I'm in a good mood this morning.
For starters, I think my headache is starting to go away. Why? Because I'm drinking coffee which is full of caffeine and I am really beginning to believe that my now frequent occurring headaches are caused by something other than the weather. Considering the last migraine I had was the day after I had a lot of caffeinated beverages, and it did not go away until half an hour after drinking coffee the next day, I think it's safe to say I might have a caffeine addiction. I would try to break it right now but the headaches hurt and I need my caffeine to keep me going throughout the day. The semester will be over in three weeks and then I'll have three weeks to get a start on weening myself off of this drug. But for now, I need my coffee.
Second of all, I finally read my friend Rachel's memoir. She sent it to me the other day and forgetful me didn't realize until last night that I hadn't read it yet. I was able to read it this morning.
My friend is a very talented writer. I've always known this, but with us attending different schools and now only seeing each other a couple times a year, writing is usually only brought up when we're venting about school and how we can't wait for it to be over. Fortunately last week when we met up with another friend at Starbucks she told us about the memoir she was writing and asked if I could look it over for her before she turned it in. Although I dread editing others work (mostly because I don't think I'm very good at it) I wanted to read her writing and I was flattered that she wanted my feedback.
So I read it. And I loved it. Rachel has a way with words I've tried to mimic but have always failed in doing so. She's poetic and has a great way of describing events, people, places, etc. I on the other hand, well, I don't know how someone would describe my writing. But unlike poetic, I feel like I'm very blunt. I think it's fair to say I do my fair share of butchering the English language. Just because you want to be a writer doesn't mean your grammar doesn't suck. Trust me, after seeing plenty of read on my papers from my magazine class, I became very well-aware of the improvements I need to make with my writing.
What's ironic though is she and I are both facing similar problems with telling our stories. With her draft she said she feels she doesn't have a good ending for it. It needs a sense of completion. But how can she complete the story while the problem still exists? She's still in the middle of the story. It hasn't ended yet.
I can relate. As I'm trying to write about my story from high school, I too feel as if I'm still in the middle of the story. But the story is over. What's done is done. But it's missing a sense of completion. My big struggle isn't how it ends though; that's already been taken care of. My problem is, what did I take from it? It's the reason I've been hesitating on writing about it. In the back of my mind I keep thinking, "Is this really that important? So some drama happened a few years ago and your coach got in trouble. Big deal. What's the point in telling this story?"
I still don't have a definite answer for that. All I can say is that if you feel compelled to write about something, then it's worth writing for a reason.
So what am I going to tell her? I'm not sure either. Storytelling is still a craft that is going to take a long time to master. I have no expert advice to offer. I'll give her the best feedback I can and what I think might work for the story. Let's just hope I help her story instead of hurting it.
In the meantime I have to her thank for this blog. After reading her work I felt inspired to get another blog out of the way (since I'm still behind...fail). So what have I learned this morning? When facing writer's block, read your friends' work. Seeing how great of a writer she is encourages me to continue trying to be one as well. I guess if you believe in what someone else is doing, it may give you the confidence to keep trying yourself.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Ready? Set? Go! (6/90)
Procrastination. Something I'm very familiar with. Yes, procrastination and I have been great friends. For as long as I can remember actually. In fact, I'm sure my first homework assignment was the first time I was introduced to Procrastination. While my mom told me to go work on math or social studies, Procrastination told me to go watch Brace Face on ABC family. You can guess which one I listened to. Besides, elementary homework doesn't take long to do. 15, 20 minutes tops (or so it seemed). I thought Procrastination was great.
That was until I made it to high school. Where assignments suddenly became tougher. Where projects take more than an hour or so to get done. Where studying for tests was more than just reviewing some notes right before the test is handed to you. Freshman year of high school I had what I think can be defined as a panic attack when I realized I had a track meet, work, and an entire history project to finish before the next day. That was when I realized Procrastination has a dark side.
I've been good and bad since high school when it comes to procrastination. This year I've actually been particularly good. I've been working on my assignments as soon as I get them (usually because I have nothing else to do). Starting projects early. Studying way in advance for a test. As far as grades go, this might be the best semester I've had simply because I decided to put procrastination on the back burner.
Until last week.
Silly Laura, what were you thinking when you said you'd get so much done over Thanksgiving break? Why did you decide to go home a day early when you even contemplated showing up at the library and getting stuff done? Did you honestly believe you were going to go to the library at home everyday? Did you really think that you would get it all done and these last two weeks would be smooth-sailing?
Sadly, yes.
I don't know what it is but there's something about going home that puts me in the mood to do anything and everything but the things I actually need to get done. I would rather clean the entire house than sit and work on Spanish. Fortunately into my third hour of my Big Bang Theory marathon I pulled out my Spanish homework and got most of it done. Of course, I didn't completely finish it all until today. A couple of hours work was all it took. I could've easily sailed through it had I gone to the library at home and glued my ass to the seat for the day. I would've accomplished even more actually. The stress I'm starting to feel build would be non-existent.
You want to hear a secret though? I actually love it.
I know that sounds ridiculous, especially since I'm the one giving everyone else crap about being too stressed, doing too much, never having time to just breathe. I'm a hypocrite. I love it when I have a lot to do. I love being under stress. I love the pressure that comes with it. The deadline. The feeling of "you have to get this done or you will fail!" I love working under a clock and accomplishing a thousand things in one day even though I know I won't get any sleep. Although usually somewhere in that day I still have that moment of "Why didn't you work on this when you had the time?" It doesn't matter. I procrastinate. I stall and enjoy doing nothing. Then when it's time to get cracking, I'm completely focused. All or nothing. Do or die.
These next two weeks are going to be stressful. Projects, papers, everything coming to an end. And then when those are done, guess what's next? Finals!!! Oh the joy.
I guess I should get back to my work. Do or die. All or nothing. Last three weeks of fall semester 2010? Bring it.
That was until I made it to high school. Where assignments suddenly became tougher. Where projects take more than an hour or so to get done. Where studying for tests was more than just reviewing some notes right before the test is handed to you. Freshman year of high school I had what I think can be defined as a panic attack when I realized I had a track meet, work, and an entire history project to finish before the next day. That was when I realized Procrastination has a dark side.
I've been good and bad since high school when it comes to procrastination. This year I've actually been particularly good. I've been working on my assignments as soon as I get them (usually because I have nothing else to do). Starting projects early. Studying way in advance for a test. As far as grades go, this might be the best semester I've had simply because I decided to put procrastination on the back burner.
Until last week.
Silly Laura, what were you thinking when you said you'd get so much done over Thanksgiving break? Why did you decide to go home a day early when you even contemplated showing up at the library and getting stuff done? Did you honestly believe you were going to go to the library at home everyday? Did you really think that you would get it all done and these last two weeks would be smooth-sailing?
Sadly, yes.
I don't know what it is but there's something about going home that puts me in the mood to do anything and everything but the things I actually need to get done. I would rather clean the entire house than sit and work on Spanish. Fortunately into my third hour of my Big Bang Theory marathon I pulled out my Spanish homework and got most of it done. Of course, I didn't completely finish it all until today. A couple of hours work was all it took. I could've easily sailed through it had I gone to the library at home and glued my ass to the seat for the day. I would've accomplished even more actually. The stress I'm starting to feel build would be non-existent.
You want to hear a secret though? I actually love it.
I know that sounds ridiculous, especially since I'm the one giving everyone else crap about being too stressed, doing too much, never having time to just breathe. I'm a hypocrite. I love it when I have a lot to do. I love being under stress. I love the pressure that comes with it. The deadline. The feeling of "you have to get this done or you will fail!" I love working under a clock and accomplishing a thousand things in one day even though I know I won't get any sleep. Although usually somewhere in that day I still have that moment of "Why didn't you work on this when you had the time?" It doesn't matter. I procrastinate. I stall and enjoy doing nothing. Then when it's time to get cracking, I'm completely focused. All or nothing. Do or die.
These next two weeks are going to be stressful. Projects, papers, everything coming to an end. And then when those are done, guess what's next? Finals!!! Oh the joy.
I guess I should get back to my work. Do or die. All or nothing. Last three weeks of fall semester 2010? Bring it.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Weep not for the memories (5/90)
Yesterday morning I had an appointment at my new doctor's office. I arrived, and after filling in the necessary paperwork and signing over whatever the doctor's office requires, I made my way over to the magazine stand. I was only in for a mere check-up and physical exam. I discovered that a "new patient" appointment was needed before any actual doctor's appointment, you know, the one time you really need to see a doctor, when I called a month ago with a virus infection. Thank goodness for Urgent Care.
So there I was for my "new patient" appointment. Since I was not dreading seeing the doctor I for once felt comfortable perusing a magazine (in most situations I just sit there nervously twiddling my thumbs as I silently count the seconds before I have to see the dreaded physician). What was I going to check out today? There was a beautiful cover of Bazaar. Did I want to read up on the latest fashion styles that I can't afford? Or what about Fitness? I'm sure there was something in there about getting flat abs and a smoothie recipe that's going to help me a lose weight. I continued to scour over everything until suddenly there it was. In that bright red border I saw the only story on the cover, interesting enough that I immediately grabbed it and whisked it with me to the nearest seat in the waiting area: Alzheimer's.
I have been curious about Alzheimer's ever since my grandma was diagnosed with it a few years back. My mother was the first to pick up on the signs. She noticed my grandma was not acting her normal self. My grandma started to realize it too. My mom encouraged my grandma to go to the doctor but she refused. By the time she did go, it was already too late.
Of course it didn't help that the doctor who saw my grandma didn't believe that she had Alzheimer's. You see with alzheimer's patients, they seem to have episodes or incidents. Sometimes they appear normal. That's why I never picked up on the signs until later when the alzheimer's had progressed. But my mother, a nurse I might add, who was very close to her mother and was able to witness things that were oblivious to the rest of us, knew that something was up. She called the doctor and begged him to put her on some medicine. It took the doctor awhile before realizing my mother was right. Every time my grandma went to visit she seemed fine. But soon enough the disease made known its presence and the only thing the doctor could really do was put her on meds that would hopefully slow down the progress.
And in reality that's the best thing he could've done anyway. Alzheimer's is like cancer. There is no cure, and there's really no way of understanding how it happens. The best you can do is try to live a healthy lifestyle, exercise your brain, and hope and pray that something will come out that will prevent you from receiving this death sentence.
In fact, dare I say, I do believe that Alzheimer's may be the worst disease out there right now. I know I'm biased because I witnessed the horrific events of watching someone I loved die from it. There doesn't appear to be any pain, physically at least. Emotionally? Terrifying. My grandma no longer recognized me. Didn't know my name. Couldn't remember memories. This isn't The Notebook where they portrayed Alzheimer's in a way in which your entire life can flash back to you. No. Alzheimer's patients soon forget how to take care of themselves, and remembering happy times is a thing of the past.
The last, happy moment I had with my Granda was one of the times I visited her in the nursing home. It was just my mother and I and we were leaving. As I said goodbye, I leaned over, hugged her, and told her I loved her. She looked up at me and said, "Oh sweetheart." And for a split second, one little moment when I looked in her eyes, I could swear that she remembered me. That she remembered who I was. And that she somehow knew the situation she was in and sympathized with me. I know it's crazy. It's illogical to believe that someone with advanced Alzheimer's could have a moment like that. But I don't need logic to explain what I experienced. I fully believe that for that one moment in time, she remembered.
The first time I saw her there I freaked out. Literally. I ran out of the room, down the hall, back to the front desk and locked myself in the bathroom to cry. It didn't help that I had just been to her husband's memorial service that morning. The husband she didn't remember. The husband she would never realize was gone. Once I was able to calm myself down and face reality, I went back and kept my cool. Then before we left we put a vase of flowers from the memorial service on a table and my grandma went and looked at them. She admired their beauty and found them lovely. I was horrified that she was admiring the flowers from her own husband's memorial service. But perhaps for her emotional health, her unknowingness was for the better.
Needless to say, her Alzheimer's was an experience I witnessed that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
So when I saw the Times magazine with Alzheimer's on the cover I had to read it. I plopped myself down and immediately began flipping through pages until I found the story.
Unfortunately I barely got a page in when my name was called. I put the magazine back and followed the nurse into the exam room. I decided I would ask my doctor about Alzheimer's.
The other day I was driving in Muncie when radio talk show host Kim Ireson came on Indy' station 99.5. She talked about Alzheimer's disease and mentioned a blood test that could predict if you had the gene that would develop Alzheimer's. And she asked the listeners if they would get the test. Would you want to know if you could, or were going to, be diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease?
I thought about this. Would I? Would I really want to know if I was going to end up like my Grandma? Would I want to have that terminal sentence hanging over my head? Would I want to know that one day I was going to forget my family, my loved ones, my life, even myself?
The answer? Yes. I would want to know. I would want to know as soon as possible. I would want to know that I needed to cherish every memory. All of my friends know how often I dwell on them; it would make appreciating them even more. I would write more about my life. I would take more photos. When I got married and had children I would tell them what I would want them to do if, or when, I am diagnosed with the disease. I would want to be prepared. They would know I would rather take death over deteriorating away in a nursing home. Lord, if any thing ever happens to me, I do not want to spend my last days cooped up in a place like that. Life, in that state, is not worth living.
So naïve and paranoid me asked my doctor about this test. I learned that this test is still being developed; it's not completely ready. I also learned that this tests for a gene that causes alzheimer's; there are other factors that can trigger it that can't be tested for (at least not yet). And last but not least, I embarrassingly learned that I, a 21 year-old, should not be worrying about getting this test done. No one would pay for someone my age to find out if she was getting Alzheimer's. In fact, if I am ever to be tested for it, it won't happen for at least another 30 years. My deep contemplation on getting this test done was apparently a waste of my time.
In the meantime, all I can do is try to live a healthy lifestyle. Work out almost every day. Get my fruits and veggies. Read and do other things that'll exercise my brain. Other than that, there's not much left to do. I won't know until I'm well into the majority of my years on whether I will have the disease. And by then hopefully more research will be done. Hopefully they'll know more about preventing it, and may have developed some better medicines for fighting it. Hopefully.
Until then, cherish your memories. Be grateful that your forgetfulness is usually limited to "where did I put my keys?" and "what was the homework for tomorrow?" Not staring at your brother and wondering who he was. And keep in mind that there are people struggling with this disease and have loved ones fighting with them as well.
You can learn more about Alzheimer's here: http://www.alz.org/index.asp
I also encourage you to check out this: http://www.alz.org/shriverreport/about.html
It's about how women, the primary caregivers, are taking on the fight against Alzheimer's. My mother, who did her best to care for my grandma, is a testament to what women are experiencing with this disease.
So there I was for my "new patient" appointment. Since I was not dreading seeing the doctor I for once felt comfortable perusing a magazine (in most situations I just sit there nervously twiddling my thumbs as I silently count the seconds before I have to see the dreaded physician). What was I going to check out today? There was a beautiful cover of Bazaar. Did I want to read up on the latest fashion styles that I can't afford? Or what about Fitness? I'm sure there was something in there about getting flat abs and a smoothie recipe that's going to help me a lose weight. I continued to scour over everything until suddenly there it was. In that bright red border I saw the only story on the cover, interesting enough that I immediately grabbed it and whisked it with me to the nearest seat in the waiting area: Alzheimer's.
I have been curious about Alzheimer's ever since my grandma was diagnosed with it a few years back. My mother was the first to pick up on the signs. She noticed my grandma was not acting her normal self. My grandma started to realize it too. My mom encouraged my grandma to go to the doctor but she refused. By the time she did go, it was already too late.
Of course it didn't help that the doctor who saw my grandma didn't believe that she had Alzheimer's. You see with alzheimer's patients, they seem to have episodes or incidents. Sometimes they appear normal. That's why I never picked up on the signs until later when the alzheimer's had progressed. But my mother, a nurse I might add, who was very close to her mother and was able to witness things that were oblivious to the rest of us, knew that something was up. She called the doctor and begged him to put her on some medicine. It took the doctor awhile before realizing my mother was right. Every time my grandma went to visit she seemed fine. But soon enough the disease made known its presence and the only thing the doctor could really do was put her on meds that would hopefully slow down the progress.
And in reality that's the best thing he could've done anyway. Alzheimer's is like cancer. There is no cure, and there's really no way of understanding how it happens. The best you can do is try to live a healthy lifestyle, exercise your brain, and hope and pray that something will come out that will prevent you from receiving this death sentence.
In fact, dare I say, I do believe that Alzheimer's may be the worst disease out there right now. I know I'm biased because I witnessed the horrific events of watching someone I loved die from it. There doesn't appear to be any pain, physically at least. Emotionally? Terrifying. My grandma no longer recognized me. Didn't know my name. Couldn't remember memories. This isn't The Notebook where they portrayed Alzheimer's in a way in which your entire life can flash back to you. No. Alzheimer's patients soon forget how to take care of themselves, and remembering happy times is a thing of the past.
The last, happy moment I had with my Granda was one of the times I visited her in the nursing home. It was just my mother and I and we were leaving. As I said goodbye, I leaned over, hugged her, and told her I loved her. She looked up at me and said, "Oh sweetheart." And for a split second, one little moment when I looked in her eyes, I could swear that she remembered me. That she remembered who I was. And that she somehow knew the situation she was in and sympathized with me. I know it's crazy. It's illogical to believe that someone with advanced Alzheimer's could have a moment like that. But I don't need logic to explain what I experienced. I fully believe that for that one moment in time, she remembered.
The first time I saw her there I freaked out. Literally. I ran out of the room, down the hall, back to the front desk and locked myself in the bathroom to cry. It didn't help that I had just been to her husband's memorial service that morning. The husband she didn't remember. The husband she would never realize was gone. Once I was able to calm myself down and face reality, I went back and kept my cool. Then before we left we put a vase of flowers from the memorial service on a table and my grandma went and looked at them. She admired their beauty and found them lovely. I was horrified that she was admiring the flowers from her own husband's memorial service. But perhaps for her emotional health, her unknowingness was for the better.
Needless to say, her Alzheimer's was an experience I witnessed that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
So when I saw the Times magazine with Alzheimer's on the cover I had to read it. I plopped myself down and immediately began flipping through pages until I found the story.
Unfortunately I barely got a page in when my name was called. I put the magazine back and followed the nurse into the exam room. I decided I would ask my doctor about Alzheimer's.
The other day I was driving in Muncie when radio talk show host Kim Ireson came on Indy' station 99.5. She talked about Alzheimer's disease and mentioned a blood test that could predict if you had the gene that would develop Alzheimer's. And she asked the listeners if they would get the test. Would you want to know if you could, or were going to, be diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease?
I thought about this. Would I? Would I really want to know if I was going to end up like my Grandma? Would I want to have that terminal sentence hanging over my head? Would I want to know that one day I was going to forget my family, my loved ones, my life, even myself?
The answer? Yes. I would want to know. I would want to know as soon as possible. I would want to know that I needed to cherish every memory. All of my friends know how often I dwell on them; it would make appreciating them even more. I would write more about my life. I would take more photos. When I got married and had children I would tell them what I would want them to do if, or when, I am diagnosed with the disease. I would want to be prepared. They would know I would rather take death over deteriorating away in a nursing home. Lord, if any thing ever happens to me, I do not want to spend my last days cooped up in a place like that. Life, in that state, is not worth living.
So naïve and paranoid me asked my doctor about this test. I learned that this test is still being developed; it's not completely ready. I also learned that this tests for a gene that causes alzheimer's; there are other factors that can trigger it that can't be tested for (at least not yet). And last but not least, I embarrassingly learned that I, a 21 year-old, should not be worrying about getting this test done. No one would pay for someone my age to find out if she was getting Alzheimer's. In fact, if I am ever to be tested for it, it won't happen for at least another 30 years. My deep contemplation on getting this test done was apparently a waste of my time.
In the meantime, all I can do is try to live a healthy lifestyle. Work out almost every day. Get my fruits and veggies. Read and do other things that'll exercise my brain. Other than that, there's not much left to do. I won't know until I'm well into the majority of my years on whether I will have the disease. And by then hopefully more research will be done. Hopefully they'll know more about preventing it, and may have developed some better medicines for fighting it. Hopefully.
Until then, cherish your memories. Be grateful that your forgetfulness is usually limited to "where did I put my keys?" and "what was the homework for tomorrow?" Not staring at your brother and wondering who he was. And keep in mind that there are people struggling with this disease and have loved ones fighting with them as well.
You can learn more about Alzheimer's here: http://www.alz.org/index.asp
I also encourage you to check out this: http://www.alz.org/shriverreport/about.html
It's about how women, the primary caregivers, are taking on the fight against Alzheimer's. My mother, who did her best to care for my grandma, is a testament to what women are experiencing with this disease.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Black Friday? Bah Hambug! (4/90)
Eek! Somehow I always forget to write! Good thing I have all day today to make up for, um, I think three blogs haha.
So yesterday was the Friday after Thanksgiving. Black Friday: the biggest shopping day of the year. Stores open at times when most people are in the middle of their REM cycle. Crowds of people swarm local malls and outlet stores, all in the spirit of savings and getting a start on holiday shopping.
I used to think Black Friday was a great idea. Some sort of American tradition; let's get fat on turkey, go to bed early, get up and go shopping. A perfect transition into preparing for the next big holiday. I used to be one of those people getting up before the sun (or just staying up all night) to hit the stores early. That was of course until I had to work it.
I started working at Steve & Barry's collegiate retail store my junior year of high school in 2006. I was essentially hired for the holidays but luckily they kept me around afterwards. But hired for the holidays I was. I got to see firsthand what it was like to be on the other side of the holiday craze.
Luckily for me Steve & Barry's was not one of the stores that opened ridiculously early or had ridiculously low sales. But that didn't mean we still didn't experience the craze. With our already low prices we still a saw a slew of people coming and going from the minute we opened up to the minute we closed. And as bad as Black Friday sounds, I quickly learned that it's only the beginning of the madness. From Black Friday to about two weeks after New Years we were as busy as ever.
When I was hired in early November of 2006 one of my managers asked me if I had ever worked in retail during the holidays. Answer? No. I don't remember verbatim what he said after that, but it was definitely along the lines of "You'll hate Christmas."
I was skeptical of this. I knew that it was going to be stressful and we would be working a lot, but I didn't think that working in retail during the holidays would suck the joy out of them.
Boy was I proven wrong.
The second year came and I was prepared for the madness. I knew I'd be dealing with bitchy customers and long hours. My joy was focused on the fat paychecks I was receiving. Other than that, I felt nothing of the Christmas spirit.
Working in retail showed me a different side to this holiday season. I was bitched out at for things I had no control over. I saw customers grouch at each other, loved ones included. I saw their stress and anxiety. All over buying some clothes? Really?
Yes. And that's when my love for this holiday began to die. When I saw what Christmas is really like. Everything I heard about the true meaning of Christmas being dead was proven true. No one seemed grateful or happy. No one seemed humble. On the contrary, almost everyone I saw was in a rush to buy the best gifts at the best prices and damn you if you stood in their way. Greed and selfishness were what I mostly saw. Their greed killed my love for Christmas.
Even after I was done working in retail I still found it difficult to get into the Christmas spirit. Shopping for gifts suddenly became a stressful chore and every time I set foot in a store I was reminded of the greed I see this time of the year. I had no desire to decorate the tree or ice the cookies. Even the Christmas jingles on the radio were of no avail. I felt like the grinch.
For the first time since then I think I might actually get in the Christmas spirit this year. I'm too poor to buy gifts so I'll be making them, helping me surpass the annoyance of wandering stores in search of perfect gifts. I think I'll actually make gingerbread cookies. I think I'll decorate the tree and I think I'll listen to my Christmas playlist. I think.
In the meantime, I still hate Christmas shopping. I still hate Black Friday. I see how people get this time of the year and it angers me. It's frustrating to see people get so upset over material items at a time when we're not supposed to be materialistic. The purpose of Christmas, the true meaning behind it, is non-existent in America.
This should come as no surprise to anyone. It's obvious the true meaning of Christmas has been lost for some time. I think it's funny that I have friends who have no belief in any sort of God but they fully believe in sharing gifts, decorating a Christmas tree and being a part of the Christmas season. Christmas obviously has become more cultural than religious.
So what does this mean for those of us who still believe in Christmas for what it really is? What does this mean for those of us who find more joy in going to a Christmas Eve service than opening gifts on Christmas morning? Those of us who just want to be with family and enjoy icing cookies, decorating trees, and still being a part of all the hoopla while keeping in mind the whole purpose behind this holiday?
I can only offer you one piece of advice: Never work in retail.
So yesterday was the Friday after Thanksgiving. Black Friday: the biggest shopping day of the year. Stores open at times when most people are in the middle of their REM cycle. Crowds of people swarm local malls and outlet stores, all in the spirit of savings and getting a start on holiday shopping.
I used to think Black Friday was a great idea. Some sort of American tradition; let's get fat on turkey, go to bed early, get up and go shopping. A perfect transition into preparing for the next big holiday. I used to be one of those people getting up before the sun (or just staying up all night) to hit the stores early. That was of course until I had to work it.
I started working at Steve & Barry's collegiate retail store my junior year of high school in 2006. I was essentially hired for the holidays but luckily they kept me around afterwards. But hired for the holidays I was. I got to see firsthand what it was like to be on the other side of the holiday craze.
Luckily for me Steve & Barry's was not one of the stores that opened ridiculously early or had ridiculously low sales. But that didn't mean we still didn't experience the craze. With our already low prices we still a saw a slew of people coming and going from the minute we opened up to the minute we closed. And as bad as Black Friday sounds, I quickly learned that it's only the beginning of the madness. From Black Friday to about two weeks after New Years we were as busy as ever.
When I was hired in early November of 2006 one of my managers asked me if I had ever worked in retail during the holidays. Answer? No. I don't remember verbatim what he said after that, but it was definitely along the lines of "You'll hate Christmas."
I was skeptical of this. I knew that it was going to be stressful and we would be working a lot, but I didn't think that working in retail during the holidays would suck the joy out of them.
Boy was I proven wrong.
The second year came and I was prepared for the madness. I knew I'd be dealing with bitchy customers and long hours. My joy was focused on the fat paychecks I was receiving. Other than that, I felt nothing of the Christmas spirit.
Working in retail showed me a different side to this holiday season. I was bitched out at for things I had no control over. I saw customers grouch at each other, loved ones included. I saw their stress and anxiety. All over buying some clothes? Really?
Yes. And that's when my love for this holiday began to die. When I saw what Christmas is really like. Everything I heard about the true meaning of Christmas being dead was proven true. No one seemed grateful or happy. No one seemed humble. On the contrary, almost everyone I saw was in a rush to buy the best gifts at the best prices and damn you if you stood in their way. Greed and selfishness were what I mostly saw. Their greed killed my love for Christmas.
Even after I was done working in retail I still found it difficult to get into the Christmas spirit. Shopping for gifts suddenly became a stressful chore and every time I set foot in a store I was reminded of the greed I see this time of the year. I had no desire to decorate the tree or ice the cookies. Even the Christmas jingles on the radio were of no avail. I felt like the grinch.
For the first time since then I think I might actually get in the Christmas spirit this year. I'm too poor to buy gifts so I'll be making them, helping me surpass the annoyance of wandering stores in search of perfect gifts. I think I'll actually make gingerbread cookies. I think I'll decorate the tree and I think I'll listen to my Christmas playlist. I think.
In the meantime, I still hate Christmas shopping. I still hate Black Friday. I see how people get this time of the year and it angers me. It's frustrating to see people get so upset over material items at a time when we're not supposed to be materialistic. The purpose of Christmas, the true meaning behind it, is non-existent in America.
This should come as no surprise to anyone. It's obvious the true meaning of Christmas has been lost for some time. I think it's funny that I have friends who have no belief in any sort of God but they fully believe in sharing gifts, decorating a Christmas tree and being a part of the Christmas season. Christmas obviously has become more cultural than religious.
So what does this mean for those of us who still believe in Christmas for what it really is? What does this mean for those of us who find more joy in going to a Christmas Eve service than opening gifts on Christmas morning? Those of us who just want to be with family and enjoy icing cookies, decorating trees, and still being a part of all the hoopla while keeping in mind the whole purpose behind this holiday?
I can only offer you one piece of advice: Never work in retail.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
What are you thankful for? (3/90)
Perhaps this is cliché, but in the spirit of Thanksgiving I feel it's appropriate to do at least one blog on being thankful (since I already missed one day and now need to write two today). At first I began writing a list. Then I realized how boring it was. Friends, family, the same stuff everyone else is thankful for. So then I began thinking, what am I thankful for and how is what I'm thankful for different from everyone else? And then it dawned on me, that it's not the things I'm thankful for, it's why I'm thankful for them that make them interesting. So I'm going try to compile a list, a list of memories and specific events in my life that have brought me to realize why I'm grateful for all of these things.
Hmm. Where do I even begin?
(In no specific order)
1. I was in sixth grade when I realized I no longer wanted to be a gymnast. I was tired of showing up to the gym and practicing the same routines over and over. I wanted to learn new stunts and try new routines; my coaches wouldn't let me until I had perfected the ones I was working on. Seeing that competitive gymnastics was not the sport for me, my dad encouraged me to take up running. So I signed up for the cross-country team for seventh grade and that summer was when I began training. Every week my dad would take me to the track and we would run whatever the coach had said for me to run. Stride by stride, my dad helped me go from running only one lap to twelve laps. Cross-country season started and I was hooked. From that moment on, I loved running.
My dad was no longer my coach, but he was always there for me. He made it to almost every meet, track or cross-country, from seventh grade until my senior year of high school. He was there to hug me when I did well and talk to me when I did poorly. My dad never once discouraged me. And this doesn't just apply to running. Every goal and endeavorer I have taken on my dad has been supportive. Now every time I come home we talk about running and he encourages me to go after my journalism dreams. I'm thankful for my dad for introducing me to the sport I love, and for always, always being there for me.
2. It started with making spaghetti and ended in a nursing home. Seeing my grandma's alzheimers progress was one of the hardest experiences of my life. From watching her lose track of time and seeming forgetful to forgetting my name and being unable to recognize my face, I lost her long before she died.
She was the grandma on my mom's side, so we would trek to Pittsburgh to see her. Each visit got harder and harder to take. The nursing home she lived in became hell on earth. The only way I can describe what it was like being in that place is that it felt like life was being sucked out of you. Literally. There is no joy visiting a place where everyone is waiting for their turn to die. It was a living nightmare.
Time after time I would visit with my mom and it never got easier. I watched my mom spoon-feed my grandma, brush her hair, hold her hand. My last visit there I suddenly realized the strength it took for my mother to visit her mom in such a state. To watch her slowly deteriorate and be unable to do anything about it. To be able to muster up the effort to drive 5 hours to care for her for only an hour or so opened my eyes to a side of my mother I had never seen before. My shy, conservative mother was suddenly the bravest person I knew. I am thankful for my mother for being the strong woman that I know and for showing/giving me her selfless love.
3. When I first arrived at Ball State one of the first things I did was go run. I didn't venture too far off-campus for fear of getting lost, so I didn't have a good idea of any places to go run. At one of the first run club practices I asked one of the members where I could get a good hill work-out in. He laughed. I said I was serious. He said he was too.
Muncie, Ind. is the flattest place on earth. Every time I come home now I never take the hills that we have around here for granted. I am thankful for any chance I have to run on hills.
4. This past summer I went to England for six weeks. It's the farthest I've ever been from home. With an ocean separating me from my boyfriend, my family, and my friends, I relied heavily on technology in order to stay in touch. It was one of the few times I didn't take having a cell phone or internet for granted. As much as I hate to admit it, I am thankful for technology.
5. This one could, and honestly, deserves its own separate post. There are so many memories I don't know if it's possible to pick just one to write about. So I won't. I am thankful for the amazing boyfriend I was able to snatch. Rarely does a day go by where I don't think about how lucky I am to have him.
6. At the end of my six-week endeavor in England our group hit a minor bump in the road. Continental airlines accidentally switched all of our flights to one of the girls in the group who extended her stay. Instead of leaving Birmingham on August 3rd, we were scheduled to leave Scotland a week later. Finding a flight back to America was a true pain in the ass, and considering I was homesick enough, this was not helping. Three days later I woke up at 3am England time and didn't arrive at the last airport until 10pm EST time. Almost 24 hours of being up and traveling. As much as I loved England, arriving in Newark, NJ was one of the happiest moments this summer. Although England wasn't a huge culture shock, I did miss America a lot. I am thankful to live in this country. Travel all over the world? Yes please. But at the end of the day, this is where I want to be.
7. Sometime when my friends and I get together we play a 20 questions game. But unlike original 20 questions, this game is just asking one friend 20 random questions we want to know. Usually the question, "What is one moment you wish you could live over?" comes up, or similar, "What's the happiest moment of your life?"
In 2006 I went to San Antonio with my church group for a one-week retreat. At the very end of the trip we went to the top of the Hilton hotel where you can stand on the roof. The trip itself was a blast. Few memories can compare to everything that happened. Sad that it was over I was incredibly grateful for everything the experience. As crazy as it sounds, being on the top of that hotel I had a moment of complete peace. I felt pure happiness. I felt the closest I had ever felt to God. I don't know how else to describe it. But I do know, that I am thankful for my relationship with Christ.
8. ABC parties. Movie nights. Ice-skating. Get togethers at starbucks. Getting chased by cops. Girls nights. Late night road trips. Pulling pranks. Shopping trips. Race weekends. Concerts. Hugs. Talks. Lots of laughs. I'm thankful for all of my amazingly awesome friends.
9. Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr purr purr. I'm thankful for my pets.
10. All the other things I need to mention: my car, running, writing, Ball State, Fairfield, New York, coffee, the people that inspire me, photos, music, memories, traveling, new opportunities, love, Big Bang Theory, and a gazillion other things.
Happy Thanksgiving. What are you thankful for?
Hmm. Where do I even begin?
(In no specific order)
1. I was in sixth grade when I realized I no longer wanted to be a gymnast. I was tired of showing up to the gym and practicing the same routines over and over. I wanted to learn new stunts and try new routines; my coaches wouldn't let me until I had perfected the ones I was working on. Seeing that competitive gymnastics was not the sport for me, my dad encouraged me to take up running. So I signed up for the cross-country team for seventh grade and that summer was when I began training. Every week my dad would take me to the track and we would run whatever the coach had said for me to run. Stride by stride, my dad helped me go from running only one lap to twelve laps. Cross-country season started and I was hooked. From that moment on, I loved running.
My dad was no longer my coach, but he was always there for me. He made it to almost every meet, track or cross-country, from seventh grade until my senior year of high school. He was there to hug me when I did well and talk to me when I did poorly. My dad never once discouraged me. And this doesn't just apply to running. Every goal and endeavorer I have taken on my dad has been supportive. Now every time I come home we talk about running and he encourages me to go after my journalism dreams. I'm thankful for my dad for introducing me to the sport I love, and for always, always being there for me.
2. It started with making spaghetti and ended in a nursing home. Seeing my grandma's alzheimers progress was one of the hardest experiences of my life. From watching her lose track of time and seeming forgetful to forgetting my name and being unable to recognize my face, I lost her long before she died.
She was the grandma on my mom's side, so we would trek to Pittsburgh to see her. Each visit got harder and harder to take. The nursing home she lived in became hell on earth. The only way I can describe what it was like being in that place is that it felt like life was being sucked out of you. Literally. There is no joy visiting a place where everyone is waiting for their turn to die. It was a living nightmare.
Time after time I would visit with my mom and it never got easier. I watched my mom spoon-feed my grandma, brush her hair, hold her hand. My last visit there I suddenly realized the strength it took for my mother to visit her mom in such a state. To watch her slowly deteriorate and be unable to do anything about it. To be able to muster up the effort to drive 5 hours to care for her for only an hour or so opened my eyes to a side of my mother I had never seen before. My shy, conservative mother was suddenly the bravest person I knew. I am thankful for my mother for being the strong woman that I know and for showing/giving me her selfless love.
3. When I first arrived at Ball State one of the first things I did was go run. I didn't venture too far off-campus for fear of getting lost, so I didn't have a good idea of any places to go run. At one of the first run club practices I asked one of the members where I could get a good hill work-out in. He laughed. I said I was serious. He said he was too.
Muncie, Ind. is the flattest place on earth. Every time I come home now I never take the hills that we have around here for granted. I am thankful for any chance I have to run on hills.
4. This past summer I went to England for six weeks. It's the farthest I've ever been from home. With an ocean separating me from my boyfriend, my family, and my friends, I relied heavily on technology in order to stay in touch. It was one of the few times I didn't take having a cell phone or internet for granted. As much as I hate to admit it, I am thankful for technology.
5. This one could, and honestly, deserves its own separate post. There are so many memories I don't know if it's possible to pick just one to write about. So I won't. I am thankful for the amazing boyfriend I was able to snatch. Rarely does a day go by where I don't think about how lucky I am to have him.
6. At the end of my six-week endeavor in England our group hit a minor bump in the road. Continental airlines accidentally switched all of our flights to one of the girls in the group who extended her stay. Instead of leaving Birmingham on August 3rd, we were scheduled to leave Scotland a week later. Finding a flight back to America was a true pain in the ass, and considering I was homesick enough, this was not helping. Three days later I woke up at 3am England time and didn't arrive at the last airport until 10pm EST time. Almost 24 hours of being up and traveling. As much as I loved England, arriving in Newark, NJ was one of the happiest moments this summer. Although England wasn't a huge culture shock, I did miss America a lot. I am thankful to live in this country. Travel all over the world? Yes please. But at the end of the day, this is where I want to be.
7. Sometime when my friends and I get together we play a 20 questions game. But unlike original 20 questions, this game is just asking one friend 20 random questions we want to know. Usually the question, "What is one moment you wish you could live over?" comes up, or similar, "What's the happiest moment of your life?"
In 2006 I went to San Antonio with my church group for a one-week retreat. At the very end of the trip we went to the top of the Hilton hotel where you can stand on the roof. The trip itself was a blast. Few memories can compare to everything that happened. Sad that it was over I was incredibly grateful for everything the experience. As crazy as it sounds, being on the top of that hotel I had a moment of complete peace. I felt pure happiness. I felt the closest I had ever felt to God. I don't know how else to describe it. But I do know, that I am thankful for my relationship with Christ.
8. ABC parties. Movie nights. Ice-skating. Get togethers at starbucks. Getting chased by cops. Girls nights. Late night road trips. Pulling pranks. Shopping trips. Race weekends. Concerts. Hugs. Talks. Lots of laughs. I'm thankful for all of my amazingly awesome friends.
9. Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr purr purr. I'm thankful for my pets.
10. All the other things I need to mention: my car, running, writing, Ball State, Fairfield, New York, coffee, the people that inspire me, photos, music, memories, traveling, new opportunities, love, Big Bang Theory, and a gazillion other things.
Happy Thanksgiving. What are you thankful for?
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
So Right (or not) (2/90)
I'm always flattered when one of my friends says it to me they wish they had what I have when it comes to a relationship. Which happened today when I received an e-mail from a friend who needed to talk about what was going on in their love life. I read what they had to say and gave my best response.
The key word here is response.
I think this friend was asking for advice. They didn't say it, but they explained what they planned on doing and wanted a reaction out of me. Whether it be reassurance or something else, I know this friend wanted to at least know what I was thinking. And I told them.
But I didn't give them advice. I don't believe in that.
I've only had one boyfriend and it's serious, so for starters I don't think I have too much advice to offer. I can only give my perspective on what I've experienced. I've never dated any other guy for an extensive period of time and I have no idea what it's like to go through a break-up. I can only go off of what I know and that's only what I've dealt with in my relationship with Joe.
Some would say that means I have great advice to offer. That if my first relationship has lasted this long and is going strong, then I know a thing or two about relationships. As much as I would like to believe that, quite frankly I find it bullshit. Yeah, I know what works for Joe and I, and I know what doesn't. And maybe it's ridiculous to pull out the "fate" card, but I do believe a certain amount of luck and just the right timing played a part. But I certainly don't think that I am in any position to offer love advice.
And to be honest, I really don't think anyone is.
I've been asking for advice about guys since probably the sixth grade. And as crushes have come and gone, friends have changed, and I've gotten older, I've realized one thing is for certain: Everybody has a different piece of offer. And usually every person thinks they're right.
And I mean this in all areas of dating someone. From pursuing a guy, to dating him, to the L word, and more. I've had friends tell me that "he's a jerk and you're right to be upset" and other friends say "you're overreacting, it's not that big of a deal." I have friends who believe a guy should always pursue a girl and other friends who think if a girl wants a guy she needs to step her game up and go after him. I have friends who will save themselves for marriage and others who believe if you love someone you should be able to express that as soon as you feel it. I have friends who will go on date after date to find the right guy, while others remain carefree and enjoy the single life. To sum it up, every person is different.
I know I'm stating the obvious, but with that said every relationship is different as well. There is no single piece of advice that can be applied in every situation. I can't tell a friend what to do because I am different from him/her, and they're situation is different from mine. I'll try to find similarities, something that can be related to, but in a nutshell I'm usually just offering perspective. I'm trying to no longer offer advice. There is nothing I can say that is better or worse than anyone else's.
To my friends who read my blog, don't take this as me saying that I won't talk to you about your relationship dilemmas. I'm always willing to talk about relationships and if you want my perspective, I'll certainly give it to you. But I also hope you know that I'm not right. No one you listen to is right. Your situation is always going to be different than anyone else's. The solution to your problems is only something you can figure out on your own. But I'm always here to talk and listen. Lord knows I'll always be turning to you guys for your thoughts and opinions.
I hope for the best for my friend who is having this relationship issue. While I can't tell them what to do or what will work, I'm flattered that they feel comfortable coming to me to talk about what's going on and that their goal is to be in that kind of relationship I'm in. Joe and I aren't perfect, and our relationship certainly will never be, but hey, we must be doing something right.
The key word here is response.
I think this friend was asking for advice. They didn't say it, but they explained what they planned on doing and wanted a reaction out of me. Whether it be reassurance or something else, I know this friend wanted to at least know what I was thinking. And I told them.
But I didn't give them advice. I don't believe in that.
I've only had one boyfriend and it's serious, so for starters I don't think I have too much advice to offer. I can only give my perspective on what I've experienced. I've never dated any other guy for an extensive period of time and I have no idea what it's like to go through a break-up. I can only go off of what I know and that's only what I've dealt with in my relationship with Joe.
Some would say that means I have great advice to offer. That if my first relationship has lasted this long and is going strong, then I know a thing or two about relationships. As much as I would like to believe that, quite frankly I find it bullshit. Yeah, I know what works for Joe and I, and I know what doesn't. And maybe it's ridiculous to pull out the "fate" card, but I do believe a certain amount of luck and just the right timing played a part. But I certainly don't think that I am in any position to offer love advice.
And to be honest, I really don't think anyone is.
I've been asking for advice about guys since probably the sixth grade. And as crushes have come and gone, friends have changed, and I've gotten older, I've realized one thing is for certain: Everybody has a different piece of offer. And usually every person thinks they're right.
And I mean this in all areas of dating someone. From pursuing a guy, to dating him, to the L word, and more. I've had friends tell me that "he's a jerk and you're right to be upset" and other friends say "you're overreacting, it's not that big of a deal." I have friends who believe a guy should always pursue a girl and other friends who think if a girl wants a guy she needs to step her game up and go after him. I have friends who will save themselves for marriage and others who believe if you love someone you should be able to express that as soon as you feel it. I have friends who will go on date after date to find the right guy, while others remain carefree and enjoy the single life. To sum it up, every person is different.
I know I'm stating the obvious, but with that said every relationship is different as well. There is no single piece of advice that can be applied in every situation. I can't tell a friend what to do because I am different from him/her, and they're situation is different from mine. I'll try to find similarities, something that can be related to, but in a nutshell I'm usually just offering perspective. I'm trying to no longer offer advice. There is nothing I can say that is better or worse than anyone else's.
To my friends who read my blog, don't take this as me saying that I won't talk to you about your relationship dilemmas. I'm always willing to talk about relationships and if you want my perspective, I'll certainly give it to you. But I also hope you know that I'm not right. No one you listen to is right. Your situation is always going to be different than anyone else's. The solution to your problems is only something you can figure out on your own. But I'm always here to talk and listen. Lord knows I'll always be turning to you guys for your thoughts and opinions.
I hope for the best for my friend who is having this relationship issue. While I can't tell them what to do or what will work, I'm flattered that they feel comfortable coming to me to talk about what's going on and that their goal is to be in that kind of relationship I'm in. Joe and I aren't perfect, and our relationship certainly will never be, but hey, we must be doing something right.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Not Ready to Make Nice (1/90...third time's the charm!)
I got in a fight with a friend yesterday.
Not just any friend. A good friend. Or at least someone I used to consider a good friend.
The fight itself was ridiculous. What we got in an argument over was stupid. But the aftermath of it feels detrimental to our friendship. And I really don't think that's any exaggeration.
What I'm most upset about is how it all happened. A little bit of confrontation on his part. And I'm fine with confrontation. In fact I like it when people are very blunt and honest with me. Trying to sugar coat things does no good. I need to hear exactly what you think and how you feel and why. If you can't give that to me, we'll have issues.
He was blunt. And I appreciated that. But he was blunt in a text message. And that's pretty much where it all started.
I received a really rude and disrespectful text from him. I don't deal with confrontations via text. I don't even like confrontations on the phone. If you have an issue with me, approach me and talk to me in person. Because sending a message from your cell phone shows 1) You're not comfortable with talking to me in person, which means 2) That makes me question our friendship and how close we really are, and 3) You're being immature and rude.
Don't get me wrong. I like arguing with people through technology. Usually over stupid things that really don't matter. But confronting someone? No. There's never an acceptable reason to confront someone through a text.
I went to the house where this person lives, the same house my boyfriend lives in. They're roommates. And if you're thinking that has to do with the whole reason he confronted me, then you're right. I wanted to talk to him in person but he wasn't there. And with fume begin to pour out of my ears, I decided to call.
That's where I went wrong. I should've cooled off and waited until he got home to talk in person. But I couldn't resist. I was too angry to stop myself from calling. I called and got his voicemail. I left a message.
I don't remember what I exactly said in that message. I tried to keep my words as polite as possible. But I could not help my tone. So when he called back about twenty minutes later, there was no surprise we ended up yelling at each other.
The conversation lasted for ten minutes. He vented about all the things I had done wrong and how there is no good way to confront me because I always get upset. Excuse me, when have you ever confronted me before? Apparently he has dropped "hints". Sigh...We're both 21 years old, haven't we learned by now that if you try to be subtle it usually doesn't work? And he thought I was smart enough to pick up on those hints. I told him I wasn't going to blame myself for not getting his subtle hidden messages. That it's not my fault he waited til the end of the semester to confront me and had to do so through a text because he was too immature to talk to me in person. There were a few other things, but you get the gist of it. Needless to say we ended the conversation with "I can't talk to you about this anymore!"
I haven't been this angry or upset with anyone in a long time. And it saddens me that this is with someone who I used to get along with so well! I don't even know how this happened. But I sense it's something greater than what we talked about last night. What that is? I don't really know. I don't even think I could guess. But it has something to do with my boyfriend and I because our friend has been passive to us both for more than 2 months now.
So what now? My friend is angry at me, I sense there's something else bothering him, but I'm still too pissed off to even try to talk it out. That'd be the solution right? Sit down, apologize for getting upset, talk about the issue, figure out what's going on, end knowing we've made our peace and hug to seal the deal.
But when? And how? He's studying abroad next semester. I'm done with classes after next semester. He'll be back in Muncie next fall, I'll be who knows where. There's a very good chance these last few weeks of this semester may be the last we'll see of each other. Are we going to continue on in awkward silence or go back to the way things were before? I don't know. All I know is I'm still upset. And until this anger can subside, our friendship will probably remain on the rocks.
Not just any friend. A good friend. Or at least someone I used to consider a good friend.
The fight itself was ridiculous. What we got in an argument over was stupid. But the aftermath of it feels detrimental to our friendship. And I really don't think that's any exaggeration.
What I'm most upset about is how it all happened. A little bit of confrontation on his part. And I'm fine with confrontation. In fact I like it when people are very blunt and honest with me. Trying to sugar coat things does no good. I need to hear exactly what you think and how you feel and why. If you can't give that to me, we'll have issues.
He was blunt. And I appreciated that. But he was blunt in a text message. And that's pretty much where it all started.
I received a really rude and disrespectful text from him. I don't deal with confrontations via text. I don't even like confrontations on the phone. If you have an issue with me, approach me and talk to me in person. Because sending a message from your cell phone shows 1) You're not comfortable with talking to me in person, which means 2) That makes me question our friendship and how close we really are, and 3) You're being immature and rude.
Don't get me wrong. I like arguing with people through technology. Usually over stupid things that really don't matter. But confronting someone? No. There's never an acceptable reason to confront someone through a text.
I went to the house where this person lives, the same house my boyfriend lives in. They're roommates. And if you're thinking that has to do with the whole reason he confronted me, then you're right. I wanted to talk to him in person but he wasn't there. And with fume begin to pour out of my ears, I decided to call.
That's where I went wrong. I should've cooled off and waited until he got home to talk in person. But I couldn't resist. I was too angry to stop myself from calling. I called and got his voicemail. I left a message.
I don't remember what I exactly said in that message. I tried to keep my words as polite as possible. But I could not help my tone. So when he called back about twenty minutes later, there was no surprise we ended up yelling at each other.
The conversation lasted for ten minutes. He vented about all the things I had done wrong and how there is no good way to confront me because I always get upset. Excuse me, when have you ever confronted me before? Apparently he has dropped "hints". Sigh...We're both 21 years old, haven't we learned by now that if you try to be subtle it usually doesn't work? And he thought I was smart enough to pick up on those hints. I told him I wasn't going to blame myself for not getting his subtle hidden messages. That it's not my fault he waited til the end of the semester to confront me and had to do so through a text because he was too immature to talk to me in person. There were a few other things, but you get the gist of it. Needless to say we ended the conversation with "I can't talk to you about this anymore!"
I haven't been this angry or upset with anyone in a long time. And it saddens me that this is with someone who I used to get along with so well! I don't even know how this happened. But I sense it's something greater than what we talked about last night. What that is? I don't really know. I don't even think I could guess. But it has something to do with my boyfriend and I because our friend has been passive to us both for more than 2 months now.
So what now? My friend is angry at me, I sense there's something else bothering him, but I'm still too pissed off to even try to talk it out. That'd be the solution right? Sit down, apologize for getting upset, talk about the issue, figure out what's going on, end knowing we've made our peace and hug to seal the deal.
But when? And how? He's studying abroad next semester. I'm done with classes after next semester. He'll be back in Muncie next fall, I'll be who knows where. There's a very good chance these last few weeks of this semester may be the last we'll see of each other. Are we going to continue on in awkward silence or go back to the way things were before? I don't know. All I know is I'm still upset. And until this anger can subside, our friendship will probably remain on the rocks.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Enough for Now
Nostalgia is a weird thing.
The past, when you think about it, is a weird thing. Recalling events that took place in your life, but happened so long ago, is weird. It's weird thinking of something that actually happened but now feels more like a dream. Especially memories that you've forgotten about, or have pushed away. Bringing them back up, reminiscing on them, is weird.
Especially when they're memories you'd prefer not to remember.
The memories I'm pulling back up to write about aren't actually all that horrible. I didn't witness a murder. I wasn't abused. I didn't survive some horrific event. I didn't experience something that you'd hear about on 20/20 or that would have Harpo Productions calling you up for an interview. No, actually most of the memories I'm reliving are happy ones. Good ones. And that's what makes them so damn difficult.
These memories are happy memories gone bad. Like food gone stale. At one point you loved them. They were delicious and you enjoyed them. They made you happy. But now they've lost their flavor. They're no longer good. They're moldy and gross. They disgust you and you want nothing to do with them. So you do what you normally do with something that goes bad; you throw it away. Except when it comes to memories, it's very difficult, almost impossible, to empty the trash. They sit there and they rot. You don't bother with them anymore. You forget about them. But they're always there. And you can pull them back up at anytime.
Wow. Ignore that horrible analogy. What I'm trying to get at is that it's strange thinking about these memories and writing about them because I am reliving them. I'm having to go back in time and let specific scenes play over in my head. I kept a journal on my computer in high school and I pulled that journal up today and started reading it. That was even creepier. Because suddenly memories I had forgotten about were right there for me to remember. Very specific details. And more importantly, very specific feelings.
I think that's what makes it tougher, and stranger. Here are these memories that I'm replaying in my head and at the time I was happy. And I can still recall those feelings of happiness, even though today I don't associate happiness with these memories. Does that makes sense?
I'll be a little more blunt. I'm writing about my coach. And in high school I liked my coach. A LOT. I can remember moments and feelings and that rush of liking this man I was not allowed to have. But my coach is not who I thought he was. My coach turned out to be a liar. A selfish manipulator. And it's the creepiest thing to be able to go back and read my thoughts when I was head over heels for him, knowing what I know today.
Although my story is slightly more dramatic, I think everyone experiences these feelings. Isn't that what happens when you break up someone? You start remembering all the memories where you were happy, and you feel torn because you know there's not a happy ending?
So why am I doing this? Why am I in this limbo of the past and the present? Why I am pulling up feelings of happiness towards my coach when in today's reality I hate him? Why put myself back in the moment of all these memories that took me so long to repress?
I don't know. But I have a guess.
I think I owe to myself. I think I owe it to high school Laura. High school Laura spent two years liking this man only to realize he's a douchebag. High school Laura looked up to him and admired him. High school Laura cared about him and wanted the best for him. High school Laura may have been stupid and naive, but she was genuine and had good intentions.
High school Laura also loved running. High school Laura poured her heart and soul into this beloved sport. High school Laura had so many great times as a runner, and most of those times her coach was present. And once she found out the one person she felt understood her passion the most was not on her side, many of those memories were tainted. And her love of running slowly began to die.
Running has been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember. And high school was the time I was most passionate for it. My coach helped me learn that passion, and my coach was there for most of my best races, practices, times, etc. My coach fueled my love for running. Once my view of my coach changed, my view of running unfortunately changed as well.
But I still love running. I may not love it as much as I once used to, but it's still a major part of my life. And I want to feel as passionate about it as I once did. I want to get excited for races. I want to train hard and see improvements. I'm not ready to slide into recreational running. I still have a spark in me that wants to compete.
I need to tap into the emotions I felt in high school. I need to tap back into that passion. That means tapping back into memories dealing with my coach. So while I'm rediscovering my true love for running, I'm going to let my other passion take care of the rest.
Again, that's just a guess. I don't completely understand why I have this desire to write about it. But I guess I can't worry about that. For some reason I want to write. And unlike the times I've tried writing about it in the past, this time the words are actually coming. This time I don't feel like stopping. And when it does get too creepy, when it feels too weird, that's when I'll stop and say "that's enough for now."
The past, when you think about it, is a weird thing. Recalling events that took place in your life, but happened so long ago, is weird. It's weird thinking of something that actually happened but now feels more like a dream. Especially memories that you've forgotten about, or have pushed away. Bringing them back up, reminiscing on them, is weird.
Especially when they're memories you'd prefer not to remember.
The memories I'm pulling back up to write about aren't actually all that horrible. I didn't witness a murder. I wasn't abused. I didn't survive some horrific event. I didn't experience something that you'd hear about on 20/20 or that would have Harpo Productions calling you up for an interview. No, actually most of the memories I'm reliving are happy ones. Good ones. And that's what makes them so damn difficult.
These memories are happy memories gone bad. Like food gone stale. At one point you loved them. They were delicious and you enjoyed them. They made you happy. But now they've lost their flavor. They're no longer good. They're moldy and gross. They disgust you and you want nothing to do with them. So you do what you normally do with something that goes bad; you throw it away. Except when it comes to memories, it's very difficult, almost impossible, to empty the trash. They sit there and they rot. You don't bother with them anymore. You forget about them. But they're always there. And you can pull them back up at anytime.
Wow. Ignore that horrible analogy. What I'm trying to get at is that it's strange thinking about these memories and writing about them because I am reliving them. I'm having to go back in time and let specific scenes play over in my head. I kept a journal on my computer in high school and I pulled that journal up today and started reading it. That was even creepier. Because suddenly memories I had forgotten about were right there for me to remember. Very specific details. And more importantly, very specific feelings.
I think that's what makes it tougher, and stranger. Here are these memories that I'm replaying in my head and at the time I was happy. And I can still recall those feelings of happiness, even though today I don't associate happiness with these memories. Does that makes sense?
I'll be a little more blunt. I'm writing about my coach. And in high school I liked my coach. A LOT. I can remember moments and feelings and that rush of liking this man I was not allowed to have. But my coach is not who I thought he was. My coach turned out to be a liar. A selfish manipulator. And it's the creepiest thing to be able to go back and read my thoughts when I was head over heels for him, knowing what I know today.
Although my story is slightly more dramatic, I think everyone experiences these feelings. Isn't that what happens when you break up someone? You start remembering all the memories where you were happy, and you feel torn because you know there's not a happy ending?
So why am I doing this? Why am I in this limbo of the past and the present? Why I am pulling up feelings of happiness towards my coach when in today's reality I hate him? Why put myself back in the moment of all these memories that took me so long to repress?
I don't know. But I have a guess.
I think I owe to myself. I think I owe it to high school Laura. High school Laura spent two years liking this man only to realize he's a douchebag. High school Laura looked up to him and admired him. High school Laura cared about him and wanted the best for him. High school Laura may have been stupid and naive, but she was genuine and had good intentions.
High school Laura also loved running. High school Laura poured her heart and soul into this beloved sport. High school Laura had so many great times as a runner, and most of those times her coach was present. And once she found out the one person she felt understood her passion the most was not on her side, many of those memories were tainted. And her love of running slowly began to die.
Running has been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember. And high school was the time I was most passionate for it. My coach helped me learn that passion, and my coach was there for most of my best races, practices, times, etc. My coach fueled my love for running. Once my view of my coach changed, my view of running unfortunately changed as well.
But I still love running. I may not love it as much as I once used to, but it's still a major part of my life. And I want to feel as passionate about it as I once did. I want to get excited for races. I want to train hard and see improvements. I'm not ready to slide into recreational running. I still have a spark in me that wants to compete.
I need to tap into the emotions I felt in high school. I need to tap back into that passion. That means tapping back into memories dealing with my coach. So while I'm rediscovering my true love for running, I'm going to let my other passion take care of the rest.
Again, that's just a guess. I don't completely understand why I have this desire to write about it. But I guess I can't worry about that. For some reason I want to write. And unlike the times I've tried writing about it in the past, this time the words are actually coming. This time I don't feel like stopping. And when it does get too creepy, when it feels too weird, that's when I'll stop and say "that's enough for now."
Friday, November 12, 2010
Failure is not an option
I didn't know what to tell him, standing there in the kitchen as he explained to me his doom. For the record, he's not doomed. He is my boyfriend and he is one of the smartest people I know. He's incredibly bright and a hard worker. He spends his days and nights working on math problems, talking to math professors, doing whatever he can to ace his classes and understand these difficult concepts I can't even begin to wrap my head around. I know I'm biased, but if you ask me he's one of the best math students in Ball State's program.
If you ask him, he's doomed.
I did what I've done in the past. Coach Laura suddenly appeared to give him a pep talk. To convince him that he is not doomed, but if he doesn't find some confidence then his attitude is going to affect his GRE performance. He has what it takes, he just has to believe it. If he walks in there with the same hopeless expression that I saw standing there in the kitchen, he's never going to succeed the way I know he can.
It reminded me of a saying my coach used to tell me when he knew I was having issues with my confidence with running in high school: "The body is willing but the mind is weak." I hated it at the time, but since high school has passed I've seen the truth in that statement. How we let pressure and our lack of confidence get in the way of our performance. How we have the ability to do well, but our inability to believe in ourselves is often times our great downfall. It doesn't matter if we can or can not, if we don't believe we can do it, then we probably won't.
I looked him dead in the eyes and tried to transfer my belief in him to his belief in himself. Looking exasperated he said to me, "It's not going to be good."
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Volleyball practice was the last thing I needed. Another sport that I ultimately suck at. I love volleyball, I always have. But I love volleyball in the way where you just grab some friends and head to a sand court and just start playing for the heck of it. You might keep score, you might not. But you play for the fun of it and that's all.
The volleyball team I signed up for is not in it for the fun. Well, I'm sure they're having fun, but they'd have even more fun if they won. They wear spandex shorts and knee pads, two things I certainly don't own. Short little running shorts? Absolutely. But tiny little spandex shorts? I don't think so. They practice spikes and servings. They have a game plan on the court. They know where the setter needs to be. They play with a smile on their faces while I try to hide on the corner of the court, hoping the ball doesn't come towards me. This fun little game I used to love so much has suddenly turned into a personal nightmare. It's the same with ultimate frisbee. I'd probably love it if the guys I play with weren't all about winning. But they're men. And as a friend used to say, "I don't play for fun. I play to win and winning is fun."
But I play for fun. I can be a very competitive person but I've learned that usually just provides unnecessary stress and pressure and if I don't win I usually get pretty upset. I don't like that. So I try to play for fun. But when everyone is playing to win, it's hard to keep the "just have fun" concept in the front of your mind. Sure enough that slowly drifted away and all I could think about was how I suck at serving, blocking, spiking...basically anything that has to do with playing volleyball.
I left volleyball practice before it was actually over, plopped myself in my car, turned on the radio and started crying. Seriously? Over volleyball?
Yes. And not just for volleyball. I started crying for all of my other failures as well. My failure to find a job and support myself on my own. I had to call my dad that same day and tell him I needed more money. Crying because I bought chicken thighs instead of chicken breasts and my chicken parmesan was not up to par; my failure at cooking. My room's a mess. I don't think my roomies like me much because I'm never here and therefore I barely clean the house. Crying because I don't know if I'll find a job after college. Crying because my abs aren't flat and I ate a huge gob of cookie dough. Crying because I'm scared. Crying for a thousand reasons that I think I just needed to cry about. I'm a girl. Sometimes we just need to cry.
The voice of reason started getting to me and telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself. But I chose to ignore it. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was failing and that I'll continue to fail. The pep talk I gave my boyfriend I needed to give to myself.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Tomorrow is a big day. My boyfriend will be taking the GRE in hopes of getting into grad school and continue moving forward with his plan of becoming a math professor. I will be in Bloomington with the blessed opportunity of interviewing people in person. It's my chance to try to get the best stories possible for the article I'm working on for Running Times, the one thing I feel like I'm not failing at (well, not yet). While he works out some differential geometry problem I'll be pushing the record button and asking these older runners to describe to me their story with club running and why this all came to be.
I have this gut feeling tomorrow will be great. I have this feeling my boyfriend will do much better than he anticipates. I have a feeling I'll be on some journalism high all eager to start transcribing interviews and figuring out what to do next. I have a feeling that we both have the ability to succeed.
But if we don't? What if we let our lack of confidence get in the way of what we're capable of doing? What if my boyfriend sees a problem he can normally solve and draws a blank? What if I ask the wrong questions or talk to the wrong people and royally screw up my big chance at getting published? What if our biggest fear becomes our reality: what if we fail?
If we fail then we fail. We'll know what we did wrong and we'll learn from it. He'll retake the GRE and maybe grad school will have to be put on hold for a bit. I'll eventually stop crying about not being published and find a new story to start working on. It'll suck. We're so eager to move on with our lives, to continue moving forward with our goals. But we both know it won't be smooth-sailing. We both know we might have to face some setbacks. There's not much we can do about it. Failure is just a part of life.
Failure is not an option. But if it happens, it happens. It won't be the end of the world. We'll pick ourselves up and move on. And fortunately the one thing that I am most confident about, the one thing I'm not afraid will fail, is our relationship and support for each other. If we fail, then at least we're going down together.
If you ask him, he's doomed.
I did what I've done in the past. Coach Laura suddenly appeared to give him a pep talk. To convince him that he is not doomed, but if he doesn't find some confidence then his attitude is going to affect his GRE performance. He has what it takes, he just has to believe it. If he walks in there with the same hopeless expression that I saw standing there in the kitchen, he's never going to succeed the way I know he can.
It reminded me of a saying my coach used to tell me when he knew I was having issues with my confidence with running in high school: "The body is willing but the mind is weak." I hated it at the time, but since high school has passed I've seen the truth in that statement. How we let pressure and our lack of confidence get in the way of our performance. How we have the ability to do well, but our inability to believe in ourselves is often times our great downfall. It doesn't matter if we can or can not, if we don't believe we can do it, then we probably won't.
I looked him dead in the eyes and tried to transfer my belief in him to his belief in himself. Looking exasperated he said to me, "It's not going to be good."
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Volleyball practice was the last thing I needed. Another sport that I ultimately suck at. I love volleyball, I always have. But I love volleyball in the way where you just grab some friends and head to a sand court and just start playing for the heck of it. You might keep score, you might not. But you play for the fun of it and that's all.
The volleyball team I signed up for is not in it for the fun. Well, I'm sure they're having fun, but they'd have even more fun if they won. They wear spandex shorts and knee pads, two things I certainly don't own. Short little running shorts? Absolutely. But tiny little spandex shorts? I don't think so. They practice spikes and servings. They have a game plan on the court. They know where the setter needs to be. They play with a smile on their faces while I try to hide on the corner of the court, hoping the ball doesn't come towards me. This fun little game I used to love so much has suddenly turned into a personal nightmare. It's the same with ultimate frisbee. I'd probably love it if the guys I play with weren't all about winning. But they're men. And as a friend used to say, "I don't play for fun. I play to win and winning is fun."
But I play for fun. I can be a very competitive person but I've learned that usually just provides unnecessary stress and pressure and if I don't win I usually get pretty upset. I don't like that. So I try to play for fun. But when everyone is playing to win, it's hard to keep the "just have fun" concept in the front of your mind. Sure enough that slowly drifted away and all I could think about was how I suck at serving, blocking, spiking...basically anything that has to do with playing volleyball.
I left volleyball practice before it was actually over, plopped myself in my car, turned on the radio and started crying. Seriously? Over volleyball?
Yes. And not just for volleyball. I started crying for all of my other failures as well. My failure to find a job and support myself on my own. I had to call my dad that same day and tell him I needed more money. Crying because I bought chicken thighs instead of chicken breasts and my chicken parmesan was not up to par; my failure at cooking. My room's a mess. I don't think my roomies like me much because I'm never here and therefore I barely clean the house. Crying because I don't know if I'll find a job after college. Crying because my abs aren't flat and I ate a huge gob of cookie dough. Crying because I'm scared. Crying for a thousand reasons that I think I just needed to cry about. I'm a girl. Sometimes we just need to cry.
The voice of reason started getting to me and telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself. But I chose to ignore it. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was failing and that I'll continue to fail. The pep talk I gave my boyfriend I needed to give to myself.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Tomorrow is a big day. My boyfriend will be taking the GRE in hopes of getting into grad school and continue moving forward with his plan of becoming a math professor. I will be in Bloomington with the blessed opportunity of interviewing people in person. It's my chance to try to get the best stories possible for the article I'm working on for Running Times, the one thing I feel like I'm not failing at (well, not yet). While he works out some differential geometry problem I'll be pushing the record button and asking these older runners to describe to me their story with club running and why this all came to be.
I have this gut feeling tomorrow will be great. I have this feeling my boyfriend will do much better than he anticipates. I have a feeling I'll be on some journalism high all eager to start transcribing interviews and figuring out what to do next. I have a feeling that we both have the ability to succeed.
But if we don't? What if we let our lack of confidence get in the way of what we're capable of doing? What if my boyfriend sees a problem he can normally solve and draws a blank? What if I ask the wrong questions or talk to the wrong people and royally screw up my big chance at getting published? What if our biggest fear becomes our reality: what if we fail?
If we fail then we fail. We'll know what we did wrong and we'll learn from it. He'll retake the GRE and maybe grad school will have to be put on hold for a bit. I'll eventually stop crying about not being published and find a new story to start working on. It'll suck. We're so eager to move on with our lives, to continue moving forward with our goals. But we both know it won't be smooth-sailing. We both know we might have to face some setbacks. There's not much we can do about it. Failure is just a part of life.
Failure is not an option. But if it happens, it happens. It won't be the end of the world. We'll pick ourselves up and move on. And fortunately the one thing that I am most confident about, the one thing I'm not afraid will fail, is our relationship and support for each other. If we fail, then at least we're going down together.
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