The other day on my way to Nature of Math (G.E. class, I would not take such a thing on my own volition) I was talking to my roommate, Michelle, about silly "ways to my heart." I believe this was spurred as a result of a conversation where I claimed that she would have more of my heart if she gave me free reign of the milk (seeing that we share milk and I drink inordinate amounts). This got the creative thoughts flowing ...

12 Silly Little Ways To My Heart:

1.) Compliment me on my outfit. Yes, this may be shallow, perhaps a little silly, but if you say you like my blue shirt with my yellow cardigan or anything remotely of that nature, I am instantly pleased.

2.) Let me make you food. This is a strange one I'll admit, because it's usually the other way around, but fewer things make me happier than to cook for people.

3.) Ask me what I'm reading. It's a simple question, really, but it's one of my favorite ones to answer.

4.) Give me a spontaneous hug. How I love hugs.

5.) Tell me you read my blog. It's kind of lame exactly how happy this one makes me. It almost makes me think I need to get my priorities in-check. Should I get so much happiness from such a statement? Probably not. I just can't help it. ;)

6.) Play hypothetical games with me, such as: "what if ... "; "would you rather ...."; "if you were ... " -- you get the point. It takes a special person to take these games seriously. Thanks, Michelle.

7.) Carry out an inside joke to its grave. Things that were once funny rarely loose their funniness, if anything, they ripen in time. If you and I have an inside joke that's lasted years, odds are, we're kindred spirits.

8.) Send me a letter. The other day my friend spontaneously put a card in my mailbox (I think I refer to this a couple posts below), but it was a very exciting affair.

9.) Teasing. When my friends make fun of me I know they're my real friends. My grandpa once told me, "Melissa, someone would never take the time to tease you if they didn't really like you."

10.) Plot a ridiculous/silly scheme with me. Too old for this kind of thing? I think not.

11.) Be willing to debate about topics being fully aware that coming to a conclusion is about as likely as Ashton Kutcher dumping Demi, flying a private jet to Biola, and whisking me away, all prior to 9 a.m. tomorrow (10-3-08).

12.) Read something I've written and critique it. If I can get a person to do this, our friendship is in stone.

Dear Fall,

Please bring me back to Scotland ...






Here's to a happy first day of October, and a blustery welcome to Fall -- my favorite season!

- On My Mind -

This post was inspired by my friend, Laura. Her inspiration was found in InSyle Magazine (naturally), and where they found their inspiration, well that's a mystery.

Things that I currently "cannot" live without:

1.) My journal. I actually have two, one for writing more of a general overview of my life and the other for being more candid with. The latter, being a recent gift from my friend which she put in my school mailbox.

2.) Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds. Isn't the fact that I polish off a 17 serving, family- size box in seven days indication enough of my love?

3.) My Ipod. Running, studying ... yeah, that basically covers it, but seeing that I do A LOT of both, it's pretty much a life saver.

4.) The Dear Frankie soundtrack, solely for the piano music which always calms me after a stressful day.

5.) My passport. Yes, I realize I haven't gone anywhere recently, but the fact that I have it, waiting to be stamped again, makes me very, very happy.

6.) Ok, this may be an odd one, but my long hair. It took awhile to grow it out, and now that it's long I can twist it into a long spiral then make a bun on the back of my head. I love just sitting in class and twisting it -- makes me very glad to be a girl.

7.) Juice Stop smoothies, #27.

8.) My nine dollar Target "kick- it" shorts. Paired up with a white tank, these shorts bring comfort to evenings and Sunday afternoons that I never knew possible.

9.) Wednesday night dinners with the London girls. Experiencing a home-cooked meal, consistent friendship, and lots of laughs comes at a perfect point on Wednesday. My time with them is truly a blessing.

10.) Dreams. This may sound cheesy, but bouncing ideas in my head about where life is going to take me next, what it is I really want/what God has for me, and all the possibilities that I consider everyday, gives my life just the hope and spice it needs.

If I could grow up and be anything I'd be a piano player. I would sit at a smooth black piano with my hair in an elegant bun, my dress would be striking and black with a swooping back, and my earrings would tease the eyes of the audience as they flickered in and out of the stage light. The audience would sit calmly and dream their dreams, review their tragedies, or perhaps lean their heads back and drink it in. Words in that moment would speak to some -- it is true -- but piano music, the unsuspecting ripples and twists of the ivory keys, could capture all; a language all in its own.

It has been said that life is a dance, but to me, life is like piano music. Only does the composer really know where the song is turning next, and though the avid listener may guess, the composer can always change the next beat. This is like God with the rhythm of our lives.

Unfortunately I cannot play the piano -- not really. But, Naturally, in my daydream this is not the case. :-)

As inspired by Mindy Jane's post:

Random Things That Make Me Happy

1.) Going to bed with wet, clean hair.

2.) Really good salad.

3.) Cuddling and telling secrets with my best friends.

4.) The sound of wind or rain at night.

5.) Poetry.

6.) The way you feel after a really good run.

8.) Having the kind of conversation with someone that is so interesting you loose track of the world.

9.) Imaginations.

10.) The smell of pumpkin spice or warm vanilla sugar.

11.) Sunshine.

12.) Running in the rain.

13.) Piano music.

14.) My grandparents house.

15.) Shopping with mom.

16.) Loosing sleep over a good book.

17.) Traveling.

18.) Planning future trips.

19.) Big dreams and people who encourage those.

20.) The good kind of butterflies in your stomach.

21.) The whistle of a tea kettle and huge mugs of Chamomile tea with milk and sugar.

22.) Writing stories.

23.) Swings.

24.) Late night road trips shared with good company.

25.) Wearing an apron, listening to Christmas music and baking.
26.) Laughing so hard you have to leave the room to get away from the person making you laugh.

Paradox

Yesterday my professor made a comment that touched upon the idea that life is full of paradoxes. Perhaps I have gone through life for the past 21 years unappreciative of this truth, but fully sinking in the reality that paradoxes are part of life makes the "complicators" and "puzzlers" in my life, ironically, much simpler.

A place where paradox is seen vividly is in the Bible. A quick example of contrast that I'm thinking upon in this moment is the truth that Jesus calls himself both "the lion" and "the lamb." Can one be fierce and soft? Soft-spoken, yet roar wildly? Strong, but still gentle? On a deeper level, can you love and still hate? Fear, yet be excited? Care, but crave apathy?

Yes.

Such paradoxes in human nature are all the more a testimony of God's great complexity. Being formed in his image we have a hint of this complexity, in our fallen human nature we have a taste of such a perfect, awesome creator. This, I suggest, is one of the -- if not the -- most profound paradox in humanity.

Welcome to the house ...

Top of the line New Balance running shoes: 88 dollars
The most uncomplicated pedometer I could find: 15 dollars
Half marathon: 80 dollars
Training: Priceless?


In an attempt to put my ten year love affair of distance running to use I have decided to do a half marathon. I figured with my somewhat recent broken foot injury (last winter), my inexperience, and the stress that comes with the last semester it wouldn't be sensible to sign up for a full marathon. And though I don't pride myself on sense alone, it had weighty merit in this decision. With that said, December 13th 2008 I'll get to put a big red check mark on my "list of things to do before I die," executing the bullet point entitled "half marathon" with style.

Though 13 miles is no physical feat, training has been interesting. Thankfully I unknowingly trained fairly hard this summer, as being bogged up in a desk all day tempted me to accomplish 4-6 mile runs about 5 times a week. But now, the real game has to come into play. This morning I ran 5 miles in about 90 degree heat (because I slept in too late). I came home about ready to pass out. I thought running was suppose to make one more energized, and though this has usually been the case, my body is already feeling the training. I look as though I've been riding a horse for hours or am a victim of chronic back problems as I walk to class, but I will persevere.

I'm going to be honest, I love a challenge, and this whole new "half marathon project/challenge of 2008" has been refreshing. So, here's to youth, "Girl Power" (the slightly embarrassing coin phrase of the Spice Girl era), and good health! Wish me luck :-)

It takes my grandpa at least two minutes to pull a Saltine out of the plastic – this is impressive compared to him performing other domestic duties …

To scramble an egg can take up to 30 or 40 minutes, to heat dinner usually takes the same length of time. Grocery shopping, vacuuming, cleaning a spill, and all “more advanced” cleaning duties are not even in his job description. My mom finds this maddening, my grandma expects it, I find it endearing.

Now don’t judge my grandpa, as this has no reflection on his talents. If you want him to fix a kitchen sink, build a fence, install a water heater, construct a bird feeder, or any type of handiwork, he is your man. And for my grandparents this balance works. Never has my grandma had a broken garbage disposal without it being fixed 30 minutes later, if she wants new white shelves above the TV, three neatly placed white shelves are up the next day. Just the same, my grandpa has a hot meal three times a day, the carpet is always clean, the sheets washed, the kitchen tidy, and the cookie jar aplenty. The only time there ever are issues is when one of them goes off balance, like in the current case, when my grandma is semi-bedridden after knee surgery.

The last two mornings I’ve gotten up and first thing walked down the street to their house. I’ll scramble an egg, wash the counter and floor, possibly pull out the vacuum, start a load of laundry, start a grocery shopping list, take the dog out for some exercise -- all in under 40 minutes. Then the bigger tasks like grocery shopping and going to the bank are still done in less than 60 minutes. Tasks like these would take my grandpa days, or possibly -- and more than likely -- never all be completed. Now, as an XY chromosome, and a highly-domestic personality, I find joy in this. I can’t change a tire, I’m not the biggest fan of mowing the lawn, and if you told me to fix a toilet I would cry. But ask me to polish a wood floor, make a decent meal, and sew a rip in a pair of jeans, and I put on a little music, cheerfully getting to work. Despite this, I realize not all men and women are so keen on their exact gender roles, and in today’s society the extreme dependency on each role is more or less a rarity. Yet for my grandparents, this isn’t the case.

While I understand the frustration my grandma must feel when it takes my grandpa 30 minutes to fry her egg, she also feels lucky that she has him to try to help her when she’s sick. Though I find a flicker of humor in it all, I go back to the word endearing, as watching him clumsily get her a cracker and stiffly put the long white sock on her bad leg is real love. Sure he can’t really do it, he may burn things, under or over feed her, and scrunch her toes as he fights with the sock, but he overcomes his unnaturalness toward domestic duties because he loves her, and because of that, it wouldn’t be natural to do anything else.

Timeless songs:

I’m sitting here in my air-conditioned room, plopped peacefully on my bed, bouncing my feet back and forth to Eric Clapton’s “Layla,” thinking: "hmmm, 'Melissa' would sound even better than “Layla” in this cool rock song." In all reality, I was just reflecting on how much I love music – all kinds – classical, oldies, classic rock, hip-hop, rock, really jazzy French music, sentimental country, Christian, rap, even pretty intense rock is alright by me, just no “screamo.” Music moves, inspires, reflects, and can even tell us things (whether we should listen or not), and even though my musical talents peak at middle school choir -- nine years of muffled flute playing (trying to let the rest of the flute section overbear me), aspiring piano (?), and one month of singing lessons (please don’t go there) – I still love music.

Though I haven’t put much thought into this post, off the cuff, here are twelve favorite songs (though I have ten million more):

1.) Credence Clearwater Revival (CCR), “Have You Ever Seen The Rain” is probably my favorite song. This classic rock, fairly-lyrically ambiguous tune, does it for me every time. What drawls me to this song isn’t so much the lyrical paradox of “the rain coming down on a sunny day” or the highly Snare Drum dependent beat, but more the feeling the song invokes. It reminds me of times of chance, of the good in chance, and just like how it can rain on a sunny day, paradoxes can happen, and in change, life can take me by surprise, too.

2.) Coldplay, “Fix You.” Quite possibly the most romantic song to me; I am fully aware that no one but God can fix me, yet still the concept that someone (such as the lead singer of Coldplay -- Chris Martian) would even care to try, is just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Really, you’d have to understand me fully to get why I really like this song, but as far as I’m concerned it’s romance at its pinnacle. Not to mention a great running song during the dramatic … “dannahdunahhh!” “Green Eyes” and “Swallowed In The Sea” are also favorites.

3.) Frank Sinatra, “The Way You Look Tonight” captures classy without too much mushy. My favorite line is “that smile that wrinkles your nose touches my foolish heart.” What I like about that line is that a “wrinkled nose” is really only attractive to someone who’s completely smitten.

4.) Dave Matthew’s Band, “Grey Street.” As choice #2 unveiled, I like songs about men singing about mysterious/broken women.

5.) The Eagles, “Take it Easy,” or “Hotel California,” etc. Basically, like CCR, the Eagles can do no wrong.

6.) Flogging Molly, “If I Ever Leave This World Alive,” has a slight Celtic flair that touches my Irish roots (assuming I have Irish roots). Not to mention the lead singer has kind of a hot voice (in a funky, clear your throat, kind of Irish way).

7.) Brandy Carlile, “The Story.” As a lover of stories, this song tops the charts. “All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am, so many stories of where I've been, but these stories don’t mean anything unless you’ve got someone to tell them to …”

8.) Rocky Voloato (whoever he is), “White Daisy Passing” soars my itunes play count at nearly 200 because it evokes an emotion when I listen to it that I just plain like. Best listened to on a rainy day ;)

9.) Les Miserables, “Do You Hear The People Sing” – this song makes me want to be French.

10.) Snow Patrol, “Open Your Eyes,” made it on the list solely for the line “they don’t get your soul or your fire.” I love that line every time I hear the song.

11.) Wreakless Eric, “Whole Wide Word,” just like in Stranger Than Fiction, would you like to play this on the guitar for me? Please don’t be a Will Ferrell look-alike (fingers crossed).

12.) Elliott Smith, “All Cleaned Out;” once again, the “broken woman phenomenon” reels me in.

Bonus: My all time favorite hymn is "It is Well." I'm not sure why adding that to the list is a bonus, except for the fact that I didn't want to create a number 13.

*Note: these are not necessarily my "favorite songs” (with the exception of number one). This, of course, excludes my shallow, hip-hop indulgences that I’d rather not publicize.

What was life like before Facebook? Or, better stated -- what was love like?

Now, I'm not one to blog about personal relationships, sure they're juicy, but get too personal and it feels like a middle school Xanga -- not my target audience. But let's be honest, who doesn't love to talk about relationships? Specifically love. Personally, I think one can tackle various aspects of this topic (safer on the comedy side) with complete ambiguity. After all, romance is spice.

What I'd like to focus on is Facebook love. This very blog, being a public, easily accessible medium that'd I'd assume two to three people read a day (one who accidentally found this page on a google search, one being me, then sometimes good 'ol mom ... ok, maybe not always mom). All in all, I feel like this is a safe setting to get out my views on Facebook love. But before I continue, let me define it:

Facebook love is a proclamation of love between one person and their boyfriend/girlfriend, finance, spouse, etc. Facebook love can even go so far as to include the tormented soul who prides them self on cryptic status lines such as, "if only he'd notice me" or "ain't no sunshine when she's gone." (Admit it, at least half of Facebook users have gone here once -- if not multiple times).

How do I feel about Facebook love? Well for starters, it's about as entertaining as Saturday morning cartoons (in case you're culturally confused, that's entertaining). I have several roommates (all female, naturally) and I hear them on repeated occasions squeal with delight when a wedding or engagement album has been posted. I am guilty of this as well. But it doesn't stop there, oh no.

For starters, there's the relationship status: complicated means I'm sort of invovled but want out, single means I'm confident that I'm alone or I'd like to not be alone, in a relationship means you can know I'm taken but not with who, in a relationship with ___ (insert name) shows relational pride, married is a clear off the market, engaged is usually a giddy female, then lastly, not listed -- the crypic bunch -- often the crowd that is either A.) sick of dating B.) Been badly hurt C.) Not interested in dating (rarely this one) or D.) Un-condoning of Facebook love. Or, of course, there's the occassional, "too many relationships to list just one so I'll leave it blank" sort. And if it stoppped here maybe Facebook love would be somewhat under control, but as one could guess, it doesn't.

There's a bucket load of other aspects of Facebook love that can be fun time wasters for the "purpose driven procrastinators" (not to be confused with Rick Warren, Purpose Driven Life). Take couples wall to wall, for example. Sometimes the things people post to their beloved is stomach-doubling funny. Then there's blatant "lovestoned" about me sections. Albums, let's not forget the albums! Ahh, and messages (which no one can see) but we know we've all been there, stealthly conducting Facebook love behind the scenes.

Is there shame in any of this behavior? I don't know. Am I guilty of this behavior? Though less than some, when I meet "Mr. Right" odds are, they'll be at least a picture or two posted, and who knows what that first dropped domino will trigger.

Here's the catch, the kicker, the conclusion of this post, if you will. Facebook is about "connecting," it's designed to "share your life," and though the concept of sharing life in such a public, unpersonalized manner is a bit unnerving, it is our culture. Whether we resent it or love it, love is a part of our lives, and Facebook can only hide that for so long.

What was love like before Facebook? Between two people ;)

Honey, This Smile's For You

Every morning on my way to work I play the “radio game.” Though others may not be familiar with it, I am highly familiar with its terms, and for me, it goes something like this: change the radio station to find the best song currently on (basic). But the part that constitutes as the game for me, is the later and later I happen to be for work, it starts becoming, “change the radio station every time you’re stressed about being late for work”; though I cannot control how late I am at that point in my morning, I can control the music. This brings me satisfaction.

This morning I was notably early and because of this I was listening to almost full songs. Actually I went so far as to keep it hanging on a particular radio station 1.2678 seconds after the song had ended to hear the announcer say something, that for reasons not all entirely known to me, cracked me up. The announcer proceeded to highlight a recent study from the University of Indiana where research discovered that guys are notoriously awful on picking up on signs if girls like them.

Eye-batting, hair twirling, coy smiles, this stuff may have worked in 1926 (think pre-depression prairie days). But in 2009, the effects are much weaker.

This was cracking me up because I was thinking about how funny girls can be showing “the signs” and how dense guys, at times, can be in picking up the signs (disclaimer: I’m not saying guys are dense). I was just envisioning that girl in Bio 101, 8:00 a.m. class who laughed in her not morning volume of a giggle (yes, my laugh is loud, too I realize) at some guy who’s joke was not funny to anyone else. All the other females catch onto her attraction like a hitchhiker-weed to socks, but the guy just really thinks he’s on a funny streak.

Of course for the ego-ready male, not much more than a passing smile may do the trick, but for the shier, sweeter sorts, encouragement such as continual love-glazed smiles, may only lead them to believe “she’s a very cheerful girl.”

Looking on the actual website at the statistics, it’s evident that 8% of woman got the signs wrong vs. 12% of men; though this number is noteworthy, it’s not astonishingly significant. Besides, who am I to know, maybe it’s always been this way. Perhaps Cindy-Lou rode side-saddle on her horse 20 minutes out of her way just to pass Jerry everyday-- waiting for him to notice her. While Jerry just thought she had to take that particular route every day.

Aw, love. You can’t help but laugh at it just a little.

Here's the article: http://www.nowpublic.com/culture/men-are-daft-picking-body-language

~I have discovered that what is not understood by anyone is most intimate with God; it is in this separation from others that I can find the closest intimacy and desire with God~

I’m sitting here in the stillness of my room at 1:19 a.m. My body is begging for sleep, but there is something too peaceful about this moment to let it pass. It’s funny, because I am not a night person, but that does not mean I don’t appreciate it. Something about the crickets outside my window, the keys clanking into my fingers with each letter I type and the knowledge that I am alone until morning to do as I please. Yes, something about that almost makes me want to be a night person.

I’ve thought a lot about friendship this past year, not particularly because I want to, but because that’s how life’s happened. Friendship is a perplexing thing, though any time you have humans interact it’s bound to be somewhat perplexing I’d imagine, seeing that we’re all a little “nutty.” I like people none the less, well, love people, but life still happens and so do friendships.

I don’t know how to say this better, so I’m just going to say it flat – people are beautiful. I love the way we need and don’t need, the way we hurt and pretend not to, the way we all laugh at different things until you find that some laugh in the room echoes you on the same thing, and the way you can find that one friend once in awhile who just gets you. I love that God can make two friends who get each other. When I say this I always think to the scene in Pride and Prejudice when Elizabeth and Jane laugh and tell secrets in the unrealistically huge white bed of theirs. That sense is a real kindred spirit to me.

Though this is all lovely, unfortunately there’s a spin to things, a much less fortunate spin at that: yes, certain special friends may get you, but no one will ever fully understand you but God. It’s kind of hard to accept, but it’s true. In a lot of ways, no matter how many friends we have, even if they’re the Jane and Elizabeth, or Anne and Diana kind, we are still never completely understood.

Grappling with this at first was hard, because I want so badly to be understood by those I love so dearly, but in the end, I have finally found peace. I have discovered that what is not understood by anyone is most intimate with God; it is in this separation from others that I can find the closest intimacy and desire with the Lord. This is not to say that we shouldn’t let ourselves be known to trusted others, in the deep places too, but this is to say that no matter how much we try we mustn’t think they can fill that enigma of a space inside us with complete understanding. Perhaps this is what people mean when they say “fill yourself with God.” It is possible that it is not to cut off all the world from intimacy and only come to God, but rather, let those places where no other human can or even should fill be sufficient, or in some cases, brimming with the love of God. To me it makes sense, and it makes the idea of that human inner loneliness a whole lot more purposeful.

I will close with this, though I doubt many have read down this far. Though people may not understand us, though we may never be wholly known and though we may at times feel completely unknown, God blessed us with friendships for a reason. And despite how little a person may get you, it’s in the way the friend holds you when you cannot move, in the way you laugh at only things the two of you understand, in the way they let you dream and in the rifts that at times may not go well, but they try just the same. It’s somewhere in that, in that broken attempt to try to understand each other that makes a real friend, and when that brokenness succumbs to vulnerability to a trusted loved ones who’s just as broken, but selflessly loves them as best as they can, that, that’s what’s beautiful. And when we take our unknown sides to God in all brokenness and vulnerability and accept that he understands it better that us, that can move even the most unknown heart to joy.

"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.

So, I'm not Rorie Gilmore, but I am a creditable intern;)

Looking for an internship for this summer has been a source of stress as always. Places expect one to apply in mid-October, which means application preparation starting by late August/early September, which was hard considering at that point about eight months ago I was on a deathly stuffy train in Rome. Though I have no complaints, it would potentially cause for internship suffering. Come October however, I was googling sights like LA Times, OC Register, making Skype calls and emailing professors for letters of recommendation like crazy. "Just mail it to London" was my plan. Which would entail all my clips, all my letters and the ever so costly Biola transcript somehow gathered together and mailed to London. Personally I think I deserved an "A" for effort. Then the indicator came to me, as it comes to me with most important decisions in my life, God was saying..."wait." Actually in a lot of ways he was yelling it (to put it in metaphorical terms), so I waited.

My friend Danika followed up with my waiting by offering me a proposition of her own (by now it was mid-November). She was leading an SMU trip to Africa and said I could accompany her and intern, needless to say, this was exciting. I had always wanted to go to Africa, I mean common, Africa? Besides, I really wanted to give something back to God before I graduated and a missions trip felt like an awesome way to do it. Oddly enough though, no spiritual confirmation.

Then it happened: the end of March and my good friend Alex's dad came to visit who happened to be in book publishing in Brazil. I nearly trembled with admiration in his presence, as I LOVE books and would cry with joy to work near them all summer (maybe, cheesy exaggeration). Needless to say, after prayer and thought, as much as I could stand that is before I had to mail in my resume and application. Then it happened -- I got the internship! I will be interning for Tyndale Publishing House in Carol Stream Illinois, which is 40 minutes from Chicago, and four miles from Wheaton, which is where I'll be living. What a blessings! To top it off, I get to work in the editorial department, get paid AND am living with five girls from Wheaton, so the whole thing should be an awesome adventure. I'm honestly counting down the days until May 28th, when I will road trip it there with dad and move into my home in humid Illinois. I'm nervous, but excited. Praise God that I did wait, because this opportunity was definitely one worth waiting for:)

That's it, I'm blogging more. I have decided this in the last three minutes, which I feel is long enough to make a lofty pact with myself in regards to blogging. See the thing is, I alway write, I write constantly, but I never post anything (well, I can't really say never, because if that was the case I wouldn't have the mini plethora of posts below this one), but in relation to the amount of writing I do I honestly hardly ever blog. Why? I think there are several reasons, two mains ones I explored in the post below (being too personal and not knowing who's reading), but I suppose there is a deeper underlying reason, a reason that if I ever want to achieve any form of greatness in the field of writing must be destroyed--my need for perfection. That's right, I said it, I along with millions of other humans, am a perfectionist, and the truth is, I will get somewhere with this mindset, but I will never be great, because I will always be afraid of risking perfection. So, RIP perfection (just as lovestoned was ever so sadly RIPed in a past post). True this post would be better read sectioned into well formed paragraphs, with a witty into., possibly less parenthesis, but then if I had to go through all that I most likely would not be taking the five minutes to write this, but rather thirty, which would inevitably stop me from keeping up a regular blog due to time issues. No, this is not to promise the abolishment of the paragraph or the captivating intro, those elements must live on...yet, it is my pact with myself to end blog perfectionism. So goodbye blog perfectionism, and hello blog of greatness (wow, something about the latter name I just wrote sounds very magical name meets eight year old intellect, maybe blog of greatness is a poor title--scratch that...)

I don't blog often, various reasons...mainly the idea of public readings of somewhat personal writings combined with the paradox of an idea that no one reads. But, maybe I'll improve. Anyhow, I like the lyrics of this song, and seeing that it tops my itunes playlist at a rather impressive 181, I thought why not post the lyrics. Is it morose? Yes. But it's nice just the same;)


Passing White Daisy by Rocky Votolato

Please slow it down
there's a secret magic past world that you only notice when you're looking back at it
all I wanna do is turn around
I'm going down to sleep on the bottom of the ocean
because I couldn't let go when the water hit the setting sun
passing white daisies taking turns
close the door walk into the street
catching raindrops on your tongue
and for a minute it all stops but it won't last man
it's just a passing moment gone
please slow it down
there's a secret place that I know where I could dig a grave out and climb underground for good
all I want to do is turn around
I'm going down to sleep on the bottom of the ocean
because I couldn't let go when the water hit the setting sun
passing white daisies taking turns
all those evenings on the back deck of our first apartment
they meant everything but the wind just carried em off
and you can't go back now just a passing moment gone