It is one half ambition and one half compassion.
I just need to figure out how to put the two together while leaning toward the latter.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Experiment
Everyone I know talks about how stressed they are. There is never enough time, always too much to do, if only I had 1 more hour in a day to finish everything! But nobody ever does anything about it. I've been reading nonstop in my classes this semester about how wrong the entire system is, how brainwashed we all are, how much we (the average American) hurt everyone else on Earth by our mere existence. This makes me wonder if there even is anything "we" can do about it. We are programmed our entire lives, at least in my experience, to constantly achieve- even better!- to achieve more than the kid next to you. We are over-scheduled from the age of 3 with sports, music lessons, extra tutoring to get ahead of the curve, "volunteering," on and on and on. We don't eat dinner with our families, and sometimes a meal is merely a microwaved burrito while running out the door to the next activity. All of this just to get a better scholarship to a better school to get a better job to proliferate this cycle with your own unfortunate children. At some point the standards are taken so high that this achievement attitude becomes a norm, and all of this is required just to even get into college.
We're unhappy. Kids get drugged up legally and illegally to deal with their "pain" which is ironically caused by the stuff they do in order to make themselves happy. We eat too much, sleep too little, have panic attacks, and fall asleep at the wheel.
I know these things all too well, because I am the direct product of this cycle. My entire life has been a series of activities and events. I often feel guilty for having fun. My day centers around 4 calendars that run my life. I'm constantly thinking of the most efficient way to get it all done, and the slightest breach of this efficiency is enough to send me into an emotional tailspin for the rest of the day. I had a breakdown at the age of 14 that compromised my immune system but didn't seem to stop the patterns that led to the crisis. My back is chronically in pain and my pelvis is crooked, very likely because of the excessive weight of backpack/violin/swim bag that I carried everywhere during my most formative years and the excessive amount of exercise that I got in general. I developed pathologies of anxiety and OCD. And the problem is that it all worked. I got great scholarship to a great school and continue to achieve through this cycle of self-depravation and self-discipline.
But for all of my focus on efficiency, I feel like I've wasted so much of my life in productivity. I know what really matters, so it's not a matter of finding it. The problem is getting myself to do it. I've got to do something to assuage this guilt that I've already irreparably damaged my body and brain from overloads of stress for too many years.
So here is my plan. I will begin now by chronicling (whenever time allows, always the cruel joke of the matter) the process I have already attempted to undertake of simplifying my life. I no longer feel compelled to read every single word of assignments, to write the most groundbreaking response paper, to attend every single meeting. But I have so much farther to go. The ultimate experience will be when I go abroad in the spring. I am considering my voyage to Vietnam to be an experiment in simpler living. I will have 1 suitcase and will travel for a good portion of the 3.5 months that I am there. I will try to note how it feels to live out of a suitcase, to go without all of the stuff that I "need" so badly, notice if I feel any better or any withdrawal. When I return, I will see how possible it is to apply at home. America is not set up to make simplification easier, and I can't change the world by being 1 person to try this experiment. I just want to see if I can do it.
I know this experiment has been attempted many times before. But I don't think it's been actively analyzed by many people of my generation, the ultimate "stuff" generation.
So here's hoping I can keep up with the task...time to go do more things so I don't have a panic attack!
We're unhappy. Kids get drugged up legally and illegally to deal with their "pain" which is ironically caused by the stuff they do in order to make themselves happy. We eat too much, sleep too little, have panic attacks, and fall asleep at the wheel.
I know these things all too well, because I am the direct product of this cycle. My entire life has been a series of activities and events. I often feel guilty for having fun. My day centers around 4 calendars that run my life. I'm constantly thinking of the most efficient way to get it all done, and the slightest breach of this efficiency is enough to send me into an emotional tailspin for the rest of the day. I had a breakdown at the age of 14 that compromised my immune system but didn't seem to stop the patterns that led to the crisis. My back is chronically in pain and my pelvis is crooked, very likely because of the excessive weight of backpack/violin/swim bag that I carried everywhere during my most formative years and the excessive amount of exercise that I got in general. I developed pathologies of anxiety and OCD. And the problem is that it all worked. I got great scholarship to a great school and continue to achieve through this cycle of self-depravation and self-discipline.
But for all of my focus on efficiency, I feel like I've wasted so much of my life in productivity. I know what really matters, so it's not a matter of finding it. The problem is getting myself to do it. I've got to do something to assuage this guilt that I've already irreparably damaged my body and brain from overloads of stress for too many years.
So here is my plan. I will begin now by chronicling (whenever time allows, always the cruel joke of the matter) the process I have already attempted to undertake of simplifying my life. I no longer feel compelled to read every single word of assignments, to write the most groundbreaking response paper, to attend every single meeting. But I have so much farther to go. The ultimate experience will be when I go abroad in the spring. I am considering my voyage to Vietnam to be an experiment in simpler living. I will have 1 suitcase and will travel for a good portion of the 3.5 months that I am there. I will try to note how it feels to live out of a suitcase, to go without all of the stuff that I "need" so badly, notice if I feel any better or any withdrawal. When I return, I will see how possible it is to apply at home. America is not set up to make simplification easier, and I can't change the world by being 1 person to try this experiment. I just want to see if I can do it.
I know this experiment has been attempted many times before. But I don't think it's been actively analyzed by many people of my generation, the ultimate "stuff" generation.
So here's hoping I can keep up with the task...time to go do more things so I don't have a panic attack!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Spoons and Forks and Knives, oh my!
I think I have a thing for kitchen utensils. My old lady style souvenir spoon cabinet is officially full (that's 24 spoons, folks). My prize from my mom for doing well on my triathlon was a coveted grapefruit knife that she found at Williams Sonoma. Then I found an assortment of forks and knives on my desk that had somehow migrated there. Like insects seem to be attracted to me, so am I to eating utensils.
Mind games
Elementary school marquee I saw while driving: "Rememberto collect supplies." I spent a good minute trying to figure who Rememberto was, like some intellectual Latin superhero. Appropriate spacing goes a long way...
I don't think anyone would ever guess where I found myself today. When I finally managed to extract myself from the office following an influx of problems the second I tried to walk out the door, I drove to a super sketchy Walmart (stick with me here) to meet my grandma and get in her car. We drove to Memorial Hermann Southwest, elevatored up to the 5th floor (with her carrying her giant red patriotic straw hat...quite a spectacle),and walked downn the hall to...dum dum DUM...the plastic surgeon? I was super embarrassed to go inside, feeling that I would be judged as one of the wealthy and boobless.
I managed to trick my friend, via text message, into believing that I was actually there for butt implants. I think he actually believed me...but really, I was there to get my painful and kind of ugly shoulder surgery scar looked at. If insurance covers it, I get another surgery...yipeeee. At least it would be in-office. And I could officially say I've had plastic surgery!
I don't think anyone would ever guess where I found myself today. When I finally managed to extract myself from the office following an influx of problems the second I tried to walk out the door, I drove to a super sketchy Walmart (stick with me here) to meet my grandma and get in her car. We drove to Memorial Hermann Southwest, elevatored up to the 5th floor (with her carrying her giant red patriotic straw hat...quite a spectacle),and walked downn the hall to...dum dum DUM...the plastic surgeon? I was super embarrassed to go inside, feeling that I would be judged as one of the wealthy and boobless.
I managed to trick my friend, via text message, into believing that I was actually there for butt implants. I think he actually believed me...but really, I was there to get my painful and kind of ugly shoulder surgery scar looked at. If insurance covers it, I get another surgery...yipeeee. At least it would be in-office. And I could officially say I've had plastic surgery!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Bugs
An ant just fell out of my hair.
This wouldn't be too terribly alarming if I wasn't on my 2nd round of antibiotics in 3 weeks for insect attacks. Mystery spider bite in California led to a swollen wrist I could barely move. A week later, I was opening my mouth to order at The Grist Mill, when I felt something buzzing at my leg. I was wearing an ankle length purple dress, feeling pretty fly since I actually wore something mildly fashionable. But thank you fashion for trapping what I can only assume was a bee in my dress, where I-- being brilliant-- managed to squeeze it, so it stung me. Without even looking, or ever even seeing the bee for that matter, I ripped the stinger out and threw it. I started semi-shrieking that something bit me as the pain seared up my leg. Of all the places, the bee chose to sting me on my inner thigh. The confused waiter, my exchange student sister, and my boyfriend just stared at me. Finally the dumbfounded waiter drawled, "I guess I can go get you some ice..." So I spent the rest of dinner with my sexy dress pulled up one leg, holding an ice bag to my thigh. A week and a half later, I had to go to the doctor to get an antibiotic cream and some Zyrtec-ish related pills. I've also been so dizzy that I'm disoriented. The doctor told me to drink Pediasure...well great.
I am afraid that I will soon pull an Alien v. Predator and actually morph into an insect.
This wouldn't be too terribly alarming if I wasn't on my 2nd round of antibiotics in 3 weeks for insect attacks. Mystery spider bite in California led to a swollen wrist I could barely move. A week later, I was opening my mouth to order at The Grist Mill, when I felt something buzzing at my leg. I was wearing an ankle length purple dress, feeling pretty fly since I actually wore something mildly fashionable. But thank you fashion for trapping what I can only assume was a bee in my dress, where I-- being brilliant-- managed to squeeze it, so it stung me. Without even looking, or ever even seeing the bee for that matter, I ripped the stinger out and threw it. I started semi-shrieking that something bit me as the pain seared up my leg. Of all the places, the bee chose to sting me on my inner thigh. The confused waiter, my exchange student sister, and my boyfriend just stared at me. Finally the dumbfounded waiter drawled, "I guess I can go get you some ice..." So I spent the rest of dinner with my sexy dress pulled up one leg, holding an ice bag to my thigh. A week and a half later, I had to go to the doctor to get an antibiotic cream and some Zyrtec-ish related pills. I've also been so dizzy that I'm disoriented. The doctor told me to drink Pediasure...well great.
I am afraid that I will soon pull an Alien v. Predator and actually morph into an insect.
Friday, June 5, 2009
On being 20
I am incredibly talented at overcomplicating everything. Most things are really a lot simpler than I think they are. I've also realized, 1 day into my 20s, that I am simultaneously more and less mature than I think am. I am obviously not the grown up I think I am sometimes, but I have also grown so much and have so much more control over myself than I used to. In the spirit of my favorite activity, list making, here is another list of things that I have realized (realizing being my other favorite thing apparently).
Life lessons that will probably take my entire life:
1. No matter how much I want to or how hard I try, I can't do everything. I learn this lesson over and over again (think: 1st semester freshman year of high school's physical, mental, and emotional breakdown; 2nd semester senior year with all AP classes and 11 extracurricular activities; 1st semester of college when I almost blew out my hip; the 4 jobs I have been trying to balance this summer and failed at today). A quote I found today: "While intelligent people often simplify the complex, a fool is more likely to complicate the simple." Sometimes I'm a big fool.
2. I have got to get a thicker skin. I have had plenty of rejection and criticism in my life, and honestly, I think I deal with big problems a lot better than small ones. I take things way too personally and always turn everything into my fault. I know the adult world is just full of even more rejection and criticism and drama and unfairness, especially the career direction I seem to be headed in, and I will melt into a puddle if I don't toughen up.
3. People really don't care about what I do as much as I think they do. Sometimes I think I invent problems where they don't exist, like my life just isn't right without sometimes going wrong. I care way way wayyyyyy too much about pleasing people with every choice that I make, when in reality they would be most pleased if I just made an effing decision and committed to it.
All of these are also simultaneously my greatest strengths and weaknesses. I think the root of all of these weaknesses is that I care so incredibly much. If caring too much is really and truly my biggest weakness, then I am doing ok. I try to do everything because I never want to miss an opportunity to have fun, improve myself, or to improve the world. I have a thin skin because I care so much about doing things the absolute best that I can. I care what people think because I want others to be happy and never want to do anything that hurts them. Fortunately my skin grows thicker as I get older (mostly due to developing a self-deprecating sense of humor), as my patience grows deeper, and my reasoning abilities grow stronger.
Here's to coming into the prime of my life. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm pretty sure things only get better. As my advisor told me the other day, I have lived more in 20 years than many people have in their entire lives. And as my therapist told me, I have very good coping skills. So I suppose I'm not doing so poorly.
When I'm really in doubt I refer to the old Houston Chronicle horoscope clip I cut out years ago: "Your plight is like Spiderman's. With great talent comes great responsibility." At the risk of sounding a bit conceited (but who reads this anyway??), my spidey senses tell me this will be my truest lifelong lesson.
Life lessons that will probably take my entire life:
1. No matter how much I want to or how hard I try, I can't do everything. I learn this lesson over and over again (think: 1st semester freshman year of high school's physical, mental, and emotional breakdown; 2nd semester senior year with all AP classes and 11 extracurricular activities; 1st semester of college when I almost blew out my hip; the 4 jobs I have been trying to balance this summer and failed at today). A quote I found today: "While intelligent people often simplify the complex, a fool is more likely to complicate the simple." Sometimes I'm a big fool.
2. I have got to get a thicker skin. I have had plenty of rejection and criticism in my life, and honestly, I think I deal with big problems a lot better than small ones. I take things way too personally and always turn everything into my fault. I know the adult world is just full of even more rejection and criticism and drama and unfairness, especially the career direction I seem to be headed in, and I will melt into a puddle if I don't toughen up.
3. People really don't care about what I do as much as I think they do. Sometimes I think I invent problems where they don't exist, like my life just isn't right without sometimes going wrong. I care way way wayyyyyy too much about pleasing people with every choice that I make, when in reality they would be most pleased if I just made an effing decision and committed to it.
All of these are also simultaneously my greatest strengths and weaknesses. I think the root of all of these weaknesses is that I care so incredibly much. If caring too much is really and truly my biggest weakness, then I am doing ok. I try to do everything because I never want to miss an opportunity to have fun, improve myself, or to improve the world. I have a thin skin because I care so much about doing things the absolute best that I can. I care what people think because I want others to be happy and never want to do anything that hurts them. Fortunately my skin grows thicker as I get older (mostly due to developing a self-deprecating sense of humor), as my patience grows deeper, and my reasoning abilities grow stronger.
Here's to coming into the prime of my life. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm pretty sure things only get better. As my advisor told me the other day, I have lived more in 20 years than many people have in their entire lives. And as my therapist told me, I have very good coping skills. So I suppose I'm not doing so poorly.
When I'm really in doubt I refer to the old Houston Chronicle horoscope clip I cut out years ago: "Your plight is like Spiderman's. With great talent comes great responsibility." At the risk of sounding a bit conceited (but who reads this anyway??), my spidey senses tell me this will be my truest lifelong lesson.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Ayo Technology...
I'm sitting here at work, a picture of modernity. I've got headphones on, playing my latest Rhapsody finds, my cell phone (with internet) plugged in, my laptop open and logged in to gmail, Facebook, Rhapsody, and Twitter. I'm alternately reading a book and writing the 14 status update ideas that pop into my head. Our brains have to be evolving to be able to function like this. How do I get everything done?
I also worry a lot about how electronic all of my creativity is. There really isn't anything like a hard copy of a diary or notebook to look back at in years to come. What will archaeologists of the future have to find but computers with unreadable files? Half of the creative moments and thoughts that I've had are lost somewhere in cyber space, blips of something that really isn't anything. I've tried getting myself to write in a journal, but I just don't have the patience. My hand can't keep up with my brain, nor do I have the patience to take the time out to write by hand. I don't want to print every single thing I write. What to do?
I also worry a lot about how electronic all of my creativity is. There really isn't anything like a hard copy of a diary or notebook to look back at in years to come. What will archaeologists of the future have to find but computers with unreadable files? Half of the creative moments and thoughts that I've had are lost somewhere in cyber space, blips of something that really isn't anything. I've tried getting myself to write in a journal, but I just don't have the patience. My hand can't keep up with my brain, nor do I have the patience to take the time out to write by hand. I don't want to print every single thing I write. What to do?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
So everything finally snapped. And I'm angry. Really really angry. And I like it.
Being angry is so much better than being sad and desperate and lost. It has energy and passion. It makes me move forward. At least it doesn't feel like I've fallen in a hole. Yesterday it was just denial (stage 1 of grief, right on time...there was a lot of bargaining already...jumped ahead with stage 3, I guess). Too much to do, too much to grieve. There comes a point where there is just only so much one person can grieve for and at some point you go the completely opposite direction and are just happy because you've run out of room for sadness. Today I'm just angry (stage 2). Angry that people have to die and hurt and that I can't figure out what's wrong with my hip and have gotten nowhere.
So I'm going running. Haven't been allowed to for the better part of a year. Don't stop me.
--
I want to be good at poetry or writing songs or art or something to get this all out better. All I do is write bad emo stuff.
Just had to put this somewhere.
Being angry is so much better than being sad and desperate and lost. It has energy and passion. It makes me move forward. At least it doesn't feel like I've fallen in a hole. Yesterday it was just denial (stage 1 of grief, right on time...there was a lot of bargaining already...jumped ahead with stage 3, I guess). Too much to do, too much to grieve. There comes a point where there is just only so much one person can grieve for and at some point you go the completely opposite direction and are just happy because you've run out of room for sadness. Today I'm just angry (stage 2). Angry that people have to die and hurt and that I can't figure out what's wrong with my hip and have gotten nowhere.
So I'm going running. Haven't been allowed to for the better part of a year. Don't stop me.
--
I want to be good at poetry or writing songs or art or something to get this all out better. All I do is write bad emo stuff.
Just had to put this somewhere.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Tis the season for the groove type thing
Tis the season for freaking out, and I feel like I should be...but I'm not. This week should be super stressful, and maybe I'm not working hard enough, but so far it's been pretty decent. (I should probably get to that 15 page paper soon...) It's strange, or maybe not so strange, but I tend to find my zen place when I have a lot to do. Perhaps it's more of a groove-type thing.
I feel pretty snobby sitting here at work, listening to a Mendelssohn string quartet, reading critiques of Samuel Beckett, sipping coffee. (The picture is definitely brought a bit back to earth by the fact that it's cafeteria coffee mixed with chocolate in a plastic mug, and I'm sitting in a cubicle making minimum wage, and the Beckett critique is for a class I have a final in on Friday.) The thing about Beckett is that it makes me feel kind of bummed about life. He's such a downer...all this "you're born, you live a meaningless life, you die" stuff. College has a tendency to be depressing when you actually think about things.
In other news, I had decided to go to India for study abroad, buuuuuut not so sure about that now, what with all hell on the loose. I'd still really like to go to Scandinavia. Doubtful that I can convince my advisor that the whitest place on the planet is the place for me to do research for my senior honors thesis, though. I just don't feel drawn to somewhere where I might get blown up or shot or taken hostage or die of malaria. I appreciate that things suck a lot and need help, really I do. But I don't know how my dying to see that is going to help anything. I'm also coming to see a lot about how "the academy" works. To get credibility, to get a teaching job (of which there are few in the anthro field), to get published, and to get known, one has to go to the Third World to do research. My interests have always lied more (is that proper grammar?) in the realm of studying the oppressor or something like that. I have mixed feelings about being the world's savior. We definitely need to make reparations for effing it over in the first place, but at the same time, we meddle too much in other people's business.
Also I really hate small talk. A lot. Don't ask me how I am if you don't actually care how I am. And I will do the same.
"Hi, how are you?"
"Good. How are you?"
"Good."
If you actually tell how you are, people go glassy eyed, because they didn't actually want to know. A simple hello will suffice. The worst thing is when both people say "How are you?" and "Good" at the exact same time. And I have it on good authority that Europeans think our fakeness in greetings is dumb. Except we do it in French class too, so I don't even know.
Soooo I need to get back to my work...
I feel pretty snobby sitting here at work, listening to a Mendelssohn string quartet, reading critiques of Samuel Beckett, sipping coffee. (The picture is definitely brought a bit back to earth by the fact that it's cafeteria coffee mixed with chocolate in a plastic mug, and I'm sitting in a cubicle making minimum wage, and the Beckett critique is for a class I have a final in on Friday.) The thing about Beckett is that it makes me feel kind of bummed about life. He's such a downer...all this "you're born, you live a meaningless life, you die" stuff. College has a tendency to be depressing when you actually think about things.
In other news, I had decided to go to India for study abroad, buuuuuut not so sure about that now, what with all hell on the loose. I'd still really like to go to Scandinavia. Doubtful that I can convince my advisor that the whitest place on the planet is the place for me to do research for my senior honors thesis, though. I just don't feel drawn to somewhere where I might get blown up or shot or taken hostage or die of malaria. I appreciate that things suck a lot and need help, really I do. But I don't know how my dying to see that is going to help anything. I'm also coming to see a lot about how "the academy" works. To get credibility, to get a teaching job (of which there are few in the anthro field), to get published, and to get known, one has to go to the Third World to do research. My interests have always lied more (is that proper grammar?) in the realm of studying the oppressor or something like that. I have mixed feelings about being the world's savior. We definitely need to make reparations for effing it over in the first place, but at the same time, we meddle too much in other people's business.
Also I really hate small talk. A lot. Don't ask me how I am if you don't actually care how I am. And I will do the same.
"Hi, how are you?"
"Good. How are you?"
"Good."
If you actually tell how you are, people go glassy eyed, because they didn't actually want to know. A simple hello will suffice. The worst thing is when both people say "How are you?" and "Good" at the exact same time. And I have it on good authority that Europeans think our fakeness in greetings is dumb. Except we do it in French class too, so I don't even know.
Soooo I need to get back to my work...
Thursday, September 25, 2008
How Ursula got her groove back
General rule of my life: When it rains, it pours.
But the good news about that is that this time it's pouring happiness. I feel like me again! Yesterday I socialized with more skeletons (in the biomechanics lab) than people throughout the day (until nighttime), but I got my groove back. I probably should actually be more stressed than I am, but I'm feeling under control. (I have 4 meetings in a row tonight, but it's ok!) I also love Southwestern again and am satisfied to be here. I've also finally learned how to be ok not being in a relationship and honestly-- get this-- don't want to be in one. That's not to say I am opposed to dating, I just really can't do serious right now. And it's ok!!!!
Also, the career plan du jour is Teach for America for 2 years post-SU to get some money and to get the teaching bug out of my system. Then UT law, which I hear is actually a lot more fun than I thought. Then: world domination. By which I mean running a non-profit or NGO or working for da government. Or the trusty backup plan of writing things.
"Happiness is as a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."
-Nathaniel Hawthorne
But the good news about that is that this time it's pouring happiness. I feel like me again! Yesterday I socialized with more skeletons (in the biomechanics lab) than people throughout the day (until nighttime), but I got my groove back. I probably should actually be more stressed than I am, but I'm feeling under control. (I have 4 meetings in a row tonight, but it's ok!) I also love Southwestern again and am satisfied to be here. I've also finally learned how to be ok not being in a relationship and honestly-- get this-- don't want to be in one. That's not to say I am opposed to dating, I just really can't do serious right now. And it's ok!!!!
Also, the career plan du jour is Teach for America for 2 years post-SU to get some money and to get the teaching bug out of my system. Then UT law, which I hear is actually a lot more fun than I thought. Then: world domination. By which I mean running a non-profit or NGO or working for da government. Or the trusty backup plan of writing things.
"Happiness is as a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."
-Nathaniel Hawthorne
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Existential crisis part deux
Actually, it isn't really very existential, but someone PLEASE remind me why I thought taking Anatomy was ok? Why? I mean, I have reasons, but they obviously aren't good enough ones. Why didn't I take Environmental Science like I knew I should? Today they are hearing a talk from a beekeeper for their lab. While I hear a 45 min lecture on muscle articulation and learn the entire musculature for the elbow, wrist, and hands. HAAA. This class is killing my beautiful GPA and making me feel stupid. And at this point there is nothing I can do about it. I did try to do my research last year, but I got such sketchy answers from people on the hardness of anatomy...lots of "ooh..eeee" and even "that's what made me decide to be a kines major" and now it's "holy Jesus why would you take that?" Where were those naysayers when I was asking last year????? I've made the dumbest scheduling decisions this year, and I can't do anything about it now except forge on for 3 more months and hope I don't deeply regret my stupidity come transcript time. It is entirely possible to get through this school without actually taking anything all that hard while still learning things; in other words to leave with a nice inflated GPA and a decent bank of knowledge, but apparently I derive some perverted pleasure out of taking needlessly difficult classes. Microeconomics is a case in point. I honestly can't say I remember very much or that I'm very glad in retrospect that I took that class. It was the downfall of my 4.0 with one little minus, and I don't even think I got much out of it. Except maybe I kind of know something about how houses made the economy suck.
Also, I am ridiculously sleepy but not tired. My body is antsy mcantspants, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I was literally beating my face in class to keep my eyes from crossing. I even went to bed before midnight last night! (Thought I did get awakened to open the door for someone and was very confused by the fact that I'd been asleep...I can't really explain it. I also had a lot of very vivid dreams about naming body parts. Yeahhh.) I do not want to become addicted to caffeine!!!
Vices:
Chai
Dark Chocolate
Panicking
List making
Time to go stare at my inspirational rodent screen saver.
Also, I am ridiculously sleepy but not tired. My body is antsy mcantspants, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I was literally beating my face in class to keep my eyes from crossing. I even went to bed before midnight last night! (Thought I did get awakened to open the door for someone and was very confused by the fact that I'd been asleep...I can't really explain it. I also had a lot of very vivid dreams about naming body parts. Yeahhh.) I do not want to become addicted to caffeine!!!
Vices:
Chai
Dark Chocolate
Panicking
List making
Time to go stare at my inspirational rodent screen saver.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Ok this is getting kind of obsessive, but when I'm stressed, I organize things, even my brain. Soo, fueled by liberal-arts inspired critical thinking skills, here is an organized version of my existential crisis.
About every 3 years I have one of these crises, and every time it rearticulates the same ideas in a more analytical context. Basically, it grows up with me and my vocabulary. It also grows inversely to my knowing who I am. I know myself very well. It's more a matter of what to do and how to think.
There is nothing I can do about some of it. I am impatient to be somewhere, actually doing something, having a "real" life, not stuck here putting in the grunt work. Time, however, can't be changed, no matter how hard I try. The rest of my problem is a matter of binaries (thank you, Levi-Strauss): useful vs. enjoyable, fun/less "achievement vs. work/more "achievement," exploration vs. domesticity, idealist vs. realist, put on the happy pants vs. give myself a break. I don't know how to just accept that a lot of things are BS (i.e. the college lifestyle), but that's ok. Now that I write this down I feel a little less abnormal, because I sound like half the people in the universe who have taken a semester off, dropped out of school, joined a convent, etc.
Action plan:
-Write. Anything, everything, all the time, whenever. Please God, help me find my creativity again.
-Humor. My constant fallback companion, the monologue in my head. Self deprecation puts everything in perspective.
-Continue my personal mantra of: think good things, say good things, do good things
-Accept that I will probably never reconcile the desire to achieve the most with a need for fun, so do very best but don't freak out over "failure"
-Forgive myself.
I move closer to the person I want to be through these crises. I think it's ok to have this period of time in which I'm just not entirely ok, because I'll come out of it even more ok than before. I already feel like I've reached a new place. Change is just hard. The only thing I possibly can do is move forward. I didn't live today like I meant to, but I can leave tonight like I want to. Every personal leap needs somewhere to leap from.
As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world... as in being able to remake ourselves.
-Mahatma Gandhi
About every 3 years I have one of these crises, and every time it rearticulates the same ideas in a more analytical context. Basically, it grows up with me and my vocabulary. It also grows inversely to my knowing who I am. I know myself very well. It's more a matter of what to do and how to think.
There is nothing I can do about some of it. I am impatient to be somewhere, actually doing something, having a "real" life, not stuck here putting in the grunt work. Time, however, can't be changed, no matter how hard I try. The rest of my problem is a matter of binaries (thank you, Levi-Strauss): useful vs. enjoyable, fun/less "achievement vs. work/more "achievement," exploration vs. domesticity, idealist vs. realist, put on the happy pants vs. give myself a break. I don't know how to just accept that a lot of things are BS (i.e. the college lifestyle), but that's ok. Now that I write this down I feel a little less abnormal, because I sound like half the people in the universe who have taken a semester off, dropped out of school, joined a convent, etc.
Action plan:
-Write. Anything, everything, all the time, whenever. Please God, help me find my creativity again.
-Humor. My constant fallback companion, the monologue in my head. Self deprecation puts everything in perspective.
-Continue my personal mantra of: think good things, say good things, do good things
-Accept that I will probably never reconcile the desire to achieve the most with a need for fun, so do very best but don't freak out over "failure"
-Forgive myself.
I move closer to the person I want to be through these crises. I think it's ok to have this period of time in which I'm just not entirely ok, because I'll come out of it even more ok than before. I already feel like I've reached a new place. Change is just hard. The only thing I possibly can do is move forward. I didn't live today like I meant to, but I can leave tonight like I want to. Every personal leap needs somewhere to leap from.
As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world... as in being able to remake ourselves.
-Mahatma Gandhi
Immediate personal response to last post:
I don't get myself. I can't even just feel some real emotions without explaining them away as some stupid, unimportant, self-wallowing thing. Why do I make fun of myself for thinking deep things? It's one of those contradictions...don't take life too seriously but life is deep. Blah whatever.
I don't get myself. I can't even just feel some real emotions without explaining them away as some stupid, unimportant, self-wallowing thing. Why do I make fun of myself for thinking deep things? It's one of those contradictions...don't take life too seriously but life is deep. Blah whatever.
Psychobabble
The last month has been like a big, charcoal gray cloud looming just a bit over my head, occasionally punctuated by a few timid rays of sunshine. A lot of the feelings I have now are almost sickeningly familiar and are almost perversely enjoyable, that old sense of queasily contented self-containment, in particular. I always alarm myself at how well I hold up to things, probably mostly due to my terror of deep sadness. It's just managed to manifest as a general hazy gloom and negativity that waits to pounce whenever I let my guard down. I used to love my alone time, revel in it...but now it just makes me feel strange.
I wonder if some of this feeling is me grappling with this strange adulthood transition. I am no longer a part of my family pod; I am a little seed that has blown away to strike out all by myself, unsure where I'll land. I am such a very small part of this huge world. I used to be so naively excited about taking on the world, but now I'm overwhelmed, and I don't want to be alone. I am not a loner, but I feel like I'm almost forced to be a lot of the time because I just can never take the easy way around anything.
I'm not sure where my sense of never-aloneness went. I always had a sense that God/the universe/whatever had its arms wrapped around me, always watching, always helping, but I keep losing that feeling. I feel almost not a part of myself, even, like I detach from my body sometimes. I wish I could say it was highly effective meditation, but it's like I'm outside of my own self, marveling at this whole swirling life that belongs to this thing called Ursula, a word that I automatically respond to and somehow sums up this animated form. Maybe I'm really a prophetess on some higher plane of consciousness. That would explain things.
I can't afford to lose myself right now. What happened to the indestructible me?
I don't like being this weird emo kid.
I wonder if some of this feeling is me grappling with this strange adulthood transition. I am no longer a part of my family pod; I am a little seed that has blown away to strike out all by myself, unsure where I'll land. I am such a very small part of this huge world. I used to be so naively excited about taking on the world, but now I'm overwhelmed, and I don't want to be alone. I am not a loner, but I feel like I'm almost forced to be a lot of the time because I just can never take the easy way around anything.
I'm not sure where my sense of never-aloneness went. I always had a sense that God/the universe/whatever had its arms wrapped around me, always watching, always helping, but I keep losing that feeling. I feel almost not a part of myself, even, like I detach from my body sometimes. I wish I could say it was highly effective meditation, but it's like I'm outside of my own self, marveling at this whole swirling life that belongs to this thing called Ursula, a word that I automatically respond to and somehow sums up this animated form. Maybe I'm really a prophetess on some higher plane of consciousness. That would explain things.
I can't afford to lose myself right now. What happened to the indestructible me?
I don't like being this weird emo kid.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Another year at SU. I moved in early on the 14th to my temporary on-campus apartment. It's big and nice but lonely and kind of smells like water damage. I have no idea if I'm supposed to have a roommate right now...I didn't get to live with who I wanted to, so it's pretty lonely. Yesterday I mostly settled in, helped move freshmen into their dorms, and watched Olympics in my friends' apartment. People bring the weirdest things to college...swords, a couch the size of the room, platters with their grandma's face all over it. It was pretty cute/a bit heart wrenching to see the freshmen and their parents so frazzled by the going away process. Three hours of hauling boxes to the 3rd floor had me a bit frazzled too...
Today was my first cross country practice. Glenn thinks I'll be able to race by mid-season, which I am kind of doubtful of, but he's the expert. I get to run a little bit, bike some, and do crazy core work. He made me feel a lot better about the cortisone shot, though. Apparently I could be a fluke case where a pain gate in my spine has stayed open even after my injury healed, so it keeps triggering unnecessarily, which the shot could cure. If the initial shot doesn't work, however, I'll have to try one in my spine. :( I spent the rest of the morning helping with first year check in. Mostly I told people not to skip the language placement table and to sort themselves by last name. For hours. But I am one of those people who can't stop trying to be helpful and just go eat my darn lunch. Actually I think I really wanted to see all of the first years, not going to lie...When I finally went to lunch, there was NOWHERE to sit, so I sat by myself on the edge of a table. Who comes to sit next to me but Pres Schrum himself. We had a lovely chat about majors, SU history, and most importantly, HUMILITY! And now I"m working.
Today was my first cross country practice. Glenn thinks I'll be able to race by mid-season, which I am kind of doubtful of, but he's the expert. I get to run a little bit, bike some, and do crazy core work. He made me feel a lot better about the cortisone shot, though. Apparently I could be a fluke case where a pain gate in my spine has stayed open even after my injury healed, so it keeps triggering unnecessarily, which the shot could cure. If the initial shot doesn't work, however, I'll have to try one in my spine. :( I spent the rest of the morning helping with first year check in. Mostly I told people not to skip the language placement table and to sort themselves by last name. For hours. But I am one of those people who can't stop trying to be helpful and just go eat my darn lunch. Actually I think I really wanted to see all of the first years, not going to lie...When I finally went to lunch, there was NOWHERE to sit, so I sat by myself on the edge of a table. Who comes to sit next to me but Pres Schrum himself. We had a lovely chat about majors, SU history, and most importantly, HUMILITY! And now I"m working.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
When life gets too stressful, there is always wikipedia to lift your spirits. Today it told me I was "new age." Minus the lack of responsibility and antisocial tendencies part. (Which would describe a large handful or two of people I know...love them dearly but it's the truth.)
Also there are double stuffed Oreos, baklava, and chocolate Easter candy...
Also there are double stuffed Oreos, baklava, and chocolate Easter candy...
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Triumphant return to the blogosphere
I've gone a little wild with the whole not having to do anything thing, having one arm and all, and totally neglected my bloggage. My surgery went really well last Thursday (very early) morning. I wasn't particularly nervous beforehand, but in retrospect I probably was, what with all the joke cracking I did. When I get the pictures off my mom's Iphone I'll share them...I look really dumb in a too-big shower cap and purple gown, just fyi. My super gay southern accent nurse was the first to come in and hook up my IV. When I joked about the "tropical view" I had on the curtains in front of me, he went on and on about all the cruises he'd gone on. The IV, my biggest fear, went a lot more smoothly than expected. Then the nurses decided to make me take a pregnancy test, even though I promised them I'd have to name the child Jesus due to immaculate conception if I was pregnant. I did have to pee, though, so whatever.
Finally, after 4 or 5 nurses fussed about things for a long time, the rather shy anesthesiologist came and gave me a "margarita." Then he started poking me with things that he sort of didn't really explain were going to happen. He stuck a needle in my neck and said that when my arm started flailing to just let it move. I think that's when I started crying and telling him he was hurting me, to which he kept apologizing. My mom told me later that they called my parents back in, and I kept saying, "I don't want to be a bad patient!" and crying more. When my mom asked me what I was thinking about, I said, "Elephants and rhinos." Which is probably the weirdest stoned person answer ever. Next thing I know the mask came at my face.
When I woke up, I was sure they were killing me. I thought they were still operating and the surgery had gone horribly wrong. But I couldn't really see, and no one was paying attention to me. I started raising my right arm a little bit and gasping, "Help!" A nurse finally came over but would not answer any of my demands as to what they had done to me. There was a giant lump on my shoulder, and I was very displeased. My shoulder was really painful, but I couldn't feel my arm. The nurses said something about morphine, which I protested and talked about opium dens. Eventually they maxed out the drugs on me and gave me a giant, painful shot in my leg that is still bruised. My parents eventually came in, and I got to drink the world's best Sprite. Mildred the Grumpster wheeled me out in a wheelchair, which was a pretty crazy feeling.
Turns out the surgery was the best case scenario. They cut off part of my labrum and cleaned out really bad bursitis. My doctor gave me the pictures of my "angry shoulder," which are pretty gnarly. I had to start moving it that day, and I can move it a little more daily. When I got home that day, though, my arm was still seriously numb. My mom and I were sleeping in my bed when I got some sensation back in my fingers, but as I tried to show her, I socked her in the stomach since I couldn't control the rest of my arm. Oops...
Taking the bandage off was extremely painful, taking off a lot of my skin with it. Showering was also an athletic endeavor and still sort of proves to be. I've been taking it really easy but moving my shoulder a lot. I can do some pretty normal things at this point. I haven't taken Vicodin in 3 days. Friday afternoon I have my follow up and find out what I can do. So hooray.
I think I might have talked about this before, but every Sunday morning I partake in my ritual of reading the wedding announcements over breakfast, or as I call them, "my brides." After seeing 27 Dresses (twice actually), I began to think that I was apt to become the main character, obsessed with weddings and wanting to attend zillions of them. Then today I found myself reading the obituaries, devouring them really, and realized that it probably isn't really the wedding part that I'm so drawn to. It's the story of each person. I don't care who designed the dress or where the reception was. I skim immediately down to the bottom, where it says the bride and groom's high schools, colleges, jobs, where they're going to live. I like to imagine my future life and to read about every one else's. The obituary thing is still a bit creepy though.
I'm also really excited because my high school bff passed on to me the adorably terrifying "sock-eyed mule" I made for her in a feverish stupor after a junior year physics class joke. I miss her so much! And I'm really glad we have this, our traveling sock pal.
Finally, after 4 or 5 nurses fussed about things for a long time, the rather shy anesthesiologist came and gave me a "margarita." Then he started poking me with things that he sort of didn't really explain were going to happen. He stuck a needle in my neck and said that when my arm started flailing to just let it move. I think that's when I started crying and telling him he was hurting me, to which he kept apologizing. My mom told me later that they called my parents back in, and I kept saying, "I don't want to be a bad patient!" and crying more. When my mom asked me what I was thinking about, I said, "Elephants and rhinos." Which is probably the weirdest stoned person answer ever. Next thing I know the mask came at my face.
When I woke up, I was sure they were killing me. I thought they were still operating and the surgery had gone horribly wrong. But I couldn't really see, and no one was paying attention to me. I started raising my right arm a little bit and gasping, "Help!" A nurse finally came over but would not answer any of my demands as to what they had done to me. There was a giant lump on my shoulder, and I was very displeased. My shoulder was really painful, but I couldn't feel my arm. The nurses said something about morphine, which I protested and talked about opium dens. Eventually they maxed out the drugs on me and gave me a giant, painful shot in my leg that is still bruised. My parents eventually came in, and I got to drink the world's best Sprite. Mildred the Grumpster wheeled me out in a wheelchair, which was a pretty crazy feeling.
Turns out the surgery was the best case scenario. They cut off part of my labrum and cleaned out really bad bursitis. My doctor gave me the pictures of my "angry shoulder," which are pretty gnarly. I had to start moving it that day, and I can move it a little more daily. When I got home that day, though, my arm was still seriously numb. My mom and I were sleeping in my bed when I got some sensation back in my fingers, but as I tried to show her, I socked her in the stomach since I couldn't control the rest of my arm. Oops...
Taking the bandage off was extremely painful, taking off a lot of my skin with it. Showering was also an athletic endeavor and still sort of proves to be. I've been taking it really easy but moving my shoulder a lot. I can do some pretty normal things at this point. I haven't taken Vicodin in 3 days. Friday afternoon I have my follow up and find out what I can do. So hooray.
I think I might have talked about this before, but every Sunday morning I partake in my ritual of reading the wedding announcements over breakfast, or as I call them, "my brides." After seeing 27 Dresses (twice actually), I began to think that I was apt to become the main character, obsessed with weddings and wanting to attend zillions of them. Then today I found myself reading the obituaries, devouring them really, and realized that it probably isn't really the wedding part that I'm so drawn to. It's the story of each person. I don't care who designed the dress or where the reception was. I skim immediately down to the bottom, where it says the bride and groom's high schools, colleges, jobs, where they're going to live. I like to imagine my future life and to read about every one else's. The obituary thing is still a bit creepy though.
I'm also really excited because my high school bff passed on to me the adorably terrifying "sock-eyed mule" I made for her in a feverish stupor after a junior year physics class joke. I miss her so much! And I'm really glad we have this, our traveling sock pal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)