I've been writing a research paper on Batman. Yes, you read that right. I've been writing a research paper on Batman,and something has recently struck me. Part of what makes Batman such an amazing series is the villains. They are as fascinating as the Dark Knight himself...He's a long quote from an article I found online. The quote captures what I'm trying to say:
"Batman's nemeses tend to reflect some aspect of Bruce Wayne's character back at him: Two-Face, for example, represents the dual nature of the hero's personality, and the Scarecrow puts Batman's choice of fear as a weapon against evil into contrasting relief. The Joker embodies the madness that surrounds (but does not rule) the Batman's world, and the Penguin is a distorted, disarmingly comical figure representing the corruption (glazed over with a veneer of elegance) that is rife in Gotham. The Riddler challenges Batman's intellect, and Mr. Freeze his humanity (particularly, his pursuit of revenge). Ra's al Ghul, a man of boundless ambition, ability and resources, is an image of what Bruce Wayne might become if he were evil."
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I'm crazy...crazy...crazy...mutter...mutter...not...crazy...dolphins!
First, I want to say that I have never seen such a short post receive such long responses. It has been wonderful. I made people think! well, at least I'd like to take credit for that...Anyway I'm coming home on Friday for Christmas.
It is overdo. In fact I've been hysterical these last few days. (I mean hysterical in the crazy sense, not in the humorous sense. Although my antics have earned me a few laughs). As I was saying, I've gone the route of the mad hatter, and completely let myself go. Everything feels a bit out of control. Kind of like being tossed overboard and being told, SWIM, but not knowing how to. Only instead of continuing to fight, I've given up. I'm clinging to the back of some dolphins I bumped into, so I'm staying afloat, but it is not my doing.
Alright, that is a bit of an exaggeration. It hasn't really been that bad...maybe just half that bad. Ask Jamie about the recent conversations we've had over the phone, and you'll hear what I mean when I say hysterical.
Note to Jamie: Thanks for the advice on the Archeology exam and life in general. Although I was not able to mention Indiana Jones in any of my essays, I have unstressed myself a bit after you told me that stress automatically leads to cocaine addictions. There is nothing to fear in that regard. The craziest Wheaton gets is Welch's sparkling grape juice. woot!
It is overdo. In fact I've been hysterical these last few days. (I mean hysterical in the crazy sense, not in the humorous sense. Although my antics have earned me a few laughs). As I was saying, I've gone the route of the mad hatter, and completely let myself go. Everything feels a bit out of control. Kind of like being tossed overboard and being told, SWIM, but not knowing how to. Only instead of continuing to fight, I've given up. I'm clinging to the back of some dolphins I bumped into, so I'm staying afloat, but it is not my doing.
Alright, that is a bit of an exaggeration. It hasn't really been that bad...maybe just half that bad. Ask Jamie about the recent conversations we've had over the phone, and you'll hear what I mean when I say hysterical.
Note to Jamie: Thanks for the advice on the Archeology exam and life in general. Although I was not able to mention Indiana Jones in any of my essays, I have unstressed myself a bit after you told me that stress automatically leads to cocaine addictions. There is nothing to fear in that regard. The craziest Wheaton gets is Welch's sparkling grape juice. woot!
Sunday, December 9, 2007
A question for you
Last week, I was interviewing a man who works for Pro-Life Action League. Something he said in the course of the interview really struck me. I wrote it down as a side note to think about later, but being the scatter-brained child I am, I just now found that little side-note. Reading it over I’m still not sure what I think. He said, “Morality is all about intention.” Is that true? Is morality simply about intention? I can’t even remember how his statement related to what we were discussing. I just remember sitting there, and when I heard that, it struck a chord.
Morality is all about intention. Morality is all about intention?
What does that even mean. Looking back, I should have asked him. Well, I’d like other people’s thoughts on that phrase. I’d like to know: what you think it means, if you think it is true, and why or why not.
Morality is all about intention. Morality is all about intention?
What does that even mean. Looking back, I should have asked him. Well, I’d like other people’s thoughts on that phrase. I’d like to know: what you think it means, if you think it is true, and why or why not.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
A book rejected me.
Have you ever met someone who reminded you of a character from a book, and not just any book, but one of your favorite books? You seem them from across the room, and think "Hmm, I really want to get to know them." When you do meet them, you are shocked to find out that they don’t want to get to know you. It’s not even so much that they don’t want to get to know you; it’s more like you’re the annoying piece of toilet paper stuck on their shoe from the bathroom. Humph. You feel put out, but you are resilient. Has that happened to you? It’s an experience that builds character. I should have known that even if I don’t see my brothers every day, I’m surrounded by people who are willing to build my character. After a while, I found the whole situation rather amusing. I mean, it’s not that I was simply rejected; I was rejected by a person who represents a well-loved book character. Ouch. That hurts.
I’m thinking that maybe I get too involved with the characters in the books I read. Maybe my imagination is too active. There have been times when I have imagined something so vividly that I would bet I had seen a movie based on that book. It’s only when I realize that there is no movie based on that book that I know my imagination has gotten the better of me once again.
Then again, I would rather have an overactive imagination that no imagination at all. This summer, my little cousin visited us. I was encouraging her to play pretend, but she was holding back. When I asked her why, she replied, “My mommy tells me not to use my imagination.” I was in shock. I looked at her and said, “Don’t listen to your mother.” After saying that I was even more shocked because I’ve never told a kid to not listen to her mother. Well, I’m more than willing to get in trouble for telling a child to use their imagination. After all they might one day see someone who reminds them of a character from a book, and when they go to meet them, they may also get rejected. Who would want to miss an opportunity like that? It builds character :)
I’m thinking that maybe I get too involved with the characters in the books I read. Maybe my imagination is too active. There have been times when I have imagined something so vividly that I would bet I had seen a movie based on that book. It’s only when I realize that there is no movie based on that book that I know my imagination has gotten the better of me once again.
Then again, I would rather have an overactive imagination that no imagination at all. This summer, my little cousin visited us. I was encouraging her to play pretend, but she was holding back. When I asked her why, she replied, “My mommy tells me not to use my imagination.” I was in shock. I looked at her and said, “Don’t listen to your mother.” After saying that I was even more shocked because I’ve never told a kid to not listen to her mother. Well, I’m more than willing to get in trouble for telling a child to use their imagination. After all they might one day see someone who reminds them of a character from a book, and when they go to meet them, they may also get rejected. Who would want to miss an opportunity like that? It builds character :)
Friday, November 9, 2007
Saturday, November 3, 2007
P.S.
I forgot to mention a "fun fact" that I found out. Before I can reveal my fun fact, however, I need to give a short background story.
This whole week has been up and down as far as emotions go. All I can say looking back is: I love hormones! ha ha ha not really. Anyway, on Tuesday, I was having a particularly good morning. In fact the whole day I had had this unaccounted-for amount of energy. Granted, I did have three cups of coffee that morning, but even with that I usually don't have such high energy all day long. It was not until I examined my vitamin bottle that I found the source for my energy.
I had bought the One-A-Day vitamins that were captioned "All Day Energy." It turns out that the secret to their all day energy is that one pill contains the equivalent amount of caffeine as a cup of coffee. Woot. That's right, I had actually had more like four cups of coffee, and then I had two cups of sweet tea for lunch, so that by 4 o'clock I was literally shaking with caffeination. Needless to say, I highly recommend these vitamins. They really work.
This whole week has been up and down as far as emotions go. All I can say looking back is: I love hormones! ha ha ha not really. Anyway, on Tuesday, I was having a particularly good morning. In fact the whole day I had had this unaccounted-for amount of energy. Granted, I did have three cups of coffee that morning, but even with that I usually don't have such high energy all day long. It was not until I examined my vitamin bottle that I found the source for my energy.
I had bought the One-A-Day vitamins that were captioned "All Day Energy." It turns out that the secret to their all day energy is that one pill contains the equivalent amount of caffeine as a cup of coffee. Woot. That's right, I had actually had more like four cups of coffee, and then I had two cups of sweet tea for lunch, so that by 4 o'clock I was literally shaking with caffeination. Needless to say, I highly recommend these vitamins. They really work.
A New Goal
I think I've found an excellent study abroad program in Oxford, England. It's rather competitive (applicants must have a GPA of at least 3.5 to even be considered). But it gives me a goal to work towards even if I don't make it. Here's the link.
The specific program I'm interested in can be found by click on the "Academics" button at the top of the page, and then clicking on the "Tutorials in Classics" under the "Shortcuts" menu on the left-hand side...I don't think those instructions were confusing enough--next time, I must try harder :)
The specific program I'm interested in can be found by click on the "Academics" button at the top of the page, and then clicking on the "Tutorials in Classics" under the "Shortcuts" menu on the left-hand side...I don't think those instructions were confusing enough--next time, I must try harder :)
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Building Character
I don't have any time to write a good post, so i thought I would share a paper I wrote for English. I enjoyed writing it, and I thought someone might enjoy reading it. The assignment was that we write a cause/effect paper. (i.e. tell about some event(s) that changed our life). Well, here it goes:
I’ll never forget the cold January day I found myself standing on top of the monkey bars looking down at a pile of snow. James was nearby egging me on, “Jump Meredith, Jump. I’ve done it; it’s fun!” To me the monkey bars were already high off the ground. Add an extra three and a half feet from my toes to my head, and I was practically attempting to jump off Mt Everest. The wind whipped my face as I debated whether or not to take the plunge. With a final prayer I leapt to my certain death. I don’t remember the fall, but I remember my surprise when I found my nose filled with snow; I had face-planted into the pile.
Thinking back to that day brings to mind hundreds of other stories. Back then my three older brothers were the heroes and the villains of my life. Everything they did, whether it was telling me tall tales or tossing me about like a beach ball in the pool, was what they termed “character building.” Whenever their teasing went too far or their noses grew too long from their lies, they would smile serenely and simply say, “Meredith, we’re building character.” If that answer didn’t satisfy me, they would launch into a long explanation about brotherly duty and some contracts they had to sign when I was born. Years later, I realized these contracts were fictional. (Hospitals do not require older siblings to sign contracts solemnly pledging to make their sister’s life difficult with the ultimate goal of building strong character.) What amazes me most, however, is how good they were at what they did. I don’t have many memories of them working together against me; it was all independent. Even though their approaches were different, their goals were the same, and together they successfully pushed every button and found every pet peeve. I still marvel at their skill.
Daniel, my eldest older brother, is ten years my senior. With this much of an age gap, his favorite things usually involved me being tossed into the air. Around him, I felt like I could reach the clouds. My small size did have disadvantages, however. For instance, I was the perfect height for my head to act as an arm rest. Not only that, but there was no way my tiny legs could out run him. If he was determined to catch me, I could do nothing about it but try and fight back. That did not work well either because he would simply place a hand on my head and push me back so that my flailing arms could not reach them. I remember one day, Daniel was successfully staving me off with that technique. For a few minutes I persisted in my fruitless attacks, but stopped when a brilliant plan hit me. I thought to myself, Why am I trying to hit his body? I should go for the arm. With that plan, I began to hammer away at the hand that held me at bay. The surprise on his face marked one of the few victories I have had against Daniel.
James, my middle older brother, took his responsibility as a brother very seriously. In particular, he saw my need to toughen up, so his techniques for character building often revolved around talking me into doing stupid things like jumping off the monkey bars. James was also the brother who convinced me to let him tape me into a box. I remember climbing into the box. It seemed huge at the time, and I had no idea what James had in mind. As he shut the lid, I caught a last glimpse of his face. It was then that I realized, whatever the game we were about to play, I was sure to not like it. I nestled further into the bottom of the box, bracing myself for whatever came next. Suddenly I felt my feet fly up over my head. I was spinning like clothes in a dryer. Over and over I spun, losing all sense of direction. After countless squeals of protest, James let me out. I tumbled out of the box, thankful for solid ground. Everything James did pushed me to my limit. I had to be careful walking around the house. I would pass innocent blankets on the floor, and before I could react, James would have leapt up with a great cry of “Blanket Monster!” and I would be dangling in the air.
With three older brothers constantly testing my reflexes, I was a rather twitchy, jumpy child. Like most children, my imagination played host to the classic monsters that hid in the dark, the closet, or the toilet. All of those were easy to get rid of, but the monster in the faucet posed a challenge. To avoid him I would soap up my hands before turning on the water. That way when he came rushing out with the water I would burn his eyes, and successfully blind him. The monster that inhabited the cold regions of the bed was also difficult to overcome. It was actually James who helped me with that one. One night I came to him in tears, terrified, of the floating head in my bed. Like the hero he was he followed me back to my room to scare the monster off. Not only did he successfully get rid of him that night, but he filled me in on tips to get rid of him tomorrow night. He advised me to take all my stuffed animals and make a ring of them around me, where I slept. He told me that they would act as sentinels to fight off any nightly terrors. James was definitely a hero that night, despite his villainous activities of that day.
Last of all, Duff, my youngest older brother, is six years older than me. He honed my debate skills and tested my gullibility daily. (When I was seven, Duff could have convinced me that the sky was purple.) Being a curious child, I was always asking how machines worked. Whether it was a can opener or a car, I wanted to know. One afternoon I was standing near the computer as Duff wrote a paper. As fascinating as it was to watch his hands fly over the keyboard, I was beginning to get board. Soon enough the printer caught my eye. It was such a mysterious machine, and I had not yet asked how it worked, so turning to my all-knowing brother Duff I asked, “What makes a printer print; I mean how does it know what to write down?” Duff’s face clouded over with the typical how-am-I-going-to-explain-this expression and then cleared. “Gnomes,” he said. “Gnomes?” I asked my eyes wide with wonder. With sage-like grace he solemnly said, “It’s true. Gnomes make the printer work.” I could not quite grasp the concept, so I persisted in my questions, “But how?” At this point Duff leaned back in his chair. I always knew he was about to say something important when he did this. He cleared his throat and began, “Well, you see, Meredith, hundreds of gnomes live in that printer. When I press the ‘print’ button on the computer screen, it sends an image of what I want printed to the gnomes. As soon as they get the image they dip their feet in shallow pools of ink and begin running across the paper, carefully transcribing every word of my document.” Duff paused, and I took the brief interlude to let out a knowing “Aaaahhh.” Suddenly his face got serious, “There is something else you should know Meredith. When the ink in the printer is ‘running out,’ it actually means the gnomes are dying.” This news hit me hard, “Why that’s awful!” I exclaimed, my little heart about to break, “How can we let this happen?” Duff simply shrugged.
Despite my brothers’ constant pestering, I pointedly sought out their company. Maybe they were not far off when they said they were building character. Whatever their reasons for teasing, I loved them anyways. Our relationship, like any good mafia movie, had unwritten codes. While they could tease me till I pulled out my hair, if anyone so much as looked at me funny, they would pull out his hair. They were three big bears, always protecting me. I was the pestering little sister, but I was also the princess. They were Batmen, but also Jokers; heroes and villains all in one. To this day, they still try to pull my leg whenever possible, but for the most part, they usually play the part of superman. I’ve sometimes regretted not having a younger sibling of my own. With such rich examples to draw from, I find myself wanting to pass on games of blanket monster or tales of printer gnomes. With no one to turn to, I use my best friend’s little sister as a stand-in. As I explain to her the various jobs of gnomes, I see her eyes grow big in wonder. When she discovers the truth behind my lies, I greet her angry stare like my brothers would have and say, “I’m building your character.”
I’ll never forget the cold January day I found myself standing on top of the monkey bars looking down at a pile of snow. James was nearby egging me on, “Jump Meredith, Jump. I’ve done it; it’s fun!” To me the monkey bars were already high off the ground. Add an extra three and a half feet from my toes to my head, and I was practically attempting to jump off Mt Everest. The wind whipped my face as I debated whether or not to take the plunge. With a final prayer I leapt to my certain death. I don’t remember the fall, but I remember my surprise when I found my nose filled with snow; I had face-planted into the pile.
Thinking back to that day brings to mind hundreds of other stories. Back then my three older brothers were the heroes and the villains of my life. Everything they did, whether it was telling me tall tales or tossing me about like a beach ball in the pool, was what they termed “character building.” Whenever their teasing went too far or their noses grew too long from their lies, they would smile serenely and simply say, “Meredith, we’re building character.” If that answer didn’t satisfy me, they would launch into a long explanation about brotherly duty and some contracts they had to sign when I was born. Years later, I realized these contracts were fictional. (Hospitals do not require older siblings to sign contracts solemnly pledging to make their sister’s life difficult with the ultimate goal of building strong character.) What amazes me most, however, is how good they were at what they did. I don’t have many memories of them working together against me; it was all independent. Even though their approaches were different, their goals were the same, and together they successfully pushed every button and found every pet peeve. I still marvel at their skill.
Daniel, my eldest older brother, is ten years my senior. With this much of an age gap, his favorite things usually involved me being tossed into the air. Around him, I felt like I could reach the clouds. My small size did have disadvantages, however. For instance, I was the perfect height for my head to act as an arm rest. Not only that, but there was no way my tiny legs could out run him. If he was determined to catch me, I could do nothing about it but try and fight back. That did not work well either because he would simply place a hand on my head and push me back so that my flailing arms could not reach them. I remember one day, Daniel was successfully staving me off with that technique. For a few minutes I persisted in my fruitless attacks, but stopped when a brilliant plan hit me. I thought to myself, Why am I trying to hit his body? I should go for the arm. With that plan, I began to hammer away at the hand that held me at bay. The surprise on his face marked one of the few victories I have had against Daniel.
James, my middle older brother, took his responsibility as a brother very seriously. In particular, he saw my need to toughen up, so his techniques for character building often revolved around talking me into doing stupid things like jumping off the monkey bars. James was also the brother who convinced me to let him tape me into a box. I remember climbing into the box. It seemed huge at the time, and I had no idea what James had in mind. As he shut the lid, I caught a last glimpse of his face. It was then that I realized, whatever the game we were about to play, I was sure to not like it. I nestled further into the bottom of the box, bracing myself for whatever came next. Suddenly I felt my feet fly up over my head. I was spinning like clothes in a dryer. Over and over I spun, losing all sense of direction. After countless squeals of protest, James let me out. I tumbled out of the box, thankful for solid ground. Everything James did pushed me to my limit. I had to be careful walking around the house. I would pass innocent blankets on the floor, and before I could react, James would have leapt up with a great cry of “Blanket Monster!” and I would be dangling in the air.
With three older brothers constantly testing my reflexes, I was a rather twitchy, jumpy child. Like most children, my imagination played host to the classic monsters that hid in the dark, the closet, or the toilet. All of those were easy to get rid of, but the monster in the faucet posed a challenge. To avoid him I would soap up my hands before turning on the water. That way when he came rushing out with the water I would burn his eyes, and successfully blind him. The monster that inhabited the cold regions of the bed was also difficult to overcome. It was actually James who helped me with that one. One night I came to him in tears, terrified, of the floating head in my bed. Like the hero he was he followed me back to my room to scare the monster off. Not only did he successfully get rid of him that night, but he filled me in on tips to get rid of him tomorrow night. He advised me to take all my stuffed animals and make a ring of them around me, where I slept. He told me that they would act as sentinels to fight off any nightly terrors. James was definitely a hero that night, despite his villainous activities of that day.
Last of all, Duff, my youngest older brother, is six years older than me. He honed my debate skills and tested my gullibility daily. (When I was seven, Duff could have convinced me that the sky was purple.) Being a curious child, I was always asking how machines worked. Whether it was a can opener or a car, I wanted to know. One afternoon I was standing near the computer as Duff wrote a paper. As fascinating as it was to watch his hands fly over the keyboard, I was beginning to get board. Soon enough the printer caught my eye. It was such a mysterious machine, and I had not yet asked how it worked, so turning to my all-knowing brother Duff I asked, “What makes a printer print; I mean how does it know what to write down?” Duff’s face clouded over with the typical how-am-I-going-to-explain-this expression and then cleared. “Gnomes,” he said. “Gnomes?” I asked my eyes wide with wonder. With sage-like grace he solemnly said, “It’s true. Gnomes make the printer work.” I could not quite grasp the concept, so I persisted in my questions, “But how?” At this point Duff leaned back in his chair. I always knew he was about to say something important when he did this. He cleared his throat and began, “Well, you see, Meredith, hundreds of gnomes live in that printer. When I press the ‘print’ button on the computer screen, it sends an image of what I want printed to the gnomes. As soon as they get the image they dip their feet in shallow pools of ink and begin running across the paper, carefully transcribing every word of my document.” Duff paused, and I took the brief interlude to let out a knowing “Aaaahhh.” Suddenly his face got serious, “There is something else you should know Meredith. When the ink in the printer is ‘running out,’ it actually means the gnomes are dying.” This news hit me hard, “Why that’s awful!” I exclaimed, my little heart about to break, “How can we let this happen?” Duff simply shrugged.
Despite my brothers’ constant pestering, I pointedly sought out their company. Maybe they were not far off when they said they were building character. Whatever their reasons for teasing, I loved them anyways. Our relationship, like any good mafia movie, had unwritten codes. While they could tease me till I pulled out my hair, if anyone so much as looked at me funny, they would pull out his hair. They were three big bears, always protecting me. I was the pestering little sister, but I was also the princess. They were Batmen, but also Jokers; heroes and villains all in one. To this day, they still try to pull my leg whenever possible, but for the most part, they usually play the part of superman. I’ve sometimes regretted not having a younger sibling of my own. With such rich examples to draw from, I find myself wanting to pass on games of blanket monster or tales of printer gnomes. With no one to turn to, I use my best friend’s little sister as a stand-in. As I explain to her the various jobs of gnomes, I see her eyes grow big in wonder. When she discovers the truth behind my lies, I greet her angry stare like my brothers would have and say, “I’m building your character.”
Thursday, October 18, 2007
What to Say
Does anyone else find this cover off-putting? Something about it strikes me as down right creepy.
"Become a Better You...(Become like ME!)"
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
A Voice in My Head
I was sitting in English yesterday and feeling as if I was in a fog. I could see my teacher’s mouth moving, but all I heard was “wah wah waaaah wah wah.” I could not focus. That morning I had given blood, and I think that had something to do with it. In fact, I think giving blood had a lot to do with everything that’s gone wrong the past 36 hours. Here begins my saga.
I arrived to give blood at approximately 9:52 am. I was very excited. I filled out the paper work quickly enough, so before I knew it, I found myself with a needle sticking out of my right arm and my life source quickly flowing out of me. It went much faster than last time. In fact it was downright easy…too easy. I felt a little dizzy afterwards, but besides that I was fit as a fiddle. I finished just in time to make it to Old Testament Archeology. With high spirits, I entered that class.
I was proudly sporting my “Be Nice I Gave Blood Today” sticker and feeling pretty good. It wasn’t until midway through the class things started to go awry. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. My will to fight it was waning thin. Just when I was reaching for toothpicks to keep my eyes open, the teacher called for a break. I made a beeline for the water fountain. By the time I came back to class, I had caught my second wind. The next hour passed and I went on to lunch. Lunch passed, and I went back to my dorm to finish a paper before English.
Three o’clock rolled around, and I forced myself to leave my room. The fog I had felt earlier was gathering once more. As I stumbled to class, I caught myself humming some Emo tunes, and feeling unwell. I got there early and put my head down. The next two hours slouched by. All I can remember from the class is “wah wah waaaah wah wah” Well that’s not entirely true. I remember being overcome by a fit of inspiration.
I’m not even sure if you could call it inspiration. It’s more like there was a voice in my head, and I began writing down what it was thinking. This is what I wrote:
“Slowly going mad. There’s this drip.drip.drip.dripping. Or is it a tick.tick.tick.ticking? Maybe it’s a mix: drip.drip.tick.dripping. It’s a rhythm. Whether it’s real or imagined, I don’t know. I’m slowly going mad. My doctor tells me I have 6 weeks of sanity left. The beat in my head gets louder each day; constant pounding invades every thought. It’s breaking me like Chinese water torture, and it’s all in my head. drip.tick. I’m going mad. drip.tick.insanity. I barely notice the drool on my face anymore. It dimly registers that I haven’t bathed in five days. My flashes of coherency are becoming less frequent. When they do come, it’s worse than the dripping. When I’m sane, I’m overwhelmed with despair. Depression sweeps over me so that I long to forget myself in my insanity once more. When I’m sane I long for my delusions. Drip.drip.ticking.drip. It’s coming back again…”
Well that was the story in my head. It was a guy talking, or should I say narrating? I don’t know how weird this sounds, but sometimes, I just have to start writing exactly what’s in my head. It’s as if stuff is floating around in there that doesn’t belong, and it’s only escape is through my pen. I think Jamie could relate. It’s a weird feeling.
Anyway, that happened in English class. After that, I can’t remember what I did. I just remember it was a long night. A very long night. When I finally did make it to bed, my mind was begging for sleep, but my body felt differently. My head was a haze, but my legs were twitchy. I felt like jumping up and down, but my head knew I couldn’t physically do that right now. All I could do was shake. It was awful. After what felt like hours I fell asleep. Waking up wasn’t that difficult, but ten minutes later the fog was coming back. I fought it off and won for the next three hours. In chapel, the shaking returned. My poor chapel buddy had to endure my knee rapidly bobbing up and down for the next hour. The rest of my day continued much as yesterday, but seemed to be getting worse. By four o’clock I had dissolved into tears. After calling mom, I went to the infirmary, knowing full well that, physically, I was fine. Sure enough everything checked out. I was simply exhausted and stressed.
Typing this, I feel much better. I’m still not out of the fog, but it isn’t scaring me as much. Oh, I almost forgot to mention what happened in Greek class today. I missed my chair as I was going to sit down. That’s right: I missed the chair completely and fell on my rear. At least I made everyone else feel good about themselves.
I arrived to give blood at approximately 9:52 am. I was very excited. I filled out the paper work quickly enough, so before I knew it, I found myself with a needle sticking out of my right arm and my life source quickly flowing out of me. It went much faster than last time. In fact it was downright easy…too easy. I felt a little dizzy afterwards, but besides that I was fit as a fiddle. I finished just in time to make it to Old Testament Archeology. With high spirits, I entered that class.
I was proudly sporting my “Be Nice I Gave Blood Today” sticker and feeling pretty good. It wasn’t until midway through the class things started to go awry. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. My will to fight it was waning thin. Just when I was reaching for toothpicks to keep my eyes open, the teacher called for a break. I made a beeline for the water fountain. By the time I came back to class, I had caught my second wind. The next hour passed and I went on to lunch. Lunch passed, and I went back to my dorm to finish a paper before English.
Three o’clock rolled around, and I forced myself to leave my room. The fog I had felt earlier was gathering once more. As I stumbled to class, I caught myself humming some Emo tunes, and feeling unwell. I got there early and put my head down. The next two hours slouched by. All I can remember from the class is “wah wah waaaah wah wah” Well that’s not entirely true. I remember being overcome by a fit of inspiration.
I’m not even sure if you could call it inspiration. It’s more like there was a voice in my head, and I began writing down what it was thinking. This is what I wrote:
“Slowly going mad. There’s this drip.drip.drip.dripping. Or is it a tick.tick.tick.ticking? Maybe it’s a mix: drip.drip.tick.dripping. It’s a rhythm. Whether it’s real or imagined, I don’t know. I’m slowly going mad. My doctor tells me I have 6 weeks of sanity left. The beat in my head gets louder each day; constant pounding invades every thought. It’s breaking me like Chinese water torture, and it’s all in my head. drip.tick. I’m going mad. drip.tick.insanity. I barely notice the drool on my face anymore. It dimly registers that I haven’t bathed in five days. My flashes of coherency are becoming less frequent. When they do come, it’s worse than the dripping. When I’m sane, I’m overwhelmed with despair. Depression sweeps over me so that I long to forget myself in my insanity once more. When I’m sane I long for my delusions. Drip.drip.ticking.drip. It’s coming back again…”
Well that was the story in my head. It was a guy talking, or should I say narrating? I don’t know how weird this sounds, but sometimes, I just have to start writing exactly what’s in my head. It’s as if stuff is floating around in there that doesn’t belong, and it’s only escape is through my pen. I think Jamie could relate. It’s a weird feeling.
Anyway, that happened in English class. After that, I can’t remember what I did. I just remember it was a long night. A very long night. When I finally did make it to bed, my mind was begging for sleep, but my body felt differently. My head was a haze, but my legs were twitchy. I felt like jumping up and down, but my head knew I couldn’t physically do that right now. All I could do was shake. It was awful. After what felt like hours I fell asleep. Waking up wasn’t that difficult, but ten minutes later the fog was coming back. I fought it off and won for the next three hours. In chapel, the shaking returned. My poor chapel buddy had to endure my knee rapidly bobbing up and down for the next hour. The rest of my day continued much as yesterday, but seemed to be getting worse. By four o’clock I had dissolved into tears. After calling mom, I went to the infirmary, knowing full well that, physically, I was fine. Sure enough everything checked out. I was simply exhausted and stressed.
Typing this, I feel much better. I’m still not out of the fog, but it isn’t scaring me as much. Oh, I almost forgot to mention what happened in Greek class today. I missed my chair as I was going to sit down. That’s right: I missed the chair completely and fell on my rear. At least I made everyone else feel good about themselves.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Vampires and Blood Donations
What should I write about…I’m listening to Blink 182’s “Going Away to College” and feeling angsty. No, no angsty is not the right word. I’m feeling stereotypical, and I’m loving it. There is nothing new under the sun anyway, right? I might as well indulge myself and be a college student. Ahhhhh. I’m enjoying the moment.
Now I’m sick of it. I’m switching to Mika’s “Grace Kelly.”
...
Do I attract you?
Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?
Am I too dirty?
Am I too flirty?
Do I like what you like?
I could be wholesome
I could be loathsome
I guess I'm a little bit shy
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me without making me try?
I try to be like Grace Kelly
But all her looks were too sad
So I try a little Freddie
I've gone identity mad!
...
That’s not cutting it for me either. I can’t make up my mind. That means silence is probably the best option, but before I try that option, I’m going to listen to “Dracula,” composed by Philip Glass, who, in my opinion, is one of the best composers of the 20th century.
...
Dracula is turning out much better. It’s all piano work, and excellently composed. I love it because it has enough interest, but it’s not distracting: a perfect combination.
Speaking of Dracula, I’m donating blood tomorrow. YAY! I’m being serious when I say I can’t wait. I like giving blood. I think it’s sort of fun. The whole idea is just so clever. What I mean is taht I don’t need all my blood, and I can easily give it away to help others.
The nurses are also nice for the most part, but they tend to fuss over me. Being fair skinned, I get even paler when I lose a pint of blood (no surprise there). Anyway, I must look white as a ghost when I’m giving blood because the nurses constantly ask me if I’m okay. We’ll see what happens tomorrow. Maybe I’ll faint. That’s fun to do too, and it makes for good stories. Well, I’m tired, and need to go to bed. I’ll try to post tomorrow if there is an exciting story to follow up my blood donation.
Now I’m sick of it. I’m switching to Mika’s “Grace Kelly.”
...
Do I attract you?
Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?
Am I too dirty?
Am I too flirty?
Do I like what you like?
I could be wholesome
I could be loathsome
I guess I'm a little bit shy
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me without making me try?
I try to be like Grace Kelly
But all her looks were too sad
So I try a little Freddie
I've gone identity mad!
...
That’s not cutting it for me either. I can’t make up my mind. That means silence is probably the best option, but before I try that option, I’m going to listen to “Dracula,” composed by Philip Glass, who, in my opinion, is one of the best composers of the 20th century.
...
Dracula is turning out much better. It’s all piano work, and excellently composed. I love it because it has enough interest, but it’s not distracting: a perfect combination.
Speaking of Dracula, I’m donating blood tomorrow. YAY! I’m being serious when I say I can’t wait. I like giving blood. I think it’s sort of fun. The whole idea is just so clever. What I mean is taht I don’t need all my blood, and I can easily give it away to help others.
The nurses are also nice for the most part, but they tend to fuss over me. Being fair skinned, I get even paler when I lose a pint of blood (no surprise there). Anyway, I must look white as a ghost when I’m giving blood because the nurses constantly ask me if I’m okay. We’ll see what happens tomorrow. Maybe I’ll faint. That’s fun to do too, and it makes for good stories. Well, I’m tired, and need to go to bed. I’ll try to post tomorrow if there is an exciting story to follow up my blood donation.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Greek Class
Here's a pic of my Greek 101 class. It is probably my favorite class. My professor is the one in the middle. The stories he tells are priceless.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Why I Love Eggs
I hope this brightens your day like it does mine: http://www.iloveegg.co.kr/egg_english.htm
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Nate
Hey Nate, I hope you read this. I can't get on your blog, and since I can't comment either I figured I would post to let you know. Will you invite me please?? :)
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
My Heart Sinks
I rejoiced too soon. While I was able to post a comment on Mom's blog, I failed at Daniel's blog. oh pooh. and I had thought my problem was solved.
Comments
It worked!!!!! I can publish comments now. yay! I don't know what was going wrong, but apparently my computer decided it liked Blogger and will allow me to comment now. Finally y'all will know I'm really reading your blogs.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Getting Twitchy
Time is moving faster than I am. I'm having trouble keeping up, and I can hardly believe it's already Spetember 9th. By the time I'm done blogging it will most likely be September 10th. why? why? In someways time's ability to fly by is nice, but in other ways it's awful. Right now I'm just wishing it would slow down a touch. I've got this sinking feeling that college is going to be over before I know it. That's an awful thing to say when I'm not even been in school for a full week yet. It's true: this week will be my first full week. The way scheduling worked out with labor day and orientation, our first week was only three days long, our second week was four days long, and now this week will be the full five days long. What a nice way to ease into a schedule. It's been great, but like I said before, it's going by far too quickly. I didn't realize it had been 6 (almost 7) days since my last post. There I was sitting at my computer, feeling a bit smug, about how successful my blogging commitment has gone, and then I see the date of my last entry. My cloud nine vanished and I was brought face to face with the cold, hard reality that time is moving faster than I am. OH cruel, cruel world. You can tell I'm running on little sleep. I guess staying up till three in the morning and getting up at eight isn't the best idea. Oh well, it just means more coffee for me tomorrow :) I've been so good about staving off addiction that I think I can give in just a little...now I'm rambling. I might even skip proofreading this post and see what happens. I always amaze myself with how off my speeling is. haha. I honestly didn't mean to mistype that. I guess it's just further proof that I can't spell. I think I can live with that, however. I keep T.A.s on their toes. I know they love those red pens of theirs.
Well I'm out of steam. I've rambled long enough, and I'm frightened to read over what I've written, so please enjoy my grammatically incorrect entry. I've got to get some sleep. I feel a twitch coming on...right under my eye...Dad knows what I'm talking about.
Well I'm out of steam. I've rambled long enough, and I'm frightened to read over what I've written, so please enjoy my grammatically incorrect entry. I've got to get some sleep. I feel a twitch coming on...right under my eye...Dad knows what I'm talking about.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Side Note
I want to let y'all know, that I can't post comments on any one's blogs. I've tried unsuccessfully several times on several different occasions, and it just won't work. Argh. (face of frustration). I do read them, however, so keep posting.
"Well, in China..."
I’m sitting outside, and the weather is just right; it’s warm, but there is a breeze. The sun is intense, but the shade is refreshing. I carry my parasol around everywhere. People might not know my name but they definitely know the girl who carries a “sunbrella.” It’s made for some interesting conversations.
This past Sunday I wore a black and white outfit to church, but I felt I needed some color, so chose my pastel blue parasol with paintings of cherry blossoms and birds. As I made my way back to the dorm, I was by myself, but I soon heard footsteps approaching from behind. Something about the way the way the feet hit the concrete with each step made me think they wanted to talk with me. I continued at my pace, and for half a minute they followed at an awkward seven paces back. Soon enough, however, I heard them speed up, and I knew my solitude was soon to be broken. “You know, you’ve been getting a lot of funny stares.” I turned to see who my new friend was. It was a guy from Honeyrock who had become rather infamous for his rudeness, so I paused to think of a response, “Well, I’d be a bit surprised if I wasn’t getting a lot of funny stares.”
Looking at my Chinese-inspired parasol, he went on to ask if I had been to china. “No,” I reply, “I wish I could say I have, but I got this in Disneyworld.” He surprises me with his next statement, “You know how in America how everyone tries to get tanner? Well, in China, everyone seeks pale skin.” It turns out he lived in China for four years. Holding up his arm he says, “I’m not really that pale, but I got followed all the time.” He pauses and then asks, “What color are your eyes?”
I look at him, “Blue.”
“Yeah, they would go crazy over you, but you would have to be careful. They might also call you a blue-eyed devil.” I didn’t really know how to respond at that point. Thank you just didn’t seem quite right. At Honeyrock, he came off as conceited, and he had never spoken two words to me. The fact that we were now have a conversation was unnerving. We walked a bit farther and then he asked, “How many parasols do you have?”
“About eight.”
His eyes got big.
“I just don’t like the smell of sunscreen that much, and parasols are much easier.”
This is just one of several converstions my parasols have inspired. It's true that I get a lot of funny stares, but overall, people's reactions have been positive. At worst they think I'm eccentric, and I enjoy that. As Edith Sitwell said, "Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because genius and aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd."
This past Sunday I wore a black and white outfit to church, but I felt I needed some color, so chose my pastel blue parasol with paintings of cherry blossoms and birds. As I made my way back to the dorm, I was by myself, but I soon heard footsteps approaching from behind. Something about the way the way the feet hit the concrete with each step made me think they wanted to talk with me. I continued at my pace, and for half a minute they followed at an awkward seven paces back. Soon enough, however, I heard them speed up, and I knew my solitude was soon to be broken. “You know, you’ve been getting a lot of funny stares.” I turned to see who my new friend was. It was a guy from Honeyrock who had become rather infamous for his rudeness, so I paused to think of a response, “Well, I’d be a bit surprised if I wasn’t getting a lot of funny stares.”
Looking at my Chinese-inspired parasol, he went on to ask if I had been to china. “No,” I reply, “I wish I could say I have, but I got this in Disneyworld.” He surprises me with his next statement, “You know how in America how everyone tries to get tanner? Well, in China, everyone seeks pale skin.” It turns out he lived in China for four years. Holding up his arm he says, “I’m not really that pale, but I got followed all the time.” He pauses and then asks, “What color are your eyes?”
I look at him, “Blue.”
“Yeah, they would go crazy over you, but you would have to be careful. They might also call you a blue-eyed devil.” I didn’t really know how to respond at that point. Thank you just didn’t seem quite right. At Honeyrock, he came off as conceited, and he had never spoken two words to me. The fact that we were now have a conversation was unnerving. We walked a bit farther and then he asked, “How many parasols do you have?”
“About eight.”
His eyes got big.
“I just don’t like the smell of sunscreen that much, and parasols are much easier.”
This is just one of several converstions my parasols have inspired. It's true that I get a lot of funny stares, but overall, people's reactions have been positive. At worst they think I'm eccentric, and I enjoy that. As Edith Sitwell said, "Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because genius and aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd."
Sunday, September 2, 2007
coffee addiction
I find myself, once again, posting on my blog...miracles never cease. At this rate I might actually develop a habit. Speaking of habits or addictions, I've done very well with not getting too addicted to coffee. At least that's what I tell myself. It helps that the cafeteria serves this awful muck. I really don't know how to describe what they brew. I think it's Starbucks in origin. Without coffee at the cafeteria that leaves me to brewing my own pots. It's quite an enjoyable habit. I only wish I could use real creamer. Powdered doesn't quite cut it. It's not that I have to have creamer, but I do enjoy a little because it cuts the acidity.
My resolution to stave off my coffee drinking came about because of an experience at Honeyrock. Because I had been hiking in the woods for two weeks, I had not been able to have coffee. When I got back to the main camp, I was so overjoyed at the prospect of it that I found myself drinking 2 cups morning, noon, and night. As enjoyable as that was, I soon realized the circles under my eyes were not because of lack of sleep but because of lack of restful sleep.
It's true that coffee doesn't keep you up, but it also doesn't let your brain shut off when it is asleep. The result: bags under my eyes that would make Frankenstein look well rested. With this rude awakening, came a hard choice. I loved my coffee, but alas, I would have to cut back. Six cups was simply too much for my body to handle. My new resolution was this: drink two cups each morning, and decaffeinated tea on all other occasions.
It has become a very pleasant routine. My new teas are excellent, and I'm looking forwad to exploring new brands and new brewing techniques. As one door closes another opens, right?
My resolution to stave off my coffee drinking came about because of an experience at Honeyrock. Because I had been hiking in the woods for two weeks, I had not been able to have coffee. When I got back to the main camp, I was so overjoyed at the prospect of it that I found myself drinking 2 cups morning, noon, and night. As enjoyable as that was, I soon realized the circles under my eyes were not because of lack of sleep but because of lack of restful sleep.
It's true that coffee doesn't keep you up, but it also doesn't let your brain shut off when it is asleep. The result: bags under my eyes that would make Frankenstein look well rested. With this rude awakening, came a hard choice. I loved my coffee, but alas, I would have to cut back. Six cups was simply too much for my body to handle. My new resolution was this: drink two cups each morning, and decaffeinated tea on all other occasions.
It has become a very pleasant routine. My new teas are excellent, and I'm looking forwad to exploring new brands and new brewing techniques. As one door closes another opens, right?
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Classes
For anyone who is interested here is a list of classes I'll be taking first semester:
Old Testament Archeology
Composition and Research
Elementary Greek
Public Speaking
Gospel, Church, and Culture
Third World Issues
I'm a little nervous about Greek, but at the same time I'm excited. Languages aren't exactly my aptitude, so it will be a challenge. I survived for two weeks eating bugs, however, so I'm up for anything. Classes start today. I've only got two, and my first one doesn't start till 12:45. In fact, I have no morning classes. How's that for an awesome schedule? I'm loving it while I can. Who knows what next semester holds...
Old Testament Archeology
Composition and Research
Elementary Greek
Public Speaking
Gospel, Church, and Culture
Third World Issues
I'm a little nervous about Greek, but at the same time I'm excited. Languages aren't exactly my aptitude, so it will be a challenge. I survived for two weeks eating bugs, however, so I'm up for anything. Classes start today. I've only got two, and my first one doesn't start till 12:45. In fact, I have no morning classes. How's that for an awesome schedule? I'm loving it while I can. Who knows what next semester holds...
Monday, August 27, 2007
I'm a Wheatie
I'm officially a Wheatie (a.k.a. a Wheaton student). The past three weeks have been surreal. As I walk around campus, trying not to get lost, I have to keep reminding myself that I'm in college now. Weird, huh? Whoever thought Meredith would be going to college this soon. I mean, 19 years ago I wasn't even born. How can I already be going to college?
Orientation has been crazy. Trying to find an hour of quiet time is as easy as running through the woods for nine miles with blisters. Speaking of running through the woods, I just got back from Honeyrock Camp Thursday, August 23.
For those who don't know, I signed up for Wheaton Passage. That means that from August 4-23 I was at Wheaton's pre-college camp. For 14 days I lived in the great outdoors with only a mosquito net separating me from thousands of bloodthirsty insects. They're vicious. One night I got 29 bug bites on my right foot. I simply love Wisconsin ;)
Besides being eaten alive, the experience was indescribable. How's that for vague? But really, my time at camp was awesome. It was an extraordinary way to start college. If I had known all that I would be doing, I doubt I would have signed up. It's not that I regret doing it, but two months ago, I wouldn't have believed I could do it.
In two weeks we hiked and canoed 92 miles. We made it all the way to Lake Superior. It was breathtaking. The water was so clean you could drink it without boiling it first. I can't describe to you what a good feeling that was. Although I got used to the bugs and twigs that floated in my nalgene, the ashy taste of the water was hard to overcome.
Probably my favorite part of the whole trip was the nine mile run at the end. We woke up on Saturday at 5:30 and prepared to go on the run. Some vans picked up our packs, and we were told to follow the red flags into Honeyrock Camp. It was a fitting end to our two weeks in the woods. The run was the final push. my friend Kristin and I paced ourselves and never stopped to walk. We ran the entire distance. One of the best things I learned while participating in Wheaton Passage was that my biggest obstacle is often myself. I can do more than I think I can; I just have to push myself.
I never thought that living outside for two weeks could prepare me for life on an urban campus with all the comforts of technology. my confidence is up and I'm ready to take on this year. I've got my family to support me, and God to guide me, and thus I begin college life.
Orientation has been crazy. Trying to find an hour of quiet time is as easy as running through the woods for nine miles with blisters. Speaking of running through the woods, I just got back from Honeyrock Camp Thursday, August 23.
For those who don't know, I signed up for Wheaton Passage. That means that from August 4-23 I was at Wheaton's pre-college camp. For 14 days I lived in the great outdoors with only a mosquito net separating me from thousands of bloodthirsty insects. They're vicious. One night I got 29 bug bites on my right foot. I simply love Wisconsin ;)
Besides being eaten alive, the experience was indescribable. How's that for vague? But really, my time at camp was awesome. It was an extraordinary way to start college. If I had known all that I would be doing, I doubt I would have signed up. It's not that I regret doing it, but two months ago, I wouldn't have believed I could do it.
In two weeks we hiked and canoed 92 miles. We made it all the way to Lake Superior. It was breathtaking. The water was so clean you could drink it without boiling it first. I can't describe to you what a good feeling that was. Although I got used to the bugs and twigs that floated in my nalgene, the ashy taste of the water was hard to overcome.
Probably my favorite part of the whole trip was the nine mile run at the end. We woke up on Saturday at 5:30 and prepared to go on the run. Some vans picked up our packs, and we were told to follow the red flags into Honeyrock Camp. It was a fitting end to our two weeks in the woods. The run was the final push. my friend Kristin and I paced ourselves and never stopped to walk. We ran the entire distance. One of the best things I learned while participating in Wheaton Passage was that my biggest obstacle is often myself. I can do more than I think I can; I just have to push myself.
I never thought that living outside for two weeks could prepare me for life on an urban campus with all the comforts of technology. my confidence is up and I'm ready to take on this year. I've got my family to support me, and God to guide me, and thus I begin college life.
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