Rough Veganity

Adventure! Adventure!

2012-02-04T09:27:00.000-08:00

PDX is a beautiful airport, and the pianist on this side of security proves it. I don't know how one would go about becoming the airport pianist; but his rendition of "When you wish upon a star" is wonderful.

I'm leaving the unusually sunny Portland for Chicago, a place I don't think I've ever been; I'll be trying my best to get into grad school and I'll be seeing some excellent summer friends. Eventually I'll break out my camera and actually upload pictures of my adventure, but I thought I'd at least post a picture of the thank-you owls I made. They make my suitcase fat with cuteness!

I'm ready, so so SO ready for a change.

I feel the need to fly

2012-01-29T23:18:00.000-08:00

I recently finished reading "Insecure at Last" by Eve Ensler. Ensler is an amazing writer, whose poignant words shook me awake. Read her book. Please. It challenged how I view security, what makes me feel safe, all of that.

Here is my new idea of security:

Security is community. Security is knowing that when you need help, someone will help you, care for you, and love you. Security is limitless compassion.

Part of discovering this idea of security has been the breaking apart what I've felt makes me secure. One of the biggest false securities I'm facing is my relationship with my parents. There's a false sense of safety between me and my parents is that we don't honestly communicate. If things are left unsaid, they don't exist, and we don't have conflict. I know that I need to come into my own, and it scares me that "my own" might not be what they approve of.

Earlier this evening I went to a restaurant by myself, I ordered a glass of red I couldn't pronounce, a dish of deliciousness, and, hell, why not? A dessert. And I sat there, savoring this independence, savoring my freedom, savoring how I wasn't reveling in my lack of a significant other.

I feel the need to fly,
to dive into something
new
exciting
completely and terrifyingly new
I want to accept my own life
and be happy with my own being
I'm tired,
so exhausted by this
old
monotone
numbingly dull routine
I want to love my own life
and love whomever's in it
I feel the need to fly,
I feel the need to jump,
I feel the need to fly.

Ted the Hacker

2011-12-31T23:31:00.000-08:00

It's New Year's Eve and I'm home drinking strong hot chocolate while watching trashy TV. My parents are still out, and I don't know where they are. Strange.

Earlier today I met some friends downtown Portland at the train station; they were picking someone up, driving to Seattle, and going to a dance concert. We almost got kicked out of the station bathroom for sitting in there so long doing each other's make-up. Then they took off, snazzy and excited, and Portland lay before me: parking is free after 7 pm on Saturdays and I had my teal cowboy boots on. Wander wander wander!

I love Portland. I love love love it. Out of every city I've been to, and I've been to a few, Portland is the best. It's clean and I feel safe (of course, police officers were everywhere: in cars, on foot, on bicycles, and on horses!). So I wandered around, not really worrying about choosing a destination. Eventually I found myself at Voodoo Donuts, and they have vegan donuts, and they are delicious. Mmm. Wander wander wander. Get complimented by slightly drunk guys. Smile, "Thank you!" and walk on. Give coins to some people sitting on the ground. Think of how nice people are when you're nice to them, when you're not scared of them. Around stores, all closed, even Powell's, which in my mind is perpetually open and awesome. I text some people to see if they'll come downtown. Nope, but that's not bad, I don't really want to stay down here and fight the hordes to drive away after midnight. There's a daycare open, saying that they'll be open till 1 am. All the kids are in pajamas.

I walk past a man standing, holding a cup. He asks for anything, and I see the cup holds bills and coins and cigarettes. He's remarkably sober-looking, and I stop and apologize about not having anything. He talks to me, gives me a long and detailed spiel about how to identify drug-addled pan-handlers. He shows me his hostel key and talks about how he's a web designer and computer programmer, that he hacked his phone because he couldn't pay for it, but he felt bad. I apologized for having nothing, and he said that's what people say, but they never actually help him--"my hostel's right there," he points to it, "no one takes me up on paying for a night. $17."
"What's the hostel name?"
"I'll escort you there myself!" and he offers his arm.
"Okay, lead me there!" And we walk the one block to the hostel, and I pay for one night's board. It seems so much better than handing someone coins, really; I want him to have a place to stay. I want a roof over his head. I know the money won't be spent on something else.
As I walk toward the door, he follows me, and says he'll escort me to wherever I was originally going. I say Pioneer Square, and he talks the whole way as we walk. Some of the things he says are somewhat strange, but a lot of it is detailed enough that it rings true. He graduated from college. His name is Ted. He tells me of various bars in town, including one where anyone can dance on a pole for 5 minutes and keep whatever money they earn in that time. He was there, he said, and he saw an old lady get up, pull her dentures out, place them in a cup, and dance her way up and down the pole--and she made $700. He talked with her. "There's no way you just got up and did that." She admitted to him that she had put her three daughters through college by dancing. She had 48 years of experience. Wow. And he doesn't stop talking. Yet, he seems like a beautiful soul, and I'm so glad that we met, and my idea that people are beautiful is reaffirmed. Ya just gotta give 'em a chance.

When I walk to my car, I realize that my parents would be horrified that I talked with a homeless man, walked arm and arm with him, hugged him twice. I know that I sometimes do things that aren't 100% safe; I realize that I could get burned. But I don't want to be scared of people. I want to love people, and I want them to know that I care.

5:30 PM and I'm...zzzz...

2011-12-29T17:40:00.000-08:00

I stayed up too late last night, to the point of the TV being pure infomercials. One seduced me.

When I turned off the light and curled up under my blankets, my brain refused to shut up. I kept thinking of how insane my workout DVDs (freshly ordered) will be, how the Harry Potter series (I'm re-reading them, and am on book 7) are beautiful and heart-breaking, how I had to get up in six, five and a half, five hours, how a large chunk of my graduate school applications are due by January 1st (my top school's application is due the 31st--two days! Two days!), and how the GRE is going to kick my ass.

I don't think I actually slept. I dozed, sure, had twitchy dreams and a grey fuzz over my eyes, but my alarm went off and I wanted to cry. It was my early work-day today. And I had a full day, with clients wanting a plethora of things. One wanted the hour spent on her neck and jaw. Zzz. I did take a name for about 15 minutes when I was on my break. Then I was off work, I got lunch and cider, and came to Starbucks.

I'm falling asleep. My applications are very far from being done. The kids behind me remind me that I don't want kids, that I don't like kids, and that kids are really annoying.

Tomorrow I'm getting up even earlier so I can take the GRE. I'm very glad that not many of my applications want it; I have a feeling the math section is going to shove me in a blender and drink me for lunch.

Would it be inappropriate if I took a nap here in this church-carpet-orange chair?

Subcutaneous wanderlust

2011-12-15T21:59:00.000-08:00

Although sometimes I wish I could be like the Magic School Bus and travel inside someone's body and really see how they function, I don't really want to travel under someone's skin. Yet the urge to travel, and move, and be tether-less is a, to steal the words of Thylias Moss, "subcutaneous halo." I feel it like a too-tight suit squeezing my essence, making me want to drive fast and cold and far.

To get out of the house and behind the wheel I did my mom a favor and went to the store to buy canned milk--twice. Don't send a vegan to buy dairy products. The first journey resulted in sweetened condensed milk, not evaporate milk. And people say vegan food is gross. Ugh.

All I wanted to do was take my mom's car to the wild forest and winding hill and perhaps all the way to Cali to surprise my friend Amy or perhaps more realistically just go to the Oregon beach. Sit on the cold sands, feel the cold water splash my legs to ice.

At times I wish I could crawl into my own skin and see what's going on: why do I feel my emotions more than my own skin? What is tight beneath it, tight under my sternum, compressing and twisting, making me gasp and pound my chest and tear my hair and--I understand why people scream in frustration. But whatever's in my lungs isn't the problem, although the air here is stagnant and I'm infected by its inactivity. I need out, but to get out I must stay longer. I hate this unmoving.

I'll call him Santa

2011-12-06T22:13:00.000-08:00

At work, we have a computer in the break-room with everyone's schedule. When a client's name is underlined we know they're here; when their name is bold, we know they requested their therapist by name. My client today requested me. I couldn't remember who he was.

Till I got him on the table and saw the huge blackhead in the middle of his spine that was there when I worked on him several weeks ago. Dear lordy, it's still there. It's huge. I had thought it was a mole, but it's definitely a blackhead.

Odd how something so small can consume so much of my thought process. Seriously, I wonder if I can pop it without him knowing, even though I'm sure it would be REALLY gross and probably hurt and bleed. So I massage around it and passively try to burst it and am so thankful when it's time to move on to his arms and I can cover his back with the sheet.

He's middle-aged, wears a beaten-up wedding ring, and I can't help but wonder how his wife hasn't seen the blackhead, and I feel sorry for this man as I am growing more sure that his marriage is loveless. How could a lover miss that? It's huge!

Towards the end of the massage, after I've had him turn onto his back, when the lights are dimmed so I can just read the clock, he asks if I ever take a vitamin D supplement and goes on to tell me how they help so much with mood and depression and...I wonder what he senses from me. What imperceptible messages have I been sending? Has my sadness for him been perceived as a deep sadness in myself? It's got me thinking. The massage ends.

He comes out of the room, I give him his cup of water and tell him to drink more, and he drains the whole cup. Then he says, "Merry Christmas," hands me a tip, and hugs me. I've never been hugged by a client; I don't touch clients after the massage.

He tipped me $40.

To feel underneath

2011-11-30T00:16:00.000-08:00

All this week I've been feeling the need to write. Write about my clients. It's delicate, 'cause of privacy laws. Also I get bouts of laziness. But I want to write about my job as a massage therapist.

I'm a good therapist. My hands aren't the strongest, my technique is sometimes hap-hazard, and my drapings aren't crisp. Yet I have clients coming back to me repeatedly, tipping well, and falling asleep on my table.

When a client falls asleep on a table, it is a huge compliment. They've become relaxed enough to sleep while in a state of undress, being touched all over by a stranger.

I'm lucky. Today I was massaging a lady I'll call Rachel. Rachel's skin is soft and the color of buttery cocoa. Her whole body is a consistent tone and warmth and radiates health. She feels amazing, but her surface isn't what I dwell on. It's what's underneath. Earlier this week she sprained her foot and has had subsequent trouble walking and sitting and is sore all over. I have her for 90 minutes and it's not long enough. The first 30 minutes are spent on her feet alone, and the injured one has tight clouds of tendon and muscle right beneath the skin.

Then there was another client, I'll call him Paul. He was middle-aged and balding, but had played basketball yesterday and felt general soreness. I could barely touch him; any pressure caused him to wince and tense up more.

And there was Claire, 11 years old, with her mom. They got massages in the couple's room. I've never worked on one so young and was terrified. Children feel different. Also, I don't want to break them. Some of my co-workers refuse to work on minors, but I will, even when I'm nervous. Luckily Claire was a fun child and although it was her first massage, did everything right--meaning that she told me when she wanted more pressure and when she had enough and when she needed to get up and use the restroom. She did seem bored for the last 15 minutes; young people get restless when asked to be still for so long.

I feel that I get to know people so intimately. There is great strength in physical connections, and--especially with my regular clients---I learn their bodies more so than someone focusing on the surface. I see, I observe, I know if they smoke and the stories behind their tattoos and scars and if that mole was checked recently by a doctor; I hear about vacations and marital problems and injuries and work and stress. And I know how their body holds all that in, and I have seen and felt it leave.

Once my clients are clothed and I've handed them a cup of water and walk them to the front of the clinic, I can't touch them. There's something weird about touching someone clothed when you've only touched their bare skin before. Perhaps that's how people with lovers feel, that once you're out in the world you can't know each other. The magic will break if you overlap your circles.

I need to write more, obviously. My mind is jumbled and messy, with simply too much in it to process basic things.

Yet it was delicious

2011-11-25T17:27:00.000-08:00

My father drove me out to Falls City, Oregon to a place called The Bread Board. It's a small-town bakery that cooks all of its goodies in a huge fire-brick-oven-thing.

He and I don't do things together a whole lot; it was good for us to make conversation. Or attempt to. We have very different views on about everything, and yet we don't want to drive the other person away...this results in me saying "mmmm yeah?" a lot and him saying "huh, well..." as he goes into a different topic.

I ate this gallette-thing with mushrooms, walnuts, pesto, and some type of cheese. Now, I don't often get sick from eating something with cheese in it, but I almost always notice a mood-swing. One reason I try to stay vegan is that dairy depresses me. Really. I eat it, I get depressed. Sigh. Not fun.

I'm home now, listening to Sufjan Stevens, and wanting to be alone in a place with stars and a hot tub and snow and, I don't know, air. I'm sad that my family didn't get together with anyone for Thanksgiving. I miss my grandparents and my cousins and my sibling and the Thanksgivings we had when we were all younger, going up to some hot springs in Canada where we'd roll in the snow then get into the steamy water as quickly as we could.

My dad and I talked about what cousin would get married first. Ryan and I are the oldest, but all of us cousins are single and only one on my dad's side is still in high school--and he's graduating this year. Our poor parents. We probably unsettle and depress them at least a little.

Upset insides

2011-11-20T22:43:00.000-08:00

My grandparents were visiting this weekend and took my parents and I out to breakfast this morning.

They're all vegetarian, and we went to a cafe that sounded promising. It was. Plenty of veggie options, and everyone was happy--from my potato-loving Papa to my fine-foods-favoring father.

A week ago I had ice cream and felt very sick for a couple hours.

But I'm never one to order oatmeal at a restaurant. $6.50 for oats? Right. Yeah. I'll take the blue-corn pancakes with hazelnuts. And they were delicious, especially with my side of sourdough toast (dry, no butter).

My stomach reminded me that it can find dairy, even in delicious pancakes. And it warned me that I shouldn't cheat again.

My soul cries, cries loudly

2011-11-09T18:43:00.000-08:00

I think that people may be surprised when they learn what types of adventure my inner fibres call for, what makes those cords vibrate like struck guitar strings. Their harmonics are different than the adventures I've had:

--Weimar (very much an adventure, as was col-portering before that)
--Living with my sibling
--Boston this past summer (Stanislavsky Summer School)

Although out of my comfort zone, they're rather...tame.

I want adventure. I want experience. I want knowledge. I want the sun on my face and danger near the door. I want to stop bleeding wounds and hearts and hear stories that touch me deep and fiercely. I want to help. I want to grow. I don't want to be complacent. I want to backpack across mountains, hear the rumble of avalanches and hunger and lions and bears. I want to hitch-hike across the country without a concealed weapon. I want to be tough. I want to throw myself into a project I believe in whole-heartedly and have it change everything. I want to teach and heal and be an expatriate. I want to see the stars and feel the wind and I want to help.

I've emailed some places for more information (like WWU student missions and the Peace Corps), but if you know anything that even sparks resonance with what I want, please let me know.

Academic Regret

2011-11-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

A week or so after I graduated with my B.A. in English, I mentioned to my mom that I didn't feel satisfied with my college experience. I didn't, and don't, feel like I should be congratulated on graduating; my GPA and my areas of study have left me feeling unacademic, uneducated, unprepared, and unsatisfied. Look at the above sentences: the tenses are all screwy.

This isn't to say that I didn't learn anything; I learned a hell of a lot. My critical thinking capabilities expanded immensely and it seems I left the educational nest right when I learned how tall the tree was--not when I learned I wasn't actually a bird. Weeeee...

With many things, I try to look back and say, "No, I wouldn't do it differently; I learned and grew and became the person I am through that experience." Well currently I feel that's bullshit. I don't like the academic person I am now, and I blame that on how I behaved in college. "Try grad school!" they say. Yes, I plan to, as soon as I figure out what I want to spend 3 years and thousands of dollars on, and if I can actually get into those programs.

I know there are very few do-overs in life, so I'll phrase my answer thus: if I were to go back for another bachelor's degree, I would major in humanities and minor in philosophy and art.

I want to be able to analyze my world and think for myself. I want to be intelligent, ie, how I perceive intelligence (basically, great reasoning & logic skills). Of course, actually putting down humanities, philosophy and art make me think of all the other things I would like to study; I could be a perpetual student and perhaps never have my academic hunger sated.

I hope I was elegant

2011-10-31T16:04:00.000-07:00

Today I received an email from Beyond WWU, a service provided for my university's recent graduates. It's supposed to help students once they graduate, and by "help" I mean find the students churches to go to. That's nice. Anyway, below is the email they sent me and my response to said email. I tried to be polite.

"Dear Darcy,

Greetings again from Beyond WWU!

I hope you are doing well during this fall season. Please let me know how your transition from WWU has gone so far. Have you made connections in your new location? Have you visited a good SDA church? Have you joined Beyond WWU on Facebook?

Thanks for the update and let me know if there is anything else I can do to help you feel more at home in your new community!

Best wishes,
Beyond WWU"

Reply:
"Dear Beyond WWU,

My transition from WWU has been less than ideal. I'm back home with my parents, who have an excellent church that I'm quite familiar with, but as of yet I am unemployed. My days consist of searching for work, something that WWU never prepared me for. Perhaps this is just a lapse within my specific program (English--yes, I know, it's not the best major for an instant career), but in learning how many graduates are in the same boat, I have to conclude that although the economy is bad, WWU never prepared many of its students for many real-life beyond college challenges. In a recent discussion with Sarah H., another graduate of 2011, we talked of how we were never informed of what we were qualified to do, the importance of internships, how to apply to jobs beyond those of blue collar, how to adapt our college experiences to the requests of real-world employers, and what to do if the time comes to pay our loans and we have yet to be employed.
I do know that there was a career center at WWU, but I never knew what it did. I went in once, when I was applying to graduate programs last year, and although I don't remember the exact conversation, I remember leaving with the impression that if I wanted help from the career center, I had better be needing business or engineering career help. (That may not be the case, but I can't say that the career center was helpful)
It's great that you care about my spiritual life. Yet I think that finding a church is much easier than finding a job, so perhaps Beyond WWU should expand its options to include resources that cover all aspects of a recent graduate's life.

Sincerely,

Darcy Sturges"

As I acknowledged in my email, I may have completely missed the great aide the career center can offer. Perhaps I squandered chances to learn how to find work or internships or any of that jolly stuff. But I don't think I did. I'll post the response if I get one. Who knows, it could be helpful.

I miss people

2011-10-27T16:51:00.000-07:00

It's boring not having a job, not having money, and living at home.

My parents are great; they've been kind and haven't questioned why I don't have a job. They know I've looked and looked and looked and looked and...

When my Aunt Karen was visiting, I was elated. She and I have recently discovered that we get along really, really well (I blame this late realization on that we don't see each other often), that kind of instant understanding that happens with a spark in the eye and two minutes of simply being in each other's company.

I've seen a couple friends scattered across this three-month span of nothing, and each time I fell into a gushing of whatever chaff was in my soul. I think consistent contact with friends lets the daily routine stuff blow away and then one can connect to true matters, and I think that I haven't been able to get past that daily chaff in months. I'm lonely.

The thing I'll always cheat for. Always.

2011-10-16T17:41:00.000-07:00

My father's chai.

He learned to make it in Nepal. Black tea, sugar, milk, spices, all baked in the oven. Delicious. Really. Anyone who's tried it has liked it. No, that's not correct. They've LOVED it. It's amazing. And soy just doesn't compare. It's unlike any chai I've ever had anywhere; its spices are more subtle. The caffeine is not. As a rule, it's not served after 6 p.m. unless it's New Year's Eve or for some specific reason we all need to stay up past midnight. I love it.

I made some vegan chocolate-chip scones to atone for my cheating ways. First time I've ever made scones and the texture's not right, but still tasty. They go very well with father's chai.

Urban Tree Planning

2011-10-15T14:05:00.000-07:00

I volunteered today with the Tualatin Parks and planted trees.

Lots of trees. About 250. Mmmm. Tree-planting goodness! There were about 6 of us planting for a little under three hours. It was hard work, but good. Fun. And I learned that there is such a master's degree as Urban Tree Planning. Not that I've been able to find much about it online, but the volunteer coordinator had her masters in it. Yeah.

It's learning about more possible masters that leaves me so, so confused. I like trees. I enjoyed planting them. This is a career? What other masters' programs are there? How many options do I have? And, man, are they possibilities with a B.A. in English?

All I've decided is that I'll be planting more trees, and that other people should join me. Create them forests!

It IS Wednesday.

2011-10-12T11:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to the doctor, routine check-up stuff, you know, blood pressure, height, weight, etc.

Blood pressure's fine. Height? I'm 5'2"! Even a little over! Man, I must've really been slouching when Walla Walla measured me at 5'1&1/4". Then, weight.

I have good friends. They tell me I look good, sexy, even tiny. And yes, my clothing sizes make some jealous. I wear smaller sizes 'cause I'm SHORT. My calculated BMI is .16 away from overweight. That's, like, two cupcakes away from being officially fat.

Sooooo I sold my old desk top and used the money to join a gym with the goal of losing a certain amount by Christmas. DAAAANG. Okay. Personal trainers are ridiculously expensive. I don't have one. I'm worried.

After I graduated UCA weighing the most I've ever weighed, I've been constantly hoping to becomes super fit and slim. Hoping. I've never succeeded. Ever. I've been a member at various gyms before, taking classes...yeah. I'm so scared I'll fail again without a trainer. I don't know how to work out. Yes, I have watched more weight-loss shows than most people probably should, but I still don't know what the hell I'm doing.

Aaaagh. I don't like this. At all. I need a job. Please, Universe, smile on me today!

Salty Cookies

2011-10-08T22:25:00.000-07:00

I made a half-batch of chocolate-chip cookies today but forgot to half the baking soda and salt.

The cookies are salty.

"Limitless" wasn't a great movie, but the concept of taking a pill to be able to use 100% of one's brain is appealing. Especially when the film doesn't touch on any activation of the subconscious.

If I had taken a pill like that today, I would have halved the salt.

The Month-Long Read

2011-09-30T22:56:00.000-07:00

While my job search continues, I came across one employer who had listed under requirements: blogs.
And then other employers casually mentioned that blogs are good ways of showcasing talent, promise, work ethic, blah blah zzz...

There are some plus sides to living with one's parents and having no job. I have lots of free time. Now, here's the catch-22. I can't manage 24 free hours. I can manage one free hour, maybe three. But all day? For weeks on end? Not much has been accomplished. Yes, I've cleaned my room several times. I've written letters (I don't want to out-live the post office). And I've tried to tackle my Epic Book List.

Several years ago I compiled multiple book lists to create the Epic Book List. Books to Read in High School, in College, to be an American, a Good Person, Banned Books, Classics, to be an English Major, to be a GOOD English Major, to be a Well-Read Human...

This list is over 300 books. If I ever make it through the A-D category I'll be happy.

"Absalom, Absalom" by William Faulkner was my latest read. I finished it this evening, and it's taken me a month to read. Normally books don't take me a month. Of course, there are exceptions, like "The Aeneid" by Virgil which took me a year. But back to the point.

(Warning: the following paragraph really spoils the book's surprises)

I have read two other works by Faulkner, "The Sound and the Fury" and "As I Lay Dying." The latter was my favorite and by far the easiest to read. Faulkner is a beast and I don't recommend him. I love his work. I think it's brilliant. My brain hurts when I read him because I have to think that damn hard about what he's saying. 'Cause he's saying a lot. In "Absalom, Absalom," how do the sins of the father affect generations? And not just of Sutpin's offspring, but of his friend's offspring? How can Henry think to let Charles marry his sister, and what does his father say to change his mind? (That may actually be answered in the book, but I didn't fully catch it.) The book also raises questions about race and incest and love...the idea that Judith finding out about Charles' negro blood will make her stop loving him, that it was okay for Henry to shoot Charles because he was a negro going to sleep with his sister, that it was his negro blood, not the familial blood, that made it wrong and yet no one but perhaps Sutpin fully agreed. And how all of this hate, the hate that boils in Faulkner's south like his descriptions of the hot air, how this hate ends up destroying Quentin completely. Shreve isn't from the south; he won't get it. He doesn't feel it. He doesn't roil in it.

Luckily, neither do I.

Lapse of Much

2011-02-21T18:05:00.000-08:00

Objective blogs are fascinating. A friend of mine writes about poetry he finds; another about political things. They have that focus.

By my title I should be writing about being vegan.

Well, being vegan is rough when one does not have time or initiative. Or when one is addicted to the morphine in cheese. Anyway.

My New Year's resolution was to not buy anything. It's been working, although I need to cut back on eating out (that's such a slippery slope). And when I say "it's been working," I mean that I've been able to pay for grad school stuff with only a small loan from my parents. Can I pay my rent? Those bills? No, no...I'm broke. The brokest I've been.

And I feel everything lapsing, lapsing, collapsing into a gushing pile of stench and mold. It fills my nostrils, my mouth, and sputtering doesn't get the gunk cleared from my esophagus.

The Stuff is suffocating me, stifling me, I feel the need to burn things or donate things or throw stuff out irresponsibly to just feel cleaner and in control and less weighed down. I should run, yes. Run till my smoky lungs cry and my legs whimper and my numb hands throb with shame. Only a couple blocks.

"Iron and Wine" always puts me in a mood. And waiting. I hate it. I can hear the rocks coming and I just don't know when their shit will ejaculate painfully over me. Damn these shady mountain passes.

The Anxiety (as in, Lots of It)

2011-01-12T22:31:00.000-08:00

My car's sold.

I've been in school the past quarter and am into my second-to-last quarter.

I've applied to nine grad schools and have (so far) scheduled auditions for four.

Right now, I have a lot of anxiety. So I figure a break-down of what I'm needing to do will help me realize if it's really as taxing as I feel it is.

1. School: I'm taking 16 credits, including a math class that I need several hours of tutoring in per assignment. Literary & Critical theory involves lots of reading. Sculpture is a blast, voice lessons are challenging and amazing, and my Sermon on the Mount class makes me wish I were graduated. It's very stupid.

2. Work: I grade for a class called Writing for Engineers. Yep. That takes time. I also work for the drama department organizing the greenrooms and doing makeup design/instruction for shows. I'm waiting for my Washington massage license to stop pending.

3. Acting: I'm Mrs. Higgins in "My Fair Lady," and am heading down to the KCACTF festival for a week in February where I'm in an intense scene for my friend's directing competition, am auditioning for a lot of shit, and am presenting my makeup designs from one show.

4. Grad school: For my auditions, (the first is January 22, the rest are in February bookmarking the KCACTF week) I need to know a comedic & a dramatic Shakespearean monologue, a dramatic & comedic modern monologue, and have prepared a dramatic & classic scene with a scene partner. That's a total of four monologues and two scenes, and then I also need 16 bars of a song memorized. I need headshots printed professionally as well as resumes, and I really need to get my hair redone so I match said headshots. Joy. I'll be traveling to Seattle for one audition and to San Fran for the others. Expensive. Yeah.

Okay. Actually, this does calm me down a bit. It's not as bad when I break it down. And when I don't think about everything at once.

Right now, I'm going to try and sleep. I would like to resume yoga in the mornings to relax and slim me down, but somehow I don't think that'll be happening. We'll see--it's hard to tell.

The Fear, (or) The Uncertainty

2010-08-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

No, my car's not sold. The title has not yet arrived. And as of right now, it looks like I may be driving that thing into the ground. SIGH. I don't even really know what that phrase means.

In the past week I've been thinking about my future. Yes, that's almost a constant thought, but I began seriously planning steps. Began thinking things through more.

What do I want to be? I want to be an actor. But I've also always had a large heart for philanthropy. I want to do something positive, something that really changes people's lives.

A friend of mine knows someone who went to Bangladesh for a year and worked at an orphanage. Her only assigned duty was to teach two classes each day, but she found that the real reason she was hired was to love the kids. She'd just spend time with them, play with them, hug them...Now I've never been someone who loves kids, but I've found doing massage therapy that my favorite clients are younger. Like eleven or twelve. Parents often ignore muscle pains in that age group for being growing pains and don't realize how good massage is for them. Massage also helps children develop the part of their brain that processes love. Well, physical touch does this, but massage can really help kids catch up. It's recommended by child psychologists that kids adopted from other countries receive massage so they become well-rounded individuals.

And so my heart wants two things: to go to the Yale school of drama and to go to Bangladesh.

Let's ignore for a second the fact that I will probably not get into Yale. This fall, my last year at Walla Walla, I'll apply to several masters programs, including Yale. I may be asked to fly to Chicago or San Fransisco to audition. If I get accepted, I'll go to Yale next fall. If I'm not, I'll re-apply next fall and need to audition again then.

If I go to Bangladesh after I graduate I would not be able to audition when I needed to. SIGH. And, no, Yale does not defer. Let's be honest, I'd choose Yale. But what about my soul? Will I be caught up in the cycle of needing to work on establishing my career? Will there be a "convenient" time in my life to go serve? I doubt it.

123, that's the time...

2010-08-25T01:23:00.000-07:00

I have yet to get my car title. It'll hopefully be here in time for me to sell my car then head up to school.

On a side note, I went shopping today at a mall for the first time all summer. Not much has changed. The stuff I am drawn to is way out of my price range, and the stuff in my price range looks cheap. It is cheap. It makes me wonder who has been exhorted to keep prices so low. Yes, mass-production lowers cost. But, really? $2.90 for a pair of earrings that were made in Asia? Yeah. Not buying 'em.

I feel better spending a lot of money on something. Somehow the price tag is insurance against other people getting screwed, although I know it doesn't work that way. Expensive brands can easily be exhorting their employees, and then also exhorting the customer. Much worse, although the quality is usually better for more expensive things.

I didn't buy anything at the mall.

I went to Jo-Ann Fabrics and bought two patterns. I plan on using the fabric I have to make some awesome things. Who knows if I'll ever get around to making them, but now I have even more incentive not to buy new clothes.

Now I just need to learn how to make hot shoes. Mmm.

Boxy!

2010-08-09T22:18:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day. I had good food, did a good deed, and got creative. If all those were combined into one thing it would be epic. Alas, it was not an epic day.

My mom and I went to the Portland Farmer's market. Oh, food. That's what I should have taken pictures of. The vegan blackberry cheesecake, the bread, the peaches, the golden raspberries, the strawberries, the blueberries, the blackberries, the flowers, and the purple-and-orange carrots that looked all tie-dyed when bitten. Ah! So delicious.

I also took a coworker's shift today 'cause it was her birthday. Yep. I only get one day off this week. Yaaay. But it was a full work day, so that's good.

Before I went to work, however, I got got creative. See, on Thursday my mom and I had taken some shoes to the shoe repair place so they could get repaired. We picked them up today and my shoes are beautiful once more. Including three pairs of my boots. When I get home, I see a small wooden crate that I recently purchased at the Goodwill Outlets and thought, "I should put my boots in there!" but I didn't want the rough crate to scratch my boots. So I lined the box with fabric! The process took about an hour, but it was simple. I chose the fabric out of my obese fabric box and ironed it twice--cotton should be ironed on high steam. Then, I made newspaper patterns, cut out the fabric, and used an upholstery stapler to adhere it to the inside of the box. I love using those things; they have a lot of power.

Voila! I finished lining my box. Then I decided it was too small for my boots, but that it was perfect for my copious amounts of yarn.

Oh, and I did break for cookies--instead of eggs I used tofu, and they were delicious.

Because if it were easy, I wouldn't have a blog.

2010-08-04T14:27:00.000-07:00

Today I journeyed to the DMV with borrowed money to get a new title for my car.
Since I'm trying to improve myself, I read "The Total Money Makeover" while I waited at the DMV. Of course Dave Ramsey (the author) would say how borrowing money kills relationships. Hmm. Sorry, Dad, we'll never be close, I guess.

Anyway. After waiting about an hour my number gets called. I take my completed form up to Counter #9, and behold! My dad is the legal owner of my car. I can't get a title. Oh, and once I get him to sign the form, it'll take four weeks for the new title to get to me. So I can't sell my car for four weeks. UGH.

The good news, I guess, is I can give the money back to my dad and then not borrow from him again.

But I really, really want to sell my car. It feels like a need. I need to sell my car. I'm thinking of all the money I'll save not paying for gas and how fit I'll get riding my bike and I realize that I could just stop driving my car and start riding my bike. Hmmm.

To console myself over this annoying roadblock, I'm finally transferring my files from my old desktop to my laptop so I can sell the desktop. I'm not expecting to get much for it--it's almost 6 years old--but if I can get a couple hundred that would be good. It works fine, has a wireless card, but it doesn't have much memory and they don't make the memory cards for it anymore. Craig's List again! Huzzah!

I am contemplating selling more of my personal library, although that seems very sad and almost pointless--I will probably buy the books later, right? Or will I? Do I need Nabokov's ficionalized autobiography or Shel Silverstein's poetry? Do I need my textbooks from massage school? Will I ever actually read the Koran? How many Bibles does one need? Or shoes, for that matter? I currently own seven pairs of boots--three brown, two black, one white, and hiking. I have four pairs of tennis shoes. And the five boxes of fabric? Well, I better start sewing.

Alright. Time to transfer some more files and create an ebay account for old textbooks. Hopefully this all works.

Less Complicated

2010-08-03T19:46:00.000-07:00

I'm on my way to having a simpler lifestyle. And, hopefully, that will simplify my life. I don't like having to deal with malfunctioning cars or packing tons of stuff or not fitting into clothes.

Today, I filled another box with stuff to go to Goodwill. I also tossed a bunch of random papery things I had been saving to someday to a collage. Really? A collage of magazine cutouts? Yes, that'd be great if I were an active collager, but I've NEVER been that. I've never been the scrap-booking type either. Perhaps I'm not very sentimental. But it was hard putting a couple of my stuffed animals in the Goodwill box.

Tomorrow, I will get a new title for my car and call the guy that showed interest in looking at it--and hopefully buying the thing.

What I have yet to do is faithfully exercise. As I write this, I'm dressed for going on a run. I meant to get to they gym (yes, I'm paying monthly for a gym membership) today and go to a pilates class and then a yoga class, but that just didn't happen. Now it's "late," so I wonder if I should just jog around my neighborhood. I procrastinated very well--part of the reason I got so much done today (I also did laundry) was because I was not wanting to exercise. Yet just today I went shopping with a friend (I bought a pair of shoelaces. I know, big splurge. They were a dollar. And, yes, I have a pair of shoes that need new laces) and tried on a lot of clothes and my main complaint was that they didn't fit or were unflattering 'cause of my current fitness level.

If my car sells, I'll probably get more in shape. I'll have to bike to work.

And it continues...

2010-08-03T10:12:00.000-07:00

The ad I posted on Craig's List last week? Well, it didn't actually go up. So last night I made sure to post it correctly and I've already had a couple responses. I have yet to respond to those, however, because I can't find the title of my car. Hm.

Today will involve a trip to the DMV. Yay.

On a happier note, I've been enjoying my smaller wardrobe. It's easier for me to pair things together and I haven't missed anything. My bookshelves are still overflowing, and there are many books that I am getting less and less attached to and more ready to sell. Yet there's still the Third Category of my belongings: Not A Book or Clothing Item. This is where I really need to downsize: the pointless knick-knacks, the random junk, the "What IS this?" item...

Philippe

2010-07-27T17:57:00.001-07:00

Here are some pictures of Philippe. I'm asking $1700 OBO for him, so if you know anyone who's interested, send them this way! I also have my Craig's List add up and running. Huzzah!

Onward, Self!

2010-07-27T00:12:00.001-07:00

My plan was that, in the next week, I would wash my newly fixed car and put an ad on Crag's List.

That's still my plan (I washed my car today but the interior needs work), but there's a hitch: my check engine light came on. Stupid car. I'm hoping I can sell it for more than the mechanic's bill. Thinking of that sends me for a loop.

Which brings me to...

Today! I took a box of books to Powell's and sold them for in-store credit. I also took a hamper and two U-Shop bags full of clothes to The Buffalo Exchange and sold what I could and donated the rest. While TBE is not a good place to make money (they pay hardly anything for the clothes they take and they don't take many items), I did downsize my wardrobe and I feel better for it. My stuff weighs me down immensely, and I want to streamline. I'd like to be able to fit everything in one place and not feel stressed about any of it. I want what I own to be functional and stuff that I actually like and use.

With some of my in-store credit I bought a book about personal finance. I'm completely ignorant when it comes to my money, and I want to maximize my earnings so I can 1) Pay off my various debts and 2) feel like I'm in control.

I guess control is what a lot of my goals come down to. I want to be able to control my weight and health so I can control how I look. I want to control my stuff and not feel tied down by the copious amounts of crap that have somehow become necessary fixtures in my life. I want to control my finances so I can do things I really want to--like go to Burning Man or apply to grad schools.

I'll try and post pictures of my car once he's all spiffy. Blogs are much better with pictures!

The Inspiration, or the Unavoidable Happenstance

2010-07-22T22:15:00.001-07:00

Years ago I started blogging on that little website called myspace--remember it? No, neither do I. Later I transfered here, then I went back, then I just stopped blogging. It felt ego-centric and stupid and, really, I didn't have much to say. Supposedly I was blogging things that went along with my title (it's sometimes rough being vegan) but I didn't. I wrote emo poetry and complained about petty things. Yes, I deleted those posts.

Why resume?

1. Last year I wrote a column for the Collegian about different ways people could be better, more decent human beings. I hated writing that column every week. I was never happy with how my columns turned out and I couldn't do what I really wanted to do: rant. This seems like the appropriate venue to explore my different ideas without (or with!) proper references and citations.

2. I struggle between who I would like to be and what I do. Specifically in being vegan, being easier on the environment, and putting thought into what I do.

3. My car just came out of a 3-week stay at the mechanics, where it amassed a $1,000 bill and not much to show for it. I'm selling the damn thing before it can curse my life further, and that means I will be out of a car. And I'm excited about it.

Sub-Post Time!

The Story of Philippe, a '96 Ford Taurus SHO
by D.A. Sturges

A young girl was given a car purchased with her own money. It ran fine, although a speaker sometimes buzzed and it burnt through oil and the a/c didn't work if it was too hot outside.

One day, after being pulled over and given a ticket for having no insurance, for speeding, and having no registration, the girl takes Philippe to the DEQ to start the registration process. Philippe fails the test.

After three weeks with the mechanic, the results are in: Philippe's engine was a model built by Yamaha that Ford only used for two years. They no longer make any parts for that engine. Philippe had several damaged valves and coils and leaked oil and had some other random problems the girl didn't understand, but she understood the bill when she got it: $1,000. Yes, this was nicer than what it could have been, but it was almost more than the car was worth.
She decided to sell the damn thing.

The End.