You are currently browsing the monthly archive for September 2009.

i want to hit all the buttons on the vhs at once. trust me, its a good movie. i want to rewind to the weekend in portland. or further back to other weekends in other places. play to keep moving. but pause because

i cant even do things like write in a blog daily

or collect myself…make sure i’m REALLY ready to enjoy, be in the day.

play.

wait, no fast forward..to other things, such as

-grad school at PSU…yes the interview went well. if i at least pass the GRE, mail off the application, i should be returning to student status next september.

-kenya. as their intern. an amazing opportunity has maybe found itself in my lap.

however, these are all speculations. its that horrible place to exist.

in-between. i hate that place; it’s like standing inside a cardboard box while its raining and you’re kind of dry, but hoping it stops soon

but because you’re seeking some kind of warmth and dryness,

you stay in the box

and so the ending of the rain, remains completely speculative.

bleh. to speculation. to the place that is somewhere

and yet

nowhere.

tomorrow is train day. train to portland. for several reasons. mostly though to get away.(but i promise to write about psu)i keep wondering if this will be the magical three days i’ll return and feel “rested.” will i come back filled with abundant patience and kindness? will i? will i?

im tired of feeling disconnected from what i am passionate about. i could quote years of myself journaling about this persistent epidemic i seem to never quite kick. what does is mean to be CONNECTED?
i am like my computer battery that cannot hold a charge on its own if its life depended on it. it must always be plugged in….

i think more than anything, if my already lack of consistent writing does not evident, that i lack what it takes to maintain myself on the outside. i lose interest. i want to do nothing but disengage my mind. i can hardly read because the words on a page quickly blur. my mind is too full
but it is not emptying itself.
it only empties, i remind myself, when i let the words out.

stephanie, who i’m spending a long weekend in portland with,
keeps talking about the sabbath
and spiritual discipline in general
based on a book she’s reading, which i may need to own. i hope she will
continue to proselytize me with it.
i want to stop the singeing of my soul
before its too black. without flavor.
without life.

maybe she is on to something worthwhile.

really that’s all i can think about.

is going back. my heart beats faster…its a crush that started when i least expected…at moody’s mission conference of all places. i hate when trying to remember an experience, the details seem to constantly slip…fade..but i can remember

.the first time i met laraba and painting her hand with gentian violet

.bringing estha to play with kids in blindtown

.the fulani market. i have no idea where. but there were bright pink and purple wrapped braids; 2 men with canes and sunglasses resembling the blind mice. one tall. one short.

.the fulani man wearing a blue cap sitting off to the side in the village.

.how the streets smelled. walking on them and jumping over where slabs of cement were missing.

.the taxis. the first one i rode in with rain water splashing up as the floor board was missing. one broke down and left us to fend for ourselves.

.the mattresses…on top of the van as we again, went somewhere i cant remember. but the 2nd village we went to, there was a women with the most intricately tattooed face. singing drunkenly to us. but before that there were yellow yams.

.yellow plastic bags.

.the {illegal} achebe rides.

.long talks over apple chamomile tea and hob nobs…

.feeling abandoned by christianity. unable to identify with how i thought i was supposed to react or what i was meant to represent.

it was just me and estha in the hospital room.

and she wouldn’t let go of my hand.

i just ate a piece of dove chocolate that reminded me to steal 5 minutes for myself which reminded me its 10.30, i need to write 10 minutes. this morning in passdown (my daily 8 am meeting) a co-worker stated that if the printer wasn’t working she might as well not even be here since there was nothing she could get done.
really. oh if only i could say
‘no body feels like coming into treatment, i’m going to…’

go to a morning yoga class
re-eat breakfast…with coffee and a book
write my proposal to anna of why i should go to kenya
probably not GRE study
meander lincoln park in west seattle
maybe even jump on the ferry to vashon
drink a really jammy glass of wine
make a skirt
call Britt
make something lentil…i’ve been craving them lately

BUT
i’m in this chair, in front of this computer
with 3 open bedlists.
and too many available beds.

again i wonder
why dont more social workers have charming blogs like
this
or
this

last may someone hit and totaled my car…the one that took me from jackson to nebraska to dc, settling (for the time) in seattle. so i now bike. i refuse to wear the proper gear. i cant do it. it may go for a faster, smoother ride, but i cant stand the thought of those
shorts
the tacky shirts
did i mention the shorts
i did, however, buy a pink sparkly helmet…one that looks more appropriate if i were riding a scooter or skateboard. nothing aerodynamic.
just plain girlie.
which is exactly what i was going for. to subtly stick out. to be distinctly feminine.
true i may look like a bubble gum head
but in a city where women tend to look more androgynous
i’m taking one for the team on this one. i spent hard years on the playground
trying to get the boys to treat me like one of them

mehhh.

i’m done.
please treat me like a lady.

i thought i would have my new computer cord so i could write at home last night, but alas maybe today will be the lucky day?

i’ve been spending a great deal of time explaining what i’m planning on doing with the next segment of my life. and talking about social justice. alot. i already feel exhausted of it.
but in talking you meet people with similar interests. insights. and instead of being excited at the networking i often feel jealous.
i’ve been debating going to the faith, film, and justice film festival in october. voicing this to my roommate, i began to dissect what exactly ‘puts me out.’

1.yes, i do feel a little self righteous in my cause, easily annoyed by people who are involved because the trend calls them to be. those who talk out of ignorance. (i really don’t want to be associated with them) so instead of correcting, challenging, ignoring, i alienate myself. i choose silence. and sometimes my silence only defeans me.

2.jealousy. there will always be somebody who is doing what i want to be doing. and even doing it “better.” they are well received, well connected, blah, blah, blah. yes i am envious of where they are (yes in my eyes) versus where i am (a bit stuck in the mud). so maybe instead of letting the jealousy build bitter rocks in my soul, i will mingle, rub shoulders, allow myself to be inspired. i alone can do no change. they alone can do no change.
oh
and i too have a voice worth hearing
but they can only hear it when i speak.
and i need to be in their presence for them to hear.
my calendar is marked for Oct 15-18.

jesus girls. a reading of growing up evangelical and female. that’s where i was last night. but its always the after party that is more enjoyable. i did buy the book, out of solidarity to the cause. i too am a ‘jesus girl,’ to coin the phrase. i am part of a circle surviving misconstrued sexual repression, bad exegesis, etc. we exist in more places than you know.
and what we
jesus girls carry with us is unique experiences. seen in the moment as godliness, in retrospect, the beginning of a spiritual unraveling. because truth is, we knew the proper answers (when in doubt, it’s Jesus), we just never knew how our realities would alter when the bottom fell out of our poorly made fishing boats.

oh the afterparty…
jesus girls do drinks right.

i was told to start a blog about nonsense so it seems appropriate to for the first entry to be about the beginning of my blogging career. aside from the brief relationship i had with xanga in 2003.
ok intentions (perhaps goals):

1. write for 10 minutes everyday (i may observe the sabbath)
2. see if this can continue for two months straight
3. tell somebody about it.

i often lay in bed at night composing beautiful thoughts and people being moved by my eloquently written prose.and then somehow when it comes to actually putting the words floating down in my brain on paper (or a computer screen) i stage fright. actually a counselor once told me i have too many filters in which words must pass before they become reality, something tangible for people to grasp. so if i really want someone to hear the chaos in my brain,

i must
write. write. write. for 10 minutes
and perhaps it will turn into 20, if the day allows.