2006

My Christmas Story

Merry Christmas and Ho! Ho! Ho! To Colorado we will go! But in Dallas we're stuck, Much to our bad luck, We couldn't leave 'cuz of the snow.

Yes, that brilliant little limerick sums up nearly half of my Christmas vacation time.  But for those of you who want the brutal details, I will put my flair for poetry aside, and enlighten you further with my prose.  It all began seven days ago.  I was nervous about traveling anyway for several reasons.  (1) It would be my first Christmas away from my family, and instead I would spend the holiday with my husband's family, some of whom I had only ever met briefly.  (2) The last time I was in Colorado, I became desperately sick (due to the altitude) and my future mother-in-law had the distinct pleasure of cleaning up all my lovely bodily functions.  And (3) we were bringing our puppy, Hugo, who would spend a total of 7 hours (with a brief stop in Dallas) in a little carrier, pushed under the seat in front of me.  But, despite my misgivings, I found myself at 32,000 feet, with Hugo sound asleep, and I soon followed him.  

We reached Dallas without incident.  Hugo hadn’t made a peep, and as soon as we got to the airport, I put a “wee-wee pad” down for him, and he went immediately.  “Good boy!” Ryan and I cheered.  This trip was going so smoothly, no bumps in the road.  I put Hugo on his leash, and we all walked toward our gate.  The next leg of the trip was the easy one.  It was much shorter and Ryan’s parents would pick us up at the other end.   

And then we saw it.  The word every air-traveler hates to see.  A word that brings doom to the hearts of anyone who wants to see their family on a holiday.  C-A-N-C-E-L-L-E-D.  It was with shock that we talked to the woman at the gate, who sent us to the ticketing line, who directed us to a phone number we needed to call, who told us to get back in the ticketing line.  So there we stood, and our options were bleak.  The next available flight was Christmas Eve, due to “The Storm of the Century” that was taking place in Colorado.  That was 4 days away, and we were flying back on Christmas Day anyway.  “No problem,” the helpful ticketing agent on the phone had said.  “We can change your return flight as well!”  Ryan had to kindly inform the man, who apparently had never heard of a job with a limited number of vacation days, that that was impossible.  Our other option was to get right back on the plane and fly back to LaGuardia in two hours.  Two hours later, however, we had moved 10 feet in the ticketing line, with still another 30 feet to go.  We weren’t going home that night.

After another hour of discussion and frustration, any option looked better than standing in line another minute!  We decided to rent a car and drive the 10 hours to Colorado Springs.  Why we thought driving into a blizzard was a good idea, I don't know.  Our minds had been fuzzied by the airport bureaucracy.

At first the trip was exciting.  Hugo is good in the car, and I enjoyed that we had more freedom than in an airplane.  But after driving the first 10 hours in Texas, then into New Mexico, then back into Texas, then detoured off main roads because of snow and ice, then driving on roads full of snow and ice anyway, then finally onto the interstate that brought us through the mountains and into Colorado, I had seen more of southwestern America than I ever want to again, or indeed ever did in the first place.

map.jpg

map.jpg

By the time we reached New Mexico for the second time, Hugo was going crazy.  You know how you look when you start hearing voices in your head?  You know how it's hard to hear one because they are all shouting at you at the same time?  Well, that's how Hugo was looking.  I could practically hear the voices myself!  We couldn't take him out, because, being only 3 pounds, he would be toppled into the snow by the wind.  And he was tired of sleeping.  Ryan was stressed, and I was miserable.  But finally, after a grueling 18 hours, we made it.

The relief and joy of seeing Ryan's family was magnified in my mind, because of the harrowing journey we experienced.  The snow then seemed a blessing, instead of a curse, as I gazed out their windows at it and at the majesty of the mountains beyond.  Then I remembered the reason we had travelled all this way to spend Christmas with our loved ones.  The Reason all this majesty graced the land before me, and the Reason all the gifts were piled beneath the tree.  And I was overjoyed.

"When they saw the star, they were overjoyed."

Matthew 2:10

Untitled - I wrote this years ago

By no means do I have all the answers. Sometimes I get so swallowed up in loneliness and my bed seems my only friend. Sometimes I feel used and hurt and even manipulated. Sometimes I wonder if God is there, and if He is, I wonder if He’s listening. Sometimes, my beliefs seem far from everything that I am, and sometimes I cling to them as if they are all that I am. I long to live life with joy, yet at every turn I find sorrow. The romantic ideas of “living” seem so far from the life that I lead. Deleted emails speak of children living life in a carefree way that adults forget about, famous sayings tell us to “stop and smell the roses”, and people often speak of having a life, but rarely ever living. This elusive ideal – “living” - makes me say “yeah, that’s what I want” but then a minute later I am in a bustle of activity that I don’t want to be doing, but it seems that there are no other options. I find that I get tired of activity and long for the next stage of my life, as I’m rolled through the mundane bustle of everyday activity. I get tired of other people complaining at how much they have to do. Many people say, “Life sucks, but you just have to learn to live with it.” I’m sorry, but I can’t live with that. I often wonder, what these people are going through that I’m not. Granted, my life is good. But I still cannot imagine circumstances in which I would proclaim that this life is so bad, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I am amazed at the difference perspective makes. I am convinced that even through sorrow and despair, that life can still be good. That there can be joy and hopefully at the end of life, it will have been a life well lived. ~ My grandmother was just diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer. She is one of the most amazing women I know. Anyone who has met her cannot leave without being touched by her wisdom and love. But her feistiness and spunkiness have also lent to the wonderful life that she has lead; one that has been full of laughter and sorrow, but is ending in great peace. I can’t imagine that’s she’s not scared. And it hurts me to think that she is. But when I talk to her, while I sob on one end, she speaks with comfort to me, full of peace and strength, and not least of all, hope. ~ Who am I to try to reconcile the idea of a loving and good God with the fact that there is pain, and hurt, and even injustice in the world today? I have only lived a relatively short life so far. I have only a little knowledge and even less wisdom. I fail in most of my attempts at self-discipline. (But there is one thing I know, and that I base my entire beliefs upon, indeed, even my very life. And that is that God is good.) Good does not seem to capture the hugeness and vastness of God. It does not seem to describe his infinite knowledge, his perfect capacity for love or even his mercy. But maybe our definition of good is too small. David says, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” Sometimes this is easy. We are so in love with God that it is almost as if we are tasting His goodness. Life, although it is in no way perfect, is easier somehow. God is in control and His presence is near and sweet. However, times like this are rare and it seems the older I get and the more people I come across, these times are only what children feel as they live their carefree lives. We even look at them enviously sometimes, longing for our childhood, when life was good and God was so clear. But then, if God is good, and life is a gift from Him, then shouldn’t life be good too? Why, then, do we so often feel that it is not? How can we live this life to the fullest and at the end of it, look back with an overwhelming peace, realizing that we did indeed really live?

Philip Yancey asked some of his respected Christian friends the following question: “If a seeking person came to you and asked how your life as a Christian differs from hers as a moral non-Christian, what would you tell her?” As I read through their answers, I began to wonder what I would say. “I feel so unqualified to answer this question. I have seen so little of life and have dealt with only a small amount of pain. Because of this (and hopefully in spite of this), I am tempted to say that with God there is joy. This I believe, however, it is something of which I cannot always personally attest. So, what I would say is that with God there is life, in all senses of the word. Without God, there is no life at all. He breathes it into all His creatures and without Him, there is none. But It goes deeper than that. He promises life to the fullest. In Him, we find satisfaction, fulfillment, and a sense of our own identity. Yes, there are some longings that this world cannot satisfy, but with God, we can enjoy the fullness that life with God can bring.”

There are no answers here. I can only pray that my faith will increase as much as and more so than the trials in life.

Noisy Neighbors

Ryan and I just recently moved into our own apartment. It's small, but cozy. We have all hand-me-down furniture, but it's beautiful. We love just sitting in our new home; enjoying its warmth and each other's company. Often we will dim the lights, throw some popcorn in the microwave, and pop a DVD into our new flat & widescreen TV to bask in its glow for hours at a time, while snuggled together on the couch. But then we hear it: the rattle of the pipes, the high-pitched screaming, the ghoulish yelling, and the eerie music. We pause our movie to listen, our faces terrified by what we are hearing. You see, our apartment is haunted by the worst type of ghouls: noisy neighbors. Our first encounter with our vociferous neighbors was early on one of our first mornings here. I woke up slamming the snooze button to turn off my alarm. Why wasn't it working? I thought. Finally, befuddled and bemused by the non-stop noise and the early hour, I looked around. It wasn't my alarm, nor was it Ryan's. It was coming from above, as if there were no ceiling or floor separating us. I looked at the clock: 5:30am . Nearly three hours before I had to get up. They'll turn it off soon, I naively presumed. Two hours later, I - nearly bald from pulling out my hair - could take it no longer. I stood on top of my bed and pounded on the ceiling. "Who leaves their alarm on for two hours straight, while obviously still in the apartment?" I wondered, frantic from lack of sleep and the most annoying noise in the world being drilled into my brain. Soon, I was delighted and relieved to hear footsteps go and turn off the alarm. I fell back to bed, with the alarm still ringing in my ears.

After weeks of waking up to non-stop alarms and pre-teen temper tantrums, of plumbing that literally runs right next to our TV, and the yip-yappiest dog (yes, I invented that word) I have ever encountered, one of them decided to take up the trumpet. Yes, the trumpet. An instrument that hardly sounds good played well. After several days of us thinking that someone up there had an incredibly bad cough, we realized it was actually someone practicing their music. With cringing faces, Ryan and I stood, horrified. Now it is my belief that I can always be useful to those around me, and help them by teaching valuable life lessons. On this occasion, I thought it would be extremely helpful for this insolent individual to learn what good trumpet playing sounded like. So feeling very pious, I sat down at my computer, double clicked on Miles Davis, and turned the volume to the max. Laughing at my cleverness and noticing the delinquent trumpet had stopped, I basked in the triumph of my victory.

* * *

I'm so tired. I was up all night because my little girl has the flu. She finally fell asleep around 5 this morning, and I fell asleep a few minutes later. Unfortunately, I forgot to turn off my alarm so we could both sleep in - no way she was going to school this morning. Anyway, I woke up about 5 minutes ago to a banging on my floor. At first, I thought my daughter had fallen off the bed, but the banging continued. Finally, I realized someone downstairs was banging on the ceiling! That's when I realized my alarm was going off. It must have been beeping for quite some time, but I just hadn't heard it. I understand that may be annoying to people around me trying to sleep, but maybe they should realize there are extenuating circumstances sometimes.

The other day, I got home to find my daughter crying outside as she tried to play her trumpet. I couldn't figure out why she was standing out in the cold, when she was supposed to be inside practicing. Then she told me she had been practicing, as I had told her to do, but someone had started playing trumpet music really loudly. She said she couldn't concentrate, but I knew there was more to it than that. Someone was insinuating that they don't want to hear a little girl practicing her trumpet, and they wanted to shut her up. I was fuming when I went upstairs. I'm so tired. And I'm tired of neighbors who just don't understand what it's like to raise two children by myself in a small apartment. It's very hard. I'm doing the best I can. But right now, I'm just tired.

,

I do what I can.

,

It’s October, do you feel it?  Even if I weren’t looking at my calendar at this very moment and seeing “October”, I would feel it.  Even apart from the weather, and the earlier fading skies, I think I would know.  Apart from the colorful leaves falling from the tress and the sound they make as the wind rushes them along the pavement, apart from the cool air and the smells of wood-burning fireplaces, apart from sitting in my warm home, clad in snuggly pajamas, sipping hot cocoa and reading, while the light dwindles outside, I would still know.  Though all these wonderful things make up the month that is October, there is more to it than that.  Can’t you feel it?  When I walk outside and realize what month it is, I recognize a warmth and a humility growing in me.  It isn’t joy or happiness, but neither is it depression or sorrow.  There is only one possible explanation.  It’s magic.

 

Now I know some of you recoiled at the word.  “Oh no,” you thought.  “Is this more of her Harry Potter nonsense?”  Most certainly it is not.  It is my love for the Season and I am telling you, that through my many years of experiencing this powerful emotion that only occurs at this time of year, “magic” is the only word I have come across that adequately describes it. 

 

From the colorful leaves falling from the tress and the sound they make as the wind rushes them along the pavement, from the cool air and the smells of wood-burning fireplaces, from sitting in my warm home, clad in snuggly pajamas, sipping hot cocoa and reading, while the light dwindles outside, there’s magic in the air this time of year. 

 

It’s a time that causes people to dive into their homes, close their doors and turn on the heat.  Yet by no means can we stay inside.  There are holidays to prepare for, families to see, and presents to be bought.  But isn’t that the best part?  We come out of our hibernation, all of us bundled up so tightly it no longer matters how we look.  We’re all buying presents, shopping for turkeys, enjoying decorations, singing holiday songs; the holidays bring people together.  In doing so, however, there is sadness, remembering those who have passed, remembering loved ones who cannot be there with us.  It is a time when emotions are raw and exposed.  There is great joy, but there also is grief magnified. 

 

All these emotions pass through me, causing a deep introspection as I pass into the cool air.  For many years, I have felt this glee and anticipation rising in me when the months turned cold and I have long wondered why.  Is it because I will no longer have to deal with the sweat filled months of summer?  Is it because I am a night person and have more energy when it turns dark?  I eventually discovered the only thing that makes sense.  It is in anticipation of the Holiday.  Something in me stirs that I only feel once a year.  Something that tells me this Season means something.  This is real and I should pay attention.  The chill in the air, the holiday decorations, the shoppers filling parking lots and malls – it all reminds me that we are somehow in this together, we are all doing the same things and put here for the same purpose.  This realization brings a sense of urgency and humility in my life.  “There’s not much I can do,” I think.  He’s not calling you to change the world, is the answer. 

 

It’s almost November and I feel it even more.  There’s magic in the air.  And I do what I can.

Screwtape rip-off

My Dear Wormwood,

By your last letter, I can see that you are making slow, but steady process.  That, indeed, is the best kind!  If you had sent me a letter that delighted in your recent conquests, I would know that her repentance must not be far behind.  You need to make sure your charge does not see her slow descent towards hell.  I noticed many areas where you should concentrate your efforts, but I will begin enlightening you with only a few. The first and most important is her love of food, specifically chocolate.  You may think that this is more to satisfy her disgusting physical desires, but this can be more spiritual than you realize.  I hope that you realized that many times when she sits down to eat, it is not out of “hunger” but for a different need.  You must feed these desires!  Any time you see her feel anxious or lonely, convince her that all she needs is a little morsel; just a small treat and she will feel better.  Don’t you see?  In this way, she will never feel the need to sit down and pray, as long as she has a physical taste to soothe her.

Another wonderful aspect of your charge is her want of striking out when she is feeling hurt or insecure.  What an easy job you have ahead of you, Wormwood!  Find out who is in charge of her husband and coordinate.  When her husband says anything, however small, convince her that she is the victim and therefore has the right to lash out at him.  It won’t take much work because she is already very insecure, yet quick to rise in anger.  Don’t even worry when you see her think “I must control my temper.  It is something I need to work on.”  It is so much in her nature she will not be able to change it.  As we all know, the road leading here is paved with “good” intentions.

Now for areas where you must get her to change.  Number one: Do not let her write on her so-called “blog”.  This is dangerous in many ways.  It causes her to become introspective and think about deeper things.  You might say that mainly she tries to write humor, but any type of writing will cause a person to think – and that they must not do!  That is when the Enemy will whisper to them, and they will hear it more easily.  Fill her head with distractions!  Don’t give her time to write!  Have her husband watch TV or play loud music.  Anything so she cannot hear the whispering.  The “blog” is also dangerous because it is something she actually takes pleasure in working on.  How disgusting is this “pleasure” that the Enemy created!  Never let her take pleasure in anything she is doing.  Whenever she is happy, or moved, or enjoying something simply for enjoyments sake - that is dangerous territory.  We must take her pleasure and distort it.  Make her feel obligated to write.  Make her feel that there are certain things she should and should not write about, which will take her pleasure away.  Do you not see how she cries when she hears beautiful music?  Do you not see how she laughs with her friends and giggles with her husband?  Do not allow these things because they are gifts from the Enemy!  Any pleasure that the Enemy allows in the lives of these horrid creatures is only useful to us if we can distort it.  If you allow her to experience pleasure in its purest form (ie. before we have gotten to it), she will feel closer to the Enemy.  It is then that you must watch out, because she may move into praise and prayer.  At those points, you will have no access to her at all.

So you see, my dear Wormwood, you have a lot to learn.  Continue to work on her slowly, do not let her sense your presence.  Update me regularly and I will be able to help you.  But remember, if you fail, I will have nothing to do with you.

Sincerely, Screwtape

Counting Towards Something

I learned some very important things about myself recently. (As I am sure the anticipation is killing you, I won't bore you with some long introduction and far-fetched allusions.)  I have learned (1) that everything I do has to matter in some way, and (2) that I like fantasy fiction.  The latter should not have been such an epiphone to me, especially considering how much I enjoy LOTR and Harry Potter, but it was.  It was my husband who suggested it.  We were riding in our car and I was listening for the umpteenth time to The Two Towers.  He kept asking questions and I, proud of my vast LOTR knowledge, answered in the longest and most complicated way possible (I wanted him to be impressed).  Then he said it: Amy, I really don't understand your love for fantasy fiction.  "Fantasy fiction?  I don't love fantasy fiction!  Only losers like fantasy fiction, you know, like trekkies."  He looked at me knowingly.  Well apparently, I am a loser.  So, in my pain-staking quest to find and accomplish new projects, I am going to try reading some new books in this genre and see if indeed I am a loser. Now to explain my next stop on the path to self-enlightenment.  You may think that the statement "Everything I do has to matter" is some way of expressing my need for meaning in my life.  Well, on a deeper level, that is true.  But let me give you some examples on a not-so-deep level.

  • Every time I read a book, I record all its information (author, pages, publisher, whether I took any notes or quotes from it, rating - my own personal, and very complicated system - and any comments I may have, etc.) on a spreadsheet. Otherwise, it's like I didn't even read the book and I have to read it again in order for it to count.

  • When I watch TV, I often find myself wishing that everything I watch was included as part of the Niellson ratings. I want what I watch to be counted and measured and reported, otherwise, watching TV is totally pointless.

  • I will not run without my Nike+iPod kit. Otherwise, my run is not counted and it is as if I haven't run at all. Do I think about the health that is improved or the waistline that is shrunken due to a run that perhaps hadn't been counted? No. I just won't run unless it is recorded into my computer.

  • I have a list of projects that I want to complete and published it right here on this blog. Apparently the feeling of accomplishment is not enough for me. I also must have it recorded somewhere that I am working on it and have finished it.

  • I also have a very detailed spreadsheet of anything that I want to spend my money on. If I cannot cross it off that list, the purchase was pointless.

Had enough?

Unfortunately, a set-back with all these points is that I am also quite lazy.  Now if I could find a way to make laziness matter in some way, I'd be golden (perhaps a spreadsheet detailing hours of laziness and quality of that time as compared to other laziness times taken?). 

Once again, my sweet husband was the one who made me realize this (If I had known I'd learn so much about myself through marriage, I'm not sure if i would have gotten married in the first place. But that's a topic for a whole different blog post.).  As I contemplated the amount of laziness accomplished this past weekend, I realized it just isn't fulfilling.  I need more.  I guess I thought everyone felt like this (if I'm one way, then I just assume everyone else is as well).  Well, I was trying to explain this to Ryan when I realized he had no idea what I was talking about.  Eventually, however, he understood - or at least pretended to very well - and became much more sympathetic.  Once again, I find myself with a project - to find something to do to make my time matter.  It just has to, at least for me, because otherwise, life is pointless.

So, whether this is indulging my life-long dream of writing a LOTR encyclopedia or getting more involved in music or children ministries at church, the point is: I am on a quest to find something.  (I welcome any suggestions - can't promise to do any/all of them.. lazy, remember?)  I'll keep you updated.

Remember? The Alamo

Ryan and I have decided that we need to adopt some better habits. For example, we now eat our dinners at the table instead of in front of the TV. This has been life changing in several ways. One, I do not watch nearly as much TV as I used to. Two, I don't snack in front of the TV at all. And three, the most important of all, I always remember the Alamo. What does this have to do with us eating at the dinner table? you may ask. Everything. Because there, perched on the wall next to which our table sits, is a beautiful cross-stiched image of the famed building, with those famous words stiched beneath. Needless to say, the picture is not my mine. It made it to the wall for two reasons: Ryan's dad made it for him when Ryan was young, and the frame matches the table. Nevertheless, the words have been fused in my brain and now every day I am obliged to remember the Alamo.

Unfortunately, I didn't know much about the Alamo as I have never had to remember it before, so I did a very small bit of research. It's an interesting story and if it hadn't been so depressing, I might have read more, or even watched a movie depicting the events. The gist of it all is that many Texan men fought at the Alamo for freedom, and died for it.

Now, every night as I eat, I think about the cost of freedom and what my life would be like without it. Seemingly, this is exactly why the phrase "remember the Alamo" was first uttered. However, as it was for the freedom of Texas and not America in general, my life probably wouldn't be so different.  I am not from Texas, I've never been to Texas, and I don't really care much about Texas (I am sorry, all you Texans).  So there I sit, pondering, wondering, and feeling, well, mostly depressed - that picture staring at me, challenging me to think of anything but an event that has absolutely nothing to do with me. "I know," I mutter with submission (in my head, of course. I don't want Ryan to know I'm crazy.). But every so often, in the deep recesses of my mind, I escape the call of the picture and realize the tedium in remembering the Alamo every single night.

In Costume

My husband has a blog where he and some of his friends from college spout off about their various political opinions, among other topics.  I am not an avid follower of politics like these guys, and therefore have never before posted on their site.  Until today.  Today I had a few things I wanted to say, but I knew that they would not listen or respect what I wrote.  So I posted under an alias.  Oh! the freedom I felt!  I could say whatever I wanted and no one would ever be the wiser.  Not only did I post once, I posted 4 times!  Unfortunate as it may be, these gentlemen appreciated the comments left by a stranger (interestingly enough - a man) than if the comments had been left by their friend's wife. 

These events led me to start thinking about Shakespeare and his commentary about the freedoms of being in costume.  One of my favorite Shakespeare plays is "As You Like It."  In the story, the main character- Rosalind - puts on a disguise and only then is able to truly talk and get to know the man she loves. 

Think about it.  If you were in costume and no one knew it was you, what would you do?  I know you've wished you were invisible at some point, why?  What is the appeal of becoming invisible?  There is a certain freedom in word and deed when no one can connect them back to us. 

Unfortunately, my brief encounter with "invisibility" was dashed by my husband's big mouth.  But it did start me thinking about perhaps living more more often like I was invisible, except that I'm not.  Would I be braver?  Would my voice be louder?  Would people - or even myself - find that I actually had interesting things to say?  Maybe I should start giving it a try.

What I wouldn't choose over chocolate.

In other words, I am going to attempt to write a complete list of things that I would never choose over chocolate.  Unless I for some reason have had my fill of chocolate.  But I don't think that will ever happen, and has indeed never happened, even though I have been on some serious chocolate binges.  OK, here goes:

  • internet access

  • work

  • hair highlights

  • professional manicures & pedicures

  • Diet Coke

  • talking on the phone

  • buying new purses

  • paying too much on gasoline

  • writing lists

  • going out on Friday nights

  • office supplies (or office supply shopping)

  • entertainment news

  • all my knowledge of economics

  • any kind of alcohol

  • seeing new movies

  • Ned Lamont & Joe Lieberman

  • Arizona, actually pretty much any "A" state

  • Duct tape

  • Harry Potter

  • My music collection

  • My DVD collection

  • President Bush

  • "America's Got Talent" and "I Love Lucy"

  • baseball

  • my Honda

  • The 20 questions game

  • kittens

  • apple pie

OK, after much consideration, that is the complete list.  These are the many things in my life that I would never choose over chocolate.  There's nothing else.  And for those of you who know me well, you will see how much I really love chocolate because of how important some of those things are to me.  At the same time, however, I couldn't care less about some of those things.  I guess it's up to you to figure it out. 

Be Careful...

I wish I could be reminded of my mortality without having to lose something precious. I wish I would cry more at the ends of books and less during corny TV shows.

I wish I lived in a castle and had long enough hair for my prince to admire it, even from my tower window.

I wish I had magical powers and everything I touched would succeed.

I wish I were tall and lean with a wonderful fashion sense.

I wish I hadn’t taken youth for granted when I was young.

I wish I was uninhibited and felt free to explore my wildest dreams.

I wish I was a Broadway singer, with a voice that reached to the rafters.

I wish I could dance freely and not wonder what people were thinking.

I wish I were a fairy princess, with evil stepsisters but a kind heart and my loyal subjects loved me as their queen.

I wish I were a better wife, friend, daughter, and Christian.

I wish I were more like my mom and grandmother.

I wish, when I looked out my window from a soft window seat, that there would be soft rolling green hills as far as my eyes could see.

I wish I were a writer.

I wish my favorite food was broccoli and its all I ever wanted to eat.

I wish Cadbury Cream Eggs were a magical potion that made you lose weight in all the right places.

I wish I was brave enough to star in my own adventure.

I wish my fears wouldn’t overtake me.

I wish I was disciplined enough to achieve my goals.

I wish I knew how to be content and “content” wasn’t such a boring word.

I wish my husband acted just like he does in my head.

I wish my imagination wouldn’t lead me to discontentment or disquiet, but would only come out when I call, with something absolutely brilliant.

I wish I were somewhat good at a lot of things.

I wish I were really good at one thing.

I wish I didn’t have to work, but never got bored.

I wish I could travel mystical isles, attempting dangerous deeds and exhilarating quests, while saving my money to buy beautiful robes and a horse to be my friend and carry me on my journey.

...what you wish for.

Italian Ice

Here is a perfect example of emotions gone awry:  Due to the horrendous heat of late, our HR person just brought around Italian Ice for everyone in the building.  She came over to my cube and I chose my preferred flavor.  "What's the occassion?" I asked.

"Hottest day of the year!" She answered and I laughed.  Ha ha ha.  (What else is there to talk about in an office but the weather?  Thank goodness for extremely hot days and blizzards.)

I brought my Ice back to my desk and looked at it.  How sweet, I thought.  I'm so excited to eat it.  And then I burst into tears. 

Like I said, emotions gone awry. 

Earlier this morning...

I was minding my own business, creating reports for my boss, when from the corner of my eye, I noticed a small black spot moving quickly toward my hand.  I jumped and saw that yes, my worst fear was confirmed, it was a spider.  I quickly moved everything away from the spot and started slamming my mug against the speedy arachnid.  Soon I realized I wasn't making a dent in the thing and the noise from my mug was echoing through the entire building.  I put the mug down and made up my mind.  I needed help.  Off I ran to my boss's office.  "Can you kill a spider for me?"  I might have added "mommy" to the end of the sentence, because I felt like a small child.  I was horrified to find I was shaking and sweating because of this 1/2 inch wide beast. 

"Oh, I'll come kill it.  Does it help do data runs?  If it doesn't help with our work, it doesn't deserve to be here."  She grabbed one of our publications and splat - it was dead.  I thanked her profusely, but had the feeling she was laughing at me. 

No longer able to sit at my desk in comfort, I performed a prolonged spider-check, bringing me back to the days of my youth.  Every night I checked my room, every dark corner, every spec of the floor.  I'm sure my dad remembers those days, with me screaming for him, even after he had gone to bed. 

Often I spout out about how much I've changed since my school days.  I'm not the same person I was back then.  Yet, I still find myself asking the same timid question.  "Can you come kill a spider for me?"

Wish List!

August is upon us!  A new month brings a new allotment of spending money.  Granted, this is a very small amount so I have to make it last.  But just for fun, here is a list of things I am saving up for. 1. a wireless Mighty Mouse!  (http://www.apple.com/mightymouse/)

2. Frasier Season 8

3. a shade for our kitchen window*

4. a couple nice skirts for work*

5. a sewing machine

6. The Return of the King on audio CD

7. An assortment of books, CDs, and movies (Amazon Wishlist)

8. a haircut*

9. WoW Expansion Pack (not out yet) - if you don't know what this is, don't ask.

10. a Mac laptop

11. a tiny cell-phone

12. a tiny PDA

OK, that was fun.  Those with * beside them are probably ones I will get this month.  The rest will have to wait for later months.  And numbers 10-12 are just distant dreams. 

Disclaimer:  This post is in no way a hint to any readers.  It is simply me wanting to take my mind off the events of the day. 

I could drown myself in it.

Chocolate, that is.  Today is just such a blah day.  Not quite emotionless, however.  I don't think I've ever been at that point.  There's always an emotion, lurking in the corner, about to spring out and surprise me with a bout tears or delight.  (This is something Ryan does not understand.  Emotions can be controlled.  If it doesn't make sense to feel this way, then I shouldn't.  A must always follow B.  But he doesn't understand that after B comes C, so if I jump from A to C, that's OK in the logic of math.  Or even if I feel like freakin' Z because of A, that's OK too.  If you don't follow, don't worry.  I'm not sure if I'm making sense.  Read this in my other blog.)

I have felt like crying today, though.  My car practically broke down on me.  I'm so tired of working.  My head has been hurting.  A lot of what I'm feeling, however, I'm sure is because I feel like I'm floating instead of swimming.  I want to go somewhere, but I'm going no where.  I wrote to some of the wonderful women in my family: This week I'm down, but next week will probably be the greatest week of my life.  That's what an emotional roller-coaster I'm always on...  Poor Ryan.