Saturday, October 29, 2011
Sometimes I think people are foolish for spending a thousand dollars on an obituary. But for many of these families, that obit is the final way they'll get to show their love. I questioned myself and I think if I had the money, I would go all out, disregarding the cost, for someone I loved that much.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Rare Depression-era color photograph
I know, I know...
I post WAY too many pictures of hedgehogs, but that is because THEY ARE SO FABULOUSLY ADORABLE and they always make me happy!!
The language may offend some.
*wink*
Thursday, October 27, 2011
I stole this from a friend.
The night before the burial of her husband 2nd Lt. James Cathey of the United States Marine Corps, killed in Iraq, Katherine Cathey refused to leave the casket, asking to sleep next to his body for the last time. The Marines made a bed for her, tucking in the sheets below the flag. Before she fell asleep, she opened her laptop computer and played songs that reminded her of "Cat," and one of the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch as she slept.
"I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it," she said. "I think that's what he would have wanted."
-Not sure what is more honorable: Being married to this faithful wife to the end or the Marine standing next to the casket watching over them both.
I need to learn how to think.
Yesterday morning I was driving back from the gym and came to a four-way stop. Cars were waiting from every direction, but the showdown of who should cross first came down to a school bus and a pick up truck. The truck had obviously been there first, but it didn't move, so finally the bus turned in front of it. It was my turn next, so I waited for the truck, but it still didn't move. I got tired of waiting, and as I drove past it, I looked at the driver to see if he was having car trouble or if something else was causing the hold up. It was an old man, sitting there in the seat, staring off into space. It didn't appear that he was frantically trying to start his vehicle, or turn on the emergency flashers, or call on a phone for help. He was just sitting there, watching as everyone else drove past him.
I kept looking back in my rearview mirror as I drove on. All the other cars continued to take turns as normal, except for those cars behind the truck. More and more cars started to line up behind him.
At first I thought, Wow. What on earth is he doing? What an idiot! But then I stopped to wonder: What if he had had a stroke right there in the middle of the road? What if he suffered from dementia and suddenly couldn't figure out where he was or what he was supposed to do?
I forgot about the inconvenience and started to worry about him.
This morning at Starbucks I wanted to sit on the leather couch by the fire, but there was a little old man sitting there sleeping. I almost said something to Dylan, like, Why would you sleep in Starbucks?, but then I noticed the man's raggedy clothes and his little backpack on the floor.
Homeless? Probably.
I'm so ashamed of myself.
I kept looking back in my rearview mirror as I drove on. All the other cars continued to take turns as normal, except for those cars behind the truck. More and more cars started to line up behind him.
At first I thought, Wow. What on earth is he doing? What an idiot! But then I stopped to wonder: What if he had had a stroke right there in the middle of the road? What if he suffered from dementia and suddenly couldn't figure out where he was or what he was supposed to do?
I forgot about the inconvenience and started to worry about him.
This morning at Starbucks I wanted to sit on the leather couch by the fire, but there was a little old man sitting there sleeping. I almost said something to Dylan, like, Why would you sleep in Starbucks?, but then I noticed the man's raggedy clothes and his little backpack on the floor.
Homeless? Probably.
I'm so ashamed of myself.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
What's your janitor's name?
I read a story once. A teacher handed out a test to his students, and one of the questions was "What is the janitor's name?" No one knew, and everyone left the question blank.
The teacher's point was that everyone should be treated with dignity as a person. Just because a person cleaned toilets and gathered trash around a school didn't mean he was any less valuable or lacked a personality, wants, dreams, and a life, just like anyone else.
We need to see the importance of valuing other people, even the ones we conveniently dismiss. Learning the name of every person they came in contact with regularly should be your goal, he said. Because they matter just as much as you do.
So now every time the Mexican lady comes by to pick up the trash in our department, I smile at her. I haven't learned her name yet, but I will.
The teacher's point was that everyone should be treated with dignity as a person. Just because a person cleaned toilets and gathered trash around a school didn't mean he was any less valuable or lacked a personality, wants, dreams, and a life, just like anyone else.
We need to see the importance of valuing other people, even the ones we conveniently dismiss. Learning the name of every person they came in contact with regularly should be your goal, he said. Because they matter just as much as you do.
So now every time the Mexican lady comes by to pick up the trash in our department, I smile at her. I haven't learned her name yet, but I will.
Why I hate arguing
My biological father died when I was two, of pancreatic cancer.
He didn't suffer through a long sickness; he went into the hospital on a Friday and died early Sunday morning. I was so young that I didn't understand "death," or why all of a sudden Daddy was gone. The man that revolved around me, spoiled me, and loved me as if no one had ever had a baby girl before, disappeared one day and never came back.
I wondered what I had done to make him leave. Mommy told me, when I asked where he was, that he was up in the cupboard -- his cremains were in an urn in the kitchen cabinet for a while -- but that confused me even more. How could Daddy fit in the cupboard?
I grew up without a conscious memory of him; I was well aware that he had died, and I knew I wouldn't remember him aside from pictures and videos he had recorded, but I didn't miss him. I didn't have enough of an image to miss. I didn't think that his death had impacted me at all, much less negatively, and throughout my life, I brushed off people who tried to console me when I talked about it. "It's okay -- really -- I don't remember him."
As I got older, however, I discovered I had a slightly unnatural fear of desertion, death, and goodbyes. From this sprouted a fear of arguments/disagreements/crying/harsh words, etc., because I was afraid that if I didn't do exactly what people wanted, they would get mad at me and leave. It became such an issue to me that I became unopinionated and overly sweet, a walking doormat and a blob of warm fuzzy jelly with no backbone, so that people would like me. I avoided any kind of conflict with my friends, even if it meant crying in my room at night because I felt taken advantage of and used. It became a lifelong habit to let people walk all over me, just so they would be happy. And even then, I thought people only liked me because I was nice, which became a chain reaction in itself. I couldn't start standing up for myself, because what would they think if suddenly I told them no? I didn't want to cross them, because when people get mad, when they don't like you, what is there to keep them around?
There has only been one person in my life that I've had the courage to stand up to, to fight against. Probably the wrong person, out of anyone, to pick a fight with. I argued with this person a lot, because it was safe, and I knew that I would still be loved anyway. But every time we would get in an argument, we would both pout for hours, sometimes even a day or two, hardly talking to each other. Each encounter during that time period was awkward. Then one day we would be happy again, and everything would be peachy. I thought this was okay, that our relationship was solid; but when I was told, "I love you; but I don't like you. You're not a nice person, and I wouldn't be your friend if I was anyone else" I began to think maybe that opinion had arisen from the number of arguments we'd had. Maybe if we didn't argue, if I let go of my own opinions and surrendered, I would be liked.
I dated a guy for a while when I was younger with whom I disagreed occasionally, but we never fought. I only got angry with him once or twice; and even then, he didn't fight back. There was never any confrontation. I thought this meant we were a good match, and that we were in sync and were good communicators; but I realize now that it just meant the relationship was lopsided; one of us ran over the other. And the one doing the unintentional plowing was me.
Dylan and I are both passionate people. This makes for a wonderful relationship, but it also means when we fight, we fight hard. For several months, I nearly had a panic attack every time we argued, because I just KNEW in my head that if I pissed him off, he would leave. I didn't trust that he loved me enough to stay even when he was frustrated with me; I thought the arguments would outweigh all the fun we had together and he would think I wasn't worth his time and effort. [I really over analyze everything, in case you hadn't figured that out by now.] I also wasn't accustomed to arguing with a guy, since I had hardly fought with anyone, and this made me skittish and wary.
But the more we've argued, the more I've learned to trust that fights don't have to break a relationship. We fight because we want to work through it; not just say "Screw it" and be done. Just because two people disagree or get mad at each other doesn't mean they will never get over it, that their perception of each other will change, or that they will just throw in the towel and say to hell with it.
Disagreements are signs that you are communicating, even if some of it is misunderstood, and that there is equal give and take between both parties. It is true that I fight the most with the people I love the deepest; but there is relief in the discovery that my best friend won't throw me to the wolves if I change my plans and piss her off, and that my boyfriend is interested in a real relationship, one that is mature and challenging and needs work to upkeep. I am only human, and I can't be perfect. Those that don't give up on me are really the only ones worth sticking with. And the truth is, I would rather fight with the people I love than paddy paw through life, all jolly-like, with any causal acquaintances.
He didn't suffer through a long sickness; he went into the hospital on a Friday and died early Sunday morning. I was so young that I didn't understand "death," or why all of a sudden Daddy was gone. The man that revolved around me, spoiled me, and loved me as if no one had ever had a baby girl before, disappeared one day and never came back.
I wondered what I had done to make him leave. Mommy told me, when I asked where he was, that he was up in the cupboard -- his cremains were in an urn in the kitchen cabinet for a while -- but that confused me even more. How could Daddy fit in the cupboard?
I grew up without a conscious memory of him; I was well aware that he had died, and I knew I wouldn't remember him aside from pictures and videos he had recorded, but I didn't miss him. I didn't have enough of an image to miss. I didn't think that his death had impacted me at all, much less negatively, and throughout my life, I brushed off people who tried to console me when I talked about it. "It's okay -- really -- I don't remember him."
As I got older, however, I discovered I had a slightly unnatural fear of desertion, death, and goodbyes. From this sprouted a fear of arguments/disagreements/crying/harsh words, etc., because I was afraid that if I didn't do exactly what people wanted, they would get mad at me and leave. It became such an issue to me that I became unopinionated and overly sweet, a walking doormat and a blob of warm fuzzy jelly with no backbone, so that people would like me. I avoided any kind of conflict with my friends, even if it meant crying in my room at night because I felt taken advantage of and used. It became a lifelong habit to let people walk all over me, just so they would be happy. And even then, I thought people only liked me because I was nice, which became a chain reaction in itself. I couldn't start standing up for myself, because what would they think if suddenly I told them no? I didn't want to cross them, because when people get mad, when they don't like you, what is there to keep them around?
There has only been one person in my life that I've had the courage to stand up to, to fight against. Probably the wrong person, out of anyone, to pick a fight with. I argued with this person a lot, because it was safe, and I knew that I would still be loved anyway. But every time we would get in an argument, we would both pout for hours, sometimes even a day or two, hardly talking to each other. Each encounter during that time period was awkward. Then one day we would be happy again, and everything would be peachy. I thought this was okay, that our relationship was solid; but when I was told, "I love you; but I don't like you. You're not a nice person, and I wouldn't be your friend if I was anyone else" I began to think maybe that opinion had arisen from the number of arguments we'd had. Maybe if we didn't argue, if I let go of my own opinions and surrendered, I would be liked.
I dated a guy for a while when I was younger with whom I disagreed occasionally, but we never fought. I only got angry with him once or twice; and even then, he didn't fight back. There was never any confrontation. I thought this meant we were a good match, and that we were in sync and were good communicators; but I realize now that it just meant the relationship was lopsided; one of us ran over the other. And the one doing the unintentional plowing was me.
Dylan and I are both passionate people. This makes for a wonderful relationship, but it also means when we fight, we fight hard. For several months, I nearly had a panic attack every time we argued, because I just KNEW in my head that if I pissed him off, he would leave. I didn't trust that he loved me enough to stay even when he was frustrated with me; I thought the arguments would outweigh all the fun we had together and he would think I wasn't worth his time and effort. [I really over analyze everything, in case you hadn't figured that out by now.] I also wasn't accustomed to arguing with a guy, since I had hardly fought with anyone, and this made me skittish and wary.
But the more we've argued, the more I've learned to trust that fights don't have to break a relationship. We fight because we want to work through it; not just say "Screw it" and be done. Just because two people disagree or get mad at each other doesn't mean they will never get over it, that their perception of each other will change, or that they will just throw in the towel and say to hell with it.
Disagreements are signs that you are communicating, even if some of it is misunderstood, and that there is equal give and take between both parties. It is true that I fight the most with the people I love the deepest; but there is relief in the discovery that my best friend won't throw me to the wolves if I change my plans and piss her off, and that my boyfriend is interested in a real relationship, one that is mature and challenging and needs work to upkeep. I am only human, and I can't be perfect. Those that don't give up on me are really the only ones worth sticking with. And the truth is, I would rather fight with the people I love than paddy paw through life, all jolly-like, with any causal acquaintances.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Understanding engineers 2
This is why I fail at picking a major/career:
The graduate with a science degree asks, "Why does it work?"
The graduate with an
engineering degree asks, "How does it work?"
The graduate with
accounting degree asks, "How much will it cost?"
The graduate with an arts
degree asks, "Do you want fries with that?"
Understanding engineers
To the optimist, the glass is half-full. To the pessimist,
the glass is half-empty. To the engineer,
the glass is twice as big as it needs to be.
This isn't supposed to be sickeningly sweet.
I love early morning adventures and trips. Ella knows all about this,
and so should last year's Unionaires -- I was always bright eyed and
bushy tailed when I boarded the bus the morning of a tour. Somehow, even
when I was a kid, it's always been much easier to get up at 4 a.m. to leave
on a road trip than leave the night before and drive all night.
This morning I've been up since 4:45 a.m. Dylan's best friend was leaving for college in Wyoming this morning at 6, so we got up early and drove half an hour to his house to say goodbye.
"What are we going to do from 6:30 to 8, when I have to go to work?" I asked Dylan last night. He suggested going out for coffee and just chilling at Starbucks, instead of going all the way back home.
Dylan isn't a coffee drinker, but he knows I am, and he indulges me quite often (reason 83, 376 why I love him). We got to Starbucks at 6:30, and spent the next hour and a half, me sipping my salted caramel mocha, him nibbling on a traditional glazed donut, talking about everything from dreams, to best friends, to parents, to politics, to rude people, to beautiful people, to the internet. We watched as people bustled in and out the door, the line stretching from the counter, along the wall, and around the corner. We peered at the doctor in his lab coat, talking medical nonsense (at least that's what it is to me) on his phone for ever; the daddy listening to his teenage daughter spilling details about school and boys and drama with other girls; the tall blonde who couldn't walk in those stilettos to save her life; the homeless-looking man in sneakers sprawled across a chair, not even bothering to get coffee or a pastry. We both enjoy people-watching, but we also discovered that, as a couple, we are the most judgmental people we know.
Together, we click. We are, simultaneously, complete opposites and almost twins. One will fill in where the other lacks, and one's habits complement the other's. I really fit with this guy, and I enjoy being with him all the time.
I'm not trying to gross anyone out, talking about how much I love my boyfriend. That's cliche, overused, and obnoxious, even to me. My morning wasn't spent gazing into his eyes, telling him how much I adore him and kissing all over him. I snuggled up close to him on the couch, but always touching him somehow has become normal -- it's not a part of the electric honeymoon stage (which, I might add, we have nearly passed). What I enjoyed most about this morning was spending time with my best friend. I just like being with him, doing anything, going anywhere; I treasure talking with him about everything, but I also value quiet moments like reading together at Barnes and Noble just as much. We don't have to constantly be telling each other how in love we are or how beautiful the other is to have a good time. We are equally as happy talking about the weather, or saying nothing at all. I know I love him because I'm comfortable sitting next to him in complete silence.
I do have "bad confidence days" (as he coined it) in which I seek more encouragement than usual, and I want him to remind me how special I am to him. He always satisfies that craving, even when I don't ask for it. But he isn't just my boyfriend. He doesn't just stroke my ego and make me feel beautiful, although he does these things adequately. He provides for me (even spoils me); he is my confidante, my brains when I don't have any, my scientific calculator, my personal trainer, my body guard.
And my best friend.
This morning I've been up since 4:45 a.m. Dylan's best friend was leaving for college in Wyoming this morning at 6, so we got up early and drove half an hour to his house to say goodbye.
"What are we going to do from 6:30 to 8, when I have to go to work?" I asked Dylan last night. He suggested going out for coffee and just chilling at Starbucks, instead of going all the way back home.
Dylan isn't a coffee drinker, but he knows I am, and he indulges me quite often (reason 83, 376 why I love him). We got to Starbucks at 6:30, and spent the next hour and a half, me sipping my salted caramel mocha, him nibbling on a traditional glazed donut, talking about everything from dreams, to best friends, to parents, to politics, to rude people, to beautiful people, to the internet. We watched as people bustled in and out the door, the line stretching from the counter, along the wall, and around the corner. We peered at the doctor in his lab coat, talking medical nonsense (at least that's what it is to me) on his phone for ever; the daddy listening to his teenage daughter spilling details about school and boys and drama with other girls; the tall blonde who couldn't walk in those stilettos to save her life; the homeless-looking man in sneakers sprawled across a chair, not even bothering to get coffee or a pastry. We both enjoy people-watching, but we also discovered that, as a couple, we are the most judgmental people we know.
Together, we click. We are, simultaneously, complete opposites and almost twins. One will fill in where the other lacks, and one's habits complement the other's. I really fit with this guy, and I enjoy being with him all the time.
I'm not trying to gross anyone out, talking about how much I love my boyfriend. That's cliche, overused, and obnoxious, even to me. My morning wasn't spent gazing into his eyes, telling him how much I adore him and kissing all over him. I snuggled up close to him on the couch, but always touching him somehow has become normal -- it's not a part of the electric honeymoon stage (which, I might add, we have nearly passed). What I enjoyed most about this morning was spending time with my best friend. I just like being with him, doing anything, going anywhere; I treasure talking with him about everything, but I also value quiet moments like reading together at Barnes and Noble just as much. We don't have to constantly be telling each other how in love we are or how beautiful the other is to have a good time. We are equally as happy talking about the weather, or saying nothing at all. I know I love him because I'm comfortable sitting next to him in complete silence.
I do have "bad confidence days" (as he coined it) in which I seek more encouragement than usual, and I want him to remind me how special I am to him. He always satisfies that craving, even when I don't ask for it. But he isn't just my boyfriend. He doesn't just stroke my ego and make me feel beautiful, although he does these things adequately. He provides for me (even spoils me); he is my confidante, my brains when I don't have any, my scientific calculator, my personal trainer, my body guard.
And my best friend.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Body Envy
Wanna hear something pathetic? My obsession with my weight -- an unhealthy, loathing selfishness and pity party -- that has lasted the past ten years is running me dry. My whole life I've wanted nothing more than to be stick skinny. Not runway model emaciated. Just something like 0.45% body fat. I'm willing to work out and eat healthy to be ... skinny... but even then, my natural shape -- the one I can't change without plastic surgery -- is grossly unappealing to me.
I've struggled with an enormous amount of self hatred since I was about 9. And it's only gotten worse throughout the years. In high school I consistently starved myself, allowing two tiny meals a day on average. I don't think anyone noticed, because I was in the cafeteria just as much as any other dorm student, but I was constantly hungry.
Around this time I also started running. I couldn't run very far, and I only did it like twice a week, but I felt like I was helping myself.
College hit and I ran all the time. Five days a week. I fluctuated wildly between starving myself, eating one meal a day, eating two meals a day, eating whatever I wanted. I went nuts with sit ups and crunches. This summer I ran 6 miles every morning when I worked at camp, and that paid off for the first month or so, and then I started plateauing.
The frustration never ends, though. I think my perception of myself -- rephrase: I KNOW -- is distorted and unrealistic, and my vision of what I want to become is just as crazy. This gives me some hope when I realize I'm failing at attaining my goal, but it doesn't change what my head tells me I have to have.
I thought that I would never get the guy of my dreams looking the way I do, but that if I did, it would quiet my aching heart and silence the critical voice in my head -- if he loves you and loves the way you look, then you're really okay. But you know what? I got the guy I've always wanted, and he compliments me every day, whispers everything I need to hear, and tells me he's never seen a more perfect woman ever, but it doesn't make me content with myself. It intimidates me. I feel as if I'm not and won't ever be perfect enough for him. He's too far above me.
Thanks to personal trainer Dylan Rada, I've started working out with weights and not killing myself trying to run around the planet. I can see a vast improvement and different muscle tones are showing through that I didn't know existed; but I'm still not happy -- yet. Maybe if I keep at it long enough. I'm constantly striving for that always elusive flawless exterior, the one that screams from magazine covers and rips at me from my computer screen. It is an obsession. Not an infatuation that I'll get over -- this is a demeaning, sick relationship that I've allowed myself to be sucked into and don't have the strength to get out of. Every time I see an advertisement or a picture or a pretty girl on the street I bash myself over the head again. Why can't you have that?
Magazine covers are airbrushed. Yes, I know that. But I do know "perfection" like that exists. I've seen it. There are girls at Union that walk around carrying everything I have always wanted to be.
At the same time, though, I get jealous of people (Addi...) that have risen above this common snare for women -- how did they rise above it? Why can't I grow into a balanced, emotionally-healthy young woman like they have?
Please don't get me wrong: I'm not trying to throw myself a pity party. I don't want anyone's sympathy or help from a professional. It's just that the majority of people that know me probably wouldn't guess that I worry over things like my body -- look how trivial it is! -- to this extent. And that's why I'm writing about it. I am tired of hiding everything and keeping up a front.
I know many other girls struggle with this, too, and I hope that maybe someone reads this who needs to feel encouraged that she isn't alone. It always makes me feel better to know that there are others in the same boat.
I'm normally very quiet about my personal problems, but that doesn't mean I don't have any. I probably have more problems than you do, I promise. I just shove them deep down. They get lodged in there and tend to stick around longer than they should. Obviously.
I've struggled with an enormous amount of self hatred since I was about 9. And it's only gotten worse throughout the years. In high school I consistently starved myself, allowing two tiny meals a day on average. I don't think anyone noticed, because I was in the cafeteria just as much as any other dorm student, but I was constantly hungry.
Around this time I also started running. I couldn't run very far, and I only did it like twice a week, but I felt like I was helping myself.
College hit and I ran all the time. Five days a week. I fluctuated wildly between starving myself, eating one meal a day, eating two meals a day, eating whatever I wanted. I went nuts with sit ups and crunches. This summer I ran 6 miles every morning when I worked at camp, and that paid off for the first month or so, and then I started plateauing.
The frustration never ends, though. I think my perception of myself -- rephrase: I KNOW -- is distorted and unrealistic, and my vision of what I want to become is just as crazy. This gives me some hope when I realize I'm failing at attaining my goal, but it doesn't change what my head tells me I have to have.
I thought that I would never get the guy of my dreams looking the way I do, but that if I did, it would quiet my aching heart and silence the critical voice in my head -- if he loves you and loves the way you look, then you're really okay. But you know what? I got the guy I've always wanted, and he compliments me every day, whispers everything I need to hear, and tells me he's never seen a more perfect woman ever, but it doesn't make me content with myself. It intimidates me. I feel as if I'm not and won't ever be perfect enough for him. He's too far above me.
Thanks to personal trainer Dylan Rada, I've started working out with weights and not killing myself trying to run around the planet. I can see a vast improvement and different muscle tones are showing through that I didn't know existed; but I'm still not happy -- yet. Maybe if I keep at it long enough. I'm constantly striving for that always elusive flawless exterior, the one that screams from magazine covers and rips at me from my computer screen. It is an obsession. Not an infatuation that I'll get over -- this is a demeaning, sick relationship that I've allowed myself to be sucked into and don't have the strength to get out of. Every time I see an advertisement or a picture or a pretty girl on the street I bash myself over the head again. Why can't you have that?
Magazine covers are airbrushed. Yes, I know that. But I do know "perfection" like that exists. I've seen it. There are girls at Union that walk around carrying everything I have always wanted to be.
At the same time, though, I get jealous of people (Addi...) that have risen above this common snare for women -- how did they rise above it? Why can't I grow into a balanced, emotionally-healthy young woman like they have?
Please don't get me wrong: I'm not trying to throw myself a pity party. I don't want anyone's sympathy or help from a professional. It's just that the majority of people that know me probably wouldn't guess that I worry over things like my body -- look how trivial it is! -- to this extent. And that's why I'm writing about it. I am tired of hiding everything and keeping up a front.
I know many other girls struggle with this, too, and I hope that maybe someone reads this who needs to feel encouraged that she isn't alone. It always makes me feel better to know that there are others in the same boat.
I'm normally very quiet about my personal problems, but that doesn't mean I don't have any. I probably have more problems than you do, I promise. I just shove them deep down. They get lodged in there and tend to stick around longer than they should. Obviously.
I pronounce my last name incorrectly...
This picture has become significant to my brothers in their attempts to convince me my last name is pronounced LAY instead of LEE.
My dad said LEE. I say LEE. He defended it with, "It's LEE, like Raleigh, North Carolina, not LAY like sleigh."
Now that my dad is dead, I am the only one left that says LEE -- the rest of the family says LAY. And the above picture proves that they are actually in the right.
"See the sign? 'The O.K. Restaurant: B.H. Lay.' LAY! It's supposed to be pronounced LAY!" my brother told me, on a couple separate occasions.
Oh well. It's too much trouble for me to try to change it now.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Halloween is coming up.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Marilyn Monroe:
“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out
of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at
my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”
Five random pictures
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
How would you sum up your life?
Writing obituaries has made me think. The family's challenge is to sum up this person's life in so many words, and sometimes it makes their life seem rather short. "This happened, this happened, and this happened." "[Bob] married [Pat] in 1957 and they raised three children together." That's using 11 words to encompass, what, at least 20 years?
What are they going to say about me? What do I want them to say about me?
I've been thinking way too much today.
What are they going to say about me? What do I want them to say about me?
I've been thinking way too much today.
Days pass so quickly.
"Look upon every day as the whole of life, not merely as a section, and enjoy and improve the present without wishing, through haste, to rush on to another." ~Jean Paul Richter
It's okay to like myself
I've always been shy of cameras and I never like how pictures of myself look. I also detest my physical appearance to a rather excessive level, based on what I see in the mirror, and I perceive myself as a goofy-looking, odd-shaped....dork, really. Just walking around tends to make me nervous because I imagine people thinking, "Wow, why does she even leave the house?" I have no accurate idea of what I actually look like in real life, doing normal things; the last video I remember seeing that was taken of me, up close, was at my fifth birthday party. I've kind of changed a little since then.
Last night Dylan wanted to take a video of Cat because she was acting psycho and doing stupid things. I don't even remember what she was doing. After I recorded him playing with her and tickling her tummy, he took his phone from me and aimed the camera at my face. I immediately clammed up, but I talked for a few minutes about the day, answered a couple of Dylan's random questions, and played with the Cat on camera before Dylan gave his phone back for me to hold.
When I watched the video later, I was completely surprised. Dylan said to me, "See? Don't you see how gorgeous you are?!" I still don't, but I did see one thing -- I am not as weird looking and awkward as I feel every day. By no means am I saying that I finally realize I'm pretty. I just don't hate myself to such a violent degree anymore.
All of this sounds selfish (which it probably is) and conceited (I mean, who spends this much energy and time analyzing and worrying about their appearance?!) but this is a major stepping stone in my life towards becoming a more confident, content person. It feels amazing to ease that torture, to release some of the strain that I had been piling on myself day after day. Already I feel lighter and I'm more inclined to be patient with myself, and I take more kindly to Dylan's compliments, which I have a habit of shooting down almost before they leave his lips. Not that love is based on appearances, but I am more accepting of the fact that I can be okay with myself -- before, my perception of myself always got in the way and overshadowed anything anyone ever told me -- and that I don't have to badger myself into a grave of despair. It's not acceptable for me to treat myself like that.
I am, and have always been, my fiercest enemy. Bet you didn't know I had so many personal issues, did you? :)
Last night Dylan wanted to take a video of Cat because she was acting psycho and doing stupid things. I don't even remember what she was doing. After I recorded him playing with her and tickling her tummy, he took his phone from me and aimed the camera at my face. I immediately clammed up, but I talked for a few minutes about the day, answered a couple of Dylan's random questions, and played with the Cat on camera before Dylan gave his phone back for me to hold.
When I watched the video later, I was completely surprised. Dylan said to me, "See? Don't you see how gorgeous you are?!" I still don't, but I did see one thing -- I am not as weird looking and awkward as I feel every day. By no means am I saying that I finally realize I'm pretty. I just don't hate myself to such a violent degree anymore.
All of this sounds selfish (which it probably is) and conceited (I mean, who spends this much energy and time analyzing and worrying about their appearance?!) but this is a major stepping stone in my life towards becoming a more confident, content person. It feels amazing to ease that torture, to release some of the strain that I had been piling on myself day after day. Already I feel lighter and I'm more inclined to be patient with myself, and I take more kindly to Dylan's compliments, which I have a habit of shooting down almost before they leave his lips. Not that love is based on appearances, but I am more accepting of the fact that I can be okay with myself -- before, my perception of myself always got in the way and overshadowed anything anyone ever told me -- and that I don't have to badger myself into a grave of despair. It's not acceptable for me to treat myself like that.
I am, and have always been, my fiercest enemy. Bet you didn't know I had so many personal issues, did you? :)
Are adults really this clueless?
Sunday's Parade insert in the newspaper had an article about kids being wired - being overly connected to everything because of Facebook, texting, and all things digital.
"You have to be 13 to join Facebook," the article says, "but children should learn before then not to share personal information. 'Pre-teenagers are very rule focused, so you can tell them, "Don't do this," and they're going to follow it,' Dr. O'Keeffe says." The piece went on to talk about how rebellion/disobedience issues arise usually when the kid is an older teen.
When I was a preteen, I was rule focused, and I obeyed my parents to the letter. But that was because the consequences I faced from my dad were harsh and very vivid, and he was much more strict than any of my friends' parents. As a child I remember being sheltered to an extreme extent, and I was always laughed at or criticized because if Daddy told me not to do something, I wouldn't,whereas my friends didn't care and would do what they wanted. Granted, it wasn't because I necessarily WANTED to obey my parents -- it was because I was afraid not to - but nonetheless, I did what they asked. And I continually felt different and left out because all of my friends just did whatever they wanted to do, and to hell with their parents.
I legitimately don't understand why parents/adults don't have a clue what their kids are up to. Anyone who thinks that the majority of preteens are going to automatically trust what their parents have to say without questioning it is disgustingly mistaken and naive. With how connected young kids are becoming to each other and with the outside world, I believe the rebellious "I can do it my way" mentality is much more prevalent, stronger, and harder to break in teenagers and preteens. It's not getting better, or even remaining the same. The conditions of our younger generations are deteriorating.
"You have to be 13 to join Facebook," the article says, "but children should learn before then not to share personal information. 'Pre-teenagers are very rule focused, so you can tell them, "Don't do this," and they're going to follow it,' Dr. O'Keeffe says." The piece went on to talk about how rebellion/disobedience issues arise usually when the kid is an older teen.
When I was a preteen, I was rule focused, and I obeyed my parents to the letter. But that was because the consequences I faced from my dad were harsh and very vivid, and he was much more strict than any of my friends' parents. As a child I remember being sheltered to an extreme extent, and I was always laughed at or criticized because if Daddy told me not to do something, I wouldn't,whereas my friends didn't care and would do what they wanted. Granted, it wasn't because I necessarily WANTED to obey my parents -- it was because I was afraid not to - but nonetheless, I did what they asked. And I continually felt different and left out because all of my friends just did whatever they wanted to do, and to hell with their parents.
I legitimately don't understand why parents/adults don't have a clue what their kids are up to. Anyone who thinks that the majority of preteens are going to automatically trust what their parents have to say without questioning it is disgustingly mistaken and naive. With how connected young kids are becoming to each other and with the outside world, I believe the rebellious "I can do it my way" mentality is much more prevalent, stronger, and harder to break in teenagers and preteens. It's not getting better, or even remaining the same. The conditions of our younger generations are deteriorating.
Friday, October 7, 2011
The author of this poem won the Nobel literature prize. I love this one.
Allegro
After a black day, I play Haydn,
and feel a little warmth in my hands.
The keys are ready. Kind hammers fall.
The sound is spirited, green, and full of silence.
The sound says that freedom exists
and someone pays no tax to Caesar.
I shove my hands in my haydnpockets
and act like a man who is calm about it all.
I raise my haydnflag. The signal is:
“We do not surrender. But want peace.”
The music is a house of glass standing on a slope;
rocks are flying, rocks are rolling.
The rocks roll straight through the house
but every pane of glass is still whole.
~Tomas Tranströmer
Thursday, October 6, 2011
I love when...
...I bond with a random stranger named Suzy (Susie) (Suzi) (Suzie) because we have the same name. This doesn't happen very often.
Thought for the day
You live longer once you realize that any time spent being unhappy is wasted. -Ruth E. Renkl
VENT
Bad things that have happened already today:
1. I woke up at 5:30 this morning, drove to the pool, and swam for a half hour. I usually swim one day a week in between my days with weights, but I don't feel like I exercised at all today.
2. I came home and cleaned out the litter box. That always pisses me off.
3. I started working a half-hour early. (This is not necessarily a bad thing.)
4. I got a call from a very perturbed funeral home director. Great thing to get right as you clock in. Apparently I screwed up an obituary rather royally yesterday (all because the formatting kept shutting my computer down and I had to type it in manually) -- I left out the visitation line -- and of course the family is pissed, and I had to refund them their money and I apologized to the family and said director (this, of course, would be my FIRST encounter with him... why couldn't this have happened after I'd worked with him a few times and he got to know me enough to realize that I am capable and attentive and and and......). I asked him not to throw me under the bus yet, but he completely ignored me and just insisted on the refund. I'm okay with the fact that I made a mistake; and, yes, it'll go on my record as an error, but that is okay. I am bothered because I just want him to be patient with me and not be mad.....
5. Crotchety old man calls immediately after I'm done filing all the necessary paper work for my stupidity. First thing he says? "I have a problem with you guys. Ready to hear some bitching?"
6. I'm freezing and about to burst into tears. If something else bad happens within the next six hours, I will cry. I will try not to, but I probably will.
7. Last night Dylan and I went to see 50/50. Most emotionally-stirring movie I've ever seen. I have never been affected by a film like that before. People say too often, "I laughed and I cried" and most of the time I feel as if they're just being dramatic, but...literally...I did. I was sitting there in the seat just engrossed in the film and all of a sudden Dylan's fingers appear under my eye. "Stop those tears, baby. It's just a movie! It's okay! It's okay!" Aaaaaaand then it put both of us in weird moods for the rest of the night.
But... I guess you could say I've been quite chameleon-like today. I have plenty of reason to be ridiculously happy today, and here's why:
1. I actually did burn some calories, instead of just sleeping in.
2. Dylan woke up happy, cheery, and talkative. He always makes me feel better.
3. When I dropped him off at work, he walked inside but then promptly came back out to the car. Leaning in the window, he said, "I love you," and kissed me again. That's exactly what I needed.
4. I met with some guy named Vince at 7:45 -- he has something to do with development or motivation or something here at The Star -- to talk about future direction and my eventual career path. He was personable, humorous, and helpful, and offered to help me meet some people here and make some connections.
5. My boss does not hate me for messing up that obituary. I know, I shouldn't be so upset about it, because everyone makes mistakes; but this is one job that you can't really screw up..... margin for error is like ZERO.
6. The old man that called to bitch told my boss that I was a cute little thing. I'm not mad at him anymore.
7. Vince came by and talked to my boss and told her she has a good worker. She says, "Yes. I know. She kicks ass every day. I like her."
It's the little things like this that count. 50/50 last night even gave me a slightly different perspective on life. As Dylan said when we were talking about it last night, life is too short to worry about slow drivers, or stupid people at work. I shouldn't waste my time harping on myself for one line left out of an obituary, whether or not I have burned enough calories today, or because my hair is too fluffy and isn't cooperating. What happens if I don't wake up tomorrow? Wouldn't my list of happy things be what I would want to remember? Would I be content with the fact that I wasted half of my day worrying and close to tears because of little stuff that won't matter tomorrow?
In all reality, the happy memories are the only memories worth keeping around until tomorrow.
1. I woke up at 5:30 this morning, drove to the pool, and swam for a half hour. I usually swim one day a week in between my days with weights, but I don't feel like I exercised at all today.
2. I came home and cleaned out the litter box. That always pisses me off.
3. I started working a half-hour early. (This is not necessarily a bad thing.)
4. I got a call from a very perturbed funeral home director. Great thing to get right as you clock in. Apparently I screwed up an obituary rather royally yesterday (all because the formatting kept shutting my computer down and I had to type it in manually) -- I left out the visitation line -- and of course the family is pissed, and I had to refund them their money and I apologized to the family and said director (this, of course, would be my FIRST encounter with him... why couldn't this have happened after I'd worked with him a few times and he got to know me enough to realize that I am capable and attentive and and and......). I asked him not to throw me under the bus yet, but he completely ignored me and just insisted on the refund. I'm okay with the fact that I made a mistake; and, yes, it'll go on my record as an error, but that is okay. I am bothered because I just want him to be patient with me and not be mad.....
5. Crotchety old man calls immediately after I'm done filing all the necessary paper work for my stupidity. First thing he says? "I have a problem with you guys. Ready to hear some bitching?"
6. I'm freezing and about to burst into tears. If something else bad happens within the next six hours, I will cry. I will try not to, but I probably will.
7. Last night Dylan and I went to see 50/50. Most emotionally-stirring movie I've ever seen. I have never been affected by a film like that before. People say too often, "I laughed and I cried" and most of the time I feel as if they're just being dramatic, but...literally...I did. I was sitting there in the seat just engrossed in the film and all of a sudden Dylan's fingers appear under my eye. "Stop those tears, baby. It's just a movie! It's okay! It's okay!" Aaaaaaand then it put both of us in weird moods for the rest of the night.
But... I guess you could say I've been quite chameleon-like today. I have plenty of reason to be ridiculously happy today, and here's why:
1. I actually did burn some calories, instead of just sleeping in.
2. Dylan woke up happy, cheery, and talkative. He always makes me feel better.
3. When I dropped him off at work, he walked inside but then promptly came back out to the car. Leaning in the window, he said, "I love you," and kissed me again. That's exactly what I needed.
4. I met with some guy named Vince at 7:45 -- he has something to do with development or motivation or something here at The Star -- to talk about future direction and my eventual career path. He was personable, humorous, and helpful, and offered to help me meet some people here and make some connections.
5. My boss does not hate me for messing up that obituary. I know, I shouldn't be so upset about it, because everyone makes mistakes; but this is one job that you can't really screw up..... margin for error is like ZERO.
6. The old man that called to bitch told my boss that I was a cute little thing. I'm not mad at him anymore.
7. Vince came by and talked to my boss and told her she has a good worker. She says, "Yes. I know. She kicks ass every day. I like her."
It's the little things like this that count. 50/50 last night even gave me a slightly different perspective on life. As Dylan said when we were talking about it last night, life is too short to worry about slow drivers, or stupid people at work. I shouldn't waste my time harping on myself for one line left out of an obituary, whether or not I have burned enough calories today, or because my hair is too fluffy and isn't cooperating. What happens if I don't wake up tomorrow? Wouldn't my list of happy things be what I would want to remember? Would I be content with the fact that I wasted half of my day worrying and close to tears because of little stuff that won't matter tomorrow?
In all reality, the happy memories are the only memories worth keeping around until tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
If only my cat went to this much trouble... maybe she does and I just don't notice.
http://theoatmeal.com/comics/cat_vs_internet
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