Excema and other oddities

A couple weeks ago, I started to develop this gnarly rash-type redness on my collarbone. It was one little spot that itched like MAD - and naturally, I obliged every single itch - practically numbing the spot from the constant scratching. The skin wasn't dry or patchy and to the best of my knowledge I hadn't come into contact with anything odd or new in the past days/weeks. I figured, "Eh, oh well," and I just let it go in hopes that it would eventually fade on its own. Not so.

A few days later, it spread all over my neck and to the other side of my collarbone. Gross. Honestly, it was one of the most unsightly things and it drove me to a new level of self-consciousness. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that either A) I was developing excema or B) I was allergic to the necklace I'd worn every single day for the past two years. My luck, it would've been the former. Too stubborn to remove the necklace right away, (Two years! C'mon, it's difficult to break that kind of timeline) I eventually realized that it wasn't getting any better and seemed to itch more at the jewelry's contact points.

Ditched the necklace about a week ago. Two days ago, James said that it looked as if the redness was clearing up. At the time, I didn't see it - but today it's nearly gone from my neck and the point of origin on my collarbone seems to be fading, as well. I think it's safe to say I dodged the excema bullet - which I couldn't be happier about - it's not as if I need yet another medical hurdle to deal with.

Amy: 1
Weird skin redness: 0

In other news, it's 17 days until my PhD application is due. The only thing I have left to complete is the damn letter of intent. I have been struggling for WEEKS to simply tell the English department at WSU why I feel I should be admitted to the program. This is especially retarded for me given the fact that I've only been telling people for the past TWO YEARS why I want to be a graduate student. So - why am I finding it difficult to put this into a 3 page letter? I have a few hypotheses - none of which are helping this letter write itself. The bottom line: My next day off absolutely, without procrastinatory argument, NEEDS to be dedicated to finishing that letter.

I'm serious. *cough*

So - our basement floods pretty bad when we have torrential downpours or ... 7 inches of snow melt in one day. (Yay, Michigan) Well, Grandma is having that all fixed this week - which means we have to tear up our basement in preparation. This means my treadmill is out of commission until it's all over. Sad face.

My actual point in bringing it up is the fact that my uncle has been laboring over tearing the carpet up in the basement nearly the entire evening. He's also cleaning out the space underneath our basement stairs (and finding a lot of awesome old treasures in the process, might I add.) Well, I have one of the most curious cats in existence - if you're doing something, she's gotta have her head in it.

Anyway - I was called to remove Kenobi from underneath the stairs, lest she get locked in there. Well, as I was going to pick her up - she flipped out and attacked me. My cat has never shown her temper to me or any living creature for that matter. Kenobi is incredibly docile, and the terror in her eyes scared the piss out of me. I wasn't mad that she clawed the fuck out of my leg, but rather I was upset that she was frightened. I spent a moment contemplating what could've freaked her out so badly - but then my mind began to wander into the territory of the supernatural and I immediately aborted that mental mission. The jury will always be out when it comes to ghosts and all that jazz - my agnosticism/skepticism simply won't allow my brain to succumb. It was just all-around weird. I held Kenobi tight, pet her, talked to her, and gave her kitty-kisses until she calmed down and relaxed in my lap on her own free will. The terror has subsided, as she is now lying next to me in bed, chewing on the edge of a comic book.

The three gouges in my thigh are still burning. I pointed to them and said "Look what you did!" She replied with a somewhat mournful "Mew" and rubbed her face against my knee.

"Simply the thing that I am shall make me live"

Merry Christmas, all.

In the season of giving - what is the greatest gift you've received? Was it draped in ribbon and finished with a bow? Or was it something in the air - someone's presence, perhaps? Was it a smile - or a hug - or the tingling you felt when weaving your fingers with another?

Personally - I've been given more gifts in the past few months than I feel I deserve. At times, I wonder how I was lucky enough to find myself on a path with so much potential for growth. Amidst many accomplishments, the greatest one remains finding something worth patience and an open mind - two things I lacked my entire life. I'll admit that at 25 years old, I feel like I'm breaking out of a very thick shell. It is this feeling that has left me stumped in many ways. Where I would be churning out extensive blogs - I stare at blank screens. Though I've maintained a steady research/writing schedule - it's not been the quality that I'm used to producing. I thought I was suffering a massive writer's block for the past few months, but I've come to understand that I'm emotionally overwhelmed - and for the first time in my life... I'm alright with that. It's simple - and that's ok, too.

I'm simple? Never. Friends and family, I'm certain, would disagree. Everyone around me - literally my entire life - has viewed me as this complex creature full of odd quirks and arguably inane pet-peeves. But recently, someone found something steady within me - something calm, and lacking maintenance. Yet again, the boat rocks. The brain labors to wrap itself around this conceptual oddity.

It really leaves me without words. Anything else - I can fill pages. This? I...

*sigh*

Whatever brought you happiness this holiday - I hope you continue to reap its rewards long into the future.

HxC

An old friend of mine sent me this photo early this morning:



It's almost six years old, if my memory serves me correctly. I miss those shoes. I don't miss smoking milds, though.

Looking at this picture makes me think about personal growth - how we make it from several point A's to innumerable point B's. Who is at fault for our transformation - and is it always positive, even if it feels like an internal betrayal?

Are you truly responsible forever for what you tame?

Ever get the feeling?

How much longer?

How much longer?

How much longer?

Everything at arms length.

Bionic woman syndrome

People ask me all the time, "How do you manage to never get sick this time of year?" It seems that every year here in the midwest, when the roads start to get slippery and the green grass is coated in white - all the splendor of the season is masked and mired by sneezes, sniffles and hacks. I always have a difficult time sympathizing with illness because it never happens to me - and the truth is, I really don't have some sort of special secret to immunity. I have an immune system equivalent to group of navy seals - and if I had to pick a couple reasons why that might be, I guess I could give it a shot.

*Food - EAT IT!
I am incredibly picky about what I ingest. I've had a few years' worth of nutritional science classes and I keep regular tabs on health-related news from credible sources. I try to enjoy as much organic food as my budget will allow - but most of all, I just steer clear of eating foods that are obviously processed (like anything from a fast food establishment or most restaurants.) Yes, I do eat out on occasion, but I am careful about that too.

I make sure to eat a lot of fiber, and a lot of vegetables. I've found that after about a month of having a TRULY balanced diet, one loses the need for artificial uppers like gas station caffeine pills and Redbull. I say that specifically because even though I've always had an arsenal of good information about health, only in the last year or so have I actually been taking my own advice. While in undergrad, I lead a pretty unhealthy lifestyle. Though I never ate fast food, and didn't consume sugar - I still had three specific habits that lead to obesity:

1) Very little sleep
2) Skipping breakfast and eating late
3) Artificial everything

Granted, I really didn't get an opportunity to sleep much. When it came to my academic lifestyle, I took every hour I could squeeze from the day in order to create great work. All hours of the night would be spent consuming redbull, chainsmoking and writing/researching. It paid off, but my body suffered in the process. I stayed up too late, and woke up too early - never had time to eat breakfast and found myself gorging on food late at night just to stay fueled.

Over the last year I've come to realize that none of that is an excuse for poor living. Next fall I'll be a graduate student, and I will have even more on my plate in the academic world than ever before. The main goal is obviously to kick academic ass - but the equal and somewhat more challenging goal is to stay fit and healthy while doing it.

So, ultimately my advice is - no matter what, eat food and eat it frequently. Eating less does not equal losing weight - and trust me, if you're reading the right advice, you can find that published everywhere. Eat foods that fill you up - my favorite are green beans. Grab a can, and it's an easy 80 calories with 0 fat or cholestorol and a TON of energy believe it or not! I'm also a huge fan of oatmeal as a mid-day snack.

*Exercise - MOVE IT!
Buy a bike. Right now. Ride that bike. As often as possible.

I simply can't put enough emphasis on how biking improved my mental and physical health. There is something about the experience of being out on your bike, exploring an entirely different commute (even in areas that you thought you were familiar with.) Not to mention, a half an hour on a bike burns an average of 500 calories (More than double what a half an hour running on a treadmill can do!)

Do yoga. Seriously. I used to think it was lame and yuppie-ish, too. Get over it.

Yoga works. It pulls at areas you thought you weren't born with - and it relieves all those anxieties that riddled you throughout the day. Forget 100 crunches - six yoga moves and you can feel your abs and I bet you'll start working your ass off to see them, too.

Run nowhere.

I love my treadmill. I use it at least 5 days a week. It's the best way to start the day, and also gives me the opportunity to catch up on my political podcasts.

And if you can't manage any of that? I don't know what to tell you. Movement is a huge part of my life - I love any excuse to stay active. Sometimes my passion for reading and writing get in the way of how I would rather be at the sportsplex playing drop-in hockey or volleyball. I can tell you though, that if you move more you'll have less time to acknowledge illness and you'll be less willing to let it run its course.

*Happiness: SMILE!

You're alive - that's already enough to be thankful for. But, I suggest you figure out all the things and people that make you happy - and surround yourself with them as often as possible.

Find people who make you smile, effortlessly - it's the greatest gift you could ever receive.

Open your heart and your mind to what makes you a better human, to what improves the quality of your life.

Observe how you feel around certain people - and act on that. Always tell the poeple you love that you appreciate them, and do things for them to show those emotions. Send them gifts, write them letters, make them things, hug them, talk to them - any and all of it.

Indulge in activities that make you feel complete and successful. At all times have a goal, and work towards it a little every day.

Don't let debt stress you out. Everyone's in debt. If it's not a house, it's student loans. If it's not a car, it's credit cards. Regardless of whether or not you owe on something you regret years later - everybody owes. Try to take your everyday woes and universalize them - understand that you're not alone, and find comfort in that. You will be alright - even when you feel like it's all against you.

Happiness is contagious. Trust me, I've learned this lesson a little late - but it's one that I am very, very thankful for.

It is my belief that Food, Movement, and Happiness are the reason I remain healthy. Yes, we all have our days of desolate feelings and we all get grumpy now and again - but ultimately once we embrace our imperfections and allow people to love us for who we are, health radiates from the inside, out.

Culture-shock therapy

It's a true gift to have someone in your life who, through their own open mind, encourages you to open yours. It's beautiful to trust someone so much that you not only feel safe with them at all times, but you have this sense of faith that they would never steer you wrong.

Never in my life have I ever felt so comfortable letting my guard down and my biases slip.

Expanded horizons.

"Just trust me. I've never given you any reason not to."

That's love.

Creep-magnet

That's me. Like moths to a flame, I swear - every time I turn around there's some nasty creepshow drooling over me. I have the absolute worst luck when it comes to men.

The ones I fall for either:

A) Have a shit ton of issues (i.e. head cases)
B) Carry enough luggage to fill the belly of a 747
C) Want something, but don't want it all

The ones that want me are either:

A) Too young, too immature or a careful combination of both
B) Dirty white trash losers with a tattoo fetish
C) Just flat out boring.

If it's not some skeezy truck driver at work, it's something like what happened tonight.

I dropped in to Wal-Mart earlier to pick up my prescription. Whenever I have to make a trip to the cesspool that is Wal-Mart, I'm in there for 10 minutes TOPS. With as much haste as humanly possible, I returned to my vehicle. While buckling my seatbelt I noticed a piece of paper under my windshield - couldn't be a ticket, too small to be a flyer...

So I stuck my hand out of the window, popped the wipers on and after snatching up the mysterious paper...



I began to laugh uncontrollably.

The first thing that popped in my head (after noticing his awful grammar) was "Doesn't this guy know we have the internet for stalking and all other creep-tastic endeavors?" I almost wanted to give the guy credit for being so old school in all of his weird/lurkish behavior. It's sort of... purist in a way.

However, his poor grammar wasn't the only factor working against him. The note was scribbled on the back of a McDonald's receipt. Poor grammar + shitty diet + bad execution = DOES HE SERIOUSLY EXPECT SOMEONE TO CALL HIM WHEN HE DOES THIS SHIT?!



Even more weird? The McDonald's at which he purchased that meal? On 9 mile rd in Eastpointe - directly across the street from the home of one of my ex boyfriends.

The whole thing makes me laugh... and cringe... and place palm to forehead, wondering "Why me?"

An exercise in humility

Tonight at work, I (along with a coworker) managed to execute a pretty decent fuck-up.

Even though the circumstances (busiest day of the year, time constraint, pressure, and a lack of communication) were against us, we overlooked something that lead to a huge inconvenience. I felt stupid and humiliated - because well, when you pride yourself on being a person of intellect it just blows when you screw anything up.

I've always been an advocate of those "human moments" that we all have - however, I still feel as if we all need to be a little more humble about our lot in life.

From this day forward, I will work harder on pardoning others for mishaps that I would've otherwise frowned upon.

Be thankful, you bastard

Despite all the shit I could be shuffling around muttering under my breath about, I can always manage to be thankful this time of year. The "holidays" are always my favorite time - and I'm a complete traditionalist when it comes to celebrating them. Yes, I am a secular-Christmas fanatic and I am damn proud of it. Give me all the Santa Claus, gift-giving, songs-about-a-baby-Jesus-I-don't-worship goodness you can muster! I'll belt out "O, Holy Night" with such a wide grin on my face you'd think I never missed a Sunday in the front pew.

But, why? Well it's simple, really. For every year of my life that I can recall, my Grandparents made the holidays some of the best moments I've ever had. I remember absolute unbridled joy - the food, the music, the laughter, the presents, the hugs and kisses, the stories, the Christmas movies on television - everything. My childhood holidays were right out of a Hallmark commercial, and all I've ever wanted to do was to give that happiness back to everyone in my life. The positive memories I have of the Christmas season are even a driving force behind wanting to start my own family when for many years I thought I was never the girl to get married and pop out kids.

*Finger to lips* Now, on to the reflection of the past year and the corresponding thank-yous:

1) As every year, my Grandmother sits at the top of the list. Every single accomplishment I can lay claim to is ultimately because she and my late Grandfather have given me the opportunities to go out and achieve them. From putting a roof over my crazy head for the last 10 years, to putting up with my wild adverse ideas, they always believed that I would go far and did everything in their power to assure I had the chance. And here I am, a college grad and heading for a PhD - tattooed, earlobes distended and loved for all of it - there is no greater gift in life.

2) I made it through undergrad! Ugh, there were so many moments when I thought I would crumble - when I wanted to give in. But I finished, and I even did well! I am thankful for all those that supported me within the English department at WSU - they saw something in me that I couldn't see in myself and at times still struggle to do so. But, here I am - 25 and on my way to graduate school. Wow.

3) Love. Not just from my family and friends - but romantic love, as well. Earlier in the year, I had to make a very difficult decision that I wasn't sure I could bounce back from too quickly. I forced myself to give up on and walk away from something that felt entirely right and completely comfortable. Because I have the gift of foresight (which I do not always heed, but is always with me) I was able to do the right thing for myself and my future - which was to look out for number one, even if she ends up alone. I taught myself that one could be fulfilled in the absence of a romantic relationship and I set out to do so. I began a quest to better my mental and physical health. Somewhere in the middle of all my dedicated alone-time, I started to spend some time with a person altogether new to me. It wasn't really his existence that was new to me, but rather who he is that was conceptually novel.

He's hilarious. He's kind. He's patient.

He's giving. He's thoughtful. He's intelligent.

He's well-rounded. He's humble. He's curious.

At first you're thinking: "Impossible." But I insist! I swear he exists.

And you narrow your eyes and exclaim "And this person wanted to spend time around YOU?" Yeah, I know. It shocked me, too.

But regardless of how implausible it all seems, this man came into my life and single-handedly placed a calm over my heart that I've never felt before. And of all the times I felt as if I had done something wrong in my life - being around him always made me feel as if I had finally done something right. He made me feel less selfish, and more open - but above all, there were times when he made me feel beautiful both inside and out - honestly, more than anyone in my life ever has. It's that cheesy poetic nonsense that makes everyone gag - but before you vomit all over your shoes or mine, allow me to coat the lining of your stomach.

He comes with his fair share of baggage - heavy enough to crush even the strongest of possibilities. I gave him all that I had and offered more, but all that I received in return was a luggage tag with someone elses name printed on it. The dust settled and collected, and now it's been swept under a rug very carefully woven. So you might be asking, "How are you thankful for that?"

Easy. Though the depth of my love is ultimately unrequited - and I am stuck with having opened myself to a world of pain - the whole experience has proven that I can still feel. It's like that scene in High Fidelity when Luara asks Rob to have sex with her after her father's funeral. She tells him that she needs to FEEL something, whether it be sex or sticking her hand in a fire. That's how I felt after my last bout with love and loss - and my experience with this man helped me to understand that I am not cold, and I am not hopeless.

I realized it when we'd look at each other and smile.
I realized it when he held my hand and I caught my breath.
I realized it when I would think about all the things I could do to make him smile.
I realized it when he played the songs he knew would make me happy.

And now it's back to emptiness, and now I've lost the hope. But somehow, some way, I'm still thankful for what all of it could've become. I'm thankful that the feelings of bitterness pass as quickly as they set in. I'm happy that I have my friends, my family, and the passion for my future career to occupy my heart and my mind, essentially allowing me to ease out of heartache and resentment.

I'm thankful for living my life with intellectual curiosity and passion - for always pursuing my goals even when it felt futile. I'm thankful that I am on the road to having my dream career and the ability to wake up every day and do what I love.

I'm thankful that at this time of year, I can smile knowing that someday I will make a great wife and a great mother - and one day I will be able to share my love of the holidays with my own family, generating the same peace and happiness that my Grandparents gave to me.

Cheating death

24 hours ago I was kickin' it bed-rest style.  

Today, I'm struttin' around my room in a really cute outfit I put together - part of a tradition I developed for myself whenever I drop another 10 lbs.  It might sound ridiculous to you - valley girl-ish?  Cheesy?  Both A and B?  Probably, but I believe in rewarding myself when I feel particularly lovely about my health and my appearance.

Regardless - I'm not going to die anytime soon.  False alarm with the heart/chest pain business yesterday.  Back to your regular scheduled programming!  Errr... or mine?  Which consists of writing, researching, prepping for grad school, and dancing around my room to Phil Collins and Huey Lewis.  Either way - yesterday's brush with absolute fear has made me appreciate every day even more.

This is the face of a very grateful lady:

Illin'

As a wee child, I used to get tonsillitis every six months or so.  I was a mess.  Finally, at age 12 my mother said "enough is enough" and had the docs yank all those bacteria-snagging organs from my throat/nasal passage.  Since that surgery, I have never been sick in any way.  I don't even get a common cold.  No fevers, no sniffles, no coughs or sore throats.  Straight up Unbreakable shit.

On top of the fact that I just seem impenetrable is the fact that I take better care of myself than most people my age.  I passed my last physical with flying colors - even my resting heart rate was better than the average.  I'm picky about what I ingest, and physical activity is one of the biggest parts of my life.

So, I'm sure you could imagine the shock when I woke up this morning to find I couldn't inhale without excruciating pain.  At approx. 5:40 this morning I felt as if someone had balanced ten bricks on my chest - and I was more afraid than I have been in a long time.  Immediately, I began different breath control exercises that I'm familiar with from yoga - thinking maybe it would help.  For a moment I thought maybe I was still dreaming.  When I started to shake and get dizzy I headed downstairs to wake up my Grandmother and proclaim that I might be having some sort of heart attack.

But how could that be, I thought.  I have excellent blood pressure, excellent cholesterol, my lipids are perfect, I'm a normal weight, and there isn't any history of heart disease in my family.  I couldn't be 25 and on the verge of a coronary.  As I considered all these factors, the pain in my chest grew heavier and I knew I had to make a decision - drive myself to the Emergency Room and rack up another 3000 dollars of non-insured debt -or- relax, breathe, and assess the situation.

After many tears of frustration and fear, I chose the latter.  My Grandmother suggested we call our family doc, spit the symptoms to him and hang on his directions.  The specs are as follows:

- No fever

- No congestion

- No cough

- No "shortness" of breath despite the pain of inhaling

- No pains/numbness in arms or other extremities  

Doc said I should relax and rest for the day - try not to move much at all and come in tomorrow for tests.  He didn't seem to think an expensive visit to the ER was necessary for my non-insured ass.  Good news for me.  I guess the chances of it being a blood clot in my lungs are low, but not impossible.  I go in tomorrow for x-rays to help determine that.  Fluid on the lungs is another possibility, but again, why out of nowhere?  It doesn't make any sense to me.

Hopefully, it's a passing symptom of a common cold - which, again, is very odd considering I haven't been sick for 13 years.  Either way you slice it, this sucks.  I hate not going to work, I hate not being able to move around - I hate not working out.  I hate sitting around and sleeping all day.  This is my own personal hell.

The only upside?  Season 7 of Scrubs and an opportunity to dive into Les Mis.  Oh, and Grandma is making Chicken, Brown Rice and Broccoli for dinner because she's amazing and she loves me! :D  I feel bad though - poor thing has had to babysit me all day per doctors orders - ya know, just in case I actually have a heart attack.  Very reassuring. 

Lies in the Meadows

Butch Walker released his new CD yesterday. It's been a little over 24 hours and I've already completely digested the album front to back - I have my favorite song, the song I like the least (but can't come close to hating,) and the song that conjures the most vivid memories and fantasies all within approximately four minutes.  It goes without saying that I think the man is a genius, but most importantly - he's all heart.  What I love most about Butch - what I connect with most in his music - is the fact he's an "all or nothing" type of person.  His approach to emotions is either immersion or disconnect - and sometimes a precarious combination of both.

He reminds me of myself.

Maybe it's a gigantic character flaw of mine - but I have a reputation of refusing to stand and face a situation if I feel it could potentially break me.  I won't sit and watch my emotions crumble to the ground - I won't stand back while my focus fades - and if gray begins to shade, I'm out of there.

It's not a complex thing - it's a defense mechanism, a survival tactic.  There have been times in my life where I have stuck around, held out hope, believed the hollow words people spit just to smooth things over - and every time I've come out empty-handed.  I'm only 25 and I can say with the utmost certainty that I've lost enough years already - I always like to refer to those years as "poor ontological investments" - but even the philosophy of it all isn't completely consoling. 

I don't know if it's just bad luck, or if karma really exists - but I consistently find myself in situations that, for lack of better words, simply go nowhere.  For a person as horrendously picky as I am, it's remarkable that I overlook obvious hurdles and go sprinting off with the finish-line in mind.  Of course you follow the metaphor to finding me curled up on the ground, face busted - silently screaming as the blood and tears create a caramelized cocktail of regret.

Dramatic?  Sure.  But it's a goddamned powerful recurring theme in my love life.  And yeah, every time something like this happens I retain a little bit of luck on one front - the fact that I have a contentment in my person to fall back on.  I'm very good at self-sufficiency - I can get along alone and find a genuine happiness in that.  I have immense career goals and a lot of passion.  I'm free to go where I please, do what I want - I don't have anyone to answer to, and  nobody that I'm responsible for.  My life is particularly ideal in many ways and at the end of the day, it's comforting to know how many possibilities are out there.  But these facts are the fallback - they're not the front-line.

Our emotions get us in trouble - they cause us to bend, to give, to compromise.  Sometimes that compromise means subduing aspects of our character that are painful to hold down.  When that happens, we are in essence living for another instead of living for ourselves.  The only time this is acceptable is when you're getting something equally satisfying in return.  You want me to dig a hole, that's fine - but you better be right there shoveling silver dollars and sugar-free peanut butter cups right back into it.  And, honestly, one or two lovely rhetorical flourishes do not translate into creamy sans-sucrose peanut buttery goodness.  The proof is in your actions - whether or not the effort exists and is genuine.

I'm in a position right now where what I want so desperately to believe is trumping what I fear might be the truth - and that's dangerous.   I'm not rooting myself in reality because at some point I figured, well, if we cracked the window surely we can open the door.  But, the walls are slowly bleeding black and white together, closing in just enough to cause concern.  I'm questioning everything - analyzing everything - weighing pros and cons - measuring prospective losses.  There's nothing right now that doesn't scream "Congratulations on drawing the short straw - better luck next time."

Until I feel like I'm not the only one with all my cards down on the table, my size 8 1/2 Nike is on the starting block.

(Yes, I mixed metaphors - intentionally, might I add)

Yes we did

When I was 16 years old, I started to have these funny feelings. I distinctly remember getting distracted, frequently, from important things like studying and maintaining the few friendships I had managed during highschool. Those "funny" feelings weren't the tingly kind that most teenagers may recall with an awkward fondness - rather, they were emotions fueled by political curiosity and social discontent. While most around me were prepping for the prom, I was beginning (unbeknownst to me at the time) an intellectual journey that would thrust me into subcultural identification and ultimately, what I refer to as a "convenient condemnation."

I bought books by Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky - I listened to bands like Bad Religion and Anti-Flag - I sewed upside down American flag patches onto my jackets and spoke out often against the atrocities of nationalism. I didn't hate America, but I hated borders and I hated xenophobia. I couldn't understand how people could lift one country above another, ignoring its own terrorism and dictatorship throughout the world. At the tender age of 17, I refused to pledge allgiance to any flag - and I vowed that I would instead devote my entire life to the constant, endless pursuit of knowledge - and to me, nationalism was the absolute antithesis to intellect.

It wasn't easy to maintain an adverse political ideology, even during the excitement of beginning my higher education career at the liberal university of my choice. I had been a college student for a little over one week when the United States suffered the attacks of September 11th, 2001. One day later, I wrote an essay highlighting the hypocrisy of the United States - citing all the foreign attacks and civilian casualties caused by our government - asking people to remember that we are not alone in the act of mourning the deaths of loved ones for idelogical gains. I asked that people let 9/11 be a lesson to them - one that would help us learn the importance of global unity, support and equality. The response to this eassy? Death threats, a flood of negative emails, and several campaigns to ban me from multiple forums of which I had been an active, respectful and engaging participant.

In the years following the backlash, I dropped out of politics. I watched from the background while the Bush administration committed crimes against humanity, fooled the American public into happily giving up their rights and liberties, and waged an absolutely pointless war. I gave up on trying to speak to the people around me, let alone reaching out the larger internet audience. I became cynical and resentful - I began to considering leaving the United States upon completion of my degree. And in November of 2004, I couldn't even bring myself to care about the Democratic opponent to the devil himself.

If you would have told me then that in four short years I would be sitting on my livingroom floor, sobbing tears of joy, feeling pride in being American - I would have suggested you never waste money on the 3-digit. If you would have told me that I would be getting a tattoo that had ANYTHING to do with nationalism, let alone one nation's electoral process - I would've laughed in your face. But here we are - here I AM - thinking about purchasing an American flag and feeling PROUD to live in a particular country - feeling HOPEFUL for the future of my investments and my career - Looking at my little sister who had a matter of days after her 18th birthday to register, watching the outcome of the election that saw her very first vote.

Six years ago I hated the idea of America. Today, I finally feel what I've heard so many talk about from years past - the idea that from many we are truly one. This is our history, our moment to appreciate the time that this country redeemed itself in our eyes and the eyes of the entire world. So stand up and embrace what, as a whole, you and your fellow Americans have done - you not only made history, but you made a future, as well.

The way to a man's heart

Is an axe through his sternum.

Five minutes alone

I'm pretty sure Dimebag Darrel had an entirely different vision for that phrase than I do.

I don't have much of anything substantive to blog about tonight.  There are a thousand political topics I could speak on - but I would direct you to just turn on MSNBC any evening from now until the election. 

What I'm almost equally concerned about currently is the fact that my psyche is bouncing back and forth between enamored and angry nearly every five minutes.  Throw in a little frightened and uncertain about my future and you have a recipe for absolute mental chaos.

So, honestly - can you please just give us... well, you know.

Oh, Bravo

The other day MSNBC was making a sorry attempt at "fairness" by showing McCain giving a speech at some rally - so I flipped the channel momentarily. I turned over to Bravo - because frankly, 3 out of 5 of their reality shows have highly-amusing flamboyantly gay dudes, and I love it.

"Top Design" happened to be on at that particular moment. Now, I don't watch nearly enough television to know much about the contestants (or even objectives) of most of these programs - however - that doesn't stop me from making a quick judgment about its content. As I watched the tail-end of this episode of Top Design - I kept thinking to myself, "How in the hell can you really JUDGE a design?" Interior decorating, in my opinion, is just purely subjective. If all four judges think someones design is utter crap, there's a chance that there are more than a few "rich-folk" who would shell out their disposable incomes for that very crap. So what makes one a professional when it comes to design? It's just art. And we all know how broad the spectrum of art can be.

This leads me to the thought I had this afternoon regarding my own passion and professional direction. I'm a student of rhetoric and theory. There have been a whole lot of theorists that I've read in my time that I've absolutely rallied against - insisting that their highly-acclaimed writing is nothing but a headache between two covers. And yet, esteemed professors that I respect and admire greatly have stressed the importance of their theoretical contributions.

All I can do is hope that those reading my latest theoretical project consider it to be substantially better than "crap." That, my dear readers, is how applying for graduate school is like being on a fucking reality show.

Lyrical posture

I'm not gonna lie, when other people post lyrics in their blogs I usually react with a crinkle of my nose and a silent "Ugh, c'mon."  However, I am prone to posting lyrics, myself - because they help me to stand behind a theory or an emotion of which I'm not quite prepared to devote my own words.  It's a tiny hypocritical aspect of my character, I guess.  

I heard a song tonight that resonates with a very strong emotional connection I'm experiencing.  I love when that happens.  I can't stop listening to the song, my imagination running wild, driving my brain out into an expanse of dark, quiet land and leaving it there to create...

Then my text message alert goes off and I snap back into reality.  I sigh, and swear I'm going to stop following so many mobile updates on Twitter.  Yeah, that'll happen.

And, seriously, how many babies were made to the sound of  the album "Crash" by DMB?  Phew.  I'm gonna go with at least 4000+.

My writing muscle has been a tad atrophied of late.  I think my brain is suffering the atmosphere change.  I need to get back into an academic atmosphere before I lose myself.  I can only blog about everyday things before I grow bored and long to sit in a room full of individuals who can wax theoretically about society, rhetoric and technology.

Ever just have a random memory hit you for no reason?  I remember making out in my car once, and Boston's "More than a Feeling" came on the radio.  He and I both stopped for a brief moment, contemplated turning it off, but instead just let it blast.  Not the hottest make-out tune, but definitely one that makes goofy memories.

I have festive Halloween decor in my room, now.  I also cleaned stuff.  It smells pretty.  

Overall I'd say it was a productive Sunday.

My inbox

Today:

This week, our campus has faced challenges to the civility and respect that are a foundation of our society.  Several people have chosen to use Gullen Mall to express opinions that others have found disrespectful and offensive. 

Many people have questioned why we have allowed the speakers to remain on campus. The answer is simple: we are a public institution and members of the public may speak in our outdoor areas when they are not being used for university programs or by student or university organizations.

As an institution of higher learning, Wayne State University promotes respect for all individuals. We defend each person’s right to free speech, which is a basic tenet of our society and must be protected.  We may not always agree with one another but we must preserve the right of others to assert their views.

I urge you to listen courteously or simply avoid listening if that is your preference.  The respect for diversity that is shown by members of the Wayne State University community is a very important feature of university life.

Sincerely,

Nancy S. Barrett
Provost and Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs

---

How unfortunate that people need to be reminded that in the United States we are allowed the freedom to express our ideas in public - and even worse, those who need this lesson are taking part in higher learning.

Have you seen me lately?

It wasn't just because there happened to be an empty spot on the wall next to my desk.  It wasn't because I had nowhere else to put the damn thing.  My degree hangs on the wall most present in my peripheral for a good reason:  It reminds me of dreams I had while growing up - that while they changed drastically over the years, several components remained the same.  It reminds me that I could've given up so many times - I could've succumbed to devastating relationship problems, the death of my grandfather, disheartening financial situations and many bouts of self-doubt.  I have given credit to a few over the years for keeping my head above the water - but ultimately, I fought hard because exemplifying strength is what I was raised to do and it's what I'm used to. 

A co-worker said to me the other day, "I love how you just don't care and you'll call anyone out straight to their face.  You're just not afraid."

For years people have leaned on my shoulder - sought me out when they needed to sob, when they needed someone to tell them that the only reason the sun rolls over the horizon tomorrow is because they want it to.  I've patted backs, wiped away tears, hugged as strong and solidly as possible - I've made them smile with humorous realities and helped them laugh at their own folly.  I've never sugar-coated or tip-toed for anyone.  And at the end of each day, I come home to my room, my cat, my books and my itunes library.  And I'll make a playlist for the night, climb into my bed followed by my loyal feline friend, curl up with a book - and the shy tears will trickle down.  And its not every night that ends up this way - but when they do, the first thing I lament is the inability to be vulnerable in front of anyone else because they refuse to handle me in such a state.  Amy's always so strong, so passionate, so focused, so determined - how could anything ever get her down?  How, indeed.

I'll be the first to announce that I didn't ask for the stigma.  Sometimes all I really want to be is a fragile, soft, sweet girl who people can understand as able to be heartbroken or stepped on or used.  I'd like people to adopt a perspective that perhaps the reason I can console on such a broad spectrum just might be because I've been there - I've felt that - I remember the pain... but most importantly, I remember a colder version of the wound - the kind without the hug, without the fingertips to wipe the tears.  I remember "you're a tough girl, you'll get over it."  And it resonates, still.

Perhaps I still have some of that fight left in me.  If I can reach deep down one more time and pull that passion for self-preservation, wrestle it once again - this time, I'll fight to defend my own emotions.  Instead of resigning myself to losing another battle, to finding myself in another emotive failure, I will give a little bit of myself every day to keeping this alive - at least until two fingers grip the wick and douse the flame.

And through it all, the nice warm feelings of hope and the pangs of empty regret, I can't help but feel like I made a lovely mistake of which I'll pay the price for quite some time.  "And I'll say my prayers, light myself on fire, and walk out on the wire once again..."

Give me the keys and I'll drive you crazy

A few times in my life people have asked me if I ever plan to write a memoire.  To this I reply silently with a look of confusion because frankly - why in the hell would I write a memoire?  What have I done that people would want to read about?  But, whatever - I gave up attempting to figure out the folks I pal around with a long time ago - collectively, we're all a few picnics shy of a happy childhood. 

If I ever do publish a few things - or become a kickass english professor who does something noteworthy for urban education - perhaps I will write an autobiography.  Oh - but what would I title it?  There are so many witty things I could think of - but in the case of my life it's best to just get straight to the point:

"Lowered Expectations"

It never fails that each day I'm met with a situation where I have to question another individual's capacity to take in breath let alone hold down a job or operate a motor vehicle.  Call me arrogant - call me elitist - call me a bitch - call me whatever the hell you want, I assure you it's nothing I haven't already heard.  Allow me to point out a wonderful irony in lieu of being called "arrogant and elitist" for highlighting the short-comings of others...

In this United States of America we are, collectively, the most arrogant, swine-brained son-of-a-bitches on the entire planet.  We are a nation comprised of people who believe that their concept of God has somehow decided to bless them over others, and that their overall way of life should be adopted by the rest of the globe - yes, this way of life: false democracy, obesity, sedentary lifestyles, failed educational systems, mental and physical laziness, racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and die-hard de-regulated capitalism.  So, to the next motherfucker with a flag t-shirt and a 10th grade education who calls me elitist : God Bless America, Dickhead!

In happier news: 

It's breast cancer awareness month and Best Buy employees get to participate by sporting pink polos!

Having lost loved ones to cancer - I am quite passionate about cancer research, fund raising for it, and general support for survivors and their families as well as the families of victims.  Though I give my time in volunteering for this cause - I still advise everyone to do the most charitable thing anyone can do - and that is to love everyone in your life as strong as you can every single day - even if they're egocentric nationalistic brats. ;)

Possible "Polignorance" and the prospect of a paramour

It's far from a secret that I'm a huge fan of alliteration, folks.  Now that identifying the obvious is out of the way, let's get down to some proverbial "business."

I'm guessing that the majority of my readership already knows that my birthday is (yes, feel free to gasp at how awesome this really isn't) election day: The Ever-Aggrandized Glorious 4th Day of November, Two-Thousand-Eight.  

Has this caused me to pay more attention to politics than I usually would?  Maybe.  Alright, no - but I am willing to poke fun at my occasional trips into the land of self-importance.  Truth be told, I'm just a struggling 20-something staring down a car-finance (Let's say a Bentley rather than a Honda) sized student loan debt while spending MORE money attempting to get yet ANOTHER degree.  No, no - not stupid, just passionate.  Point being - as our presidential candidates this year - I'm "just like you!"  Except... I really am just like you... broke but not impoverished, determined but but susceptible to distractions, and overwhelmed but hard-working (assuming lazy people don't read my blog, which is repellent yet wishful thinking on my part.)  As I approach the great quarter-century mark of my existence, I have been pondering many things to the point of exhaustion.  Those of you who have known me for years are now rolling your eyes and stating "And that's different from any other time, how?"

Hush, now - we must not look to the past!  Haven't you learned a thing from Caribou Barbie?  Yes, that last statement was entirely gratuitous and purely for my own amusement.  

What I've been wondering is, where are my people?  Not my "people" as in say, my emissaries - whom I still haven't been able to allocate despite great efforts, mind you.  I mean my "people" as in, those who were born in the early eighties - ya know, the other assholes who give equal blog space to politics and Sex and the City episodes that flesh out their fears of being single and approaching thirty.  Where are those of us who in one day can bemoan yet another friends wedding invitation as well as socialized health care all in a matter of a few hours?

The answer I've come up with is simply this: We're wearing red and white striped shirts against a two-page spread of people hanging out at a carnival.  If you're looking up, over and behind you right now - what I mean to say is: we're hard to find.  But WHY are we so hard to find - those 20-somethings that should have every reason to pay equal attention to politics as well as the commonly erratic nature of our quarter life-crises?   It's an epidemic dripped slowly into the water by several forms of media - and I have officially coined this epidemic "Polignorance."  

Now, because I already fear someone stealing the terminology from me as is - I will not go on at length about my theories surrounding the word.  Suffice to say that my participation in National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo) this year will hopefully provide a very funny, yet very informed and well thought-out take on why politics in the United States (EVEN after this year's diverse contest) still fails to grab my age group by the respective reproductive organs.  So, hopefully some day you'll find me on Bill Maher's panel or soaking up a segment of Olberman's "Countdown" - but trust me, that's not because of my liberal bias - it's purely because if Glenn Beck were to ask me onto his show, I wouldn't be able to fight the urge to request that he replay over and over again the clip in which he refers to himself as "white trash."  I mean, we just wouldn't get anything covered in that interview.

Lacking a clever transition, here's the little "meta-moment" of this blog.

Human chemistry.  It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?  That wonderful feeling that so often is difficult to equate to much of anything.  Some try to hard to make it work - experimenting day in and day out with different methods, straining profusely to find the right quantity of this to mix with that.  Some labor over this seemingly endless experiment - taking years to convince themselves that coming close to the perfect chemical solution is the best they'll ever get.  Some people are alright with settling for mediocrity - for respected diligence over effortless quality.  I have frowned at such efforts for as long as I've witnessed them, and I swore to myself that I would rather live alone than have to labor for love.

I am fully aware that even the most intensely loving relationships involve some elbow grease and a decent amount of compromise - but all too often, people mistake the necessity for personal diversity in a relationship as surrendering your license to be loved, respected, and admired by the other on a daily basis instead of when it's convenient for them.  Extenuating circumstances are simply not enough to give up the prospect of spending your time with someone who makes you happy without testing several formulas in order to do so.  Those things at stake in a split: Mortgages, children, that awesome hoodie you're certain she'll keep if you dump her - grandiose to miniscule - with the right amount of effort and 100% heart, all are manageable.  With so little time we have in life, there is no excuse for second-guessing or for working hard at emotions that we know can come so easily.

So what do you do when you're almost positive you've found that chemistry?  How do you handle the idea that you just might be falling in love?  Of course the usual answer is: Shout it from the fuckin' rooftops!  Tell everyone!  Tell him/her!  Write sappy poems and stick them under their windshield wiper!  Send them flowers, make them a mix tape - shit, the list goes on.  But what if there exists more than one factor which steals away your freedom of expression?  Like a thick pane of glass between two people - there they sit, tapping occasionally, pressing their hands against the cold, transparent, but solid wall - at least one, maybe both hoping that soon someone might gather enough strength to smash it to pieces.  So what works?  How do you reconcile that cheesy butterfly feeling every time he touches you?  How do you pass off the blushing, or losing yourself in listening to him speak?  How in the HELL do you escape the goddamned Disney movie you find yourself living in?  

Self-promotion is ineffective - if you're genuine then it should be absolutely clear what you have to offer.  Simply making a blind move to alter the circumstances (that is, without consulting the other person first) could cause long-term discomfort if the ultimate end is not achieved via the means.  So, if making the case and making the move are both out of the question - all you have left is honesty, and patience - oddly enough, two of the greatest components of any healthy relationship.

And there's the one-two punch: your author is falling in love - and she's willing to wait it out.  And even if it all turns out to be futile or a farce, if it's sooner rather than later - it's worth it.  Ask me why, and that's an entirely different blog that would threaten to waste just as much of your time, if not more. :)

Purge

Some people are nothing more than a walking disease.  Every now and again it's healthy to cleanse your system.

Time out.  Toxin free.

Green means Go!

As some of you may recall, a little while ago I decided to make a substantial investment (when measured against my income) in order to make an effort toward long-term savings.

I went green.  Literally.  A lime green, 24 speed, top of the line mountain bike designed specifically for city riding.  The short term goal is saving on gas, the long term goal is saving wear and tear on my vehicle.  I've been on the "bike initiative" for a couple weeks, now.  Riding has changed numerous aspects of my life - time, money, testing physical limits, awareness, and so on and so forth.  With the ipod on shuffle, I speed through intersections - backpack stocked with water bottle, wallet, and bike lock.  I ride an average of 3 hours a day and even though it's time that takes away from writing - it's incredible how many thoughts I generate on my rides.

I've been thinking a lot about the physical as well as mental aspects of riding.  Obviously biking is one of the best exercises you can do.  But, more so than that - it increases the powers of observation and awareness.  It commands full attention at all times - attention to your body, upper and lower, attention to the ground, and identifying any activity around you.  While riding, you're more involved in the world than while driving or even walking.  A car helps you to feel impervious enough to lose a necessary element of fear, and the pace of walking puts most individuals out of trouble by increasing ones reaction time to any impending danger.  Biking decreases the reaction time, while keeping the element of fear that comes from an open exposure to all elements - most importantly, large speeding hunks of steel with someone texting behind the wheel.

I'm certain that all of this isn't anything that others haven't gone on about ad nauseam - however - it's the technological aspect that I'm interested in.  Biking has presented a very interesting situation for me - it's the first time that I've ever had to ignore my phone for a period of time.  While walking, driving, while in class or at work, while reading or listening to podcasts and writing - my phone is always no more than 3 feet away from my hands.  Without going into why I feel so connected to my cell phone (why I think that it's not a problem and actually very important to the aspect of technology rhetoric I'm interested in), I've suddenly become enthralled with the fact that the intoxication of biking has usurped my plug-in and more so, the fact that it has no choice.

Is it a coincidence that demanding physical activities require a certain technological disconnect?  As a friend of mine says, there are no coincidences.  If you don't hear from me in the next week or so, trust that I'm riding my bike somewhere, connecting the academia dots.

No blogs in 1984

George Orwell's diaries are going to be published online.

They're now suggesting that 70 years after these diary entries were written, the posthumous translation into blog form will add "blogging" to his massive list of literary accomplishments.

I'm not sure whether to think this is incredible, or just incredibly ridiculous.