"Courage isn't the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear," Ambrose Redmoon.

I recently stumbled across this quote and thought, self (because I usually address myself in third person) "that quote is perfect for my idea of character." A person of genuine character is willing to do anything if their judgment determines that the potential outcome of that something is far greater than the fear itself. So what if fear is there, it's just an emotion anyway, but if one can find something more valuable than that emotion, then perhaps that's when a person is truly living outside of them self. I love that. I esteem to be like that.

Coughing, wheezing, time and again sneezing...

So, recently I came down with a gnarly cold. Yes, I realize "gnarly" is quite descriptive in the sense of a cold, but honestly this illness has been a beast. Usually when cold season comes around I get a crummy sore throat, a slight headache and a drippy noise. You feel "down for the count" maybe for a day or two, then you get over it. Not this influenza, uh-uh, it's been a monster (ok, exaggeration), but it has been horrible. Sorry in advance for the description but here it goes: a full blast faucet is the best description of the nature of my nose, a sore throat that has developed into a scratchy cough, sinuses so tight that they actually whistle and a hot flash fever pattern going down. So kind of gross, but hey, we all get colds and seeing that my readership is quite low, I figure why not vent on the topic.

In the middle of this madness I had a sudden funny memory of cold season in primary school. It was awful. I remember the school aways provided sandpaper Kleenexes, my mom would give me nasty cough drops that I'd only move to desperation and eat before lunch due to hunger, yet the cough drop empty stomach effect would only make matters worse. Then there's the whole issue of not being able to properly wipe or blow your nose at seven, I mean let's face it, most kids cannot avoid the "crusty nose," (nasty again, I know).

Another aspect of the cold I was reflecting on, is the issue of having a cold in class. As you sit there wheezing and blowing your nose with the abandonment that is usually only found at 75, people glare at you like "why did you come to class." This look never fails.

I'm sitting here on a what can honestly be dubbed, lovely, Sunday afternoon listening to Brandi Carlile, attempting to study the ever-so-trite U.S. History course I'm nearly done enduring, but honestly, I'm just deep in thought. Wow, that was a long sentence -- though not quite Proust.

1.) Brandi Carlile's lyrics: will someone please tell me what heartache was endured by this woman! Sheesh, talk about unrequited love. Though it's a well known fact that I'm fascinated by unrequited love, to be honest, I could take a whole class on the mystery of it, just the sole concept of unreturned love seems paradoxical to love itself. What is more amazing about unrequited love is that God deals with it everyday, as people he genuinely loves reject him time and time again, I honestly cannot imagine what that would be like. Unrequited love once in a lifetime is enough, I mean, in the words of Charles Schultz, "Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love." Well put, Schultz, and a sad statement at that, because peanut butter is good, and to think of it being tasteless --tragedy.

2.) Quirks--I have a great many, to name a few: It's very hard for me to relax, I eat cereal out of a cup if I'm eating it late, I always like to ask my roommate if something matches (a normal morning routine), I like to listen to books on tape when I'm getting ready so I do something productive with my time while I'm curling hair and applying mascara (I also enjoy them), I like walking places, I constantly injure my left foot -- no joke, I will put more red cabbage in my salad then lettuce because it's so good, instead of doodling in class I write little poems on the side of my papers, I could eat salad's every single day for the rest of my life and get excited each time, i.e., Chick Filya salad's excite me so much that it's best if I get it to-go so I don't make a scene, I actually crave caf salad, I have little concept of pain when I'm running, I've written about 60 pages of a novel so far (haha, well see if I continue this one), I could listen to a song on repeat for an embarrassingly long amount of time, I know lyrics to a hefty number of hip-hop songs, I don't do well staying up late, i.e., I get extremely tired, I get pathetically nervous every time I have to call a boy, even if we're just friends (I'm trying to get over this), I pick out my outfit the night before...at least in my head, I like to sleep with wet, clean hair, I LOVE sleeping with a fan, sometimes I can't fall asleep at night because I keep remembering random things to pray for -- this drives me crazy! I have slept with a stuffed Elmo since I was four (don't worry, I don't cradle it anymore...unusually --jk), I love the feeling after you exercise! I make homework lists, I like to blend things, I secretly think I'm going to be swept off my feet most days...it's kinda funny because I'd probably die of embarrassment if any of my "swept of my feet" scenarios happened, I hate wearing lots of clothes when I'm in the house, I refuse to take medicine unless basically forced or it's just Advil, I love listening to music before I go out somewhere big, I went through a hard rock phase/some metal songs in early high school...so don't be alarmed if I know random rock tunes, I also am well versed in classic rock/oldies, I look up random things on wikipedia or words in the dictionary everyday, if not, several times I day, I like to hand sew, I'm afraid of potato spuds, I ....well, that's enough.

3.) I've starting attending a new church, Granada Heights Friends Church and I seriously like it so much!

I have this battle, it persists constantly in my mind, the battle is between imagination and reality. Let me elaborate:

One of my favorite things in life is an imagination. As a kid the world was an imagination, but the older I get the more people try to convince you that imaginative thinking is not adult thinking. It's funny because in many ways I understand, but regardless, I cannot help but wonder if God gave me this imagination for a reason, I cannot help but wonder if wasting this imagination is a far worse travesty than failing to grow up. Somehow though, the older you get, the more you become disappointed, the more independent circumstance and money force you to be, the less crucial an imagination becomes.

Despite my reservations on choosing this, it is something in me that is convinced that the disappoint that my life may reap because of an abashed imagination, is trivial compared to my life without an imagination. So, perhaps I am the heroine in my own novel...STOP: in the sense that I want to make something of myself, I want to overcome, to dramatized it, evil, I want to be rescued by, yes, a hero, I want to love and live as freely as possibly, and I must do all this against the grain of so many who believe imaginations are for children -- and I will.