I just finished my first assignment of the semester: writing my spiritual journey and how it relates to non-Christians and my relationship with the secular media.
Though corny, I really like writing out these things. My heart feels vulnerable. I want everyone to read it because it’s my story. But it’s long and overwhelming for the masses. So I decided I’ll give you the option.
There is no Ultimate Frisbee team at my school. I sort of tried to start a team last year, and I’m hoping to start one this year. The problem is — I don’t have a lot of free time now as it is. I can’t imagine what it would be like to start up a team here. But there is a dire need.
There is a lot of interest in Ultimate. Intramural season is coming up and there are at least six teams. The problem is, they don’t play by UPA (Ultimate Players Association) rules. They don’t realize, but it makes it a whole lot harder for themselves when they make up their own lame rules.
I was playing with several of the guys the other night when one announced that they’d be adhering to one of the UPA’s rules — if you drop the Frisbee on a “kickoff” it’s a turnover. But the stall count is still fast and three seconds short. They play with more than seven per team on the field. They don’t want to learn the stack offense. And they sure as heck can’t throw — heaven forbid they listen to a girl.
Call me a Frisbee elitist, but this girl happens to play tournaments with two well-established teams (Las Positas College and Solid Gold). Teams that play in tournaments all over the nation. I’m not saying that I’m necessarily good, but I listen and learn from those who are good. Why won’t they listen to me? Why won’t they adhere to all the UPA rules and not just some? WHY MUST I BE SURROUNDED BY INCOMPETENCE?!?!
Okay, so that’s a little drastic. I still play with nice people. But I am losing my desire to play when I’m at school, let alone start up a team.
For more pictures from Discos Calientes 2005, click here.
For the past few days I can’t stop spying on people. MySpace. It’s a high school reunion at your fingertips, minus the stress of finding the perfect outfit to wear to make everyone jealous. I keep hoping that people will have reached their peak of being popular and beautiful. But there is no peak, at least not yet. I guess that will come with the next decade. There is one person who looks really washed up, and, sadly to say, that makes me feel a little better about myself.
I have to remind myself that we don’t want the same things from life. And that they’re not even funny! All those times they laughed in high school, I just sat there thinking how shallow they were.
But I’ve changed, too. I’m not as self-righteous (I hope) and I am becoming more of a people person. Maybe we would get along. Maybe not. Part of me wants another chance. And then another part of me realizes that I’m feeding into what made them popular in the first place. I’m just one of the ones that no one pines to be like. Slowly, with continual convincing, that is becoming okay with me.
Blog entries like this almost make me wish I dated in the bar scene. Key word: almost. But really I think I’m attracted to how well it was written. Often I respond to good writing as if it were an attractive member of the opposite sex. And the fact that my life often seems uninteresting.
So I just went to the bathroom. (Sorry to start off a post with that. I guess it’s a poor attemt to be like Her Dooceness.) But I looked at my underwear and it instantly made me smile. I like the patchwork pinky-red flower and the boycut style.
I used to be ashamed of girly underwear. My drawer looked like a TV with bad reception: black, white or gray. All cotton. No color. No designs. One time I got seamless underwear and that’s about as exciting as it got.
It was like this until the summer before I went to college. My cousin Megan, who is 8 months younger than me and has always loved fun underwear, went to American Eagle on our lunch break. Their underwear was on clearance. She was on a mission to liven up my drawer.
I can still remember how she shook the plastic bag and spilled the prized booty onto my lap. Stripes, flowers, see-through pink mesh — you name it, it was there.
And now, three years later, I love fun underwear. I can’t believe I went so long with three drab shades. The colors, patterns, and designs bring me joy — ya know, every couple days or so.
I actually thought something was cool in my chapel tapes.
“What is true of creatures in the forest is true of Christians in the family of God. … God has not made us all the same. He never intended to. It was he to planned the design to be different. The mix pleases him completely. Nobody else is exactly like you. That brings him pleasure and it ought to bring you pleasure, too. When you operate in the realm of capability, you will excel. The whole body will benefit and you will experience incredible satisfaction. When others operate in their realm, balance and unity and health automatically occur in the body. But when you compare, when you force, when you criticize, when you entertain expectations that are beyond yours or others’ Gods given capabilities, mediocrity, frustration, phoniness or total defeat are absolutely predictable in every way. If God made you a duck, then you are a duck, my friend. Swim like mad, don’t find yourself halfway up a tree. … There is plenty of room in the forest for all of us.”
— Bob Kraning from Chuck Swindoll.
Now I’m listening to another guy who is talking about his conservative Baptist organizations. And I’m pretty sure it’s from before 1985. Why?!?
“Oh no,” she said; her head jolted back as if the mistake had forcefully hit her in the forehead. “Chief is spelled wrong.”
Page 10. The troubled page that wouldn’t print or save. We stared at it all night thinking it was perfect. I guess we were really praying that it would be perfect.
She gasped again.
“Emily, you don’t want to know. … Or do you?”
Of course I didn’t want to know.
“Tell me,” I said. I think I was shocked to hear it come from my mouth. I just gave the command to open the floodgates. All I could see was a tsunami of errors ready to drown me. Drown me with failure.
“The first three columns are left aligned and the last is justified.”
I held my breath, but only for a second. “Oh is that all?” I said. Hah. I guess she didn’t notice the same thing on page one.
It really is amazing that I’m okay with hearing errors. We worked for hours. I spent months preparing for that newspaper. I really did put much of myself into that paper. It was hard to hear that it wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t mean I failed. The fact that there was a paper was enough for me. Knowing that makes me feel free.
This may be the first time I have experienced insomnia. Frankly I don’t see what’s so bad about it. I was able to mostly fix the semester’s registration. I could price books, post pictures on one of my two blogs (check out the new one) or I could be eating snack packs and watching one of the network channels that we now get.
My bones seem to become hollower the more I think about how much I’ll want to sleep when it’s light outside. If I start to think too hard, my brain feels pain as if a pencil were stabbing a Pink Pearl eraser.
Adrenaline gushed through my body with the delicacy of roaring rapids. My first duty as the University newspaper’s Editor in Chief was to get an issue out for Thursday, Aug. 25. At 3:15 a.m. I received confirmation that my pages were successfully uploaded and headed for the presses.
Though I never want to experience late productions nights as this, I was strangely calm. I didn’t even pray until about 1:30 a.m. — when I told the printer the pages would be finished. Along with the strange calm I continue to experience a robotic state. Right now I have no personality. I can’t even tell if I’m tired.
Is this what insomnia is like? Does this mean that I can get money for participating in insomnia research projects advertised through Craig’s List?
When I am by myself/in transition I call people. Like today on my way to work, I called Matt. He told me one of his ex-girlfriends was having a bridal shower. I asked him what he felt about that. He said he felt like he should be getting married. At this point in the conversation I reach the office, sweaty, overwhelmed and no longer alone.
“Um, well. Uh. Wow. That’s crazy. But I gotta go now. Sorry babe.”
I guess you can say that marriage still scares me. It’s because I freak out when I have to make decisions. You should have seen me trying to pick syrup at the grocery store yesterday. Talk about a nightmare.
2005 GOALS:
1. Be Organized
(Includes desk and transaction register!)
2. Eat well
3. Get sleep
4. Love Jesus
Basically my mom is not here, so I have a piece of paper taped to my wall reminding me of these things. I think it’s a good list. Sure I’ve been working on this list for my entire life, in some form or fashion. But I should get it right by the end of the year.
And pray for Noni, Matt’s grandma. She’s sick and in the hospital. I like Noni. I don’t think she’d remember me, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be like her when I’m a grandma.
