spam

I ate Spam for the first time tonight. Ehh...it was ok. It's just the chicken nuggets of pork--"What part of the pig did this come from? Oh. I don't care; It tastes pork-y." Plus, it comes in a can, and, though I risk botulism, I don't fear every subsequent itch as the onset of trichinosis.

always hopeful for a time when I don't write things like this

sitting here out-of-shape, homely
numb with everything

a body and will that betray me

a talker/writer but not a doer

a mind so sick and small
i'm not sure what i want
that's a lie
i want what everybody wants
recogntion, caring

so selfish still

i just want to matter
to say worthy things

kill a neurosis
read a book
have faith
someone to love
someone to love me

i want to be someone else

ipod charging
cold feet beneath an electric blanket
noise canceling headphones donned
wardrobe in the closet
typing at computer
-the blessed life, you know


self-aware of the ego consuming all

had a similar crisis in london
some voice just kept repeating,
"get out of yourself"
insight is a bit stale now
maybe, i'll do that mission trip
concerning future,
it's one of only a few respectable
things I have to talk about

highs of life:
music
laughing

i want God on the list
but i don't try hard enough

i'm defensive too
i do want to change
become what i'm supposed to be in Christ

though, for now i just feel
that i have to go back to fundamentals
be honest

i'm not a good christian
not a good male
not a good student
not a good learner

so I'm incongruent
the answer isn't lying about where i'm at
or running away from those ideals

i don't want affirmation
and change seems impossible
so i just go numb
and this rut stretches into the future

sex talk

I told my counselor (I used “therapist” in a recent post before I remembered I don’t aspire to write chick-lit) that I wanted to be more open about sex-y stuff. I may have been raving though, imagining throwing discreteness to the wind like I wanted to get everyone’s attention at the party and then vomit all of my chaos onto the dance floor.

He kinda shook his head. He grabbed a white board (these people draw A LOT—who knew psychology was so spatial?). Three concentric circles later, he was explaining to me that some stuff you share with only the small, inner circle, other stuff with the middle circle, and even less with the biggest circle.

It didn’t feel like the right time to say, “But Anne Lamott says...”

All in all, I think he wanted me to intellectualize it, psychologize it—but I just kept thinking, "That's your job."

His cross-examination made me a little more hopeful, though—like he’s on to something: these things get better when they’re talked through soberly and with insight. Jokes are there, but only to grease the wheels, not to divert attention. This, IMHO, is more of what churches and Christian schools like mine need: sex to be talked about in a way that’s honest and captivating without being ridiculously solemn or too wink-wink silly. It should be talked about the way it's actually lived--in all its complicated facets.

So I’ve put my brain to the task, coming up with some more to say for my next session. I’d tell you, but I just can’t be sure that you’re in the smallest circle.

fun with international law notes

Premature recognition – It’s common and even normal for States your age. Not to be fretted over too much; it’s probably psychological. Perhaps, recognize yourself shortly before multilateral talks are expected. Also, consider using two envoys.

this is what nancy gets for having me bail her out and sharing notes for the textbook she hasn't received yet

my excuses for not dating

-I’m a terrible driver

One turn in the wrong direction down a one-way street or one running of a red light and s/he’s gonna wish s/he stayed home to study. I also get lost, hopelessly, hopelessly, a-new-10-minute-drive-takes-me-30-minutes, lost.

-$20 Movie Tickets

 It’s only $10 when I’m single.

-Ratio Problems

 50/50: you talk/me talk. A conversation is not your consecutive responses to 10 of my questions.

-Sports

I will not play football with your brother. I’ve never watched ESPN; I have no idea what you’re dad is talking about.

-I like my alone time 

My ideal weekend is one spent in my underwear…alone, at home and accompanied by my programs, an ice machine, and limitless diet soda.


-If only I could still wear a bib
 
Have you ever seen me eat a burrito? Imagine a mitten-wearing Helen Keller at Santanas. 

but if those aren't a problem (I will yield to pre-feminist/egalitarian tradition on the movie tickets, though)...send me your number!

school has started again

This time there is hope, though. It’s my 8^th and final semester. Oh, the friends, eating out, and all of the talks are fun. There are just these damn classes to arrive at on time and those indomitable papers that I would pay hundreds of dollars to avoid

Reading the syllabus for one of my classes, paying particular attention to the section enumerating all of the requirements for the 30%-of-your-grade writing assignment, I muttered a low and dejected "fuck."

The class: Doctrine of Holiness

obsessed with youth

another election, another series of articles in the media about youth involvement, usually on the DNC side. college-age types have never tipped an election and they never will. young twenty-somethings aren't an omen nor the thin end of the electoral victory wedge and readers shouldn't let writers imply it.