the dreamed-of liberation

newness.

2011-05-25T00:30:00.003-04:00

Hi, friends.

I've recently decided to move my blog to another URL:

http://thedreamed-ofliberation.blogspot.com/

It's very similar in name to the blog I write now, with a couple minor additions. Mostly, I'm changing my email address, and blogger refuses to allow me to add it on to the old blog...thus, a new blog is born.

PLEASE follow me at my new blog! I look forward to seeing y'all there. It's prettier than this one, although it looks pretty much the same.

Basically, nothing has changed but my mindset. But still, I'll meet you there.

Let's make it brief.

2011-04-13T22:45:00.002-04:00

So, aside from my overall excitement to be done with graduate school in general—and boy, am I excited—there's also this feeling of effusive joy that's lurking, literally, right below the surface. It's a constant feeling, and because it's so enticing and so, so raw, it basically keeps me from doing anything productive. [Case in point, I just spent at least 45 minutes reformatting this blog.]

Yet, I'm remaining calm. Yes, I have a research paper to write that I haven't even begun [which almost isn't even an issue, because it's an ubiquitous occurrence]. Yes, I now have to commute to Chicago twice a week to take another class in addition to the two I already have. Yes, I am graduating in sixteen days [16 DAYS!!! 16 DAYS!!! @$#%]. But knowing that I'm going to be seriously, irrefutably done with college has put me in almost a zen state. Well, I won't be completely done, as I have three more weekend classes as part of my Chicago program, but I'm learning skills that I have always longed to have, so it's cathartic and enjoyable and a cache of positive feelings that I won't go into details about.

So, the point of this blog. Yes, as the title of this posts indicates, I need to be brief [I do have Latin to do, after all]. I have decided to give this blog A Purpose once I graduate. This Purpose will, however, be multifaceted:

Don't worry, there will be many more atheist posts to come. However, I'm going to be rather specific and detailed regarding what I hope to accomplish with said posts. I am in the process of defining what atheism means to me, and this will be part and parcel of what I will be discussing.
I want to become a better person. I want to be less negative and more positive, less critical and more accepting, more focused and less sporadic, and—finally—I am going to learn to love myself, and learn to be less afraid. More info to come.
I'm also going to review/analyze books I read! Books I've been wanting to read! For example: Body Thoughts, by Andrew Strathern; Matter and Consciousness, by Paul M. Churchland; and, last but not least, I am going to finish reading Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex. [Doubtless, I will probably be reading other, less intellectually exhausting books {such as this, and perhaps rereading this}. However, I will definitely not be reading this.]
Finally, I will be blogging about moving to Milwaukee [or Madison]! I can't wait to experience a state other than Michigan. [Note: I love my state with all my heart, but it's time for new experiences.]

With these ideas boiling in my brain, I'm really looking forward to generally becoming a creative person again.

How many days did I say again? 16?

So much for being brief...

Put-and-Take

2010-11-20T16:03:00.006-05:00

Here I am, at my parents' house celebrating our Thanksgiving. It's our first time splitting our holidays, and this season it's Thanksgiving at my husband's parents, Christmas at mine.

About an hour ago, my dad informed me of a bizarre hunting practice he participated in a couple years ago, and I feel compelled to blog about it.

This practice is called "Put-and-Take." I'll call it PnT for short.

In my dad's words, a PnT is

a type of pheasant hunt where the owners of the birds and property "put" the birds out right before

you get there to "take" them (via shotgun).

Essentially, hunters desiring to shoot a couple pheasants prepay for the birds they want to shoot. Then, they go out to the designated quarter-mile "hunting" space and "hunt" for their birds. From my dad's story:

We stood out on the road and watched as the owner drove thru [sic] the property and took birds out

of cages in the back of the truck as they came thru [the property] towards us. They shook each bird

to put them in a daze before placing them on the ground behind a bush or clump of wood, etc. We then

proceeded to walk thru [sic] and shoot.

I was so appalled that I had him tell the story a couple more times — and I eventually made him write it down — just so that I was sure that what I thought I heard was what I actually heard.

I am not a fan of hunting, mostly because I do not understand the appeal of sitting in the forest motionless for several hours simply to kill a living creature, not to mention the idea of killing an animal in general. However, when I hear my father describe what hunting means to him, his perspective does soften my views about it. I know that he loves the experience of being in the woods and "becoming one with nature," in addition to harvesting what he eats (there is a lot of preparation that goes into hunting, and it is also satisfying to him to execute the planning successfully [i.e., when he kills a dear, like he did this year]. Thus, it is a spiritual and somewhat primitive practice.

Let us now return to PnT. How does that have anything to do with the aforementioned aspects of hunting? One does not sit in the woods and become one with nature, and there is no real preparation for the experience on the part of the hunter. PnT does not have anything to do with traditional hunting other than the act of slaughtering animals.

PnT is horrible. Why do I think it's horrible? Because it lacks the spiritual, natural characteristics of traditional hunting, and is, thus, simply an exercise in brutality?

rock the vote?

2010-11-03T11:33:00.003-04:00

I've been reading several people's comments on voting recently, and it really has me thinking. I was deprived of my right to vote yesterday due to the fact that I registered too late to vote in my county, something I was not told when I registered — and, when I discovered this unfortunate fact, it was too late for me to drive three hours to the place I was currently registered. I was irate, especially since the woman saw me in the system but still could not give me a ballot.

Democracy (bureaucracy) at its finest.

I only really wanted to place two votes: one for the governor of Michigan, the other for the constitutional convention. I was not aware of the convention issue until a friend made it known to me (here). As a Libertarian, I am perpetually unsatisfied with my choices, and it's rather depressing knowing that no one is going to really represent me. If I had voted in the presidential election, my vote would have been cast for Bob Barr, the Libertarian candidate, which would have been a complete waste of my time. Another friend sent me a video in a response to me bemoaning my vote-deprivation, and it both appealed to me and also angered me simultaneously.

Do I need to face the facts that my vote will always be a complete waste of time?

I am very, very fiscally conservative, and I do not support nationalized health care, yet I am for stem-cell research, I support gay marriage, I'm iffy when it comes to abortion, and I feel that I am much more a social liberal in general (this is probably due to the fact that many socially Conservative views are religiously based, something I would naturally react adversely to due to my passionate atheism [actually, I do not think I ever considered the correlation between my "faith {ha ha}" and my political leanings. I may have to explore this in a subsequent post]). Thus, I am never fully satisfied with where I place my vote. From what I read in the article I linked above regarding the constitution convention, such an event could potentially lead to a time when I could, actually, be satisfied. [My only concern with the convention would be its cost, as it's not like Michigan's rolling in the dough.]

PS. Check this out.

More Thoughts on Atheism

2010-04-17T13:27:00.004-04:00

When I tell people that I'm atheist, those words — I am an atheist—open me up to various reactions of dislike, mistrust, and, generally speaking, misunderstanding. Like any other marginalized group of people, atheists are often referred to in a denigrating context, with ill-informed people using wildly derogatory words, and I don't just mean by Glen Beck or Bill O'Reilly on Fox News.

Morality is typically set up in a Judeo-Christian context in the United States, and so to not prescribe to such a belief set is, in essence, to set oneself outside the boundaries of ethical behavior—basically, by professing my atheism, I have alienated myself from the framework of morality, thus placing myself in somewhat of a sub-human status.

What differentiates human beings from beasts is their ability to reason and function within a coherent society and, if a person is believed to lack what is commonly accepted as the prerequisites for reason and functionality, then he or she will potentially not be perceived as a person—or, rather, a moral/ethical person. Without morals/ethics, a human being is less than a human being [which, I could argue, is why society cages/imprisons human beings when they stray outside the confines of social norms—they are more like animals, in that situation, than humans].

Why am I talking about this? As an outspoken atheist, I find myself to sometimes be the target of misconception and mistrust, even by my family (although they are slowly coming to terms with it). For example: the other day, my mother indicated that I should say hello to my wildly Christian aunt on Facebook. Now, I don't typically have any problems with people in regards to their religion, but I know that my aunt looks down on me (and my brother) and the way I was raised because we aren't religious, and I believe that she views my mother's parenting in a less than favorable light. I also think that she doesn't talk to me because of my profile on Facebook, which clearly states that I am an atheist. When I related these feelings to my mother, she responded with, "Why do you have to say you're an atheist?"

And this, my friends, is the root of the problem.

Fetching

2010-04-05T11:57:00.000-04:00

"I don't really have anything important to say."

While that's not exactly the most fetching way to begin writing my first post in over four months, it rings true. Most people who read my blog already know that I'm getting married in less than six moths, that I've decided to teach English in Korea with my future husband after we graduate with our M.A.s in a year, and that I'm an epic procrastinator who's using the writing of this post as yet another way to put off finishing an assignment that's due in seven and a half hours. Thus, not only do I not have anything important to say, but what I would have to say is already essentially known by all who would deign to care.

This lovely weather makes me wish I had a bike to ride. The ancient Huffy bike my parents bought for me when I was younger rusted away last winter after I left it outside for the entire year that A. and I lived at our first place. I honestly doubt if I could even stand riding it now, anyway, as it was built for someone much smaller in frame (I think - this could just be a projection of my twisted self-image as of late). I found a link to a beautiful Pashley bike that made my mouth water, and of course I began fantasizing about riding it, even though I am fully aware that I cannot in any way afford it ($756 USD). Perhaps I'll have to set aside some of my Korea money for a nice bike when we return [this has become my mantra as of late - I probably have all of my Korea money spent already].

In addition to making me yearn for a bike that I cannot afford, the weather has also made me even more excited to move in with S. in August. I lived alone on a beautiful, historic street my first year of grad school, and A. and I lived on the same street in a different house my second year - we only moved because the layout wasn't conducive to our sanity. S. signed a lease for a different house on the same street for August and, since we'll be married in October, it was only natural that we move in together so that we wouldn't be living in two separate places during the first year of our married life. While I am of course saddened by the fact that A. and I will be ending our roommateship after two years, I am completely ecstatic about moving back to a historic neighborhood again! Not to mention the fact that it's near to our work, our favorite bar/coffee shop, our department's office, and yet very close to downtown and main campus. [This is one of the houses on the street, just to give you an idea of how beautiful it is.]

I suppose that I should probably finish my assignment before I'm too pressed for time to adequately put a sentence together. While I didn't have anything important to say by any means, hopefully I had something interesting to say — at least you got to look at a photo of a stunning $756 bike.

all the factories, all the memories have changed.

2009-10-17T14:52:00.005-04:00

In an earlier post, I lamented about the limits of words, sentences, and grammar, and how I feel that, at specific moments or in certain instances, classical music or the lyrics of a song are actually more useful methods of conveying emotions.

This is one of those moments, and I feel as though I've been suspended in this moment for several days now. I don't even think I possess the tools necessary for explaining my own emotions to myself, something that is both scary and strangely intoxicating. [I am intentionally being vague, so please excuse me for this, but] I honestly don't even fully comprehend what is happening to me in my own life. I have a vague cognizance of an active present and a potential future, but something hinders me from probing deeper, as though I am purposefully being held on the edge of a roof, perilously close to either falling or leaping off.

Captured, this moment inspires us.

I think clarification will eventually come to you who so desire it, but for now--perhaps I am only being ambiguous in order to protect myself. The Cloud of Unknowing has a certain appeal, and for the time being I will crawl inside this cloud and take up residence, although it is only temporary.

"Lost in Translation"--My Final Verdict

2009-08-26T15:29:00.003-04:00

Ever since I watched Lost in Translation last night, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I was essentially coerced into watching it by my boyfriend, who can't believe that I'm not fond of Bill Murray as an actor. At any rate, the film affected me a great deal, but I was hesitant to make a decision either way as to whether or not I actually liked it.

My favorite aspect of the movie was the subject: two people have an emotional affair that, while it seems more important to them than their other separate lives, never trespasses into the physical. A deep connection is forged between them, a different plane of understanding that manifests itself despite the obvious age difference. I believe that the film captures the excitement of constantly being at the edge of a sexual affair, and I was pleasantly surprised that the affection between the two main characters never stepped over that edge.

Despite the treacherous nature of such emotional or intellectual affairs, it seems to me that this connection is what most people crave, that these sort of relationships have a deep allure to them. Johansson and Murray's characters have lackluster relationships with their spouses: both desire attention that they are not receiving, and so such an affair temporarily fulfills a requirement. Obviously, once they enter into an affair of this nature, each character begins to realize that something about their other relationships is problematic, yet they appear to respect each other too much to entangle themselves in a more sordid, physical affair. Moreover, I would venture to say that Murray's character holds Johansson's character up to a higher standard than he holds himself, as he acts out his physical desires with the lounge singer instead of engaging her in what could be viewed as a degrading act.

[I also adore Giovanni Ribisi in this film, but I adore him in everything. I don't know why I think this man gives such magnetic performanes, especially in a movie like Lost in Translation in which he is hardly seen. I also found out recently that he was the narrator of The Virgin Suicides, a movie I liked but didn't love.]

Perhaps I'm only being analytic because of the weather, and because I'm listening to music that makes me feel intellectual and aware. I wish it would continue to rain and stop vacillating between sunshine and shadows.

forms of expression

2009-08-25T02:02:00.005-04:00

I played piano for many years---to this day, I can still hum Middle C on command. I used to be quite talented, and, towards the end of my lessons, I had memorized an etude by Chopin. Unfortunately, I never considered the piano to be any sort of career option, and my ability has tapered off over the years due to the fact that I no longer have a piano, and my time is taken up constantly with reading, writing, and other necessary actions that go along with being a graduate student.

For a while, I sat here, attempting to start a blog in which I would endeavor to express my disappointment with the movie Sideways. There's something I disliked greatly about this film that I can't quite put my finger on, and I'm at a loss for explicating it. While I was considering this, one of my new favorite songs began playing in iTunes and I realized that if I had my former musical talent, I could better explain my inner, more complicated feelings with the raw emotion that only a beautiful piece of music can evince. Not that the aforementioned song is related to Sideways in any way, but I think it would be more possible to explain my feelings if I could conjure up my sentiments musically.

Writing is limited to words, and sentences, and grammar---but music isn't inhibited by any of those constraints. Strangely enough, it seems to have something to do with perspective: the written word is about the author, while music is about the audience; while literature can affect us in many ways, it's necessarily bound up with our reactions to other people. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that, in terms of writing/lit., the work is the subject, and the reader or receiver of the text is the predicate, but that it's completely different for music.

I don't want to get myself tangled up in aesthetics. I just wish I could play piano like I used to, so that I could play Rachmaninov when I'm feeling passionate and complicated, or Chopin when I'm melancholy or disappointed, rather than settling for writing a blog. There are so many different layers in music that are so much more suitable as means of expression.

But perhaps I'm only dissatisfied with my abilities to express myself, which seems to be a reoccuring theme as of late. I know people who are extremely gifted, and who can write blogs that make me think for days. Maybe I'm just not interested enough in myself! Or maybe I only regret the loss of something I cherished and watching Sideways has made me remember it.

the "origins" of my atheism

2009-08-17T00:27:00.006-04:00

It is imperative that I explain exactly why I am an atheist. I didn't choose it---rather, I couldn't escape it, which I tried to do for many years.

My parents were both raised Roman Catholic. My father went to Catholic school through high school, while my mother went until high school; because she is eight years younger than my father, the Catholic high school was closed by the time my mother was a freshman, so she had to go to public schools. At least three of her older siblings went to Catholic schools through high school. At any rate, my father never liked Catholicism: the overbearing attitude of the nuns who taught him, coupled with their obvious hypocrisy, would serve to turn him away from the Church for the rest of his life (outside his marriage to my mother). On the other hand, my mother was slightly more God-fearing than he was: she "baptized" me herself in the sink of their apartment when I was a baby.

Perhaps the lack of religious structure in my childhood may incline some to believe that my atheism is due to my "faithless" upbringing: au contraire. I had the pleasure of taking piano lessons from the women next door who had a daughter my age: her family was extremely religious and good friends with a Baptist minister's family, who lived two houses down from me. Along with the daughter, I went to church irregularly (my piano recitals were in a church, always), even accompanying her to Bible camp for a couple summers. I was saved twice, at least, and each time I was confused because I never felt anything. I kept telling myself that it was because I hadn't tried hard enough---if I tried hard enough, surely I'd believe, and I would feel Jesus's presence in my soul.

The neighbor girl's influence prompted me to attempt to read the Bible. I found the stories interesting, but no more interesting than what I would find from tales in Greek or Egyptian mythology. My favorite story, from a kid's Bible book, was of Solomon and the two mothers, but simply because one of the mothers was hot. Not necessarily a sterling testament to my faith.

None of my childhood friends (aside from the neighbor girl, who was more of an acquaintance) were religious: my best friend from high school came from a Catholic family, but none of the children could have cared less about the Trinity or going to confession. On and off throughout my childhood, my mother would periodically take me to church with one of her friends, but my churchgoing was sporadic and ineffective.

In high school, two things happened that made me decide that I was atheist, although I would deny that I was for many years, claiming agnosticism. Firstly, in freshmen year, I participated in a performance of Handel's Messiah, where I met Deborah. Deborah was beautiful, my age, and home-schooled. Her family was very religious: they're from the church that passes out those little story booklets or leaves them at places like grocery stores and laundry mats. I became friends with her because we were among the youngest singers of the altos, and we sat right next to each other.

At around this time, my best friend from high school, Anna, began dating a very Christian boy, Mark, who was two years older than we were. The three of us were all in band together. It just so happend that Mark's best friend, Steve, was extremely attractive but also extremely religious. I wanted him to like me very much, but I knew he looked down on me because of my faithlessness. Like any high-school girl, I wanted the boy I liked to like me in return, and yet I also wanted to mend the tears in my faith, so I began reading more from the Bible. I finally decided to go to church with Deborah.

I vaguely remember that I found the church to be quite strange: there may have been yelling and/or people speaking in tongues. Either way, it was different from any church I had been to before. When the pastor asked who of us wanted to be "resaved", I anxiously jumped at the chance: not only did I hope to finally feel some sort of heightened spiritual state, in which I experienced a unity with God, I also thought that Steve would be compelled to date me because of it. My desire to be saved was not merely a desire for salvation. In the end, I wept bitterly afterwards. Not only did I feel like a failure, but I also felt ostracized, removed from the love of God that everyone else was supposedly experiencing. I knew then that I would never believe in God, no matter how fervently I desired to. I felt nothing, absolutely nothing.

After this, I despaired for some time. I was ashamed of myself for not believing, and I felt that there was something wrong with me because of it.

Then, I met Joy, who was the first self-claimed atheist I had ever met. She was beautiful, intelligent, and motivated: nothing like what I was led to think atheists would be like. Joy and Steve were in the same class (juniors), and a stroke of luck got me out of my last-period class and into the library with them, where I was exposed to their daily religious debates. Joy could see me vascillating back and forth (Joy's presence in my life was awe-inspiring, because I hadn't thought people could be happy if they didn't believe in God) between religion and nothingness---her solution was lending me Atlas Shrugged.

No matter what anyone says about that book, it was the single catalyst for my move from a desparate longing for a religious feeling that I would never have to an understanding that it is perfectly acceptable to live a life without God. Dagny Taggart was inspiring: a stunning, ethical, strong woman who held herself up as the highest standard, and did not bow to anyone---either man or deity. I loved it. For the first time, I accepted my faithlessness and embraced logic and the study of morality in place of the mundane teachings of the Bible. I have never looked back.

When I think of how hard I tried to believe in God, I am angry that society made me feel as though it was abnormal and egregious for me to be an atheist, that I should feel like a failure because I didn't believe that an imaginary deity was lording over my life, judging my decisions and controlling my every desire.

This post isn't so much a why I deplore religion post as much as it is a why I didn't choose to be an atheist post: after years of trying to force something down my throat that I did not have the capacity to swallow, I can truthfully say that atheism has been the reality of my life for its entire duration.

Harry Potter + knitting = ...

2009-07-07T12:07:00.004-04:00

This past weekend, my boyfriend and I re-watched the first four Harry Potter movies. I have chosen to rate them as follows:

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone: 3.5 stars. I wasn't a fan of the directing, and I thought that the special effects were abysmal compared to the following movies.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: 4.0 stars. The second of the two movies (and also the second directed by Chris Columbus) definitely shone brighter in my eyes.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: 4.5 stars. Different director, different feel, different rating.
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: 4.5 stars. I LOVE this movie.

I have seen the fifth movie, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, many times, and award that movie 4.5 stars as well. Rekindling my love for Harry Potter prompted me to pre-order the paperback boxed set. Hurray for impulse buying! However, that impulse buying is nothing compared to what I'm about to do later today when I leave my editing job to go to work at the yarn shop for six hours! Uh-oh!

Because I'm only working on finishing my second sock, I am in desperate need of other knitting projects. I have five skeins of sock yarn at home, three skeins of worsted weight, one skein of aran, and one random skein that varies in thickness, which I will probably use for a hat at a later date. Right now my main desire is to make a pair of fingerless gloves, and I printed of many, many patterns to choose from; however, when I looked at the patterns I printed out from my queue, I realized a couple things:

Many patterns called for DPNs, which I neither own nor have used before.
Many patterns also called for US 2s. While I could adapt patterns for two circular needles (with the assistance of my fine coworkers from Stitching Memories), I couldn't use them because they are currently being occupied by the sock which is taking me forever to make. How frustrating!

I plan on remedying this situation at work tonight. I'm going to make sure I have yarn that is suitable for the projects I want to make, I'm going to add more needles to my collection, and I'm going to ask Sandy if she'd be willing to oversee my progress, so that I don't run totally askew and wind up wishing that I had done something differently.

In addition to this, I really, really don't like knitting socks. Why? Because I don't wear socks. I don't think I've worn socks more than twice this summer outside from when I'm working out. They're just so boring to me! I know many people like to have a sock on the needles because it's easy bring along when travelling, and I've heard that socks are supposed to be quick knits, but I think I'll just stick to fingerless gloves (once I learn how to make them) and washcloths for travelling, because at least I will use those!

the day's awkward grimace

2009-06-30T12:00:00.003-04:00

About a half hour ago, I made a strange face at a friend of mine--I was going for a nod of agreement or something, but it ended up being more like an awkward grimace. I don't think she noticed, which was probably a good thing, but it got me thinking about the fact that I just made an empty gesture. How often do I do that, where I just go through the motions of what I think is normal social conduct but, inside, I really don't feel anything?

It's safe to say that I've been wanting to surround myself with people I wouldn't do that with for a long time. Before Ashleigh came back from South Korea, I tried befriending many people with the hopes that natural emotion would surface, and my feelings of apathy would dissipate. Needless to say, I essentially dropped all those acquaintances when she returned, because she's one of the three people I don't have to fake it with. I'd rather have a terrible argument with Ashleigh than have a boring, artificial friendship with someone that, deep down, I intensely dislike. (I have many of the same opinions of people as Ashleigh, though she states it in a decidedly more abrasive way. I think our mutual feelings are the foundation of our friendship.)

I'm always excited to meet new people; however, I try not to get my hopes up. I expect/want a deep, personal friendship with someone, but I am consistently disappointed. It's hard work to maintain a relationship of that magnitude, and most people simply aren't worth it, unfortunately.

I'd rather be listening to Journey.

2009-06-25T14:56:00.004-04:00

Earlier today, via facebook chat, I was talking to Ashleigh about the merits of blogging. This conversation led us to reminisce about the myspace blogs we used to post back when we were going to Central. I posted many hilarious entries, some of which I plan to repost on this blog as sort of a homage to my undergraduate experience. For those of you who think I am funny, angry, and generally ridiculous now, you should have known me back at Central. I am looking forward to introducing you to my former self via past blogs in the weeks to come.

At any rate, it's been a fairly productive past 24 hours. Last night, I dropped my phone on the floor and the front plate cracked. We got AC yesterday, although it doesn't cool down the entire apartment, only the square five feet around the AC unit. I finished my dad's scarf. I also completed my first "grown-up" proofreading task: Dr. H allowed me to proofread and mark edits onto a master copy (more like The Master Copy). I beat a couple dungeons in Zelda, and got the final Sea Chart (I'm currently playing The Legend of Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass). I printed off the first rough-draft of my thesis.

I know this post isn't that interesting. I'll probably delete it later. I like the sound of the keys moving as I type on this keyboard (my laptop keyboard is much quieter), so that's more than likely my main motivation for this post.

the "tempestuous friend"

2009-06-24T12:20:00.003-04:00

For the past few years, I have been making an enormous effort to let the little things that typically annoy me pass right through me--essentially, I would like to not feel irritated every day of my life about everything. For a long time, that was how I lived, and I was known (even to close friends) as someone to tread lightly around. In the past three years, my reputation as the "tempestuous friend" has tapered off, and I now feel as though I'm the calm one, and it is my friends who have troubles dealing with their emotions.

A few things that still irritate me, regardless of my quest for self-control, are:

crying children
parents who have no qualms about parading their crying children around
standing behind women who take forever to collect their belongings after they check out in shopping lines
when people interrupt me
being talked over
people who gloss over their feelings, only to bring them up later as a weapon to use against me in an argument
white pants

Today, in particular, I am dealing with a massive amount of irritation. I have tried to funnel that energy into finishing my dad's Father's Day Scarf (which I can see myself doing today before I leave), but it is to no avail. I am still extremely irritated.

Why? Allow me to share that with you.

When I go up to talk to someone, I would like to be paid attention to. What does that mean? Eye contact, for one, and body languages that shows someone is paying attention to what I'm saying. I may not be attempting a ground-breaking discussion with you, but I'd like you to at least face me, and not stare at the computer while I'm speaking to you.

This is something I feel that I always do for other people. You will never talk to me and find that I am not giving you my full attention (unless you're trying to talk to me during a movie...). Attentive, positive body-language is something I know I do really well, and I would really like to receive the same treatment from others.

I'm not necessarily mad, but I am exasperated. I am used to communicating with a select group of people I know really well (Ashleigh, Derek, Kimball, Tony), and learning how to communicate with others in a completely different way has been somewhat of a daunting experience. I don't understand people sometimes, and I haven't yet learned how to effectively explain my frustrations to people I am friends with (but may not be close to) without putting them on the defensive.

Cat+Plastic Bag

2009-04-08T22:38:00.004-04:00

I have two cats, Baby and Hime, who are in a lesbian feline relationship. Baby is the dominant cat, who will clean and take care of Hime but not allow her to eat or drink unless she, herself, is sated. Baby is a small, angry black cat. Hime, the younger of the two by a year, is a rather large, black and white cat. She still retains her youthful kitten face, which tends to make her appear rather stupid at times, which she often is.

Today, Ashleigh and I were sitting in our living room, quietly studying for our respective quizzes tomorrow, when Ashleigh says, "I think Hime has a plastic bag stuck to her," at which time I turned around to look Hime. There was a bag next to her, but it didn't look like it was attached to her. Immediately after Ashleigh said that, I sneezed. My sneeze totally freaked Hime out, because she ran through the living room, behind the couch, around the kitchen table, past the bedrooms, and down the stairs as fast as possible, until finally resting on the bottom stair, hunched down, scared out of her mind!

Talk about the funniest thing, ever!

I think the sight of a cow-like cat attempting to flee a plastic bag that is attached to her is the best remedy for any annoying day!

Reactions

2009-04-07T23:40:00.003-04:00

I'm a relatively intuitive person, and I'm extremely sensitive to people's underlying emotions because I am acutely aware of my own emotions: in fact, I would even go so far as to say that it's impossible for me to ignore people's feelings.

I can tell very quickly how someone is reacting to what I say and do. In the past, I was one of those very bothersome, reactionary people that responds to everything with every fiber of their being. For example: when I was upset, I was upset. In my life, I have been told by close friends that they have been afraid to tell me something because they didn't know how I would react. This can be both a good and a bad thing, but it was mostly bad at the time.

Now, I don't react in the same way: in most cases, when things bother me, I don't react at all like I used to. When my boss makes me feel like the work I do is a waste of her time, or that it's not good enough, instead of reacting immediately with feelings of hurt and indignation, I think about what is happening on her end that would make her treat me in such a way. Exercises like these have really helped me in terms of giving people the benefit of the doubt, and to think of situations from different points of view. In essence, everything is not about me, although that does not give people the right to mistreat me.

I have been privy to many different types of reactions today, and, thus, have been given many opportunities to examine situations from other peoples' points of view. These past several months, I have been putting forward my best effort to analyze events in order to determine if I did anything that could have caused such (often) negative reactions from people in my life who I care about, admire, or respect.

I have made a few observations on this front:

-- I have the unfortunate curse of often being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

--Typically, negative reactions are just another form of displacement, because usually the reason for a vehement, undesirable response has absolutely nothing to do with me.

--People make excuses for their abrasive, irrelevant behavior because they would rather cause me to feel negatively than face something they do not like about themselves or their lives at the moment.

Moving/Renting/Prognosticating

2009-04-05T16:55:00.002-04:00

HGTV has taught me a great deal about the quest for living quarters, but I think the knowledge I have gained is somewhat of a detriment to finding a place to rent in Kalamazoo.

"There are these things, see, that are called standards..."

My roommate and I have decided, after many lengthy conversations, to live together a second time. Unfortunately, we both have different ideas of what we want in an apartment.

Me:
carpeting (for the cats)
bedrooms on opposite sides of apartment
better bathroom
wonderful kitchen with at least two outlets
room for the cats to breathe
space to put towels in the bathroom
two-sided sink

Her
cheap
cheap
cheap
cheap
cheap

...and so forth.

We have looked at a variety of apartments, both in complexes and in houses, but what seems to be our major problem is that I want something spacious, clean, and slightly upscale to get me through the last year of my M.A. program, and she wants something somewhat sizable but, primarily, cheap.

This may not work out after all! Why, you ask? Because there is nothing "cheap," yet "spacious, clean, and slightly upscale" in Kalamazoo!!! Not that we seem to have found so far, anyway, and we have both been looking. I really don't want to spend $625 on a one-bedroom in the Stuart district, but I would much rather spend that amount of money for a nice place that will most assuredly make me a happy person than spend $300 on a dump!

And so, my friends, the quest continues...