Home-coming and Loss

I am home. I got home yesterday afternoon after a very long day on Friday and not sleeping at all the night before. My mom came and picked me up from the South Bend airport and we journeyed the 20 minutes it took to get home in a fairly cheerful mood, despite my lack of sleep. When we got home, I put my stuff down and decided that I would go visit my ailing cat, Marmaduke, who had taken up permanent residence in my parents' bathroom. When I got there, however, I turned out to be too late, and Marmaduke was gone.

My mom and I sat on her bed and cried for about half an hour. At first, I was hysterical because we must have just missed him. He was still warm and I thought he was breathing when we walked in. He looked so peaceful, just like he was sleeping. We both calmed down a bit and realized that he was 16 years old, had lived a long and happy life, and did not die in pain. His kidneys were starting to fail, which was leading to heart failure, but he never cried or acted like he was suffering, so unless he was putting on a good face for us and being a tough little kitty, he just drifted off to sleep, which is the best anyone could ask for.

I've been thinking a lot about this in the past day or so. At first, you think broadly about the premise of having pets, having little animal creatures that we domesticate and have run around our houses. Sure we have to feed them and take care of them, but isn't it weird that we want them at all? But then we realize that they have personalities and funny tendencies, and we get attached to them. So it's like we're signing up for no-strings-attached friendship, just to befriend someone that we don't even have to know but can count on them probably adoring us and loving us in our homes, and then we realize that you can't sign up for that. We love our furry, weird little creatures that run around our houses, even though it's strange that we have the desire to own them in the first place. Then the die at some point because another draw-back to the whole thing is that small animals live shorter lives than humans. It's probably better this way though because then what would the animals do without us? They'd be completely domesticated and unable to get on without humans. Would they just try to find another owner? Maybe. Half of pets are smarter than their owners anyway.

But anyway, then they die, and our hearts break, and we have to get used to walking in the house without hearing a room-filling meow right as you walk in the back door, or sitting on the couch eating cereal without a purring creature coming up and begging for milk, or getting ready for bed in the bathroom without our favorite furry monster jumping up on the counter craving attention and wanting to be pet, or the million other things he did that were so cute and we took for granted.

I'll miss you, Marmaduke. You were a good friend to us, and we'll always remember you.

Over-tired?

You know that point when you're so so tired but just can't get to sleep? My mom used to call that point "over tired" when I was little. I don't know if she made up that term or if this is something that other people refer to as well, but basically, it's just the point when you're super tired and all you want to do is sleep but you're thinking too much about sleeping or whatever else is running through your head. I'm hoping that I'm at that point this afternoon, because that would be a great explanation for why I'm in a horrible mood. But I know what the real reason is: working at Starbucks again.

I know. I had been so positive and up-beat about working there again. And really, it's a good job and serves the purpose I'm looking for in a job. But man, it's annoying. Half of them treat me like I'm brand new, so they tell me what to do constantly. Then when I make a mistake, they're right there to make sure I know how to correct it next time. They also don't give 10 minute breaks like they're supposed to do, so I end up standing in the same spot making drinks for 5 hours at a time, except for the occasional trip around the cafe to make sure it's not messy or out of order or anything. This is also a Starbucks with a ton of regulars, and they and the other sbux workers expect me to have learned all of their drinks already, along with their ridiculous interpretation of all of these rules. One of the girls corrected me 3 times this morning for really silly things: "You're supposed to give venti straws with iced grande drinks," "Don't put ice in the iced coffee pitchers before you put the hot iced coffee in it," "Make sure you don't let that shot expire." Really? The straw size makes a difference in a customer's Starbucks experience? Really? You honestly think that when you put ice in the pitcher will make a difference in the outcome of the drink? Really? You think that I would actually give a customer a bitter gross shot of espresso? What kind of person do you think I am?

Anyway, today sucked, but I'm sure the next time I work will be fine and I'll look back at this post and think, "Man, I must've been over-tired that day."

Maybe I'm just not supposed to be a biker

I just fell off of my (well Matt's) bike. I have some scrapes on my arms and legs, the normal road rash places like knees and elbows. But then I have these weird scrapes in weird places like the middle of my forearm, so that must be from the handlebars or something, and then my toes are really messed up, specifically my right big toe. I was wearing flip flops whilst riding, and I think that's what caused my spill in the first place, so let's remember not to do that again. Most of the skin on the outside of my big toe is gone. I'm pretty queasy, so thinking about it, and also looking at it, making me feel a little sick to my stomach.

However, I managed to not cry, which made me feel proud, and the incredibly nice mail man who was right there when I fell and helped me up and gather my belongings afterward said I fell well, that I held myself up pretty well so it could've been a lot worse. Excellent. I'm just lucky I didn't hit my head. Well, I may have hit my head a little, but I don't have a headache, so I think I'm alright. I won't go to sleep anytime soon, just to be safe...

I fell on the way back from the bank, where I went to get quarters for laundry. Yet another reason to hate doing laundry. It makes me fall off bikes. I'm just sitting here trying not to think about my injuries and trying not to throw up or feel like passing out anymore. Also, I don't have any band-aids in my apartment, so feel free to send some my way if you're able.

And another thing...

If you're ever in a position to have your apartment be the show apartment for your complex, do not (DO NOT) volunteer. They reel you in saying, "It'll be so great! You'll save $50 a month on your rent! Think about how much you'll save over the year!" But then you get into it and realize that you can't leave your apartment until your bed is made and your clothes are put away and the kitchen is clean and your dishes are put away and your bathroom must not, under any circumstances, smell like anything but fresh cut roses. So you're late a lot because you never actually calculate the time it takes to do that into your "getting ready" time in the morning. And also, when you have a beautiful Sunday afternoon planned of lying on your unmade bed watching Juno and eating dark chocolate that you bought yesterday while icing your hip flexors, they call and say, "Hi this is Taya from the front office. I just wanted to let you know that we're coming to show your apartment." And you have to smile and say, "Ok, come on over." But in your head, you're like, "Oh crap (I don't know why I'm censoring myself in my blog because I thought another word in my head for sure), my bed is unmade and there are ice bags on the floor and the kitchen is messy from breakfast and my clothes haven't been hung up and I can't walk properly at the moment."

Seriously? Sunday afternoon? Who looks for apartments on a Sunday afternoon?

On working out and growing up

I am, or was at one point not terribly long ago, a fairly good athlete. I could push my body and make myself work harder than what might be a normal limit. (For those of you reading this who are better athletes than me, know that I acknowledge your greatness, but my athleticism isn't really the point of this entry. More like the opposite.) Recently, I've been pushing it too hard and winding up in a ton of pain and discomfort. What the hell, man? When I'm working out, I don't feel like I'm pushing harder than I used to. It's true that I'm not working out that hard every single day. It's more like once a week that I work out really hard and just ends up being too much at once. But two weeks ago, I strained my calf muscles in a minor way but was incapacitated for 2 days. Now, my hip flexors (which are tendons, I think?) are so tight that standing up straight makes them feel like they're going to rip, and then I feel like I'm going to vomit. Today, standing up and sitting down at church felt like an exercise in flagellation, like I was causing myself pain to gain forgiveness, which really isn't part of my belief structure at all. I will probably spend the rest of today watching my new copy of Juno and icing my hip flexors (which is a weird place to ice if you've never done it before), so hopefully by tomorrow I'll be able to run again.

I should probably learn a lesson out of this. I should feel grateful for the strong body that God gave me, which I am. I should be thankful that I've never had a truly debilitating disease or accident, and I am that, too. I just think about it more when I'm in a temporary state of debilitation, I guess. In no way do I equate my short-term injuries with the long-term, day-to-day struggle that someone might have to deal with. It's just a good reminder to not get angry about being hurt for a short time or for not being able to do some sport or not looking the way I want to look or all of those things that I focus on when I should just be constantly thankful for what I have. These little lessons are always more difficult than I think they're going to be.

One short thought to end the evening....

Also, I started using Proactiv about a week and a half ago or so. It's not working very well yet, to be honest. I hope there's a turnaround soon because if things don't clear up by the time this 30-day trial is over, then my relationship with Proactiv will end. I kind of expected it to immediately clear my skin up completely, especially since they tell you to wash your face in the morning and at night before bed, which I never did consistently before. Still have breakouts in the same old places, but now I feel guilty about picking at them, so I guess that's a step in the right direction. Whatever.

I had cheese for a goodnight snack. Cheese is a comfort food. I think I needed comfort. Not because of the Proactiv. Just because.

Update! Update! Update!

As it has been commanded, so it shall be. (jk Ashley :)

Tomorrow morning, I will take yet another certification exam to become a teacher. I will take an essay tomorrow morning that will hopefully take about half an hour, so I'll start testing at 8am (but really 8.30 by the time they wait for late people and read all of the stupid directions and tell everyone yet again not to cheat even though it's nearly impossible to cheat on an essay test and if you're resourceful enough to figure out how to do that, you're in the wrong field). My hope is that I'll be home and taking a morning nap by 9.30 at the latest. I would ride my bike, but mine was stolen by a meth addict, so I'll borrow Matt's and will hopefully lock his properly so that it doesn't get stolen as well.

Biking brings up an important thought that's been recurring this week: energy use and being better to the environment. This week, my fellow pro-teachers and I have been giving mini sample lessons to each other instead of taking a final exam in 1 of my 2 classes this semester, which is fine by me. All of the lessons have to be socially conscious because this is a global studies course, so several people did lessons on the environment and how we (and by we I mean middle or high school kids, as these lessons are geared toward them) can do our part. I drive Jeep. I love my Jeep. It allows me to carry my boat around, help people move, carry around lots of groceries since I tend to buy enough for a month all at once so I don't have to go to the store very often, and so on. However, the Jeep drinks gas down like lemonade on a hot day, and I am low on funds, hence the job at Starbucks. As an aside, Starbucks does not pay well, but anything is better than nothing at all, which is what I was earning before. The "but they provide benefits" argument is great if you're planning on working at Starbucks for longer than the summer, which I am not, or if you're not still covered under your father's insurance plan, which I am. Anyway, it is pretty unfortunate that my bike was stolen just recently because I was about to make a resolution that I would drive only to work or to long distance places like airports. I suppose I can borrow Matt's bike, but I think I'll just have to buy a new one for myself.

We'll see. I'll keep you updated on my bike status, as well as the state of my carbon footprint. Maybe I'll switch to "green" cleaning products or change my light bulbs to those spiral ones when these die. I already bought reusable grocery bags. Now I just have to remember to bring them with me to the grocery store when I make my monthly (or bi-monthly (seriously)) trip.

Oh, Dad

http://www.wsbtradio.com/includes/news_items/news_items_more.php?section_id=7&id=2650

The above link leads to an interview with my dad about his living in China and how he's carrying the Olympic torch through the part of China where he lives. My dad is a pretty cool cat.

However.

I love my dad so much. I know he loves me too. But the barbs about not rowing anymore are getting old. The one he says in the radio interview isn't even said with the assumption that I'll hear it. He's basically just bad-talking me on the radio. Not as cool, Dad. He's a pretty intense guy, hence the dad complex. He'll probably never get over this. I don't know his true feelings about it. Maybe he feels betrayed. Maybe he's ashamed of me because he thinks I'm a quitter. Maybe he's projecting a little bit of his disappointment of his own lost chance onto me. He fails to recognize that I'm increasingly happy about my decision to forgo rowing as the main thing in my life and love teaching more every time I do it. I don't know if he'll ever see that or if he cares to see that.

But anyway, the interview is cool, and he's interesting and has done interesting things. Way to go, Dad, I guess.

As the blog title implies...

I am currently in the process of sending my resumes and all sorts of other info out to almost all of the middle and high schools in this entire county in hopes that one of them will give me a job. I actually have most of my hopes set on one particular school but am sending my stuff to all of the schools just in case. Can't put all of my eggs in one basket, right?

I just finished printing out a bunch of resumes and cover letters and sample syllabuses and examples of lesson plans to send to 8 area schools. I just can't believe this is already happening. In my head, I'm still like 12 years old. I mean, I've grown up in some ways: I pay all of my bills on time, I drive a car, I cook food, I clean my apartment, and so on. I realize that I actually am mature enough to handle having a career (CAREER, not just job), but it still seems pretty intense.

My hope is that I'll be a history teacher, and then each year we'll start a magical journey through time, focusing on the people that shape history. You scoff, but you know it's cool. Please, please let me get hired...

sadface

My mom went home yesterday. I know I'm supposed to be an adult and not be such a little kid, but it was really nice to wake up to the smell of coffee and to see the light on in the kitchen where she was reading. I don't think my mother has been able to sleep past 7am since before my sister was born almost 31 years ago, so that would be a pretty common morning at home. It really makes me consider how soon I'll be able to move back closer to home. Florida is great and I do really like this town, but there's just something great about the Midwest, and being driving distance from home again would be nice.

St. Augustine: A place for Florida History and outlet shopping...?

The past two days were spent in St. Augustine, FL, the first permanent settlement on the continental US. (The actual first settlement was San Juan, Puerto Rico.) The old Spanish fort is there, and they've restored some of the original houses so you can walk through them, which is all pretty interesting.

But like all places like that that aren't really interesting enough on their own, the entire, sweet little town is a giant tourist trap. There are approximately 8000 (just made that up) Bed and Breakfasts in the 2mi (just made that up) block. Then there are the restaurants. And the gift shops. And the entrance fees to lame ass living history museums. I can imagine what the living history museum workers think to themselves each day as they act out their roles: "These people are idiots - can't they see that I'm the blacksmith? I'm forging nails right here with glowing hot iron. What in hell do they think I'm doing? Stop it with the questions and go talk to the carpenter," and so on. Then there's the Ponce de Leon Fountain of Youth museum, which we didn't venture into because what would they show you? There's no fountain of youth and nothing Ponce declared as the fountain of youth.

There were signs galore for the Fountain of Youth on the way out to the outlet mall. I'll write that again so you can say it aloud - Oouuutlleeetttt Maaaaaallllll. It's a devil's snare. They lure you in with good prices on J.Crew and Gap clothes, which I love, and then you end up buying 3 pairs of shoes and 6 shirts from Banana Republic. Somewhere in the back of your mind you think, Do I need all of this stuff? But you stifle that thought with free samples from Harry and David that persuade you to buy chocolate covered bing cherries. Sinfully delicious.

Basically, this idea makes me think that even though we make fun of Ponce de Leon for looking for the fountain of youth, it's what everyone does, though we have make-up and vitamins and Proactiv and wrinkle cream and Viagra and other weird stuff like that. My closing thought is this: why do we all want to live so long anyway? Maybe that's morbid. I don't mean it like that. I suppose the youth part makes sense, but I'm just trying to figure out how to grow up. To get stunted at one age for a long period of time wouldn't help anything. We have very few comforts that are absolute. One is God. Another is that time will more forward no matter what with nothing we can do to stop it. So I'll jump on that train.

Coffee and Democracy

I drank coffee this morning, which I used to do a lot but haven't done much recently, and it completely threw me off. I feel very tired but jittery at the same time. I'll definitely have to get over this before starting to work at sbux again.

But I'm reading this book called Democracy Matters by Cornell West, and it's dense and takes a day to read 2 chapters, but it's incredible. I think meeting this man would be intimidating because even his writing is intimidating, but I think I'd like to know where he came from, at least. He writes about how America is not and perhaps never has been a democracy, not just because of the semantics of the definition but because people, especially the powers that be, white upper class men, refuse to admit that the country was built upon racism and genocide. He's pretty blunt about the current administration, which is interesting because this was published in 2004, when it was less popular to be openly against Bush and his cronies. I just wonder what he thinks of Obama and this current election race. My guess is that he thinks Obama might be ok but the race is so stupid that it's making him and everything he stands for lose a little bit of credibility. Or maybe that's just what I think.

I highly recommend you read this book, and then we can start a revolution together. Cool?

This is such a bad idea

I caught the blog bug. Friends are doing it, so I think to myself, is anything I have to say really worth writing down for other people to read? Sometimes I answer myself, no, probably not. But today, I thought, Yes, darnit, sometimes things I think and say to myself are good enough for other people to read. Have some self-confidence, girl.

So here is my new, self-confident blog.

However, I'm scared to death of some things.

I'm afraid that I won't get a job teaching and will be stuck working at Starbucks for another year, and kids in the class I student taught in last quarter will come in and be like, "Hey Miss L! I thought you were trying to become a real teacher!" And I'll be like, "Yeah that didn't work out, and why are you at Starbucks at 1 in the afternoon? Go back to school."

The main fear of life, however, is that I'll forever live to try to please my father. I have father issues. I thought only crazy people who either live the rest of their lives talking to a wall or professional athletes were the only ones to have father issues. There's still time for those things, I suppose, though the wall-talking is more likely.

Anyway, this is post 1. We'll see if I make it to post 2. Love you guys.