Two blog posts in one evening. This is pretty bad. I just cannot resign myself to writing that paper. It will get done. It absolutely has to. But I just can't focus. I have way too many things on my mind... Just like I have way too many things... on my dorm room floor. Seriously. Ruth has been a saint these past few days.
Here is just a little bit of what she has to put up with:
On my floor there is
A smashed red plastic cup (...from the party we threw the other night. It was pretty wild.)
A pack of napkins. (...probably to clean up what the smashed red cup held.)
A bag of sugar. (Hey. Only half of the frosted MiniWheat is frosted.)
An empty carton of chocolate soy milk. (Definitely a Ruth thing.)
Another cup.
A copy of "Time Out Chicago". This deserves a real explanation. On the cover? Bella clutching Edward to herself. Edward has a huge stake coming out of his chest. The headline: "Twilight MUST DIE." I love you, Chicago.
An untouched bag of Miss Vickie's Smokehouse BBQ chips. (Someday soon, weak stomach. Soon.)
French in Action text book. (I must have been using it as a hard surface. I have used that textbook once this semester... Seriously.)
Cough drop.
Highlighter.
A Gap security tag. (You never know who might try to steal our carpet.)
My favorite flannel shirt. (I should treat you better, Flannel.)
Barron's Foreign Language Guide (Geez. You think I'd speak French or something.)
A bottle of Purell. (Or as Rainn Wilson might call it 'Flu-F***er, Germ Goo, Infection Lessen-er, Bacterial Genocide, or Gangrene-Be-Gone')
The blue shirt I dyed my hair in.
3 Walgreens bags. (Dang. I shop there way too much. There is one on every block here. Can't help it.)
Season One of The Office on DVD. (Damn computer doesn't have a CDrom though...)
Cover off of heating pack. (The actual heat pack will probably make an appearance shortly.)
School bag. (Haven't touched that in days.)
Air Freshener. (Victoria's Secret "Pure Seduction". Goodness knows there aren't any guys within 1000 feet to seduce on the seventh floor of Houghton Hall. But it smells good.)
*expletive* Just found the spray nozzle for the air freshener. Unattached. Rendering the brand new bottle of aforementioned room spray USELESS.
Copy of the Red Eye. (One of many.)
Speaker cord. (Now playing "Jumper" by 3EB.)
Ethernet cord. (Making all forms of procrastination possible.)
Multiple other cords. (Keeping me connected.)
Pen. (It doesn't work anymore. Just a few feet from the trash can... where it might end up in the next few weeks.)
Purse.
Heating pad. (For those wonderful flu-induced body aches.)
Best hat ever. (Plaid with faux fur. 100% Hoosier, baby.)
O gee. A Gap bag.
My wallet. Contents spilling out onto the floor include: Concert ticket (Jack's October 7th), a Friends and Family coupon, and receipts proving that, if I in fact had not spent all that money, I could stay in college.
*The following might indicate I am addicted to pharmaceutical drugs... This is in fact false.*
Wal-flu Daytime.
Wal-flu Nighttime. (now very empty.)
Ibuprohen.
Severe cold medicine.
A packet of flu information. (This is to ensure that even if the nurses at the Moody Health Care Clinic can't diagnose you, you sure as hell can.)
An empty Kleenex box.
A sock. (What dorm room floor would be complete without at least one sock?)
Two Club Crackers. (Can barely eat anything else.)
A bottle of tap water pretending to be SmartWater.
A ChicagoScene advertising Kilo Kai rum. (From the aforementioned wild party... Yeah. Right.)
So. What's on your floor? Its the new Facebook note craze. I promise.
Soon to come: What's on your Grooveshark/Pandora/Itunes playlist?
Monday, November 23, 2009
Hello, Doris Day.
I watched New Moon. And then I got sick. Really sick. Serves me right, I suppose.
I am about to start writing what I know will be an emotionally draining paper. Which is fine. My emotions have been limited to "I HATE being sick!" and "I would LOVE to get better!" the past few days. Not even joking. Anyway. I haven't written a paper like this all semester. Needless to say, I am having a hard time getting started. But I have my introduction quote:
"Something had to be wrong--but we never considered that it might be autism... He would stare off into space. Go silent for long stretches of time, until one of the strange, demonic-possession tantrums would descend and consign him and us to an earsplitting, emotionally shattering domestic hell. Our boy, our beautiful boy, was floating away from us, and there was nothing we could do."
My paper is about the struggles of parenting a child with special needs. Its something I know nothing about. But it is something I have a heart and a passion to learn more about. I don't know that I will ever be a parent of a child with special needs, but I hope to someday be involved in the lives of these precious children. My heart goes out to them. I want to adopt from overseas, and I know that a risk in adopting a child from overseas is reactive attachment disorder. I know it would be a struggle to raise a child with RAD. Yet, I know that parenting in general must be a struggle. I have a heart for this kids, though. I really do. I want to love them, to make their quality of life better. I want to embrace them despite their differences, and love them for it.
Besides my love for young children, children with special needs, I have an increasing passion to be with horses.
The more I think about the part of my childhood that was consumed with Sonny, the more I realize how completely blessed I was to have a horse. Not to have any horse- but to have that horse. To have Sonny. I think that for my own needs as a rider, there could have been no better fit than Sonny. A rider has to want to control the horse. Horses are bred to be submissive to a rider. If they have an idea that the rider doesn't want to control them, they won't submit. As a little girl, I had no desire to dominate the big animals that I loved so much. And in turn, they took advantage of me. All but Sonny. Granted, he knew how to play me. He could fake a sore foot and get out of riding, but for the most part, his affections for me were as strong as mine was for him. And I think he tolerated my meek riding for that reason. We had a mutual respect for each other. We were both pretty scrawny. But we had a specific connection and understanding that I lacked with other horses. He read me well. And I loved him dearly for it. The memory of him being taken away from me in that horse trailer, whinnying desperately, still makes me cry. I still feel bad about selling him...
All of that to say, I long for that again. To have a horse. My own horse. A horse that... fits. The quote above is from the book, "The Horse Boy". It is about an autistic boy with an uncanny connection to animals in general, but specifically in horses. He finds healing in them. His fit is a horse named Betsy. As I read that book, learning more about autism and a humans connection with horses, I grew restless to be riding again. Almost every night for a week I dreamed of riding again. Then, while being sick, and having read most of "The Horse Boy", I dreamed I was autistic. I wish I could describe that dream adequately, but words fall short.
God has developed in my heart two passions that together, can bring hope and healing. For me, for children, for animals... I am growing restless being in the city. I have a far-fetched dream that if I can't come back to Moody next semester, maybe, just maybe, I can find a place that would put me up if I helped out... Like in New Zealand. I know a girl who did just that... I just need to be with animals, with kids on a daily basis. I am going crazy just having to dream about it all the time. Just having to write papers about it... But I am learning so much. I know God has me where He does for a reason. In the meantime He has blessed me with the children of The Children's Place Association. But I won't be able to see them again for almost another two weeks.
I really need to start writing this paper... *sigh
I am about to start writing what I know will be an emotionally draining paper. Which is fine. My emotions have been limited to "I HATE being sick!" and "I would LOVE to get better!" the past few days. Not even joking. Anyway. I haven't written a paper like this all semester. Needless to say, I am having a hard time getting started. But I have my introduction quote:
"Something had to be wrong--but we never considered that it might be autism... He would stare off into space. Go silent for long stretches of time, until one of the strange, demonic-possession tantrums would descend and consign him and us to an earsplitting, emotionally shattering domestic hell. Our boy, our beautiful boy, was floating away from us, and there was nothing we could do."
My paper is about the struggles of parenting a child with special needs. Its something I know nothing about. But it is something I have a heart and a passion to learn more about. I don't know that I will ever be a parent of a child with special needs, but I hope to someday be involved in the lives of these precious children. My heart goes out to them. I want to adopt from overseas, and I know that a risk in adopting a child from overseas is reactive attachment disorder. I know it would be a struggle to raise a child with RAD. Yet, I know that parenting in general must be a struggle. I have a heart for this kids, though. I really do. I want to love them, to make their quality of life better. I want to embrace them despite their differences, and love them for it.
Besides my love for young children, children with special needs, I have an increasing passion to be with horses.
The more I think about the part of my childhood that was consumed with Sonny, the more I realize how completely blessed I was to have a horse. Not to have any horse- but to have that horse. To have Sonny. I think that for my own needs as a rider, there could have been no better fit than Sonny. A rider has to want to control the horse. Horses are bred to be submissive to a rider. If they have an idea that the rider doesn't want to control them, they won't submit. As a little girl, I had no desire to dominate the big animals that I loved so much. And in turn, they took advantage of me. All but Sonny. Granted, he knew how to play me. He could fake a sore foot and get out of riding, but for the most part, his affections for me were as strong as mine was for him. And I think he tolerated my meek riding for that reason. We had a mutual respect for each other. We were both pretty scrawny. But we had a specific connection and understanding that I lacked with other horses. He read me well. And I loved him dearly for it. The memory of him being taken away from me in that horse trailer, whinnying desperately, still makes me cry. I still feel bad about selling him...
All of that to say, I long for that again. To have a horse. My own horse. A horse that... fits. The quote above is from the book, "The Horse Boy". It is about an autistic boy with an uncanny connection to animals in general, but specifically in horses. He finds healing in them. His fit is a horse named Betsy. As I read that book, learning more about autism and a humans connection with horses, I grew restless to be riding again. Almost every night for a week I dreamed of riding again. Then, while being sick, and having read most of "The Horse Boy", I dreamed I was autistic. I wish I could describe that dream adequately, but words fall short.
God has developed in my heart two passions that together, can bring hope and healing. For me, for children, for animals... I am growing restless being in the city. I have a far-fetched dream that if I can't come back to Moody next semester, maybe, just maybe, I can find a place that would put me up if I helped out... Like in New Zealand. I know a girl who did just that... I just need to be with animals, with kids on a daily basis. I am going crazy just having to dream about it all the time. Just having to write papers about it... But I am learning so much. I know God has me where He does for a reason. In the meantime He has blessed me with the children of The Children's Place Association. But I won't be able to see them again for almost another two weeks.
I really need to start writing this paper... *sigh
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Sleazy Wednesday
It is a sick feeling to wake up and grab your cell phone to realize that it is 9:41, and that you missed your 8 and 9 o clock classes. It's even worse to realize you probably overcut your 8 o clock. Your stomach sinks even further when you remember that you forgot to take your CWC quiz- for the fourth time in a row. At this point the only thing that you can think is:
FML.
What a great way to start the day.
Then you stand in chapel and wonder how the hell you managed to sink so deep. How you can be such a great person on the outside, except for the swear words that sometimes slip, and say all the right things all the time, and still be the worst of the worst on the inside. Spiritually bankrupt.
This is what it feels like to be dead.
And I cannot resuscitate myself.
FML.
What a great way to start the day.
Then you stand in chapel and wonder how the hell you managed to sink so deep. How you can be such a great person on the outside, except for the swear words that sometimes slip, and say all the right things all the time, and still be the worst of the worst on the inside. Spiritually bankrupt.
This is what it feels like to be dead.
And I cannot resuscitate myself.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Thrill.
Sweat, dust, and leather. Shod hooves striking the dirt. Cheers from where my family hovered around my dad's little blue pick up. My hand was clenched tightly around the horn of the saddle. The other held the reins tightly. My faith in the sure-footedness of my animal was lacking, so although I held the reins high up on his neck, he was sure to tell that I wasn't completely letting go. He suffered through the heels of my boots pressed into his side, urging him to speed up, and the tension in my body begging him not to go too fast. Perhaps for a moment I would consider letting the reins out completely. It just took a few moments of hesitation and his gait was shifting, strides shortening, and he was abruptly halting. The race was over, we had reached the end of the arena.
My body used to be trained and disciplined to sit out a canter, even a gallop with maximum control. I used to have a center of gravity that allowed me to keep my seat in the center of the saddle. Sometimes I would grip the back of the saddle to maintain a deeper seat. Here I was now, so tense with my own uncertainty, a deep mistrust in the spirited pony that used to give me so much hell when I was younger. She was so rotund her saddle did not stay on very well, and my tension favored my right leg, pulling the saddle even further over. I felt sympathetic towards Hope for having to deal with such an awkward rider. I was frustrated with my own incompetency. I used to be so good at this. Although I was comfortable in the saddle, I wasn't competent. Katie urged me to take Hope for a run. I didn't like Hope's favoritism for the fence, because it nearly cost me my leg. When I had her out towards the road, I turned her back for home. A few things contributed to my nerves. I could clearly remember the plunging feeling when Sonny had lost his footing all those years ago, falling and pinning me to the dirt. The grass was tall enough in the field where I now rode to obscure any holes or uneven ground. Past experience led me to believe that although horses were meant to run over all sorts of terrain, some horses were a bit clumsier than others. Hope had already fallen once coming out of the creek. I had to have a little faith, so I urged her forward. Katie waited at the other end of the field with Ike. Hope needed no encouragement. As she leaped forward I felt-- It's hard to describe the feeling... It was thrilling, and terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. Still, a tiny part of me held back, but most of me didn't want to. And for just a moment, Hope sensed the overwhelming part of me that just enjoyed the speed and she broke into a full run. It only lasted for the briefest moment as my body responded to the speed with my usual tension. She maintained a gallop for the rest of the stretch. By the time she pulled up next to Ike, my legs were trembling so much I wouldn't have been able to stand.
After a moment, I slid off to stand by Ike while Katie decided to give Hope a real run. The moments standing with Ike were perhaps the sweetest. He was taller than Hope, and a beautiful chestnut color. At first he wanted to turn to watch Hope as she cantered away, but I held his head and tried to keep him from prancing on my exposed toes. Eventually he settled, and contented himself to staring at me. I stroked his face, his broad forehead, his velvety muzzle. He was beautiful to me, with liquid brown eyes that seemed to be fully comprehending how engaged I was in enjoying him.
My body used to be trained and disciplined to sit out a canter, even a gallop with maximum control. I used to have a center of gravity that allowed me to keep my seat in the center of the saddle. Sometimes I would grip the back of the saddle to maintain a deeper seat. Here I was now, so tense with my own uncertainty, a deep mistrust in the spirited pony that used to give me so much hell when I was younger. She was so rotund her saddle did not stay on very well, and my tension favored my right leg, pulling the saddle even further over. I felt sympathetic towards Hope for having to deal with such an awkward rider. I was frustrated with my own incompetency. I used to be so good at this. Although I was comfortable in the saddle, I wasn't competent. Katie urged me to take Hope for a run. I didn't like Hope's favoritism for the fence, because it nearly cost me my leg. When I had her out towards the road, I turned her back for home. A few things contributed to my nerves. I could clearly remember the plunging feeling when Sonny had lost his footing all those years ago, falling and pinning me to the dirt. The grass was tall enough in the field where I now rode to obscure any holes or uneven ground. Past experience led me to believe that although horses were meant to run over all sorts of terrain, some horses were a bit clumsier than others. Hope had already fallen once coming out of the creek. I had to have a little faith, so I urged her forward. Katie waited at the other end of the field with Ike. Hope needed no encouragement. As she leaped forward I felt-- It's hard to describe the feeling... It was thrilling, and terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. Still, a tiny part of me held back, but most of me didn't want to. And for just a moment, Hope sensed the overwhelming part of me that just enjoyed the speed and she broke into a full run. It only lasted for the briefest moment as my body responded to the speed with my usual tension. She maintained a gallop for the rest of the stretch. By the time she pulled up next to Ike, my legs were trembling so much I wouldn't have been able to stand.
After a moment, I slid off to stand by Ike while Katie decided to give Hope a real run. The moments standing with Ike were perhaps the sweetest. He was taller than Hope, and a beautiful chestnut color. At first he wanted to turn to watch Hope as she cantered away, but I held his head and tried to keep him from prancing on my exposed toes. Eventually he settled, and contented himself to staring at me. I stroked his face, his broad forehead, his velvety muzzle. He was beautiful to me, with liquid brown eyes that seemed to be fully comprehending how engaged I was in enjoying him.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
*Heavy hearted sigh
Oh feelings... Why dost thou toy with me so?
I am a woman. I am a complex emotional being. God made me that way. Sometimes it seems like a curse to be a woman. But how could I possibly say such a thing? God made women in His image. I bear the image of the creator. It is wonderful to be a woman. Even if my feelings sometimes feel slightly out of control. And even if it seems that there aren't any men in my life that appreciate my femininity.
I am a woman. I am a complex emotional being. God made me that way. Sometimes it seems like a curse to be a woman. But how could I possibly say such a thing? God made women in His image. I bear the image of the creator. It is wonderful to be a woman. Even if my feelings sometimes feel slightly out of control. And even if it seems that there aren't any men in my life that appreciate my femininity.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
His voice shapes me...
His voice shapes me. The gentle timbre wraps around me like a blanket, tucking me into the bed of emotions he has made for me.
I know he doesn't give a damn about me, but there is something about him that seduces me into his way of life. He isn't attractive, but he is appealing. He is careless and carefree and he seems to be enjoying the path he has chosen. I feel miserable in my own. Obedience is chafing. He jokes with me, teases me, and makes empty promises. I laugh, and I eat the promises up, hungering for more.
I question how far God would let me go into that kind of lifestyle before he intervened. I wonder if He would intervene at all, or deliver me into sin. The thoughts are dangerous, and I am almost grateful for distance between us. Yet sometimes the desire to give up being 'good' is so strong it chokes me.
I am struggling with school, with dealing with personal issues, with my relationship with God. I am only young once...
Why should I stick around for something I can't feel at the moment? When it is easier to surrender to self than fight the good fight. My scenery is kind of dull at the moment, repetitive and constricting. His scenery- well it looks a hell of a lot better.
(And alas, he is so deceitful.)
I know he doesn't give a damn about me, but there is something about him that seduces me into his way of life. He isn't attractive, but he is appealing. He is careless and carefree and he seems to be enjoying the path he has chosen. I feel miserable in my own. Obedience is chafing. He jokes with me, teases me, and makes empty promises. I laugh, and I eat the promises up, hungering for more.
I question how far God would let me go into that kind of lifestyle before he intervened. I wonder if He would intervene at all, or deliver me into sin. The thoughts are dangerous, and I am almost grateful for distance between us. Yet sometimes the desire to give up being 'good' is so strong it chokes me.
I am struggling with school, with dealing with personal issues, with my relationship with God. I am only young once...
Why should I stick around for something I can't feel at the moment? When it is easier to surrender to self than fight the good fight. My scenery is kind of dull at the moment, repetitive and constricting. His scenery- well it looks a hell of a lot better.
(And alas, he is so deceitful.)
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