I promised myself to resist the temptation. Every fiber in my being was pining for it. My superego denied that capricious desire. Well, it helped me forget about it for just and eensy weensy second. A mere breathe in proportion to all that were taken during the day. But then I kind of thought that, just maybe, it was ok. That if I were on my best behavior that it would be acceptable. That if I did not tell anyone about it, then it would be a secret taken to the grave. That I could just be a part of the pandemonium for one day, not even a day, a part of the day that I would be forgiven. It is eating me up inside and I feel as if I may implode from the secrecy and debauchery of it all. Leading me to confess to you, reader, that I watched the Royal Wedding coverage.
There I admit it. I watched the wedding. Well, I watched the post-wedding coverage of the newlyweds riding in a horse drawn carriage waving amiably at their subjects as they rode on to celebrate their marriage. I did. At first I resisted, cynically commenting on the English women's silly hats and the Queen's canary yellow suit. Certainly if I were the Queen of England I would never be caught in a canary yellow suit. Unless...no, no, that is a negative. No canary yellow suits. No canaries. No marital bliss.
Oh, but that wedding gown. That beautiful, elegant wedding gown. The delicate lace, the detailed bodice, the magnificent color. The ring. Reader, I nearly lost. my. mind. Suddenly an emotional contagion swept over me. I too was smiling, I too was joyous in their union, I too was waiting impatiently for the first kiss, and I was most certainly enthralled that there were two kisses at Buckingham's Palace. Two. Uno, dos. Un, deux.
A princess was made today. Did you know that? A princess. The dream job of every little (age is subjective) girl. Who among us females are against becoming a princess of similar stature to Princess Diana or Princess Grace Kelly? I lower myself fully to the stereotypical female persona. Despite all the hype of how I favor my independence and clear headed thinking, I cannot help myself when it comes to that fairytale romance. Oh the woes of being a romantic.
Now I sit, curled up in my bed, nursing an icky feeling that has devoured my plans for today dreamily staring at my notes. This is the part where I am usually pretending to study, but in reality I am blissfully in a day dream. I hope the contents of these day dreams will help me pass my exams.
I just HAD to tell someone that I watched the Royal Wedding, so thank you for listening.
Happy Friday! Time to take a break from studying with a friendly salutation to my fans. Just kidding, I am certainly not at that fan level...yet! I need to be on my best behavior today, since I do have a final tomorrow. I will live every student's nightmare and go to school on both Saturday AND Sunday. Bye-bye weekend, hello tests. Oh the life of a college gal.
Funny Birthday card:
And my birthday flowers are blooming!
Thank you again Ms. Shelby for the flowers, I get so excited when I see them turning pinker everyday!
So I have this thing where I keep a diary. It's not so much of a "Dear Diary, blah blah blah" but a list of things I want to do and things that I am thankful for. If someone pays me a compliment or something impacts my life significantly I jot it down and date it. Whenever I am going through a rough patch I like to look back and read it. I always feel so much better after I do. As for the list of things to do, that is just a crazy long list that has everything from "get married" to "go to the Kentucky Derby". I'm telling you it has EVERYTHING.
So here is a shortened version :)
20 things to do at 20:
Buy a lotto ticket
Pay for a stranger's check at a restaurant
Volunteer at an animal shelter
Run a 5k
Get a passport
Try mood polish (have you ever heard of this?! Check it out! Mood Polish
Volunteer with Big Brother's/Big Sister's
Have a bake sale!
Go to the beach on the west coast (it's crazy that I've never been since I go to school over here!)
Try a ballroom dance class
Buy a long boho skirt
Make my own butter
Learn how to play a song on the guitar (this one is going to be a stretch since I have zero musical ability, but I do have a sister who is very talented :))
I got a heaping serving of life this week. To be fair, I am sure that I was long over due for a little Murphy's Law.
Monday: I got locked in a bathroom stall. It was embarrassing, scary, and I questioned my intelligence. I spent a couple of minutes trying to figure out just how the lock was stuck and questioned escape methods. Do I crawl under the stall? Do I yell for help? Do I call for help? In the end it took a little elbow grease...and knowing that I would soon be late to class if I didn't pull a Houdini and escape that lock.
Tuesday: Study abroad problems. Paris seems even farther away :(
Wednesday: Realized that a paper that I put off doing was not two pages, but five. Developed sore throat and deep desire to flee town and assume a new identity.
Thursday: Library accused me of having a book due, to which I replied "I checked out a book?!". That lead to a panic induced scavenger hunt in my room at 7am for the missing book. I found the bugger though. I also went to print out the paper, again a last minute kind of deal, and the printer went bananas.
Despite everything, I am ok, alive, and functioning. That's all I can really ask for! Plus it never helps being a debbie-downer in these stressful times and the bathroom story will be a classic. Everyone gets a laugh out of that one!
I'm not really excited about studying for the entirety of tomorrow but when the University delivers the exam schedule on a silver platter that depicts tests on both Saturday and Sunday, it must be done. I am so close to finishing the semester it is a little scary, I will be half way through my undergrad degree! I'm old(ish)!
Here is to finals week, drinking inordinate amounts of coffee/tea, paper cuts, printing mishaps, all nighters, flashcards, late night breakfasts, and the quest of re-selling textbooks! Hooha!
I wanted to dedicate a blog entry to everyone who made my birthday so special! It was one of the best birthdays that I have ever had to date, filled with good friends, a loving family, and cake :) Even though most of the time I was on a train going through the middle of no-man's-land where only cows dwell, it was a wonderful weekend. My family and I went out to a Greek restaurant and had the best food ever! It was so much fun trying new food and challenging my taste buds. I even ate octopus! (I had to do it with my eyes closed and a drink close by just in case, nevertheless I did it) The octopus was surprisingly good, after I got over the fact that it was in fact the animal that spews ink and has eight legs laden with suction cups. Other than that there was fresh pita bread, spanakopita, stuffed grapeleafs, gyros, pita wraps, and Greek sausages to be enjoyed by all.
My sister is such a good photographer.
It's a feast!
Upon my family's request I made Naan bread and a sour cream coffee cake, both were fantastic. Although I smelled like garlic for a couple of days after the Naan bread!
Okay, I know I said I wasn't going to post anything and be a good student but I couldn't help myself!
I first became interested in Psychology because I was fascinated with Eating Disorders. I would watch the show "Intervention" on A&E and many times there would be a story about a woman suffering from Bulimia Nervosa, Anorexia Nervosa, or EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified). I could not fathom how an individual could resist biological impulses to such an extreme that it would result in self-induced starvation. I watched the skeleton like figures on the television screen, some of who were my height but weighed about 90lbs. It was raw, painful, and agonizing to watch them suffer from their addictions. There are many theories concerning how Eating Disorders emerge, stemming from media aspects, biological aspects, genetics, and environmental factors. What is the true factor causing these diseases is elusive, even to many professionals.
Walk into a woman's fitting room and you will hear endless complaints about girls' and womens' body "flaws". My thighs are dimpled, I have a flat chest, my butt is huge, I am worthless, Why can't I be a size two?, my arms are flabby, my nose is crooked, my complexion is uneven, I have love handles, I hate my freckles, I want to be tan, I should die my hair, and I need to lose twenty pounds. Trust me on this one, I have overheard many of these sentiments being discussed and have even taken part in the body image bashing. Our negative self-body image triggers many other negative feelings. It's a domino effect essentially. If you feel bad about your body, you will feel guilty about your eating habits, compensation activities such as purging, exercising, and extreme dieting, lose self-esteem, and in extreme cases suffer from learned helplessness.
Taking this all into account, I was reading one of my favorite blogs ohsheglows, a food blog that was started by a woman who for too long suffered from eating disorders and a lack of vitality for food, life, and fun. She had an excerpt that she wrote (that I highly encourage you to read) about self-love. She told her testimony and also how she had lived a life where food and exercising were punishing tools. This strong woman had to recreate herself and learn how to love again--love herself again. I read some of the comments on her blog and was incredulous to the amount of other women suffering from similar accounts of negative body images. I felt so helpless after I read each consecutive disclosure, wishing that I could let them know that they are beautiful. To take their hands in mine and sit with them while they cried and afterwards work with them to rebuild a self esteem that has been dragged through the muck and the mire.
It is in these times that I feel like we each live to impress when in reality, we should live to love--ourselves, the world, food, and exercise.
I am going to get off of my soap box now and back into the land of studying.
I am sitting here at work bored to death. Why? Because my students feel like they don't need me. Maybe they don't, but that doesn't ameliorate the blase sensation that I associate with Wednesday's. I don't have another appointment until 5pm, so I am considering this as my break since I can technically leave and come back. But where would I go? Outside into the one million degree heat and piercing sunshine? No thank you. I'll sit here typing on this fancy Apple computer and whip out a blog.
I love my job as a tutor, it has exponentially whetted my desire to help people and to find a career that will allow me to help people. I have been mulling over the idea of going into education. I have gotten an incredible amount of support from family and friends encouraging me to try my hand at teaching. I think that it would be very rewarding, but also would not limit me to one field. Since I do have a background in Psychology, I can always pursue guidance counseling and further fields in administration. I would also like to devote some time to working in the Peace Corps teaching abroad. It sounds like a marvelous idea! Traveling and teaching all rolled into one aspect has definitely sparked some interest. Since I have been struggling with finding my true identity, I feel like I have been making some progress. I am reading Julia Child's biography at the moment and one of the parts that stuck with me the most was when she said that she was thirty two years old and was still trying to figure out who she was. Well I am nineteen and doing the same. It takes some getting used to, but the lost feeling is somewhat of a blessing since it has pushed me into exploring options I would not have considered otherwise. Being lost is kind of...an adventure, an exciting adventure! Who knows where the world will take me?
Most importantly, however, is that I will keep writing. Even through boring blog entries and malapropisms (cool word, right?) I will jot my silly thoughts, amusing anecdotes, and life changing episodes. Hopefully, sans boy drama because that was just too much to handle and not what I signed up for as a teenage girl/practically adult woman. I hope that you all enjoy the blog as much as I do, we both have a lot of growing to do in the coming years. Funny story, today I was accused of being an English major in my Spanish class. I had to inform the class that, no I am not an English major and that I cannot explain the particular use of grammar in English any better than you can explain it in Spanish. I must have shattered all of their expectations. I am guessing they all thought this since I was the sole individual who knew that 1) Volition is a term in English and 2) It has to do with free will. Psychology major with a broad vocabulary. Not English. Never English.
As many of you know, I am a freelance blogger for another blog site. My first piece was published today! I am so excited about it. It is about yoga and how much I love it/advocate for others to try it. If you would like to read my debut A Chance to Focus on YOU. click the link.
Looking forward to another bagel and peanut butter snack today!
...and watching the football team practice from my tower in the tutoring center...
If the world were to end tomorrow, I would spend that day eating peanut butter. Crunchy, creamy, Peter Pan, generic, organic, mixed with nutella, mixed with honey, I would do it all! If I do say so myself, this is a pretty bold statement. Nevertheless it is the absolute truth! I came upon this epiphany today as I was studying in the library, munching on a bagel smeared with the lovely creaminess that I call peanut butter.
Why is peanut butter amazing?
Well, first of all the taste. I mean, hello? It's peanut butter :)
It also is a powerful source of protein, which means that it will keep me filled throughout my Abnormal Psychology lecture, Motivation (yes that's a class) lecture, and a visit to the library for some necessary but dreadful homework.
I also found an article on peanut butter stating that the people who eat peanut butter regularly on average have lower risks in developing cardiovascular diseases and have a lower count of LDL cholesterol. Which is slightly awesome, if not amazing. A healthier heart means more power to love.
Peanut butter is also very versatile. From peanut butter and jelly to peanut butter and graham crackers. The creamy spread goes with so many common household food items. A friend of mine puts a spoonful of peanut butter at the bottom of her cereal bowl, pours in some cheerios and milk, and tops it all off with a banana. The result? A delicious little surprise at the bottom of her cereal bowl that starts her day off with energy (I have never seen her without a smile on her face or a pep in her step, I owe this all to her peanut butter love!)
The benefits of peanut butter are truly endless!
I have to tell you though, I am only in it for the taste :)
It is that lovely time of year again. Crunch time. The semester is practically over, summer is practically upon us. Yes, summer, do you remember it? Sun-filled days, red melting popsicles, and rolling azure ocean waves. Sweet, glorious summer vacation. The only thing that is now stopping me from enjoying summer vacation is the inability to time travel into the future and the fact that I still have a sprinkle of exams and papers to dote on before Mr. Finals Week shows up at my door with a bouquet of stress, lack of sleep, and all around chaos. These next few weeks are usually the ones in which I feel listless. I never sleep right, running becomes a thing of the past, and I become overwhelmingly homesick. It is an all around horrible feeling, a feeling that I will be trying my best to avoid this year. With a little hope, a lot of support, and a 100-watt smile I will cross that finish line!
This morning I dragged my butt out of bed and threw myself into the chilly morning. I really did not expect it to be that cold at nearly 7am, but it was. I had goosebumps all over and an overwhelming compulsion to jump back into my warm bed and forget the whole ordeal. But I ignored it and took off, hobbling a little from my still sleepy stature. I also made it to yoga class today (I know, I am a fitness overachiever) which was absolutely lovely. I feel centered and relaxed, what could be better? I also recovered from my embarrassing err this past Saturday at yoga in which I toppled over in the middle of doing the "Crow pose". No tumbling today, no way Jose.
I also received an e-mail from Fitness Magazine with tips for staying energized and I thought I would share, because that is just the kind of blogger that I am :) These are just a few that I particularly like.
1. Hang out with happy people :)
2. Orange scents do this really scientific mumbo-jumbo, but really just helps you relax.
3. Find a better way to "unplug" than t.v., like yoga (yes!) or reading a book (YES!)
4. Speak your mind: When your adorable blonde-haired friend writes her own blog, let her know that she is by far the most amazing person in the entire world! No, but seriously take the time to be overly positive :)
5. Flowers: Buy yourself some! Because obviously you deserve a bouquet of lush, beautiful petals and they also help with the stress releasing process. Or buy your favorite blogger her favorite flowers...
6. Stretch: Here's the deal. Close the door to your room, go into a secluded area of the library, or hide behind the frat boys in your lecture hall. Then get down on all fours, taking a couple of deep breaths. Inhale and round your spine (you'll look like a kitty stretching), exhale and return spine to normal. Repeat a couple of times. We do this in yoga, it feels nice :)
7. Inspiration board! Create a collage of pictures, articles, what-have-yous of things that will inspire you to work out. Love yoga? How about some Nameste pictures? Love running? How about a funny picture of your two best friends (your left running shoe, and its partner)? Creativity! Winning!
8. Tea, drink it. I love chai tea (tastes like cinnamon, nutmeg, and gingerbread houses. In other words delicious!) and green tea. I have caffeine sensitivity issues and find that drinking tea has a milder effect on my body than coffee.
9. Laugh...a lot! Something I am quite good at, my friends and family can all attest to that! So whip out those old funny cat videos on youtube or reruns of The Office and giggle for a while.
10. Embrace the sunshine, doctors say lots of complicated things about this. It just feels nice :) Remember the sunscreen though!
Today is my anniversary! Well, today is my blog's anniversary but it's practically the same thing. Today is the Day has been up and running for one month exactly. I started this blog on a whim. It was the last day of spring break, a Sunday. I woke up knowing that soon I would have to return to campus and bid adieu to my family yet again. It was a sunny, beautiful, and early. As I laid there in my bed reminiscing the sweet dew of slumber, suddenly I thought "I think I will start a blog". So I popped out of bed, whipped my laptop out, and then went online in a quest to find out how to start a blog. I had no idea where to start, so I turned to the omniscient site that we all know and love called Google and simply searched "How to start a blog". With a little magic, I was sent to this site, entered in a little information and voila! A blog is born.
The trouble with this kind of communication is that I often talk about nothing, but all of this nothingness has meant more to me than so many somethings. It has whetted my desire to write and has served as an emotional outlet. It's hard to fathom that a blog that was based on such a capricious thought could end up having so many positive outcomes. Not only has it helped some of my readers, it has helped me. Sometimes, in those low moments, when you think that you may be the only being on the wretched planet to be suffering from emotional, psychological, and physiological turmoil, a kind ear is all you need for a cure. This blog is that kind ear. The one in which I am able to oppugn ideas, thoughts, heartfelt words, and some delicious recipes. Sometimes with a response and sometimes with no response, either way it has been sent out into the void that is known as the internet. Ultimately lifting that ugly little beast called doubt off of my shoulders and leaving me at peace to do more important things, like bake.
What I adore about this blog is my couple of readers, a big shout out to you few five! Your encouragement for me to write is something that I hold in a special place in my heart and means the world to me. So thank you for reading, commenting, and your lovely encouragement. Stick with me for just a moment longer, I'll figure out my way eventually.
I find myself on this particularly steamy afternoon in my favorite campus nook, the bookstore. There is just something magnificent about being surrounded by books, I even enjoy the aroma of the coffee wafting from the upper level cafe even though I detest the beverage. Classes are finished for the week and the most difficult task that I now face is deciding what fun adventures I get to partake in over the course of the glorious weekend. The weekend. Can you believe it? It is here (well for me it is), finally deciding to show up, like a fashionably late socialite. I have no idea what this weekend will entail, which is one of the most exciting aspects, not knowing what is just around the corner. This weekend I could bake a cake, or learn a few phrases in French. I could even spend an afternoon walking barefoot on the magnificently warm grass that is so saturated in its green color that one would almost assume it was a figment of the imagination. Just the pure idea of wiggling my toes in the emerald blades has my heart swelling with something that I can only attribute to spring fever, after all it is the middle of April.
I think April is one of the most beautiful months of the calendar, which is strange because I love the fall season, nevertheless April is one of my favorite spring time months. The cold wrath of the winter is beginning to fade while the weather has not yet succumbed to the intensity of the summer's heat. April is that limbo area, that spectacular limbo area of the seasons. April also holds my birthday. My birthday is one week and one day in the future. I swear that it snuck up on me this year, has it really been one full year already? I am turning twenty. Twenty. Waving Au Revoir to my teenage years and embracing young adulthood fully. I have been dreading turning twenty for quite some time now. Particularly, because it just sounds so old, so antiquated, so mature. In perspective, I am truly cognizant of how young twenty still is, barely scratching the entity we all so unduly avoid called adulthood. It would be lovely that when the final hours of my being nineteen years begin to slip away, that truths and knowledge of the universe will slowly beam into my consciousness, no doubt leading me to a graceful step in maturity. That does happen, right?
Although I am certainly nervous about turning twenty, I am more cautious of the day itself. You see, I have never particularly enjoyed having a birthday. For me it was always torturous. On some occasions I would not even tell my friends that it was my birthday, just to avoid the embarrassing singing, gift bearing, and unnecessary attention. I see many other girls with birthday tiaras donned, rocking a feather boa and their prettiest dress on their birthday's. I own only three dresses: my prom dress, my graduation dress, and the dress that I wear for Christmas festivities. Three. Uno, dos, tres. Not one of those would be appropriate to prance around on my birthday, although I am sure that I would catch many glances in wearing my prom gown. I also live my life sans skirts. Do not even get me started on high-heels, I think I have enough height already.
I have an extremely difficult time in dealing with attention. I have this wall-flower-esque-problem. I would much rather attend a friend's birthday party than my own. I love giving gifts, but feel awkward in receiving them. I love baking cakes, but rarely eat them myself. I love throwing surprise parties (and am quite talented in doing so), but break out into panic at just the thought of them. I think you see the pattern here. The most distressing question that I ever receive is: what would like for a present? I never cease to answer this annual question with an eloquent and well thought out Hmm. Even though I am quite aware that the question will tumble out of a loved one's mouth, I still have no idea how to answer. Probably because I do not even know what I want. Socks? A popsicle? (Not really a popsicle, just an inside joke) A book? Just thinking about it now makes me a shift a little in my seat and blush. Truthfully, I love every present I have ever received. Every last one. I do not complain. How can you when a close family member or friend take time out of their day to purchase something special just for you?
I know that twenty is a big deal and all so this is just my little way of kind-of-sort-of-just-a-little-bit telling you that, yes, my birthday is next week. So we should celebrate right? I do not even know the first thing about celebrating. It is also on Good Friday/Easter weekend. Carrot cake and Easter baskets for everyone! I will just have to deal with it. Plus, I am so very excited for the journey to come as a twenty year old girl/woman. I am planning a trip to study abroad in Paris, France, will be working as a resident assistant, will be a junior in college (holy cow! I can't believe that I just wrote that, it is so scary yet amazing! I swear yesterday was my first day of Freshman year, I blinked and now I am a sophomore-practically-junior.), and all of the exciting parts that I do not have the privilege of knowing beforehand. It is long overdue for me to embrace this time of my life because I know that I will only look, act, and be this way for but a breath of my existence.
Twenty is the year to:
Speaking of baking...I have found a super-delicious yet surprisingly healthy Easter brunch pastry that I feel is a part of my destiny to create.
How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes
I struggle to find any truth in your lies
And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know
This weakness I feel I must finally show
Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all
But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall
Lend me your eyes I can change what you see
But your soul you must keep, totally free
Har har, har har, har har, har har
Awake my soul
Awake my soul
How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes
I struggle to find any truth in your lives
And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know
My weakness I feel I must finally show
Har har, har har, har har, har har
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life
Awake my soul
Awake my soul
Awake my soul
For you were made to meet your maker
Awake my soul
Awake my soul
Awake my soul
For you were made to meet your maker
And you were made to meet your maker
I am having a little trouble in finding something to write about tonight, but I promised to write, and will do so anyways. Writing when emotions are high is always easy, not to mention entertaining on both of our ends. I finished reading "He's Just Not That Into You" today, only having spent three whopping days amused by the anecdotes and vignettes. It was the first self-help book that I have ever read, which may or may not be a bad thing considering my young age. Anyways, the book was really amusing and the author was really funny. He seems like a such a nice guy, the kind of guy you would want to have as your older brother, the one who will stick up for you, and especially the one who would not mind spending an evening with you watching a romantic comedy. I wonder if he has a brother...but I digress. You see, this guy is married and has been for five years. Mazeltov! He also has an uncanny talent of telling women the truth, especially when the truth looks a little like Medusa on a bad hair day after she got three hours of sleep on a bed of nails.While many facets of the book were inapplicable to my own life, since I would never consider dating a married man (if you are you may want to check out the book and take a look at chapter ten and subject yourself to his cutthroat yet heartfelt sentiments about that little situation).
Nevertheless, this guy tells the truth which is a shining beacon in these complicated days. They are complicated days, right? I do not know how much more time I can invest in my own little cyber world. If it isn't facebook chats then it's e-mails, and if it's not e-mails then it's text messages, but never under any circumstances is it a face to face conversation. I would even settle for a phone call. But that's the only negotiable circumstance. It is tiring, it is exhausting, it will probably give me carpal tunnel when I am gray and wrinkled from typing so often, and yet it is the accepted way to essentially "court" a prospective candidate.
I have been thinking, I know here comes trouble the blonde girl has been thinking, that maybe this author, this suave, urbane, happily married guy really does have the right idea. I know that you all may be tired of all the relationship talk, I promise to post a baking blog soon for your sake, just stick with me a little while longer ol' friend. Anyways, from my thinking escapade this afternoon I have come to the decision that the advice that was doled out in this book was going to be my way of living for as long as... well, as long as it takes to work. That means no more pursuing guys, accepting that if the guy doesn't ask for your phone number to walk strut away with your head held high (mostly because with your head tilted the tears don't tumble out, ruining your mascara and staining your pretty little cheek with a gothic black smudge, talk about a damsel in distress), and most importantly that if the guy does not pursue you then move on. Pick up your darling little (or big, either one is in style) bag, shake out your locks and move on to the next one.
Will this be easy? No. But every wonderful thing in my life has been well fought for and worth the struggle. I am telling you, my friend, that this is the beginning. That when the sun's rays break free across the horizon, a new girl will awaken, a no nonsense kind of girl. This is my revolution, are you excited? I am very excited and a little scared nevertheless, this is the way it is going to be. Plus the whole process will be documented, vented, and celebrated here. Sometimes it's wonderful to have a blog.
In closing remarks, thank you for all of your support and loving words. Both of which have helped me tremendously in this icky week. Always remember that kind words go both ways, that I am more than willing to listen to your problems because Lord knows that you have listened to enough of mine. That's the wonderful thing about anonymity, that it is just that, anonymous. :)
Love and cookies (because they are the perfect tangible representation of love when it is absent),
This morning I woke up to sunshine peaking in through the slats of the blinds covering the lone window in my room. As I slowly creaked one eye open, then the other, I could not believe how rested I felt. It almost had the same coloring as my getting enough sleep, a strange phenomenon. Then I caught a glimpse of my alarm clock. With a menacing neon green glow the time 8:20am shined. Which is all fine and dandy except for the fact that I eat breakfast with my friends at 8:30am and have a class soon after that. Needless to say, in two steps I was in the shower. Thankfully, I made it downstairs before 9:00am, scarfed two muffins and anything that had caffeine in it, gave my salutations to my friends, then stumbled out of the dining hall in a nervous sprint to class. You see, I also did not get the chance to memorize a script that I had to perform for my Spanish class this morning. It was probably the best morning I have had so far, truthfully, all sarcasm cast aside. Those muffins were delicious. I know these things happen to the best of us, today was just my long overdue turn.
Last night my amazing girlfriends and I had an absolutely necessary dinner, considering the events that went on throughout the day I could not have kept it together without them! As best friends do they consoled my worries and let me know that this guy deserved every last letter that was sent in those text messages. I know that some of my readers think differently, and that's perfectly acceptable, even welcomed. There was a point in yesterday's events that I did feel remorseful for the things I wrote. I was mean, and I am never mean. I was angry too. Ok, do you know the part in "Enchanted" when Giselle figures out that she is angry with Patrick Dempsey? Where she says "I'm angry at you!" then giggles. I was Giselle yesterday. My ire was a foreign being. It felt funny to be angry. It was almost funny. Almost. Even though it was probably the first time in my adult life I have ever acted on my anger, it proved to be a milestone in me standing up for myself. I have let myself be kicked around and walked over for a good portion of my life it wasn't until this guy wronged me that I had the chance to become a stronger woman, and I thank him for that.
In a way, I did feel pathetic. This feeling was not from just this one little err from some guy, but a whole mesh of errs and guys who did not treat me with respect. I am learning that it is okay to have a weak spot here and there. After all, I am not a super hero, and let's all be joyful for that because I am not so sure how I would look in those multi-colored tights. Jokes aside, I am simply Rach. I even cried about it, which is embarrassing to write because I know that he may read it. But I did cry. It is a fact. I was laying on the floor, talking to my Mom for the twentieth time that day, when the tears began to sting my eyes and my throat began to feel tight, like after you dry swallow a pill. Crying, as it turns out, made me feel even worse. Why? Because after all of the emotions that were flung around yesterday I knew that he was ok and not the one crying. That even after all the mean things that I wrote, I still was the one who was hurt.
This is honestly the fourth time for me writing this blog, I keep trying to censor my thoughts and my feelings. What I am reading doesn't sound like me. Today I got a less than lovely comment from an anonymous reader, which was just another icky gross aspect of the day that I adoringly call Tuesday. I didn't want to write another blog just to see it attacked again. This blog is my diary, my innermost thoughts go into it. So when there is slander against me and my blog I feel upset. Luckily, as I am a blogger loved by all, these set backs will not stop me from doing what I love. Writing. I love to write. Today a friend told me that it must take so much dedication to blog everyday. It may seem like a chore to some, but when it is something that you love to do there is no essence of "work" whatsoever. I am telling you, yes all five of you who read this blog, that I will keep on writing. That hopefully the posts will get better, my writing will improve, and that I can entertain you guys with my thoughts. I love writing for you all.
Today is the day to accept the process of growing up (yes, that even includes the big hairy parts)
Tonight is the night to center myself, and
Tomorrow is the day to be the best blogger I can possibly be :)
Have you ever dealt with a situation that seems to be so overwhelmingly cosmic, you have no other choice to believe that it was a divine intervention? My friends, this was one was of those days. I woke up early, eager to cleanse myself of the negative events of the weekend. The best possible way of cleansing my soul that I am aware of is running. So I got up and I ran. I ran when the sun was just rising, when the Earth was damp and cold from the night time air, when I was the sole individual on campus. I put all of my emotions, all of my thoughts, all of my being into this run. It was amazing, to say the least. My head felt reattached to my body, the clearheaded Rach was back, and ready for the day. With newfound energy I popped back into my room, quickly showered and dressed, and then was on my merry way to breakfast (my favorite part of the morning!) That quiet morning did not foreshadow what was to unfold later on today.
After classes I found myself in the library, reading a book that many of you may be well aware of called "He's Just Not That Into You". Yes, there in the self-help section of the library I was splayed on the ground, head bolstered by my backpack, book resting on my stomach. There I lie on the dirty library floor in between the how to raise a child books and life after divorce books, plunging the whole worth of my consciousness into this little book. This little miracle book. I felt as if the book were speaking to me directly. Like the author reached through the feebly assembled words and slapped my face with the most daunting aspect of a relationship, the truth. It was here, on this day that I read the words "if he's not calling you, he's just not that into you". What a marvelous idea yet so simple. The events of the weekend seemed to shine like a beacon of hope in my heart. He. Is. Not. Interested. Move on, Rachie ol' pal. Find someone who will not stand you up, someone who arrives twenty minutes early for a date just because they could not wait to see you, one that would have asked for your phone number after the first night they met you. A guy who could not wait twenty four hours to call you and ask you out to tea (because I don't drink coffee).
Then, a kismet force a fortuitous shock of energy vibrated my spirit...or it was my cell phone going off in my backpack which I was still using as a makeshift pillow, just call me Mrs. McGiver. Of all the people in the entire world to text me, it was the guy who stood me up. I know, right? Scandal. Look out Carrie Bradshaw because Rach the blogger is here to tell you all just what went down. Want to know the best part of this whole story? He reads this blog and will probably read this little vignette. This guy had the nerve to ask me out to lunch, after having left me hanging high and dry on Friday without even the glimpse of an apology. At first I was going to make up an excuse, then I was going to make a joke, finally as my last resource I decided to use the truth. The ugly naked truth that I had been avoiding for so long. I asked myself: Rach, how do you feel about this? I felt angry. I did. The best part in my response to the text messages was that I was truthful, that I let him know that hey he hurt me, and that no I would not be available for lunch. But best of all I let him know that I. Am. Not. Interested. Then I dropped the f-bomb, the grand daddy of curse words, the "f dash dash dash" word.
His texts became more and more panicked in his realization of what he had done. That yes, in fact, Rach experiences the full spectrum of human emotions and that smile on my face is sometimes a facade. The apologies he sent were feckless, they have no meaning to me. Why? Because I am so over it. I am so over with dealing with caca that seems just to fall out of guy's mouths, the kind that you are supposed to believe. That you, as a girl, are supposed to wait there like a pretty china doll on the shelf only to be looked at and played with when beneficial for their sake. Nope, that is not how it is going to go down. I am a very strong girl, I have taken care of myself for a long time, but most of all I am smart. I know the difference between being pursued and being strung along. So for my health and my happiness I ended it, whatever it was. It has ceased and I feel relieved. I have realized that I would rather be very much single than tangled in a web of a murky quasi-relationship.
I will say it again: I am not interested! I am not! I am, essentially, free! My self-esteem no longer rests upon his decision to talk to me about whatever was going on in his life.
So, here is to chatting it up with John the Starbucks barrista who continuously upgrades my tall Chai Tea Latte to a grande, free of charge. The same guy who complimented me on my eating carrots.
Here is to the cute guy outside of a dorm on the other side of campus who looked me straight in the eye and smiled at me. Hours from that moment I finally came down from cloud nine because, oh boy, was he cute.
Here is to the guy in the dining hall who offered me a fork.
Here is to the frat guy who complimented me on my curly hair.
Here is to the guy who will one day sweep me off of my feet and say I am interested in you, my darling blogging Rach.
And now for an excerpt of "He's Just Not That Interested in You"
"One night I was drinking in a bar and flirting with the bartender. I asked for her number. She said, "I don't give out my phone number because guys rarely call me when they say they're going to. My name is Lindsey Adams, and if you want to call me, find my phone number." Which I did -the very next day. Do you know how many Lindsey Adams there are in the phone book of a major city? Let's just say I talked to about eight or nine before I found mine.
An actor we work with met a girl while he was making a public appearance on an aircraft carrier. he lost track of her in about ten minutes. And yet, because he was so smitten, he somehow managed to track her down in the army, and they are now married."
"A friend of mine told a story about a date with a guy she was really excited about: He stood her up. He then called her, begging her forgiveness and giving some excuse. She told him to get lost, telling him that he only gets one shot with her, and he blew it.
P.S. One could say she cleared the path for the next guy, who didn't blow it and is now married to her and treats her like a queen."
Today I did my usual technology laundry, returning e-mails, commenting on newly tagged facebook pictures, and especially maintaining this little blog. After yesterday's little rant and raid about the whole being stood up thing, there were many comments and e-mails offering words of wisdom, condolences, and an overall acknowledgement of this lone guy's lack of respect. I was also notified that my blog had been linked to someone's tumblr account, because I have super secret powers in viewing the amount of hits my blog receives and where they come from. I was curious, to say the least, who was recognizing my silly little blog on their tumblr page, especially because I do not even have an active tumblr account. . It happened to be my sister's. My lovely, beautiful, musically talented sister whom I love with my whole heart. The fact of the matter is that she was not too happy with yesterday's events either. Proof that blood really is thicker than water. So, this blog is dedicated to her.
My sister is my best friend.
Without an inkling of a doubt, I bestow to her the title of 'best friend'. We get along so well, even though we are separated by four years. The strangest part is that we are so different in character, appearance, and interests, yet we are inseparable when I am home from college. To start off, she is tall. Taller than me, in fact. This little factoid is one that she will never let me forget, since I am the older of the two of us. She is also a wonderful dresser. She has her own unique style that unduly expresses her equally unique personality. She has even made some of her own pieces of clothing, clothing that looks as if it were taken off the shelf of Forever 21. With her funky little Oxford shoes, love for dresses, and disdain for jewelry she exudes confidence in herself, a confidence that I am not sure that I will ever develop. I am blessed to have her as a sister because I would have never dressed in a socially acceptable style like I do now.
My sister has the best taste in music.
Hands down. She is always subjecting my ears to some newfound artist or group, many of which turn out being fantastic. She introduced me to Florence and the Machine and Arcade Fire. The latter of the two being my absolute favorite-without-a-doubt-couldn't-live-a-day without group. Her nose crinkles in disgust at the sound of Lady Gaga, Justin Bieber, and heaven forbid Taylor Swift. Without her, I would never have been as musically inclined as I am today, and for that I am truly grateful.
My sister makes the best salsa.
My sister also makes me laugh. The kind of laughter that is uncontrollable in which tears and a rather large stomach pain ensue from it. What do we laugh about? I have no idea. Sometimes from the crazy things I say, sometimes from a funny picture of the two of us, and sometimes from the inside stories that we share. We watch SNL together, which inspires much of our funny moments, not from watching the show, but from using funny lines from the show in our own lives.
My sister likes tea.
My sister and I like to go to Starbucks and meander in stores, sipping whatever tea concoction that we have ordered. We look at clothes, furniture, boys (I try to embarrass her on this aspect but always end up looking like a crazy person), and books. She usually has to deal with the hyper behavior that I display after having too much caffeine, leading to a many interpretive dances to random songs at red lights as we drive off from a day well spent doing nothing. We once spent an afternoon reading a book in Target that had unusual little facts. Did you know that Hitler had an obsession with hands and that he carried a notebook of sketches of famous people's hands? My sister knows that.
My sister is beautiful.
Check out her tumblr for those who wish to be musically inclined or those who are fans of Arcade Fire.
Yesterday I was stood up for a lunch date. Rest assured reader that you did read that last sentence correctly. I was in fact stood up, left waiting around like an idiot for a guy who obviously had more important matters to take care of. I was nothing but a bug to be crushed to this guy. You see, I liked this guy. I thought he was such a wonderful person and a great match for a girl like me. He was smart, liked to read, liked sports, and actually respected my intelligence along with my silly thoughts. We would talk about books, including those written by Nicholas Sparks. I know, right? A guy who actually reads and one who also openly admits to reading "chick lit". Sounded too good to be true, nevertheless the truth shined on and like a moth drawn to an open flame, I was drawn to him. Not to mention our compatibility, we both cried at the same parts of movies, talked openly about God and faith, I liked to bake and he liked to eat (ok now that last one is a stretch), but I felt like I had actually found a decent guy.
It turns out that I do not like to have my heart played around with, its this strange notion that I do not like to walk around suffering from emotional turmoil. That is a phenomenon that I truly believe that we can all relate to. A heart that is yearning for affection and yet receives a cold shoulder. It feels like a punch in the stomach, a vile sneer, and even a bad case of nausea all rolled into one big fat hairy ball of pain, discomfort, and eventual depression. All in all, a horrible feeling. So, I had made plans with this dream guy yesterday to dine together and catch up, like friends do. We texted our plans, plans of which I thought were rather simple to carry through. I spent the day hanging around the dorm, waiting for him to call. Heck, it wouldn't have mattered if he texted me, e-mailed me, or sent a messenger pigeon to let me know that he was finally available and ready for our lunch. Sadly, neither a text or a pigeon came to my aide yesterday. Neither did he.
Instead, like stupid foolish pre-teen girl I waited for this guy. You see, this whole waiting around thing is not really my style. I am in charge of practically everything. I am the president of a student organization recognized and funded by my university, am a peer mentor and tutor for the university's men's basketball team, a future resident assistant, the author of my own blog, and a freelance blogger for another blog site. I call the shots. But, most of all, I wait for no one. Unless you happen to be a very cute, smart, sensitive guy only then will I make an exception. I will step out of my comfort zone of being in control, being the boss of myself and everyone else around me and let this dream guy take charge. In doing this, I feel vulnerable, uncomfortable, and overall out of control.This sense of being out of control is...blech. That's the best way I can possibly put it. So, I let this fellow have this control and he dropped the ball to say the least. He left me wondering, waiting, and contemplating the reasons that could possibly be true in his not calling. My looks? Maybe. My character? Possibly. I have no idea what I did to deserve this, it is a conundrum in which I believe that I will never solve.
To make matters worse, I ran into him at the Relay for Life event that I participated in last night. What the heck was I supposed to do? By nature I am a non-confrontational gal, I do not like picking fights whatsoever. Leading me to act like nothing was bothering me and greeting him with a warm affectionate hug. I should have punched him in the throat. Instead, I plastered a smile to my face and pretended like I wasn't hurt. But I was. I admit it. He hurt my feelings. His actions made me question my self-esteem and made me feel like a worthless heap of trash. The thing about wronging a girl who writes is that ultimately you will end up in a blog. Actual events and my perceptions of them will collide into a heated mesh of words, a topic that I know quite a bit about. I am a little like Taylor Swift in that regard, but instead of songs about guys I write blogs about guys. I will one day gain the strength to give him a heaping slice of my mind with a large dollop of disdain as a garnish. To quote Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman": "Big mistake. Big. Huge."
I am running on 3 hours of sleep and a sore heart today.
Thanksgiving is one of the loveliest holidays, at least in my opinion. Families gather, a gourmet dinner is prepared, and best of all time is spent with loved ones. We can all admit that life can get a little crazy. Better yet, it can get tremendously crazy for us college students with exams, papers, research, community service, what have you. Thanksgiving is a tool that we use to reconnect with our values, all the while making beautiful memories with the most special people on the planet. As I was flipping through various food blogs, in search of a new recipe, I came across a Sweet Potato Pie Oatmeal dish. It sounded too good to be true. Yet, as I read on the sheer genius of the recipe came to be, a breakfast dish that has strong roots with a traditional Thanksgiving dish. Healthy, sweet, and reminiscent of Thanksgiving, the only problem was that I have spent nineteen years on this planet without having known that this oatmeal existed. As far as I am concerned, that is a lot of time and eating to make up! My stomach fell a little bit in love with the images of the dish, leading to my decision to embark on a culinary adventure and make this oatmeal and came face to face with heaven.
Unfortunately, since I live in a residence hall, I do not have the means to recreate this divine oatmeal. The original recipe calls for stove-top oats and a broiler, both of which I lack. But, with faith and a pinch of confidence, I set off on a challenge to adapt the recipe to a microwave-only-awesome-college recipe. Was I successful? Yes! Which means that you can do it too, so wipe that incredulous look off your face and smile. You are about to make and eat something wonderful! While I had no oven to use in order to broil the oatmeal for that crunchy topping, I found ways to add a little crunch and wholesome goodness to a breakfast that is sure to start anyone's day off right. I mean, come on, it's a breakfast food that tastes like sweet potato pie!! In addition to the amazing taste, this breakfast is packed full of nutrition. The sweet potato jump starts your immune system with a healthy dose of vitamin C and antioxidants, while the banana feeds your muscles with a powerful serving of potassium (great for runners like me!), and the oatmeal is a great serving of grains. There is little added sugar since the banana serves as a sweetener that is echoed by the flavors from the pumpkin pie spices. Adding nuts bumps up the serving of protein, ensuring that you will be full and stay full. As an added bonus, this breakfast is quick and cheap. The sweet potato was .50 cents! The oatmeal was around $2 (for ten packages) the banana was taken from the dining hall, and the spices were left over from my well known pumpkin bread that I make every Thanksgiving. I made over thirty loaves this past Thanksgiving for everyone on my floor, but I digress.
1 small sweet potato
1 small banana
2 packages instant oatmeal
Pumpkin Pie spice (or cinammon, nutmeg, etc)
Water or milk (to cook oatmeal)
Granola (optional topping)
Walnuts (optional topping)
Cut sweet potato in half. Poke holes in the potato, ensuring that all surfaces have a means to vent. Cook potato in the microwave for 4min-4.5min (depends on the size of the potato and strength of microwave).
Cut the cook potato in half length wise, allow to cool.
Chop up half of the small banana, mash in a small bowl with a fork.
Scrape the sweet potato into the bowl with the banana and mix/mash well.
Add two packages of the instant oatmeal to a bowl along with milk or water. Cook as directed. I cooked mine for about 2 minutes.
Stir oatmeal into the sweet potato, banana mixture. Stir in seasoning (pumpkin pie spice, cinnamon, nutmeg, or whatever you have on hand).
Chop up remaining banana and garnish the top of your lovely oatmeal. Sprinkle a little more spice on top. Feel free to add granola, raisins, or nuts for extra goodness.
Voila! A healthy decadent breakfast!
I scarfed half of the oatmeal down, saving some for tomorrow! By the way, this oatmeal tastes wonderful the next day cold, especially when you add a little crunch to it!
Tonight is Relay For Life, I will be walking for over 12 hours, hoo ha!!
Two Mama duckies that built their nests right outside the dorm. I noticed them after a long morning run and have been visiting them ever since. I also sneak them pieces of bread from the dining hall and feed these two lovely ladies. These poor soon-to-be-mothers sit on their nests all day, through that massive rainstorm yesterday and in the blazing sun, I thought bringing them a couple of slices of bread could possibly help out. Anyways, I now feel like one of those crazy pigeon feeding old ladies who wear funny hats and talk to the birds. I do talk to my ducks, for my own benefit really since I fear that one day they will attack my face and bight my nose off. If there is anything that I do know about well, anything, is that Mothers are territorial by nature. Evident in when I approach Ms. Marie Antoinette who hissed at me and dauntingly spread her wings. She seemed better though when I tossed her a couple of pieces of stale dining hall bread. It was due to this first encounter that I decided to name her Marie Antoinette, because the duck's got spunk and moxie. Chesney on the other hand is very sweet and relaxed, I thought it was appropriate to name her something that reminds me of the south, country accents and all.
Readers be warned, if you see a rather tall girl crawling around the bushes, it's just your good ol' pal Rach. I figured if I am destined to be a crazy bird feeding lady, I might as well get a head start.
I can always tell when a day is going to be magnificent, mostly because the dining hall graced me with my all time favorite food. Carrots! I had raw carrots as a part of my lunch and delicious steamed carrots as a side to my dinner, which I am sorry to say was tuna casserole. I honestly plugged my nose a little bit while eating it. Blech. Fish. Nevertheless, I am just happy that today was the day to eat carrots. :)
Anyways, I was thinking (it is dangerous when I do that) today of what it will be like when I am older. I wish I knew, like I had a little sneak peak into the future. It would calm my nerves about whether or not I am a productive citizen in the world or, living in my room up until I am thirty. Oh please let it not be the latter. I think it sounds terribly fun to be a grown up, to finally be independent and on your own. I know that it is not going to be all fun, but a part in me wants to believe that. So, I let it.
I hope that when I am in my 50s + I will be... flamboyant. I could just see myself now, hair long down to my waist, wearing a bohemian skirt, with bangles running up and down my arms. I would have about 70 dogs and perhaps a cat or two. My husband (I hope this doesn't jinx my chances by saying that I will have one, but oh well this is my blog after all) will be a normal hardworking American. Clean-cut and a lover of apple pie. An apple pie that I will make using the ingredients I have grown in my own garden, thank you very much. He will love me and I will love him. I will love his funny polos and he will love my funny face. He will have to be the normal one in the relationship, since I am already a little...strange (but in that adorable absent minded professor way). We will go to Paris for my 75th birthday. I will still bake, actually I will bake all of the time. I will sing with my 70 dogs while baking. I will speak French. I will walk down the street in my bare feet, decorated with henna, with my swishing skirt sashaying between my ankles. No doubt, I will continue to feed and talk to ducks. I will start to write books, but never finish them. I will travel, but always find my way home. I won't dye my hair, instead it will be a silvery halo, which I will pin back into a chignon while I am baking or doing crossword puzzles (because I think they are so much fun!). I will continue to practice yoga and meditate, maybe with a little more gusto than I do now. More likely than not, I will still be spilling my soul into this blog for the world to read (or not, I really can't influence free will). My face would wrinkle, body parts would sag, and age spots would appear. But, best of all, I will be happy. That is one thing, reader, that I can guarantee. My smile, yes the smile that I am known for will remain. Oh, and who can forget that laugh of mine. That I'll keep. My husband adores it.
Hello old friend, I like to start our notes off as if we are the oldest and dearest friends, do you know that line from "You've Got Mail"? Now that the day is done, I find myself studying and listening to sappy, yet sweet love songs. I can't help myself when it comes to love songs- or what they really are is a procession of melodies entwined with soulful lyrics that make my heart go pitter-patter. One of my dear friends shared with me a touching interview of a couple whose love for each other truly tests the ends of time. The man, old in age now, writes his lady a love note every morning and leaves it for her to read. He explains how being married to someone he loves is the best thing that has ever happened to him, because he knows that whatever happens to him during the day he has someone waiting with a hug and a kiss for him at home. It was really challenging not to cry during the animated clip, especially as I am a romantic at heart. Shamelessly, I will sit here with my legs furled up underneath me, my body coddled in an oversize sweatshirt from high school, feeling sentimental and "lovey-dovey", as I continue listening to love songs while studying. What better way to spend the evening than to have hope revived that one day I will find someone that will write me love notes every morning?
Truthfully, I believe that everyone is searching for a relationship like the one depicted in the video. I sit in the dining hall, the library, lecture halls, and on random benches and the same conversation is continuously discussed, a conversation that is wholly devoted to one subject. Love. Love me tender. Love, love me do. Love lifts us up where we belong. As to paraphrase Seinfeld, yadda yadda yadda. From the vain sorority girls, to the social activist chick, everyone is talking about l-o-v-e, love. I suppose it is one of our greatest purposes in life, to find that one someone to create a bond that is like not other, one in which all of our fears and anxieties can rest upon. While our dreams may not all be to have that white-picket fence framed house in the suburbs, we can at least admit, if just for a moment, that love is the driving force behind much of our behavior and sense of purpose on this silly little planet. So, that tough guy in the gym, your English professor, lackadaisical brother, weird roommate, and beautiful best friend are all looking for love. Oh, and so am I!
Until the fireworks and wedding bells, enjoy the video.
On this particularly cloudy afternoon, I found myself sheltered in a cozy corner of the campus bookstore. After a stressful day of classes and the lovely rain storm that blessed us this morning with sheets of horizontal rain and claps of thunder, I was set on a quest for solitude. I sought a place of refuge where my worries, endless negative thoughts, and troubles would melt off my tense shoulders into a puddle beside me on the floor. While I contemplated various favorite spots of mine on campus I decided that today the bookstore would be my hero. As soon as I pulled the heavy double doors open, I could feel a wave of relief. Shelves of books cooed my worrisome heart with sweet words of support and love, drawing me into the depths of the labyrinth-like maze of bookshelves. Moments later, the racing thoughts about deadlines, exams, lack of both a boyfriend and a career path ceased. Sent to a time-out, my mind was cleared of the thoughts that weigh me down and a new Rach emerged. A sweet smile spread across my rain-mussed face as I wandered down each aisle, my eyes adoringly caressing the spine of each book that I passed. Eventually, I made it to the top floor where I chose a quaint, quiet table to read at.
Reading, better yet, reading for enjoyment. What a wonderful concept. From my rain sodden backpack I wrestled out a new book that I have been indulging my senses to this past week. Rented from the library, it has no appealing cover artwork, no special graphics, and is quite the unassuming book. I cradle my solid black cover book and run my finger along the gold embroidery. A wave of excitement rushes over me when I crack open the book, feeling the weight of the pages stretch the spine. Glorious, purely and simply glorious. I delve into the story and suddenly the world slowly vanishes. Then, I am lost completely. My spirit flows between the lines of the pages, twirling and pirouetting on each vowel, while flirting effervescently with each consonant. My mind hungers with each turn of the page, wondering what will happen if I just read one more, one teensy bit more. My world is wholly and unfathomably united with this literary world. What the character sees and hears, I too see and hear. The interruption of a cell phone or the bustling of the coffee shop slowly rustles my consciousness from deep below the waters of my temporary literary coma. With great care, I break the surface where reality and fiction meet, and with a breath am revived.
I was especially craving a good read today after meeting with one of my Psychology classes, in which we discussed the process of self-actualizing. While the whole process is somewhat elusive, self-actualization is the attainment of one's true self in which one understands without a shadow of doubt what talents, skills, and special interests separates them from the rest of the world. My professor is a dear old man who stands a little shy of 5'8". His shoulders are slumped forward, his face is of a ruddy complexion, and he wears a different colored flannel shirt everyday. Today, he asked the class to raise our hands if we enjoyed reading. I acquiesced to his request and lifted my hand, only to see that most of the class had their hand up also. Comforted by the fact that I was surrounded by so many of my peers who enjoyed reading as much as I did, I began thinking of how seldom I read for enjoyment. How often do I sit down and actually throw myself into a book? Quite frankly, never. I am usually so focused on academics that I let the small aspects of life, like reading, pass me by. I make lists of books that I intend to read, rent many from the library, and download a few onto my Kindle, but I never sit down and read. I found this very upsetting. I did not understand how I could let something that is such a part of me, something that I identify myself with waste away. I am so concerned with time and not having enough time that my life, the only life that I am given, is leaving me. As important as school is, I am beginning to learn that there is a world far outside of academics. Now is my chance to escape.
So, I read. I read shamelessly as the pile of homework wailed in my backpack, hurling insults and harsh words at me for abandoning it. Yet, I found the strength to ignore the yelps and do something for myself. Books that I read become part of my identity, they shape who I am and birth new ideas. Without books and reading I would not be me. I can tell you, dear friend, that this afternoon was one of the most productive afternoons that I have yet to meet. For in this afternoon, I found a piece of my soul, stuck there between chapters three and four of a book.