The end is near

Oh, did I say that a couple of weeks ago was Hell Week? What I meant to say was, THIS WEEK WILL BE HELL WEEK.

COM Seminar Portfolio - due Wednesday
COR 401 Presentation - Thursday
CD Release Party - Friday

The CD's haven't come in yet. This means we haven't made them. My Lambda Pi Eta certificate is still in Tucson. I need that for my portfolio. I haven't actually bought my actual portfolio yet. I'm just a little stressed.

Pray for me?

Replacing tears of gold with music and laughter

This past week should have been horrible. I even dubbed it Hell Week, with Wednesday appropriately titled the Hell Day within the Week of Hell. But instead of having the worst seven days of my life, I had some of the happiest times of this semester. You could even say I was giddy. Why? There's no reason. My notoriously bad memory is having trouble recalling Monday and Tuesday, but Wednesday was spent dancing up in Archer, watching two Flight of the Conchords episodes, and putting out a pretty rockin' paper. And I remember thinking on Wednesday that it was odd that I'd been happy all week when there was so much stuff to be done.

Oh yeah! Monday I spent working on my 10 page COM paper, watching Heroes, and going to a COR 401 meeting. Tuesday was spent in similar fashion. Wednesday I just explained, and Thursday (yesterday) I got up fairly early, didn't feel sick from the Pap, got the paper sent, and picked it up again. It was nice. And this weekend's looking bright. Random trips to Vandalia to get McDonalds with Emily and Gary are stupid, but amazing. Love it.

The Illinois Chapter of the Dark Ferret Society has officially begun. First mission status: Tippi Thai.

Do you know how much I love Emily?

32 degrees. Batman mask, Batman cape, pea coat, snow cap with ear flaps and a bobble. White '95 Chevy lumina. 1 mission. 1 goal. 1 success. 1 life. 1 love.

Words cannot express and tongue cannot testify.

2:22 in the morning. Make a wish.

And The World Spins Madly On

What is Writer Man doing? Where is that jasper? Is he really just leaving us alone for a few days or is there a more sinister reason we haven't noticed his ever present hand in our lives? I know he's sitting up there in his little apartment laughing because he's finally found a way that I can't figure him out. I'm too smart for his own good. But now that means nothing because he's psyching me out. Well fine. Do it - psych me out! I don't care. But know that I'm going to pretend to not care at all and do the only thing I can... which is wait.

Now that I'm done expounding on weird, imaginary stories I carry on inside my head, I can talk about what's actually going on in my life, which, of course, is nothing. Well, that's not entirely true... I have a 10 page paper for V Ross due next week, I have to order 200 blank white matte finish CD-R's, and the same number of nubbins, which are actually called dots, I have to apparently write a reflection paper on some articles for Psych, in 15 minutes I need to go fix some things on the Papyrus and then send it to the printer, then go to a radio meeting at 12:30 which I'm dreading, I have to scan these articles for my mom and email them to her because she's crazy, and I'm sure I have a lot of other random COR 401 things to accomplish. Oh life.

Sometimes rain that's needed falls, the Weepies tell me.

Tonight I'm going to the play! I forgot. Then afterwards I have a COR meeting which will kill any and all joy that the play brings me.

Sometimes my positivity hides behind my stress in a big game of hide and seek and I can't find it. Those are sad times.

Eat, Pray, Love

I keep thinking about something Mr. Monroe said sometime my junior or senior year in high school. He was talking about how connected he felt with God when reading or experiencing some things, but when he went back to them later, the connection wasn't there. He described frustration, but then the realization that the things themselves weren't the point - that God can use almost anything to commune with us.

I'm reading a beautiful book called Eat, Pray, Love. When Elizabeth describes her trip to India and her talks with a crinkly-eyed Balinese Medicine Man who reads her palm, I cried. As soon as I had finished, I went back to re-read it, and nothing. Not a drop. Not that I necessarily wanted to cry again, but it somehow wasn't as achingly beautiful and I needed to feel that again. It is frustrating.

But I love this woman. I'm something like 30 pages in and want to call her up and go to her cozy, warm colored apartment and drink tea and talk about books and life and the new shoes she just bought and my newest installment of weird boy-related follies. She is so real life that I want her to know that I'm here too. I exist! I also get too emotional, I also am sometimes happy-confident, sometimes desperately needy.

Woman. We need to talk.

What can I compare you to?

Nashville, Nashville, Nashville, Nashville, Nashville, Nashville, Nashville!

That's where I am right now. And it's glorious. And I shall never leave.

"What can I compare you to, a window the sun shines through?
Maybe the silver moon
A smile rising
The magic of the fading day
Satellites on parade
A toast to the plans we've made to live like kings."

What a happy place.

Rehab

I have numerous half-finished posts I've neglected to acknowledge that are labeled as "drafts." I just haven't been able to express myself well in the last few weeks. There are all the lame normal reasons, of course - it's my last fall here, I'm starting to feel nostalgic and don't want to leave... but there are others unfortunately.

I told myself I would stay away from certain activities this semester because I'm starting to understand that my personality is passionately obsessive. Not creepy-obsessive (hopefully), but when I latch on to an emotion, I can't seem to pry myself away from it. It's attached. The American Heritage Dictionary (by way of Dictionary.com) defines obsessive as, "excessive in degree or nature," and I think that's just what it is. It's this excess of emotion that is difficult for me to control, and I almost always indulge.

But of course not even a week after I said I wouldn't, I did, and subsequently I've been struggling ever since. I get on these emotional highs that like its' narcotic brethren, is addictive and a horrible let down once the thrill is over. Do they have hotlines or therapy sessions for this kind of addiction - the emotional kind?