unbearable. I took more Advil that morning. During my lunch, I had stopped to rub my feet, because they were really starting to hurt. My feet and ankles had more than doubled in size. They weren't even burnt. They looked deformed. I couldn't see my ankle bones! My feet were gross blobs. I tried to arrange an emergency doctor's appointment. I've never had this reaction before to a sunburn, and couldn't understand why things were getting worse instead of better. I couldn't understand how swelling like this had anything to do with a sunburn.
They scheduled me in. I was weighed, and found that in one day, I had gained another pound! I had second degree burns on the tops of my legs and on one shin, sun poisoning, and severe first degree burns everywhere else. The rest were first degree burns that I would get over. She pressed on my bubble feet, which were starting to form blue bruises. My knees were huge, and I was in a lot of pain. She said that if I took a diuretic, the sunburn would get worse, and so I would have to wait out the swelling. I was supposed to take off two days from work keeping my feet up, taking acetaminophen with codine, and putting silvidin cream on my legs. She asked me if I was taking anything already. I said that I was taking at least 9 Advil a day. She said, "NO NO NO NO! Advil retains water, and that is why this is not getting better!" The thing that had become my closest friend was killing me. I was already retaining water, and the Advil caused more water to go straight to my legs. Did you know that Advil did that? Derek and my coworkers wondered how they didn't notice I was popping so much Advil in my mouth through the day. The doctor said that I should have gone to the hospital on Sunday. Feeling paralyzed like I did is the first sign of something much worse than a sunburn. I spent a lot of money on Wednesday having made now two bad decisions in a row. I still wonder what would have happened if I never went to the doctor, and continued taking Advil.
Today is Friday. The nightmare is behind me. I didn't take off work, and have survived. HA, I'm no wimpy girl. Today is Friday, and I've lost about three pounds between yesterday morning and this morning. I must be doing something right. My legs fit into my pants again, my feet into my shoes. My shins still hurt, and my upper legs feel funny, but I can walk normally. I can wiggle my feet again. I don't cry at night anymore. I won't talk about the oozing that is occurring, but it's a good sign for me. I can feel my legs again. Can you? Isn't it wonderful? Don't take it for granted!
This weekend, I'm not supposed to do anything, but I will likely go kayaking tomorrow. I still love the river. I'm not so thrilled about the sun. I think it's spiteful, and would think bad things about it if I didn't have a lovely garden. However, this time the redundant message is being considered, "Betcha never forget sunscreen again." You bet I won't.
I am still looking out for the perfect job. I wonder now if I'm already in it, but then I know I'm not, because I'm not satisfied. You know you are satisfied, if in your life plans, you don't list a new job as first on the "next to do" list. I don't want to think about having a baby until I'm in that "new job"....so then, God, do you think that I am ready? I did hear back from the aforementioned interview. It has been nearly a month since I had heard from them first, and I really appreciated the notice. I knew in my heart after the interview that it was not the dream job I was waiting for, but I didn't want to admit it to myself. I wonder if I'm looking for the right thing hard enough. I wonder if I know what I'm looking for.
The thought that I can walk again is more relief than a new job. I wonder if that is something that I'm meant to realize right now. Being full, being healthy, being happy. I AM thankful. Does satisfaction take just as much priority though?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
My Parents Breaking a 27 Year Europe Fast
In 1982 two young people with heads full of dreams said 'I do' and made their way out of Arlington, TX to London for a backpacking honeymoon-excursion in Europe. I have heard stories my entire life about that trip to Europe. I share their feelings completely. Who wouldn't be drunk off Europe? Who could compare the Ranger's Stadium and Six Flags to Westminster Abby and Parisian fare?
Two young people with nothing on their minds but adventure. Oh, if this could only be something they did every year! Their minds were a buzz with the idea. My mother, 22 at the time, and my dad, 21, knew that only sophisticated, well-cultured couples go to Europe. And who was more sophisticated and cultured than them? Huh, no one! They would go all the time...well that was the plan. How great would it be to establish a favorite deli or coffee shop, eat baguettes and cheese, and drink wine on a favorite hilltop? They made a list in their mind of all the places they would come back to. They had the potential. Until they could go back, they would make a home of their own and live a meager life. Ok, maybe they would have to wait a year before they went back. Then came the new house. Oh, and the inevitable search for a fitting job. We'll make Europe a 5 year anniversary...Then I was born. 20 year anniversary. But, other things got in the way. I almost hurt for them.
I ran my hand over the soft-wooded jewelery box from Paris laying on their dresser. A taunting souvenir. By this time I was married and had a house of my own. By this time, I had gone to Europe...twice. This jewelry box was a subtle reminder of a lost dream--an antique memory. My parents never go to expensive restaurants, they spent no money on themselves. They were teachers who taught students about Europe, encouraged them to go, but never went themselves. No one was more deserving.
Well, God said it was time to go back if they were ever going to. My father was selected as Georgia's secondary education representative for a conference or event in Wales. A chance of a lifetime. All expenses would be paid. They just needed to get my mom there. The idea was surreal. I think they even considered if they were going to go. They had said they couldn't for so long that it was just a difficult concept to accept. Oh of course I was going out of my mind. It was decided at last. They would go! They decided to extend the trip, and include time in London. Derek and I had just been there in November. It was really our honeymoon trip though we had been married for two years. We fit three countries in six days. We both agreed that if we did it again, we would spend the whole time in London. The people we met, the place we stayed, everything was addictive. We needed more of them. We had convinced my parents that if they stayed in London, they needed to stay at Palmer's Lodge, the hostel we stayed at. If anyone is reading this, there is no better place to be in London than Palmer's Lodge. Being there is like sleeping or living in a museum or someone' s Victorian mansion in the 19th century.
My parents landed in London at 11pm last night, but it was 2am before they were able to check into the hostel. If anyone only knew how badly I wanted to be with them. Derek also. We want to go back. More than that, I have to compare their lives to our own. Will we be the ones counting the years before we can consider going again? I can't imagine the euphoria of being there when they have gone without for so long. Will there be a point where we have wanted to go for so long that it is almost more satisfying to dream it than to actually do it? I have a feeling that it was almost that way; especially for my father. I don't want to think it, I want to do it. I am a person of unending goals and dreams. I'm almost never satisfied with exactly how everything is at that very moment.
This particular post is all about rambling. I wanted to express my happiness for my parents, but only because the feeling is so deeply rooted in the passion Derek and I both share for traveling...particularly to the UK. I want to see my husband's face light up like it did when we were there. I want our joy for traveling and each other to never fade. Even if we have to go on a 27 year Europe fast, I want to go to Europe again. It's more than the trip.
Two young people with nothing on their minds but adventure. Oh, if this could only be something they did every year! Their minds were a buzz with the idea. My mother, 22 at the time, and my dad, 21, knew that only sophisticated, well-cultured couples go to Europe. And who was more sophisticated and cultured than them? Huh, no one! They would go all the time...well that was the plan. How great would it be to establish a favorite deli or coffee shop, eat baguettes and cheese, and drink wine on a favorite hilltop? They made a list in their mind of all the places they would come back to. They had the potential. Until they could go back, they would make a home of their own and live a meager life. Ok, maybe they would have to wait a year before they went back. Then came the new house. Oh, and the inevitable search for a fitting job. We'll make Europe a 5 year anniversary...Then I was born. 20 year anniversary. But, other things got in the way. I almost hurt for them.
I ran my hand over the soft-wooded jewelery box from Paris laying on their dresser. A taunting souvenir. By this time I was married and had a house of my own. By this time, I had gone to Europe...twice. This jewelry box was a subtle reminder of a lost dream--an antique memory. My parents never go to expensive restaurants, they spent no money on themselves. They were teachers who taught students about Europe, encouraged them to go, but never went themselves. No one was more deserving.
Well, God said it was time to go back if they were ever going to. My father was selected as Georgia's secondary education representative for a conference or event in Wales. A chance of a lifetime. All expenses would be paid. They just needed to get my mom there. The idea was surreal. I think they even considered if they were going to go. They had said they couldn't for so long that it was just a difficult concept to accept. Oh of course I was going out of my mind. It was decided at last. They would go! They decided to extend the trip, and include time in London. Derek and I had just been there in November. It was really our honeymoon trip though we had been married for two years. We fit three countries in six days. We both agreed that if we did it again, we would spend the whole time in London. The people we met, the place we stayed, everything was addictive. We needed more of them. We had convinced my parents that if they stayed in London, they needed to stay at Palmer's Lodge, the hostel we stayed at. If anyone is reading this, there is no better place to be in London than Palmer's Lodge. Being there is like sleeping or living in a museum or someone' s Victorian mansion in the 19th century.
My parents landed in London at 11pm last night, but it was 2am before they were able to check into the hostel. If anyone only knew how badly I wanted to be with them. Derek also. We want to go back. More than that, I have to compare their lives to our own. Will we be the ones counting the years before we can consider going again? I can't imagine the euphoria of being there when they have gone without for so long. Will there be a point where we have wanted to go for so long that it is almost more satisfying to dream it than to actually do it? I have a feeling that it was almost that way; especially for my father. I don't want to think it, I want to do it. I am a person of unending goals and dreams. I'm almost never satisfied with exactly how everything is at that very moment.
This particular post is all about rambling. I wanted to express my happiness for my parents, but only because the feeling is so deeply rooted in the passion Derek and I both share for traveling...particularly to the UK. I want to see my husband's face light up like it did when we were there. I want our joy for traveling and each other to never fade. Even if we have to go on a 27 year Europe fast, I want to go to Europe again. It's more than the trip.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Changing an Outlook
Nothing has been posted prior to now, because I had no inspiration to return to a blog saturated in heavy-hearted emotions. So many things, over time, have turned from bad to good to reflect the best in life that I could possibly experience. First and foremost, things in work changed. Though I still do not have my dream job, whatever that may be, wherever it may come from, I have once again reached that point where pride and joy has replaced melancholy and disdain at work. I can only say that since my last blog, we have transitioned into a new customer service team that seems to balance our needs and responsibilities better than ever. Our irate call volume has been replaced with pleasant conversations. I feel like I can do good in someone's life again. Coworker wise, I get to go home now feeling like a whole person again. I wish the best for the person who is gone now, but she has expressed her own equal relief in being in a place that suits her perfectly.
To add to that, I'm just experiencing for the first time in five years what it is like to not be completely immersed in schoolwork. Graduation has been my ticket to existing. Until now, I've worked 40 hours a week at work, and taken 12-15 hours of school work a week. This left nothing between wake and sleep, but dinner. Now I'm supposed to create hobbies and interests...invest in the "better" things of life. I miss what I had. I find myself envying my husband for going back to summer school. How can he stress more than me? That is the question on my mind. Why isn't someone challenging me to the brink of death? I'm the one who thrives on that type of environment, because I figure it is difficult to do. Every girl wants to be or do something unique and impressive. I don't miss class. Like every student with a laptop, I was on Facebook or researching something that intrigued me in our rambling work conversations (beached body found in Lake Allatoona today type of story). I don't miss what I considered "extra internet time," but I do miss writing. I do miss teachers trying to weed out the weak writers, and break down our stamina and persistence--- only to be the one the teacher didn't feel sorry for in the end. I miss getting the ulcers for that. What is wrong with me?! Take the B and add years to your life...no, because then someone else will get the A and I will be considered only less than promising. I thrived off stress, but ONLY with writing. I just figured out that nothing is as euphoric as being wrapped up in creating a work where someone wonders how cracked up on caffeine I was when I wrote it.
All of this leads to my new motivated job search. To be honest, I had been looking for a new job since January. The frustrations emitted in last February's blog may testify that there were other reasons behind leaving, but in truth, I think I've been craving a writing career since I learned the alphabet. I had always thought that the moment I took my diploma in hand, I would be able to walk through the doors of a new job. That moment never came. Still, May 14th did not come sadly. Both my husband and I go against greater statistics. We were married before we were old enough to drink, and have been working full-time for over two years. I know we are more than statistics. I wrote an article in Developmental Psychology about how people who choose to marry young (20 or under) will likely face difficulties they will not be able to overcome. I decided I wouldn't get married young, and follow all of the rules....but then I did it anyway. AND IT WORKED! Why listen to what people expect you to be? Change will never happen if so. I just don't think people should do it expecting that it will make them a responsible person. Responsibility works great with love. Keeps marriages flowing smoothly. It felt great to walk across that stage and know my husband, brother, parents and inlaws were watching 20 bleachers up. I didn't feel depressed that I hadn't found a job. On the other hand, I won't deny that I didn't have Monster, BartowLife, and KSU career services up on my computer the following Monday at lunch to look for a new job. Well, it's like getting married. Now that you've finally gotten married, get on with life. Several weeks later, one late Friday afternoon, I came upon my first really inspiring job ad.
The ad was for an unspecified journalist position. This was the first ad I had seen closest to my degree next to physical therapy. Yeah...exactly. Thinking instantly I should have been a communications major if it meant I could write professionally, I texted the job ad to my husband to get his input. He said I should go for it. I said I didn't want to disappoint a company if they expected me to be a well-seasoned journalist instead of a recent English grad. He said, fine don't do it. Don't even try. Hate when someone says that... My heart jumped. Oh even the thought of such a job stirred excitement in me. If I didn't have the perfect experience they looked for, I would work that much harder to learn whatever it was I was lacking. I submitted a resume, cover letter, and three school pieces I had written. The weekend came and went. Monday, Tuesday...I had not thought much of it. The ad had been taken down by Monday. I took it as a hint that it just wasn't for me. The phone rang at lunch on Wednesday. I had been called in for an interview still yet to come. I choked through the phone call. Oh, I regret being allowed to talk on the phone. The interview is approaching. I've brushed the dust off my AP Style handbook, and relearned the inverted pyramid of journalistic writing. I will come in to their offices just as I am. If anything, this will be great interview experience, but it is what it is...my first real-career interview, and the oppertunity alone has given me great hope for the future.
I heard a businessman say last week that this was the worst economy since the Great Depression, and wouldn't it be befitting if our attitudes reflected the doom that has befallen us. If that was the case, what hope would there be for graduates? Who is he to make such a statement when he obviously is still employed and his job security assured with patriotism that our company alone provides. The contradiction to his statement in my upcoming interview and the irony in his own present circumstances make me glad that he is not in control of our well-being, God is. How glad am I that God knows I need supernatural reassurance.
To add to that, I'm just experiencing for the first time in five years what it is like to not be completely immersed in schoolwork. Graduation has been my ticket to existing. Until now, I've worked 40 hours a week at work, and taken 12-15 hours of school work a week. This left nothing between wake and sleep, but dinner. Now I'm supposed to create hobbies and interests...invest in the "better" things of life. I miss what I had. I find myself envying my husband for going back to summer school. How can he stress more than me? That is the question on my mind. Why isn't someone challenging me to the brink of death? I'm the one who thrives on that type of environment, because I figure it is difficult to do. Every girl wants to be or do something unique and impressive. I don't miss class. Like every student with a laptop, I was on Facebook or researching something that intrigued me in our rambling work conversations (beached body found in Lake Allatoona today type of story). I don't miss what I considered "extra internet time," but I do miss writing. I do miss teachers trying to weed out the weak writers, and break down our stamina and persistence--- only to be the one the teacher didn't feel sorry for in the end. I miss getting the ulcers for that. What is wrong with me?! Take the B and add years to your life...no, because then someone else will get the A and I will be considered only less than promising. I thrived off stress, but ONLY with writing. I just figured out that nothing is as euphoric as being wrapped up in creating a work where someone wonders how cracked up on caffeine I was when I wrote it.
All of this leads to my new motivated job search. To be honest, I had been looking for a new job since January. The frustrations emitted in last February's blog may testify that there were other reasons behind leaving, but in truth, I think I've been craving a writing career since I learned the alphabet. I had always thought that the moment I took my diploma in hand, I would be able to walk through the doors of a new job. That moment never came. Still, May 14th did not come sadly. Both my husband and I go against greater statistics. We were married before we were old enough to drink, and have been working full-time for over two years. I know we are more than statistics. I wrote an article in Developmental Psychology about how people who choose to marry young (20 or under) will likely face difficulties they will not be able to overcome. I decided I wouldn't get married young, and follow all of the rules....but then I did it anyway. AND IT WORKED! Why listen to what people expect you to be? Change will never happen if so. I just don't think people should do it expecting that it will make them a responsible person. Responsibility works great with love. Keeps marriages flowing smoothly. It felt great to walk across that stage and know my husband, brother, parents and inlaws were watching 20 bleachers up. I didn't feel depressed that I hadn't found a job. On the other hand, I won't deny that I didn't have Monster, BartowLife, and KSU career services up on my computer the following Monday at lunch to look for a new job. Well, it's like getting married. Now that you've finally gotten married, get on with life. Several weeks later, one late Friday afternoon, I came upon my first really inspiring job ad.
The ad was for an unspecified journalist position. This was the first ad I had seen closest to my degree next to physical therapy. Yeah...exactly. Thinking instantly I should have been a communications major if it meant I could write professionally, I texted the job ad to my husband to get his input. He said I should go for it. I said I didn't want to disappoint a company if they expected me to be a well-seasoned journalist instead of a recent English grad. He said, fine don't do it. Don't even try. Hate when someone says that... My heart jumped. Oh even the thought of such a job stirred excitement in me. If I didn't have the perfect experience they looked for, I would work that much harder to learn whatever it was I was lacking. I submitted a resume, cover letter, and three school pieces I had written. The weekend came and went. Monday, Tuesday...I had not thought much of it. The ad had been taken down by Monday. I took it as a hint that it just wasn't for me. The phone rang at lunch on Wednesday. I had been called in for an interview still yet to come. I choked through the phone call. Oh, I regret being allowed to talk on the phone. The interview is approaching. I've brushed the dust off my AP Style handbook, and relearned the inverted pyramid of journalistic writing. I will come in to their offices just as I am. If anything, this will be great interview experience, but it is what it is...my first real-career interview, and the oppertunity alone has given me great hope for the future.
I heard a businessman say last week that this was the worst economy since the Great Depression, and wouldn't it be befitting if our attitudes reflected the doom that has befallen us. If that was the case, what hope would there be for graduates? Who is he to make such a statement when he obviously is still employed and his job security assured with patriotism that our company alone provides. The contradiction to his statement in my upcoming interview and the irony in his own present circumstances make me glad that he is not in control of our well-being, God is. How glad am I that God knows I need supernatural reassurance.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
An Uphill Battle to Optimism
I know in my last post, I claimed I was aggravated. Shortly after writing that post, as if it were therapeutic, my aggravation left completely. That's my thought in writing today's post. I can only describe my feelings lately as heavy discouragement, and I'd love to find anyway possible to see where my inspiration went hiding. I'm a very happy, blessed, loved person; God hasn't overlooked me. I have an awesome husband, two dogs, and a cat whom I can take care of and who can take care of me. I don't, however, just have an awesome job.
I've worked in the same position within customer service for two years. Let me talk to people--I LOVE to talk to people. Give me a problem, and I can almost always handle it. I can't, however, always take lightheartedly that I'm not in a career that I most love, have gone to school for, or feel appreciated in. I can't respect walking through a door three hundred and sixty days a year to face the same harsh, angry, embittered coworkers who find their only bit of happiness by highlighting what's wrong in their world and what's wrong with me. What they find funny, I take in one ear, and hope my brain can find a trash can to dump the negativity in. You can't always let words roll out the other ear. Things have gotten much harder at work. I feel like I'm being tested, I really do. Angry customers call in by the hundreds it feels like. One other coworker and I take on the worst of it. Before lunch, we feel like there's nothing but a shell of us left--our soul has been stomped on after angry caller no. 34. When I'm done there, I go to class, and get home hours later just worn down to nothing. Yeah, I chose this life, and until now, I've been really happy. It's not too hard. It's just not right. I think it's time for something new, and I know that's why I feel so downhearted like I do. I'm waiting for an answer...I'm looking daily for an answer. What I'm hoping is that God's not waiting for me to "calm my bottom" like Derek says, because I feel like a calm heart, a patient heart, is not going to happen.
I would like to move to a foreign country.
I've worked in the same position within customer service for two years. Let me talk to people--I LOVE to talk to people. Give me a problem, and I can almost always handle it. I can't, however, always take lightheartedly that I'm not in a career that I most love, have gone to school for, or feel appreciated in. I can't respect walking through a door three hundred and sixty days a year to face the same harsh, angry, embittered coworkers who find their only bit of happiness by highlighting what's wrong in their world and what's wrong with me. What they find funny, I take in one ear, and hope my brain can find a trash can to dump the negativity in. You can't always let words roll out the other ear. Things have gotten much harder at work. I feel like I'm being tested, I really do. Angry customers call in by the hundreds it feels like. One other coworker and I take on the worst of it. Before lunch, we feel like there's nothing but a shell of us left--our soul has been stomped on after angry caller no. 34. When I'm done there, I go to class, and get home hours later just worn down to nothing. Yeah, I chose this life, and until now, I've been really happy. It's not too hard. It's just not right. I think it's time for something new, and I know that's why I feel so downhearted like I do. I'm waiting for an answer...I'm looking daily for an answer. What I'm hoping is that God's not waiting for me to "calm my bottom" like Derek says, because I feel like a calm heart, a patient heart, is not going to happen.
I would like to move to a foreign country.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Since I Can't Write, I'll Write
I'm aggravated. Such is not useful news. It is quite frrreeezing in our office, and worse yet there is not any work-related paraphernalia to get accomplished. I tried tying a paper clip to the fringies in my scarf, and couldn't do it. There was a reason for trying...I mean, I'm sure there was. I thought I would try writing on "my project," and that didn't work, so I've started this blog. Anyone can talk about nothing, but it can be hard trying to write about something. Every human can be a published writer. Not every writer can be published. This thought was on my mind.
I have tried and tried since Christmas Eve Eve to write my first children's novel (my first anything novel), and have found the greatest success running into a brick wall. It is just the best experience! Writing? No, but running head first into a finely crafted brick wall. It's a worthy distraction; more so than school or doing dishes...NO WORSE-- doing laundry. I really love writing. I was, and I guess am still more-than-excited about this book, because it's something I would have read as a kid. That makes me laugh! I was a weird kid. Might be why my brother said my scribbles were something he absolutely wouldn't read, and somehow he at 20 is an appropriate random sample of the 8-13 year old population. BUT anyway...
I really have fun writing out first thoughts, but then I instantly become embarrassed of them. If I do manage a place on a library shelf or bookstore table, Anastasia TEASLEY would sit uncomfortably close to Mark TWAIN's books, and I feel he has somewhat of an unfair advantage. So I re-write and edit the ideas literally hundreds of times, which gets me no where fast, and I forget the once beyond brilliant story line I started with, because edit no. 78 was equally brilliant and has changed things beyond the original (now less than mediocre) plot line.
I have started this story about a girl and boy, or rather brother and sister (however dryly unoriginal that is), and the goal of the story is....not to sound like everyone else's story. I thought it had a pretty interesting plot, and even now I won't say what that is. Why not? I got the fortune cookie the night I planned on throwing the book in the trash, which said, "Don't be afraid to sell your ideas, people will buy them." Maybe that meant this novel really will get published.
OR, if anything, it could mean the inspiration on writing about why no one should write a first book. It would be an instant success. You know how many millions would be relieved if they didn't have that obligation? Especially with the rise in heart disease.
Professors have told me, if I must write books, an impossible unpromising trade, write about my own life. That would be formidable if I wasn't like every other child who grew up in a town which barely scored a 2.5 on the 10 point scale of interesting towns. Live through my characters. OH, is that why everyone writes fiction!?
Today is Obama's inauguration. I really have to take a serious second to reflect on our country, Europe, and a little on Istanbul. Having spent six once-in-a-lifetime November days in London, Brussels, and Paris following the election, Derek and I were caught with our hearts in our stomachs with the constant questions about Obama. I wish so hard that we had kept the count of how many times we were asked. In every country, small talk consisted of how great the change will be thanks to Obama. The world loves Obama. We voted for McCain. How awkward did we feel. Not so for not voting for Obama, but because so many cared about the move we made as a country...as if we did it for the rest of them. How closely we are watched. Oh, to be Istanbul. Why? Because I have no idea what is going on with Istanbul right now, and they probably like it that way. I am glad the world sees it as a race liberating thing. I heard on Clark Howard this morning that my generation wouldn't see it that way. Our generation, the young up-and-comers don't carry the baggage that those before us do. I guess, for me and for those my age, race has not been a topic of discussion as much as politics, but it is the topic for my professors. I commend them. The older generations I mean. What a breathtakingly beautiful moment it was for them this morning. After having traveled outside the country, my main line of thought is, "Please, please don't mess up. Any of us." In other words, I don't want us to be human with so many watching. But from those we've talked to, Obama is not human. He is superman.
Maybe he is.
I have tried and tried since Christmas Eve Eve to write my first children's novel (my first anything novel), and have found the greatest success running into a brick wall. It is just the best experience! Writing? No, but running head first into a finely crafted brick wall. It's a worthy distraction; more so than school or doing dishes...NO WORSE-- doing laundry. I really love writing. I was, and I guess am still more-than-excited about this book, because it's something I would have read as a kid. That makes me laugh! I was a weird kid. Might be why my brother said my scribbles were something he absolutely wouldn't read, and somehow he at 20 is an appropriate random sample of the 8-13 year old population. BUT anyway...
I really have fun writing out first thoughts, but then I instantly become embarrassed of them. If I do manage a place on a library shelf or bookstore table, Anastasia TEASLEY would sit uncomfortably close to Mark TWAIN's books, and I feel he has somewhat of an unfair advantage. So I re-write and edit the ideas literally hundreds of times, which gets me no where fast, and I forget the once beyond brilliant story line I started with, because edit no. 78 was equally brilliant and has changed things beyond the original (now less than mediocre) plot line.
I have started this story about a girl and boy, or rather brother and sister (however dryly unoriginal that is), and the goal of the story is....not to sound like everyone else's story. I thought it had a pretty interesting plot, and even now I won't say what that is. Why not? I got the fortune cookie the night I planned on throwing the book in the trash, which said, "Don't be afraid to sell your ideas, people will buy them." Maybe that meant this novel really will get published.
OR, if anything, it could mean the inspiration on writing about why no one should write a first book. It would be an instant success. You know how many millions would be relieved if they didn't have that obligation? Especially with the rise in heart disease.
Professors have told me, if I must write books, an impossible unpromising trade, write about my own life. That would be formidable if I wasn't like every other child who grew up in a town which barely scored a 2.5 on the 10 point scale of interesting towns. Live through my characters. OH, is that why everyone writes fiction!?
Today is Obama's inauguration. I really have to take a serious second to reflect on our country, Europe, and a little on Istanbul. Having spent six once-in-a-lifetime November days in London, Brussels, and Paris following the election, Derek and I were caught with our hearts in our stomachs with the constant questions about Obama. I wish so hard that we had kept the count of how many times we were asked. In every country, small talk consisted of how great the change will be thanks to Obama. The world loves Obama. We voted for McCain. How awkward did we feel. Not so for not voting for Obama, but because so many cared about the move we made as a country...as if we did it for the rest of them. How closely we are watched. Oh, to be Istanbul. Why? Because I have no idea what is going on with Istanbul right now, and they probably like it that way. I am glad the world sees it as a race liberating thing. I heard on Clark Howard this morning that my generation wouldn't see it that way. Our generation, the young up-and-comers don't carry the baggage that those before us do. I guess, for me and for those my age, race has not been a topic of discussion as much as politics, but it is the topic for my professors. I commend them. The older generations I mean. What a breathtakingly beautiful moment it was for them this morning. After having traveled outside the country, my main line of thought is, "Please, please don't mess up. Any of us." In other words, I don't want us to be human with so many watching. But from those we've talked to, Obama is not human. He is superman.
Maybe he is.
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