Discuss

You should know by now, of course, my vote.

Have you ever had a friend that was so close, fighting never seemed to be an option? It sounds foolish, I know, but it happens to me more often than naught. Unfortunately, one such friendship is coming into question.

I have, since we met, considered this guy my long-lost older brother. We clicked easily, and I have always looked up to him. Lately, however, he's been saying and doing a lot of things that have really made me rethink my opinion of him. What's frustrating is, because we've never fought before, I haven't the slightest idea how to react to his sudden outburst towards me. I'm at a complete loss.

He wants to talk today, but it honestly reminded me of my dad announcing the need for a family meeting to discuss the mysteriously broken window (second grade).

Dear readers, where am I without your witty quips via blog-comment?

Things that have gone wrong in the passed two weeks:

1) Didn't get cast in the next theatrical production on campus.
2) My baptism isn't being recognized by a few key members of my family (my dad).
3) Really, really sick...during finals no less...
4) Sinking feeling I won't be the one receiving the Com. Arts Conference scholarship, despite my great need (one of my favorite profs told me she wanted to hand me a brush the entire presentation).
5) Guy friend (we'll call him...Collins) wants to visit me over winter break, despite my hints against it, deeming it inappropriate, and attempting to explain that even the closest of my guy friends wouldn't do so.
6) Haven't heard back from my home church about doing my practicum there. I need to know by Friday, otherwise I have no practicum for this year.


And yet, somehow, I've been feeling the most joy I've felt in a long time. This isn't to say I've been unhappy, but this state of complete calm despite disappointments, frustrations, and Mucinex DM, is refreshing. So despite the above six, they've been quite overshadowed by these six:

1) Elizabeth checking in on me every few hours to make sure I haven't died in bed.
2) Being Chase's first go-to when his Transformer is stuck in robot-mode.
3) Overhearing someone who made the cast tell a professor that I was their favorite Cheshire Cat out of those who auditioned.
4) Grandma's. Pumpkin. Cheesecake.
5) Fanny's level-headedness and honesty.
6) The staff at Dunkin' Donuts on 31.

Had a dream I was in a trio-dance with some bluesy-Norah Jones song in a smaller version of chapel. All rehearsals went well until the day of the performance, when I forgot my costume and jazz shoes. My brain would cook this up in the middle of the night. Oy vey.

Waking up with swollen eyes is no good. Glasses day today. RA retreat couldn't come at a more perfect time.

"You sit there in your heartache,
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
save you from your old ways.
You play forgiveness.
Watch it now ... here he comes!

He doesn't look a thing like Jesus,
But he talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined when you were young..."

-When You Were Young by The Killers



Told Willoughby we couldn't be friends anymore. Was becoming too exhausting, being that emotionless for his sake. Exploded. That happened around eight. Lord knows what'll happen now.

Lot of God-things happening lately. Woke up yesterday to the following text:

"Good morning! Don't let anyone or anything let you feel anything less than beautiful as a bearer of God's image this morning."

This is from someone I never hear from. Dazed from sleep and pleasantly confused, I plopped down at my computer, only to be greeted with yet another unexpected message, longer in length than the text...longer than most letters I receive, actually...explaining how my testimony given at my baptism on Sunday, and the later conversation with a mutual friend had really impacted him. He's an exchange student, only here for a semester. Home country doesn't really acknowledge Christianity as good or bad. They simply don't talk about it.

He was so affected he apparently had dreams about both our testimonies. They weren't necessarily happy dreams, but he was so thankful...kept describing us as "amazing," "strong," and "brave. All this before 730 AM. Scheduled coffee with him to go over what he's thinking, see if the holy spirit can't sort through some of his questions.

Later, a friend I only see in class stopped by to work on a project over lunch, which started discussion that transitioned into story-telling, which Segway'd into my testimony once more, which got her to open up about a whole slew of things she was keeping pent up. Crazy-amazing, the look of relief and joy on her face after she was able to vent. Think we were both in awe after that conversation.

Willoughby's been acting boyfriend-y, which is incredibly discouraging, but maybe that's why God prompted everything that happened yesterday. Amazing how, just when I think I've been doing something wrong, God prompts a few messages of encouragement. Brilliant.



Song of the Day: You and I by Ingrid Michaelson

Today was gorgeous out. Laid out in the sun with Kev and Abby all day...attempting one of five papers due on Wednesday.



Things I Wanted to Do With This Day But Couldn't Due to Cruel Amounts of Papers:

1) Hike
2) Nap in the sun.
3) Go dancing
4) Learn "Blackbird" on guitar.
5) Make blueberry pancakes.
6) Read the Twelfth Night.
7) Go kayaking
8) Take pictures in the city.
9) Take an improvisational road trip.
10) Go horseback riding.
11) Climb a tree
12) Go camping
13) Write letters. A lot of letters.
14) Paint
15) Finish theater ideas I've had for years.
16) Perfect the fisherman's cable.
17) Make a bonfire out of my textbooks.

Song of the Day: Lovin's For Fools by Sarah Siskind

YMCA CAMP RUNSWITHSCISSORS* PROUDLY PRESENTS

“Deedee’s Summer”
a rather sunny Black Comedy

Character List:

Deedee: 20 year old teeming with brilliant ideas for humanity. Doomed from the start.

Leslie*: 30-something. Past choral instructor/current boss of Deedee. Once close with her pupil, now she struggles to find balance between friendship and respect in her camp director position.

Ruth*: Energetic 39 year old. Leslie’s best friend, Deedee’s past high school art teacher, now newly returned Australian camp director and current Runswithscissors activities coordinator.

Alicia*: Teen Leadership Program director. Just acquired 2nd grad teaching job after two years of student teaching. Energetic, spontaneous, and fun, she also tends to be rather frazzled, moody, and disorganized with her personal affairs. Determined to patch things up with her mother. Obsessed with the homeless.

Jenny*: Recent college grad and waterfront coordinator. Athletic, fun loving, and easy going. No drama here.

Jessie*: 21 year old, used to attend high school with Deedee, as well as perform alongside with her in plays, musicals, band, choir, and soccer. Current senior music-education major at UW-Stevens Point, and OLS instructor at camp. Bright, open-minded, and often told to quit being so damn angelic.

Rebecca*: 20 year old drama instructor at camp. Adopted from infancy from the Dominican Republic, recently accepted into a speech pathology program. Loud, social, with a knack for pop trivia, she tend to become self-conscious or lower her self-esteem where guys and body-image are concerned. Interested in Kyle.

Kyle*: 20 year old Junior math major. Sports and games instructor, as well as soccer coach to 5 year olds. Bred to be a playmate for his older brother, who was born paraplegic. Typical jock, yet somehow lovable, his attempts at revealing depth only appear to widen the puddle that is his mind. Referred to as “Little Brother” by Deedee, who is in return dubbed “Mom” by him. Requires a dictionary in order to converse with her. Admits to having no feelings for Rebecca, though continues to flirt with her relentlessly, despite constant chiding from “Mom.”

Josh*: Last year an assistant counselor, this 19 year old was one of few to be hired as full-time staff, as the nature instructor. Loud, often obnoxious, but generally liked. Often mistaken for Jewish because of his dark curly hair. Appears well-mannered until after hours, especially during Mario Kart, when his obscenities flow best. Incessant flirt, despite girlfriend.

Donald*: Was an AC with Josh. Kind, fun, but more reserved than the rest. Avid AC/DC fan. Often forgotten by the rest of the group. Teaches team building at Runswithscissors.

Josiah*: 20 years old, in the ROTC program at Northern Illinois University. Very kind, with an unexpected wit. Fervently in love with his girlfriend Liz, and guns. The corny dad of the staff, and biking instructor.

Bob*: Came to Runswithscissors as a junior counselor for a couple years, left to work for a summer, skipping his assistant counselor year. Hired as the archery instructor, despite his severe lack of knowledge in the field, as revealed in staff training. Tall and goofy, with a great love of comedy of the Python brand. Plays trumpet in two bands: on ska, another folk. Going to be a freshman for music education. Slapped Deedee on three different occasions during a Mario Kart tournament, when she beat him mercilessly. Terrible at serious conversation, but chastised Deedee for using the phrase “Amish Jew,” which he found offensive, despite his Catholic upbringing.

Barry*: Driver of the Blue Bus, which picked up Deedee, Jessie, Rebecca, and Josh, and their site campers. Like a really cool uncle that knows something about everything. Makes amazing coconut brownies and hands out cans of nacho cheese that his friend is trying to get rid of. Taught Deedee how to weld.

Ralph*: New Red Bus bus driver, which picks up Alicia, Bob, Kyle, Donald, and Josiah. Always greets people by name, even if he just saw them, which could be because he’s new, or just creepy. Constantly asks Deedee if she’s seen the new Transformers movie yet. She has not.

Sandy*: Camp secretary, and official pancake-flipper for Friday mornings. Just quit her job at the Holiday Inn to work at camp full-time. Constantly buys stuff (food) for the staff. Full of awesome, and energy abound, even as she nears 60.

Izzy*: AC, 17 years old. Neat freak, thinks the Beatles are overrated (much to Deedee’s chagrin), but still the best AC camp’s had in awhile.

Zack*: Deedee’s JC/AC last year. Despite the slight changes in the Teen Leadership program’s schedule, he still is often found hanging around the art room. Girl-crazy, big hugger, and typical future player.

Michael*: South Korean staying with his aunt and uncle for a few years to learn English. Comes to camp all summer. Favorite song: Boogaloo.

Elizabeth*: Cousin to Michael from South Korea as well, and stays with same relatives. Often placed in Deedee’s cabin group. Taught her how to say ladybug in Korean (moo-dang).

*Name changed for fear of lawsuit.

I often wonder if the men here are castrated as a prerequisite to be admitted into this school.

Just recently I have encountered too many situations in which I have to look at the man and be ashamed to call him my brother. There have been times when I have looked at my guy friends and had to ask them, "Where is your penis?"

I apologize if you find this vulgar, or you're a guy and you're reading this. I would not want your job for the life of me. I feel incredibly lucky to be free of the social demands men have; I've just never seen any of the implied "man's work" carried out. I could count the sincerely strong men I've met in my life maybe using both hands. And people wonder why I often lapse into heartless wench mode.

Yesterday while we were finishing up a game of pool, Willoughby said, what came to me as random, "I don't have enough balls for you."

To that I replied, "You could have." You just decided I wasn't worth the effort.

"To show pity is felt as a sign of contempt because one has clearly ceased to be an object of fear as soon as one is pitied."
~Friedrich Nietzsche

Yesterday I realized that dear Mr. Willoughby is entirely unneeded in my life. The epiphany came to me during a lunchtime we shared with some mutual friends. Discussion after discussion, I could not help but observe that every conversation was turned into a desperate attempt to gain the amusement and overall approval of our peers. The spectacle was, as a whole, quite exhausting. A few underhandedly sharp comments from my end and he quickly realized I had come to a conclusion about our relationship, and that it would probably take more energy than he would ever want to spend on a single person to gain my esteem once more. And now the only thing I feel for him is the one emotion we both loathe: pity.

The entirety of this affair was all at once taxing, empowering, and freeing. I'm quite glad it's found its end.

I love kids. I love how content they are with life; they can have no toys and become completely satiated with playing make believe. My RD has some family over for the week, and they brought their three kids and Great Dane Mango. So, with Chase, Alexa, and Sienna, there are a total of six. Right now they're playing "restaurant;" their laughter is enough to make me shut off my iTunes and become completely engrossed in their game.

"Okay, this is a different restaurant. Chase, you're sitting on this side."

"I want fish heads."

"Chase, that's not a drink. Would you like some lemonade?"

"Um...yes!"

"Pretend that on the last time, we paid a lot of money so we're really popular-"

"I want lemonade!"

"-and we're like movie stars and-"

"I want lemonade!"

"Okay Chase, what do you want to eat?"

"Fish heads!"

"I'll take that as a cheeseburger, Ellie, what do you want?"

"Parker, I want pizza!"

"We don't have pizza here Ellie, only cheese burgers and french fries."

"Don't be stupid, we can have whatever we want, we're movie stars."

"STUPID IS A BAD WORD!"

How I long for the days when calling someone stupid was the greatest upset of the day.

Willoughby contacted me today wanting to know what he could do to make us friends again. I told him to quit acting like the victim and left it at that. As some point he wants to come over and make crepes. I don't think he gets the fact that this whole process of being his friend again is difficult for me, after everything that happened. I feel taken advantage of; like I'm some for of entertainment that's best left misunderstood. Things are so much more black and white when left like that, right? If this annoys me so much, why do I oblige him?

Oy vey.

Creator or Terium

"I try not to have things look as if chance had brought them together, but as if they had a necessary bond between them." -Jean-Francois Miller

"The person we bend over backward for and the person that bends over backward for us are never the same...it's a timeless predicament." -Bethany Atchison


Are there ever times in which you wish you could like someone you didn't? Conversely, have you ever wished you could turn off your feelings for someone who has proven time...and time...and time again...that they didn't deserve them?

Honestly, the best way I can put this is: there is a Col. Christopher Brandon, and then there is a John Willoughby. This, of course, makes be the Marianne Dashwood. There have always been a Willoughby to my Brandon, faithfully paired since I ignorantly cannon-balled into the world of dating. And I fear that I will always be a Marianne.

I long to be an Elinor, have her patience, her selflessness, her grace...not to mention her fortune (Hugh Grant, are you kidding me?). And yet by the end of the book I find I miss Marianne's energy, her spunk, her unabashed honesty and passion...I think that's what makes me fear growing up. I'm afraid building up a poised front, biting my tongue and always keeping a graceful outward appearance will leave me drained, not to mention make me appear to be insipid and witless.

But what should I love more? Opportunities for sarcasm and and humor for my own gains, or the people it is generally inflicted upon? Should I consider the process of maturing a stifling of my own personality, or of my own selfishness? Despite Willoughby's continual wrong-doing, should I jump at the chance to be right, or lay down my pride regardless of their transgressions? From the beginning, could it not necessarily not be his fault fully, but mine for letting my guard down so easily, for letting my hope turn into expectancy, for not consulting the One who knows me best?

Who do I serve, God or myself?

Oh, all that I know there's nothing here to run from, and there, everybody here's got somebody to lean on.

Things Needed for a Perfect Birthday (in no specific order):

1) Successful softball home game (thank you Kristin)

2) My mother calling me at exactly 11:52 AM with "YOU ARE NOW OFFICIALLY BORN."

3) Long walk through old-people district in 68º weather/seeing old man on motorcycle with mohawk helmet in said district, and an equally long drive through town (no OP sightings)

4) Free Jamba

5) G-pa and G-ma Mac, for their intense gift-packing (honestly, how many rolls of tape did you use?) and musical voicemail featuring Grandma's beautiful voice, and Grandpa's monotone, 2-second involvement. Timeless.

6) (Fish tacos + Life cereal)/same meal = nirvana

7) Discussion about God that went beyond Bible quotes

8) Justin Spackman. On stage. In my dress.

9) Bethany allowing me to be ridiculously stubborn in waiting a good fifteen minutes in the car for my parking spot to reopen.

10) Walking in on Caitlyn, Christine (and cousins), Beth, and Eric blowing up balloons for my room, then being texted an hour later to let me know it was safe to come back up.


God has surely blessed me with every good thing. Thank you to everyone involved, mentioned or not.

Well I ain't saying I'm innocent, in fact the reverse...but if your heading to the grave, don't blame the hearse.

Is it bad that I'm not even looking forward to my birthday?

I can't really place why...I guess for the same reasons I don't look forward to Thanksgiving or Christmas...there's this huge build up and then poof, it's done. I enjoy the building up to an event; somehow is seems so much more fun than the actual holiday itself.

Think about it: Thanksgiving generally begins as soon as November rolls around, Christmas typically starts as soon as Thanksgiving dinner is done. We become so wrapped up in the anticipation and preparation, the original celebration becomes an excuse to stop doing anything, or carrying it out becomes rushed and seen as a chore. Any joy, any...spontaneity, is sapped in a sense of duty.

I'm not trying to be pessimistic, but I guess I haven't been in the best of moods since I got back from the DR anyway. Don't get me wrong, having been there made me more patriotic than I ever thought I'd be (that is, at all). But being there made me feel significant, gave me a purpose, created goals that weren't too far out of reach or intimidating. Being back, it's been difficult to feel any of that at all with the new onslaught of papers, projects, speeches, the demand for missions work hours to be completed, and events that are all, coincidentally falling around the same day I generally celebrate the expulsion of infant me from my mother's uterus.

Perfect ending: Jordan just ran out of the bathroom and shot me dead with his Nerf gun. Brilliant.

You told us of your new life there; you got someone comin' around, gluing tinsel to your crown...

I realized something about myself today. As far back as I can remember, I have never really had to try for anything. Not to sound priggish, but it's true. Somehow, I am one of few people of whom success comes naturally. Even if there was the occasional instance in which something was particularly difficult, I've always decided against trying harder, or had no problem realizing it just wasn't an interest of mine, and by some luck, I did fine all the more for it. Until now.

This semester, I'm taking a class entitled Christian Theology. Now, coming from where I do, and knowing Christianity only by experience, and less by logic, the chance at enveloping oneself in deep, theological discussion was something to be excited about. The professor pumped us up by stating that, "It is not God we're putting under a microscope, but rather, our own faith being analyzed. Be prepared to go under fire."

And I was. I was, that is, until I returned from my resume-pristine, Christian-polished missions trip to the DR and checked my midterm grades.

D.

I got a D.

Pride, meet Toilet.

Immediately, I e-mailed the professor. Surely, by some slight human error, he mixed my grade with another student's? Had I not just got done talking with someone proudly declaring they did half the homework assignments, and still received a B? I had gotten full marks on every reading reflection, even checked my midterm paper with several Biblical studies majors to make sure it was theologically sound. I let my guard down and prepared for this class. So how could I have possibly received so little as a D?

And then he responded:

"I will definitely help you as much as you need and I am able - while being fair to everyone or course. I will hand back papers tomorrow, you can analyze and evaluate the comments for a day or so and then we can get together and make a plan for the next paper. Whatever you do, don't panic. We still have time and more assignments and can bring things up. Please don't worry. Become motivated and really get committed to making it better but don't panic.

C U 2moro.

Dr C"

Don't panic.

Hadn't I read that in a book somewhere? Yes, yes I have...but in that book, the Earth explodes in the beginning.

Needless to say, I was less than enthused with my answer. But as I pondered it more throughout the morning, the more I became okay with it. Don't panic. Everything's going to be fine. So I have to try for once...God forbid you care enough to put for a bit of effort...Did you die? Will your friends and family abandon you just because you suck in one class?

...

I'm looking for a "no" here, in case you're wondering.

"To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake." -Thoreau

I need to work on this.

This morning's babysitting quote of the day:

Jordan (finishing breakfast): "Mmm...fresh milk squeezed from a cow...and fresh napkin...squeezed from a tree..."

"I have just three things to teach: simplicity, patience, and compassion. These three are your greatest treasures."
-Lao Tzu


This weekend I babysat for my aunt and uncle. They have two boys: Tyler, who's four, and one-year-old Hayden. Tyler's an argumentative brat, but he's still my favorite; the justification he finds for most of his behavior is so ridiculous it renders itself irrefutable. Example:

"Tyler, it's time for story and bed. Get your pajamas on."

"But I don't wanna go to bed."

"Tyler, it's 9 o'clock, we need to get ready for bed."

"But mommy and daddy wouldn't make me..."

"But your mom and dad put me in charge, and they told me now is bed time."

"But what if mommy and daddy DIDN'T put you in charge? What if they put...Ernie (their pug) in charge?"

"Well, what do you think he'd make you do?"

"Um..." pauses for a moment "Woof. That means it's playtime."

Often all I can do is laugh.


Hayden is often a different story. Generally, he's a ball of sunshine. Corny, I know, but there's no better way to put it. Unfortunately, as he's grown, he's also grown in temper. He lives in two extremes: human and demon (think Exorcist, Rosemary's Baby, etc.). Unfortunately for me, he was also sick, teething, and had a diaper rash. For four hours he screamed at the top of his lungs. I had done everything I could. He was fed, clean, newly changed, and I knew he was tired because he kept nodding off between wails. I was shocked he wasn't projectile vomiting, or setting things on fire with his eyes. I felt bad for Joanna, who definitely didn't accompany me only to be dodging pacifiers and cereal all night. But me being me, and him being a baby, I kept rocking him, singing to him (an assortment of the Beatles; most make awfully good lullabies) and praying to God that the demons depart from him peacefully. It was all I could do from sticking him in a basket it and sending him down the Fox River.

And then I realized how much this situation was a microscopic scene of God's relationship with us. We too often complain, curse, sob, pity ourselves into insanity...when really, we're some of the few that have it best down here. I can only just picture God shaking His head and staring at us with sad eyes, wishing for us to be at peace. He could leave us alone to cry to ourselves, unheard and without comfort. He could decide to stop answering our prayers, get sick of it and cut off all communication. He could smite us, end the panic right then and there. He could erase all of creation at the drop of a hat...but He doesn't. Instead, He loves us unconditionally.

I had been praying for God to calm Hayden down...for more patience with him...and ended thanking the Father for own unrelenting His patience with me. Funnily enough, as soon as I came to that understanding, Hayden stopped His crying, laid down, and went to sleep.

The next morning he punched me in the throat, but that's irrelevant.

"Don't ever prophesy; for if you prophesy wrong, nobody will forget it; and if you prophesy right, nobody will remember it."
-Josh Billings

Grandpa Mac is in the hospital again. Prayers please.

You are the best thing...that's ever happened to me...

And when I sing that magnificent song by Ray Lamontagne, I sing it to my oatmeal and coffee. Thank you foods, for starting my morning particularly wonderful.

I get to meet the family I'm going to babysit for tonight. Monday and Friday mornings, 6:15AM-8:30AM. Twelve-year-old twin boys. There will be stories, and I will post them.

We started rehearsals for Steel Magnolias, and I had forgotten how much I love being on a stage, owning a script, being directed. It's probably a lame drama-kid thing to say, but it feels like home. It's nice to be back.

As busy as I know this semester will be, I can't help but feel incredibly calm about all of it. Trust me, I did my share of spazzing before I got back on campus...but now that I'm settled again, I just feel an immense peace.

Things are good. I'm set. No worries.