I'm an upfront kind of person, which is why I'm going to be upfront and say this post will resemble nothing more closely than a hodge-podge all-you-can-eat buffet currently rattling around in my cranium.
I'm not entirely sure I know where to start.
Starting at the beginning would be logical, but we all know that I'm not the most logical thing on the planet. Very rarely do I listen to my voice of Spock.
I'm not sure if you realized it, but if you look hard enough in your days, you can kind of see the future. I'm not talking about becoming clairvoyent or anything like that, just...the little things. The glimpses. Not really a big picture, just small moments. Today was one of those days (the first, actually) that I got to spend all school day at my cooperating school with my cooperating teacher. My cooperating teacher and I get along quite well - we have an interest in science (obviously, though his primary focus is in physics), we enjoy the hands-on approach to teaching and learning, and we have a sense of humor and this idea that coming to school should be, oh, what's that word, fun for all parties involved. Which involved eight, eight-inch long two by sixes with a face and an edge covered in sand paper for a lab on the force of friction. That was preceded (told you I didn't operate logically) by the Van de Graaff generator (which is incredibly cool and will make your hair stand on end, literally), and a Wimshurst machine (like lightening, only smaller and less deadly) and a whole bunch of other fun static electricity events, including making packing peanuts dance a jig (it is almost Saint Patty's day).
And I just got hit with a craving for HoHo's of which I can find in the lounge four floors down and next building over.
I have more HoHo's than I originally wanted, but I'll just put them in my lunch tomorrow, along with a fiber bar and hope that it won't come back to bite me severely in the rear end because the vending machine in the teachers' lounge dropped a can of root beer instead of the bottle of Evian water that it was supposed to be (it was labeled water, that was why I hit it).
Anyway, so today was probably pretty average in terms of what you would expect from a high school. Or a college sophomore observing in a high school classroom that houses middle schoolers because there is no actual eighth grade science teacher - well, there is one. He just comes with a degree in physics and teaches two subjects to two very different groups of students.
So, I was driving back and had just come back into town, and realized that I needed to get dinner. This is where one of those little glimpses into the future came into play, because instead of the words single, teaching placement, and food there was basically the sentence, I need to pick something up for dinner before I head home from work. Which feels a lot like what's coming is trying to get here quicker, and I'm not entirely sure if I'm ready for that or not. I had another sense of it while sitting on my floor watching Blind Dating (decent movie, and I really only watched it because Chris Pine is in it, and he's absolutely adorable and a lovely actor) and I could see myself doing the exact same thing in a small apartment somewhere, maybe with some friends, and probably a glass or two of wine.
At the same time that it's thrilling, it's downright damn terrifying.
There are certain stages in your life, the things that you mark easily with the pass of time and celebrations, whether they be big or small. They are the things that you and the people you impact don't forget. I can tell you roughly how old I was when my cousin moved to Rhode Island; and I can tell you exactly where I was, and how old I was, when it really hit me that my sister was moving out of the house that we had always shared to begin a life of her own. I was twelve, and standing at the bottom of the driveway on gray spring day. And I cried. Did I write that to make my sister feel guilty in any way? No, I didn't. It's simply the truth - hard though it may be - but then I've never really had problems with the hard truth, now have I?
As much as we want to grow up, we don't want to change and move on to newer, brighter, scarier phases and stages of our lives. It's just the way that humans are built. Even being a Sagittarius with perpetually wandering feet (which I have no doubt that my mother and my sister have figured out given how restless I can be when I'm in one place for too long) doesn't mean that said Sagittarius is going to wander out into the great unknown, be it totally and completely willingly, without feeling some sense of insecurity and possibly (probably) mind-numbing terror and the phrase Why the hell did I want to do this? running over and over through said Sagittarian head.
As mentioned previously, that's one of those things where it just works out that way.
I like change, actually, provided it comes in small doses with a set of instructions, preferably in logical order and in English. I also like stability, provided it comes in small doses with a set of instructions, logical order and English not required. Then again, that's just me.
And holy schnickeys, the hair cut on Sean Patrick Flanery in Suicide Kings leaves quite a bit to be desired. And I mean quite a bit.
Not sure I can handle not having the Irish accent coming from him, either, but that's probably here nor there. And how they haven't all passed out from chloroform vapors (because, seriously, we used that in lab before and if you didn't cap it right away, you ran the damn good risk of hitting the floor if you weren't careful of where you were in relation to the open bottle) is beyond me.
Scratch that - the Irish is peekin' through.
Sorry. Easily distracted right here.
Not to mention that I'm kind of tired but nine-thirty might be pushing it as a little early to go to bed. Even though a slightly obscene amount of sleep would be lovely. The only issue is that I have to clean off my bed (hang clothes up and such) and you've seen first-hand that a zeal for laundry is not in the cards in this family. Even if they are clean clothes.
So, I'm pretty sure that I've hit the point in this post where something once meaningful turns to rambling, and honestly, me rambling probably isn't what you wanted to be reading. So, anything witty and deep has probably already been said in the previous paragraphs. At this moment in my life, I think I am going to unearth my bed, faceplant, and sleep. And tomorrow...when it comes....I can go home again for the rest of the week. Actually have spring break.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Upword Wednesday
[There is a sort of pun/joke/Louise is really tired and thought this was amusing in the title. Please don't look at me like I'm nuts.]
Almost forgot that today was Wednesday. Well, okay, that's not entirely true. Wednesdays are my very busy days, and I was busy being very busy, and it's going on midnight, and yeah.
Almost forgot that today was Wednesday. Well, okay, that's not entirely true. Wednesdays are my very busy days, and I was busy being very busy, and it's going on midnight, and yeah.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
These Other Days
I think I once said it, in some post long forgotten (or maybe not so long and forgotten, but hopefully you get the point) about feeling beautiful in the skin that you're in and leaving your fat clothes in the closet.
Today was not one of those days. Today was one of those other days.
You know, those days when you don't feel well and you don't know why; the days when your stomach gurgles and you haven't the faintest clue what to do to make it stop; the days when you don't feel very beautiful because your forehead is trying to resemble a slice of pizza instead of smooth skin; and you feel incredibly itchy because the weather has hit a warm snap and your psoriasis doesn't really appreciate that sudden shift. These are the days when you look at your blog reader and see something from your sister about the package that you sent your niece, and like her, Friday can't get here fast enough. Those days when nothing seems to go right, there's not enough hours in the day to do what needs to get done, and you just. Want. Out. Those days when you're tired of dealing with people, tired of trying to figure out why the guy you sit next to in Physics, who knows your name, by the way, and speaks to you sparingly mostly because you're still a chicken, keeps not accepting your Facebook friend requests. Those days when you wonder why you write because, according to the rejection letters you keep getting, you can't do it to save your life. Those days when you doubt each and every thing about you that makes you a unique individual and nothing can really seem to make you smile. Those days when you yet again have to take your best friend to have blood drawn because they still don't know what's wrong with her. Fosters great faith in the medical system, doesn't it? That after a year and a half they still haven't figured out how make a nineteen-year-old girl's internal system run smoothly. And, as the best friend, watching her suffer through getting vials of blood drawn (eight at once, that one time) and they still haven't figured out what the hell is going on.
Today was one of those days. This week will probably be comprised of many of those days, because next week is spring break. It doesn't deserve the capitals, because it's not going to be what anyone else would consider grand and exciting. I get three days at home before I'm back in my corner single and then three days of teaching all day at my placement to wrack up the hours that I'll be missing because I'm in New York City. And then the hours that I'll miss next month because I'm in Toronto.
Truthfully, I'm not too awful excited about spending the next three days - the first three days of my vacation - at my teaching placement. It's not that my cooperating teacher isn't great, or that the kids are gnarly or anything, but, like anybody else in a stressful position, I need a break. Four courses (standard) plus a seminar (not standard) and forty hours a semester in a school that I don't get to choose, with a teacher that I don't get to choose, at a grade level that I don't get to choose (are you out of your mind?)...it's difficult. And before you tell me to suck it up, that parenting and a 9 to 5 job is much more difficult, think about it from my perspective. Keep the I've done it, I don't need to think about it from your perspective to yourself, and step into my size 9 Converse for a second. When you get home on Friday, and you do the parenting things, you have, after the kidlets go to bed, time to yourself and your significant other. You have time to yourself - you can choose to fold laundry on Saturday, or take a nap when your child does, or get outside in the sunshine that's not going to last (not yet in this part of New York, folks, trust me). You will not, however, spend hours reading books that you might not otherwise be inclined to read, try and probably fail at doing physics problems, chemistry problems, lab write ups, and whatever else academia throws my way. There is also reading required for these classes, as well as things to do (lesson plans, looking over curriculum, and learning about how to teach inquiry-based learning) for the education seminar. Also, find time in the day to eat.
And this is at a time when the teaching industry is coming under heavy fire. Education reform is looming, probably inevitable. I'm not a complete idiot - I saw the articles in Newsweek and read from Anderson Cooper's blog about the firing of 77 teachers (93 personnel total) in a school district in Rhode Island. Standards throughout the country are falling (though, apparently, they don't have much left to fall before they hit bottom) and that's a whole other argument that I could go into. And teaching might be my back up plan, for the moment (I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm out of college, and if you can find someone who's not going to medical school and who knows, power to you) and I'm currently in the field. I am a teacher-in-training, and while this isn't inner-city, it's rural life. And rural life, if you've never been out of a city, is completely different. The resources (sometimes lack thereof) are very different, and personnel, personality, and allocation aren't what you might think they are. It is neither easier nor more difficult out here. It is simply different.
I'm trying to be an optimist. Honestly, I'm failing miserably at the moment. I recognize this, I understand, and I'm okay with it. Because not everybody can be all happy-go-lucky and sunshine and daisies every day. Don't care what your chosen profession is, sometimes you have those days. And what do you do when you have those days? What conclusion do you come to?
You come to the fact that you need a break.
You can, in your 9 to 5 job (or what is equivalent to it) take vacation days. You can take sick days. You have a limit of how many you can take (fifteen, or so, am I right?)
I can, at the discretion of the individual professor, have the possibility of maybe missing three classes without getting penalized a third of my letter grade at the end of the semester. This, as I have mentioned, is at the discretion of the professor. He or she can say that there are no classes that you can miss. It's a given that attendance is mandatory (unless you have a trip for a class - and if you're thinking I'm a hypocrite for my Two Cities class - we have to clear those dates with all of our other professors in the first week of the semester and if there is a conflict and we can absolutely not go, we have to drop the Two Cities course). And laboratory in the sciences? Those minimum three and a half hour blocks, those are mandatory. Miss one of those and you run the risk of failing the class.
There really aren't any sick days or vacation days.
So, today is one of those other days when I'm running out of patience; tired of dealing with people; and just want to go home for more than a few days at a time before I'm back to the rat race that is my sophomore spring schedule. Yes, I'm well aware that I chose that schedule, but might I remind you that you applied for the job that you have because you wanted it? Be careful here, people. There are more similarities between us - me and you, you adult real world worker - than you really want to let on. Because you think, she's young. She can suck it up.
To a point, yes I can. To quote one of my parents, Suck it up and deal with it. Okay. I'll agree with that. To a point. And that point is where you are no longer functioning and more or less cease to be a human being. You become an automaton, and you become a nasty, defensive, snarky (snarkier than normal) person who has issues getting through the day without bursting into tears.
It's hard. To come back at the end of Those Days to an empty corner single. Once again, you say, You chose it. Yes, well, you chose to have children, didn't you? You chose to have the job you have, and to live the life that you live, more or less. There are outside circumstances, granted (I didn't have a good experience with a roommate last year, so I didn't so much care where I lived as long as I lived alone - there are pros and cons with every decision) but there are times when enough is enough.
This week will be filled with Those days. Those days when you don't feel beautiful, you feel like you can't do it, and every doubt that you've ever had in your life comes back and taunts you. And you just. Want. Out.
To quote my beautiful Mayhem Maker - "Tomorrow Friday?"
No. Tomorrow is only Wednesday. Friday is a few of Those Days away.
Today was not one of those days. Today was one of those other days.
You know, those days when you don't feel well and you don't know why; the days when your stomach gurgles and you haven't the faintest clue what to do to make it stop; the days when you don't feel very beautiful because your forehead is trying to resemble a slice of pizza instead of smooth skin; and you feel incredibly itchy because the weather has hit a warm snap and your psoriasis doesn't really appreciate that sudden shift. These are the days when you look at your blog reader and see something from your sister about the package that you sent your niece, and like her, Friday can't get here fast enough. Those days when nothing seems to go right, there's not enough hours in the day to do what needs to get done, and you just. Want. Out. Those days when you're tired of dealing with people, tired of trying to figure out why the guy you sit next to in Physics, who knows your name, by the way, and speaks to you sparingly mostly because you're still a chicken, keeps not accepting your Facebook friend requests. Those days when you wonder why you write because, according to the rejection letters you keep getting, you can't do it to save your life. Those days when you doubt each and every thing about you that makes you a unique individual and nothing can really seem to make you smile. Those days when you yet again have to take your best friend to have blood drawn because they still don't know what's wrong with her. Fosters great faith in the medical system, doesn't it? That after a year and a half they still haven't figured out how make a nineteen-year-old girl's internal system run smoothly. And, as the best friend, watching her suffer through getting vials of blood drawn (eight at once, that one time) and they still haven't figured out what the hell is going on.
Today was one of those days. This week will probably be comprised of many of those days, because next week is spring break. It doesn't deserve the capitals, because it's not going to be what anyone else would consider grand and exciting. I get three days at home before I'm back in my corner single and then three days of teaching all day at my placement to wrack up the hours that I'll be missing because I'm in New York City. And then the hours that I'll miss next month because I'm in Toronto.
Truthfully, I'm not too awful excited about spending the next three days - the first three days of my vacation - at my teaching placement. It's not that my cooperating teacher isn't great, or that the kids are gnarly or anything, but, like anybody else in a stressful position, I need a break. Four courses (standard) plus a seminar (not standard) and forty hours a semester in a school that I don't get to choose, with a teacher that I don't get to choose, at a grade level that I don't get to choose (are you out of your mind?)...it's difficult. And before you tell me to suck it up, that parenting and a 9 to 5 job is much more difficult, think about it from my perspective. Keep the I've done it, I don't need to think about it from your perspective to yourself, and step into my size 9 Converse for a second. When you get home on Friday, and you do the parenting things, you have, after the kidlets go to bed, time to yourself and your significant other. You have time to yourself - you can choose to fold laundry on Saturday, or take a nap when your child does, or get outside in the sunshine that's not going to last (not yet in this part of New York, folks, trust me). You will not, however, spend hours reading books that you might not otherwise be inclined to read, try and probably fail at doing physics problems, chemistry problems, lab write ups, and whatever else academia throws my way. There is also reading required for these classes, as well as things to do (lesson plans, looking over curriculum, and learning about how to teach inquiry-based learning) for the education seminar. Also, find time in the day to eat.
And this is at a time when the teaching industry is coming under heavy fire. Education reform is looming, probably inevitable. I'm not a complete idiot - I saw the articles in Newsweek and read from Anderson Cooper's blog about the firing of 77 teachers (93 personnel total) in a school district in Rhode Island. Standards throughout the country are falling (though, apparently, they don't have much left to fall before they hit bottom) and that's a whole other argument that I could go into. And teaching might be my back up plan, for the moment (I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm out of college, and if you can find someone who's not going to medical school and who knows, power to you) and I'm currently in the field. I am a teacher-in-training, and while this isn't inner-city, it's rural life. And rural life, if you've never been out of a city, is completely different. The resources (sometimes lack thereof) are very different, and personnel, personality, and allocation aren't what you might think they are. It is neither easier nor more difficult out here. It is simply different.
I'm trying to be an optimist. Honestly, I'm failing miserably at the moment. I recognize this, I understand, and I'm okay with it. Because not everybody can be all happy-go-lucky and sunshine and daisies every day. Don't care what your chosen profession is, sometimes you have those days. And what do you do when you have those days? What conclusion do you come to?
You come to the fact that you need a break.
You can, in your 9 to 5 job (or what is equivalent to it) take vacation days. You can take sick days. You have a limit of how many you can take (fifteen, or so, am I right?)
I can, at the discretion of the individual professor, have the possibility of maybe missing three classes without getting penalized a third of my letter grade at the end of the semester. This, as I have mentioned, is at the discretion of the professor. He or she can say that there are no classes that you can miss. It's a given that attendance is mandatory (unless you have a trip for a class - and if you're thinking I'm a hypocrite for my Two Cities class - we have to clear those dates with all of our other professors in the first week of the semester and if there is a conflict and we can absolutely not go, we have to drop the Two Cities course). And laboratory in the sciences? Those minimum three and a half hour blocks, those are mandatory. Miss one of those and you run the risk of failing the class.
There really aren't any sick days or vacation days.
So, today is one of those other days when I'm running out of patience; tired of dealing with people; and just want to go home for more than a few days at a time before I'm back to the rat race that is my sophomore spring schedule. Yes, I'm well aware that I chose that schedule, but might I remind you that you applied for the job that you have because you wanted it? Be careful here, people. There are more similarities between us - me and you, you adult real world worker - than you really want to let on. Because you think, she's young. She can suck it up.
To a point, yes I can. To quote one of my parents, Suck it up and deal with it. Okay. I'll agree with that. To a point. And that point is where you are no longer functioning and more or less cease to be a human being. You become an automaton, and you become a nasty, defensive, snarky (snarkier than normal) person who has issues getting through the day without bursting into tears.
It's hard. To come back at the end of Those Days to an empty corner single. Once again, you say, You chose it. Yes, well, you chose to have children, didn't you? You chose to have the job you have, and to live the life that you live, more or less. There are outside circumstances, granted (I didn't have a good experience with a roommate last year, so I didn't so much care where I lived as long as I lived alone - there are pros and cons with every decision) but there are times when enough is enough.
This week will be filled with Those days. Those days when you don't feel beautiful, you feel like you can't do it, and every doubt that you've ever had in your life comes back and taunts you. And you just. Want. Out.
To quote my beautiful Mayhem Maker - "Tomorrow Friday?"
No. Tomorrow is only Wednesday. Friday is a few of Those Days away.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Things to Know X
There is one week left before spring break.
Said week cannot go fast enough for me.
Why is it so difficult for me to do my lab reports?
I'm a chemistry major who's back up plan in life is teaching, doesn't have a first-plan, and hates being in the lab. Is there something wrong with this picture?
I go to NYC in approximately two weeks for class.
This will require me to move my physics lab - namely, out of my section (the night) into the afternoon. There is a good chance that Fizziks boy will be there.
I can't seem to find Murfee. I have no idea where he's hiding, or even if he's still at this end of the lake.
I had forgotten how much I like to ice skate.
It's becoming really difficult for me to make myself do homework.
I was a bad person this afternoon - I went to Subway to get some dinner because I'm more or less living in the publication sweet tonight, and got Dr. Pepper to drink.
This is only an issue because I'm not supposed to have carbonation.
On the scale of the three things that I can't have that cause pain when I do, soda is somewhere between a little bit of white pasta and a whole lot of white bread.
I filed the next batch of paperwork required for going abroad.
I am now in possession of an International Student Identification Card (ISIC). The photo is absolutely horrendous.
My room is a mess and I have no ambition to pick it up. It's a week before break.
Found out yesterday that my ex-boyfriend is dating the girl who lives at the other end of the hall on my floor.
They're both wonderful people and I have nothing against them but it was a little difficult to see for the first time.
Still haven't figured out how to respond to comments that people leave on my blog.
Would be helpful, when responding (or trying to) to said comments, if I actually looked for them or had some system of notification. One had been sitting in there for a couple of days.
Jimmy Buffet and Zac Brown Band's rendition of Margaritaville is absolutely lovely.
I blame my soccer coach for my being a half-assed Parrothead. That, and that CD on the boat last summer that was all Jimmy Buffet. I think I can blame that on Greg.
I love my job. Which reminds me that I might need to stop down and see if they got my message because they haven't gotten back to me.
I'm ready to go back to work.
I'm more than ready for Easter because I. Need. Coffee.
A trip to NYC isn't going to be complete without stopping at a Starbucks, and if we do, I can't get coffee. I'll have to get hot chocolate. Not bad, but not exactly a mocha, either.
Getting an education doesn't necessarily mean just college - I had the privilege of a crash-course in 93 Oldsmobile tail lights, replacing bulbs, fuses, where the fuse panel is, how to replace them, where the ticker is for the turn signal, where that is, how to replace it, and dealing with auto parts people.
Irony - Your car won't start start in the parking lot of Advance Auto Parts.
Said week cannot go fast enough for me.
Why is it so difficult for me to do my lab reports?
I'm a chemistry major who's back up plan in life is teaching, doesn't have a first-plan, and hates being in the lab. Is there something wrong with this picture?
I go to NYC in approximately two weeks for class.
This will require me to move my physics lab - namely, out of my section (the night) into the afternoon. There is a good chance that Fizziks boy will be there.
I can't seem to find Murfee. I have no idea where he's hiding, or even if he's still at this end of the lake.
I had forgotten how much I like to ice skate.
It's becoming really difficult for me to make myself do homework.
I was a bad person this afternoon - I went to Subway to get some dinner because I'm more or less living in the publication sweet tonight, and got Dr. Pepper to drink.
This is only an issue because I'm not supposed to have carbonation.
On the scale of the three things that I can't have that cause pain when I do, soda is somewhere between a little bit of white pasta and a whole lot of white bread.
I filed the next batch of paperwork required for going abroad.
I am now in possession of an International Student Identification Card (ISIC). The photo is absolutely horrendous.
My room is a mess and I have no ambition to pick it up. It's a week before break.
Found out yesterday that my ex-boyfriend is dating the girl who lives at the other end of the hall on my floor.
They're both wonderful people and I have nothing against them but it was a little difficult to see for the first time.
Still haven't figured out how to respond to comments that people leave on my blog.
Would be helpful, when responding (or trying to) to said comments, if I actually looked for them or had some system of notification. One had been sitting in there for a couple of days.
Jimmy Buffet and Zac Brown Band's rendition of Margaritaville is absolutely lovely.
I blame my soccer coach for my being a half-assed Parrothead. That, and that CD on the boat last summer that was all Jimmy Buffet. I think I can blame that on Greg.
I love my job. Which reminds me that I might need to stop down and see if they got my message because they haven't gotten back to me.
I'm ready to go back to work.
I'm more than ready for Easter because I. Need. Coffee.
A trip to NYC isn't going to be complete without stopping at a Starbucks, and if we do, I can't get coffee. I'll have to get hot chocolate. Not bad, but not exactly a mocha, either.
Getting an education doesn't necessarily mean just college - I had the privilege of a crash-course in 93 Oldsmobile tail lights, replacing bulbs, fuses, where the fuse panel is, how to replace them, where the ticker is for the turn signal, where that is, how to replace it, and dealing with auto parts people.
Irony - Your car won't start start in the parking lot of Advance Auto Parts.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Soap Box Derby
A 5'4 girl with a bandanna over her curly brown hair inserts the key in her corner single and pushes open the door. She turns on the slightly illegal Medusa lamp in the dormer window, dumps her bag on the floor, and takes off her coat. She takes her well-used, beat-up Soap box out of the closet, and lets it thump to the floor. Then she stands on it.
I'm getting really comfortable up here, and I'm not entirely sure this is a bad thing.
I'm also beginning to wonder if there is more of a personality connection between me and my sister than previously decided. Her Facebook status sums it up quite nicely for me: A whole lot of cranky with a heaping side of snark today.
My inner snark? Oh, damn, yes in full blast. Hell, I don't even need a microphone while I stand up here. Quite honestly, my day didn't start well, and it surely didn't end well. Through no fault of you lovely people, but quite honestly I am sick of humanity at the moment. I am sick of working with people.
Honestly, this is no surprise. When I was in middle school, I used to get sick of dealing with the same people at the end of the year, and usually wound up beating somebody up. They were usually boys, who I was sick of hearing relentless shit about myself and all that was lacking through the year, and so, usually on the second to last or the actual last day, I would just snap a little. Enough to literally hoist one up by his lapels and slam against the fence around the tennis court at the middle school, slam a finger in a locker (and he called me some truly interesting names after that, and we were only in sixth grade - but we had an understanding of each other after that), and some punches when the teachers weren't looking. I had to be kind of careful about the girls that would annoy me, mostly because I had to play sports with them, and that was a certain disasterful clusterfuck in itself. Absolutely ridiculous in some instances, and the limit of my patience (already thin on the best of days) was stretched.
Anyway - tangent as usual - I get sick of dealing with people. It's a personality flaw, coupled with the brutal honesty that usually comes from my snark-tastic brain through the small filter, and out my mouth. And, contrary to popular belief, having a brutally honest outlook on life (and mouth to go with it) doesn't mean that you're immature in any way. It doesn't mean that you can't keep your mouth shut, it just means that when push comes to shove you're not going to sugarcoat things that might...well, probably should be sugarcoated. This is how I operate. In the cases where I'm not saying anything, it's because what's rolling around in my head is probably more offensive that I can really care to admit at that point, and I'll keep it o myself, thanks. But that doesn't mean that I'm not thinkin' it.
And once again, when push comes to shove, if you need to hear it and actually listen and take it in, sit down, shut up, and open your ears. I apparently know my ass from my elbow [thank you, E], especially if it's something that you're not really inclined to believe about yourself but need to hear anyway. I might be an optimist, but I'm not a flailing idiot. Expect the worst and hope for the best.
That being said....to my theater professor who thinks that I'm going to start skipping physics labs to show up to rehearsal in the early stages when I haven't even read the script and started to figure out what sounds go where? You're off your freakin' rocker. Let me put it this way: Science labs in this college are mandatory. You miss a lab without a damn good reason, you are going to fail your science course. This is non-negotiable. So, in Louise's grand scheme of priorities, doing sound as a project for Stagecraft (project, while semi-mandatory, still not quite to the level of the science lab) Devotion to the Cross (seriously? You want college kids to come to this, right?) is sitting toward the bottom of the list.
Perspective. Priority. Louise's To-Do List. These things, while they mix accordingly some days, aren't always fully miscible. That's a science term, if you couldn't guess, coming from the Chemistry major.
She crouches and then sits on the box, instead of standing. Brings her legs up to sit cross-legged.
I like this a little better. It's a little more informal and less like I'm more or less screaming at people. I don't like to scream, contrary to popular belief. I do try to keep a lid on that temper that comes from my mother's side of the family, the one that we all have but will deny until we're blue in the face. And while I consider myself more toward my father, personality and temperament wise, you piss me off and we're going to have issues. I've gotten better about not throwing punches (I have no desire to be a Jim Kirk in a bar brawl), but I've got snark, wit, and in most cases, paper and pen to do my dirty work.
It's times like this that I'm glad I live alone. Because this side of me, while an integral part of who I am, isn't entirely...attractive to some people. Not quite...endearing. And I can be charming and endearing, usually.
I'm really tempted to continue this and begin to really rant and rave, and that's my choice. Whether or not you'd really like to read about the incredible amount of shit in my week that's made me quite nasty today...well, that's your choice.
I'll keep this short and sweet.
At the end of the day, you have to be true to yourself. And you have to realize that you're not perfect, that you have character flaws, and that's the whole shebang. So, this part of me where I need to level with people, call them on their shenanigans and, when the time is right and it's necessary, admit that I'm wrong, is still going to be there in the morning. This part of me where I tell you the honest truth with no sugar because you need to hear it, even though, yeah, I'd really like the best to happen, that's going to be there when I wake up cursing at my alarm clock. And the moment you lose any of that, to try and please other people, to try and keep your flaws under wraps and on the lower end of the smile that you show the world, you're not only selling yourself short, but you're screwing the customer in the process, too, since they're not getting their money's worth.
And nobody wants to drink Keystone when they paid for Glenora.
She stands up, off the box, and slips it back into the closet.
I'm getting really comfortable up here, and I'm not entirely sure this is a bad thing.
I'm also beginning to wonder if there is more of a personality connection between me and my sister than previously decided. Her Facebook status sums it up quite nicely for me: A whole lot of cranky with a heaping side of snark today.
My inner snark? Oh, damn, yes in full blast. Hell, I don't even need a microphone while I stand up here. Quite honestly, my day didn't start well, and it surely didn't end well. Through no fault of you lovely people, but quite honestly I am sick of humanity at the moment. I am sick of working with people.
Honestly, this is no surprise. When I was in middle school, I used to get sick of dealing with the same people at the end of the year, and usually wound up beating somebody up. They were usually boys, who I was sick of hearing relentless shit about myself and all that was lacking through the year, and so, usually on the second to last or the actual last day, I would just snap a little. Enough to literally hoist one up by his lapels and slam against the fence around the tennis court at the middle school, slam a finger in a locker (and he called me some truly interesting names after that, and we were only in sixth grade - but we had an understanding of each other after that), and some punches when the teachers weren't looking. I had to be kind of careful about the girls that would annoy me, mostly because I had to play sports with them, and that was a certain disasterful clusterfuck in itself. Absolutely ridiculous in some instances, and the limit of my patience (already thin on the best of days) was stretched.
Anyway - tangent as usual - I get sick of dealing with people. It's a personality flaw, coupled with the brutal honesty that usually comes from my snark-tastic brain through the small filter, and out my mouth. And, contrary to popular belief, having a brutally honest outlook on life (and mouth to go with it) doesn't mean that you're immature in any way. It doesn't mean that you can't keep your mouth shut, it just means that when push comes to shove you're not going to sugarcoat things that might...well, probably should be sugarcoated. This is how I operate. In the cases where I'm not saying anything, it's because what's rolling around in my head is probably more offensive that I can really care to admit at that point, and I'll keep it o myself, thanks. But that doesn't mean that I'm not thinkin' it.
And once again, when push comes to shove, if you need to hear it and actually listen and take it in, sit down, shut up, and open your ears. I apparently know my ass from my elbow [thank you, E], especially if it's something that you're not really inclined to believe about yourself but need to hear anyway. I might be an optimist, but I'm not a flailing idiot. Expect the worst and hope for the best.
That being said....to my theater professor who thinks that I'm going to start skipping physics labs to show up to rehearsal in the early stages when I haven't even read the script and started to figure out what sounds go where? You're off your freakin' rocker. Let me put it this way: Science labs in this college are mandatory. You miss a lab without a damn good reason, you are going to fail your science course. This is non-negotiable. So, in Louise's grand scheme of priorities, doing sound as a project for Stagecraft (project, while semi-mandatory, still not quite to the level of the science lab) Devotion to the Cross (seriously? You want college kids to come to this, right?) is sitting toward the bottom of the list.
Perspective. Priority. Louise's To-Do List. These things, while they mix accordingly some days, aren't always fully miscible. That's a science term, if you couldn't guess, coming from the Chemistry major.
She crouches and then sits on the box, instead of standing. Brings her legs up to sit cross-legged.
I like this a little better. It's a little more informal and less like I'm more or less screaming at people. I don't like to scream, contrary to popular belief. I do try to keep a lid on that temper that comes from my mother's side of the family, the one that we all have but will deny until we're blue in the face. And while I consider myself more toward my father, personality and temperament wise, you piss me off and we're going to have issues. I've gotten better about not throwing punches (I have no desire to be a Jim Kirk in a bar brawl), but I've got snark, wit, and in most cases, paper and pen to do my dirty work.
It's times like this that I'm glad I live alone. Because this side of me, while an integral part of who I am, isn't entirely...attractive to some people. Not quite...endearing. And I can be charming and endearing, usually.
I'm really tempted to continue this and begin to really rant and rave, and that's my choice. Whether or not you'd really like to read about the incredible amount of shit in my week that's made me quite nasty today...well, that's your choice.
I'll keep this short and sweet.
At the end of the day, you have to be true to yourself. And you have to realize that you're not perfect, that you have character flaws, and that's the whole shebang. So, this part of me where I need to level with people, call them on their shenanigans and, when the time is right and it's necessary, admit that I'm wrong, is still going to be there in the morning. This part of me where I tell you the honest truth with no sugar because you need to hear it, even though, yeah, I'd really like the best to happen, that's going to be there when I wake up cursing at my alarm clock. And the moment you lose any of that, to try and please other people, to try and keep your flaws under wraps and on the lower end of the smile that you show the world, you're not only selling yourself short, but you're screwing the customer in the process, too, since they're not getting their money's worth.
And nobody wants to drink Keystone when they paid for Glenora.
She stands up, off the box, and slips it back into the closet.
Confusion, More than Normal
Am I missing something?
In the world of Blogging, am I seriously missing something?
Let me back up, kind of half-assed start from the beginning. I go to a small school, and, because I had a small crush (this was before I found out that he'd slammed a door, however accidentally, in my best friend's face and is probably just a general asshat) on this guy who played soccer. And, upon further slight investigation (which isn't as sketchy as it sounds because you can honestly run a search on almost anything) found his blog. Which, I've linked to down below and on the side as the ones that I'm watching/whatever creative name that I've come up for that section.
Now, I don't know whether it's me or not, but there seems to be a big honkin' difference between what he and I consider good blogs, and how to keep one. I understand that aesthetic types of things are in the eye of the beholder, but I'm not talking layout here, people. I'm talking content. Which, again, is probably in the eye of the beholder, but....am I seriously missing something? Should I be adding more rap videos to the front page of my low-key, neutral tone-colored blog? Should I be doing more one-liners (honestly, I swore that's what I had Twitter for) and more party playlists?
Or are we just two individuals with two very different blogging styles and I need to not try to analyze this more than I already have? I'm leaning toward this, but I'm not quite all the way there yet because I'm still a little confused.
As I have pointed out before (somewhere in the vast expanses of time and space) you can find me in my blog. You can also find newsbits and other interesting things that I thought were fascinating and would readily pass on, but I usually give you a tidbit or two about why I'm passing them on. I don't just simply throw things up under broad labels like cool, hip and new. I guess it's cool if you slap things up with broad labels and headings, and say, Yeah man, a lot, but the question begs to be asked, Are you writing a blog or keeping a website for somebody else's benefit with you as the middleman?
And where, oh where, is that fine line in between?
See, I have no issue with something like BlogNosh. That's a blog that compiles from other blogs and has channel editors and a whole host of intrinsic workings and such. The reason that I'm completely fine with that (and I should be, as I applied to be a channel editor recently) is that they are upfront about the objectives and focus (no capitalization) of the blog, and what they want to accomplish in the social media niche that is internet blogging.
The guy that I go to school with? Not so much. Which brings me back to something that I've said before - if it's your personal blog, make it personal. It's you, it's not anybody else. Yes, go right ahead and have guest posts and link to other things, but at the same time that you do this, you do it because you like it, and you want to share something similar and what you've found is better than you trying to hash it all out in RTE. If it's a collaboration - don't be a jackass. Give it a collaborative title, and give credit where credit is due. Always give credit where credit is due.
Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to get down off my soap box, stuff it in my closet, and take a nap.
In the world of Blogging, am I seriously missing something?
Let me back up, kind of half-assed start from the beginning. I go to a small school, and, because I had a small crush (this was before I found out that he'd slammed a door, however accidentally, in my best friend's face and is probably just a general asshat) on this guy who played soccer. And, upon further slight investigation (which isn't as sketchy as it sounds because you can honestly run a search on almost anything) found his blog. Which, I've linked to down below and on the side as the ones that I'm watching/whatever creative name that I've come up for that section.
Now, I don't know whether it's me or not, but there seems to be a big honkin' difference between what he and I consider good blogs, and how to keep one. I understand that aesthetic types of things are in the eye of the beholder, but I'm not talking layout here, people. I'm talking content. Which, again, is probably in the eye of the beholder, but....am I seriously missing something? Should I be adding more rap videos to the front page of my low-key, neutral tone-colored blog? Should I be doing more one-liners (honestly, I swore that's what I had Twitter for) and more party playlists?
Or are we just two individuals with two very different blogging styles and I need to not try to analyze this more than I already have? I'm leaning toward this, but I'm not quite all the way there yet because I'm still a little confused.
As I have pointed out before (somewhere in the vast expanses of time and space) you can find me in my blog. You can also find newsbits and other interesting things that I thought were fascinating and would readily pass on, but I usually give you a tidbit or two about why I'm passing them on. I don't just simply throw things up under broad labels like cool, hip and new. I guess it's cool if you slap things up with broad labels and headings, and say, Yeah man, a lot, but the question begs to be asked, Are you writing a blog or keeping a website for somebody else's benefit with you as the middleman?
And where, oh where, is that fine line in between?
See, I have no issue with something like BlogNosh. That's a blog that compiles from other blogs and has channel editors and a whole host of intrinsic workings and such. The reason that I'm completely fine with that (and I should be, as I applied to be a channel editor recently) is that they are upfront about the objectives and focus (no capitalization) of the blog, and what they want to accomplish in the social media niche that is internet blogging.
The guy that I go to school with? Not so much. Which brings me back to something that I've said before - if it's your personal blog, make it personal. It's you, it's not anybody else. Yes, go right ahead and have guest posts and link to other things, but at the same time that you do this, you do it because you like it, and you want to share something similar and what you've found is better than you trying to hash it all out in RTE. If it's a collaboration - don't be a jackass. Give it a collaborative title, and give credit where credit is due. Always give credit where credit is due.
Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to get down off my soap box, stuff it in my closet, and take a nap.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Stupid
I feel sufficiently stupid today. It's not a pleasant feeling.
And really, nobody in their right mind likes to feel stupid. It's just something that happens, usually (hopefully) through no fault of our own devices. It's a crappy place to be, really, because your self-esteem and self-worth drops right through the floor. I'm not even going to attempt to say that I am impervious to this sensation because that would be a flat-out lie, and I try to do this thing where I don't lie to myself, or to others. (See previous post for the defining characteristic of this Sagittarius being that she has foot-in-mouth syndrome almost every time she says something.)
The reason that I feel stupid? Microsoft Excel.
I can do numerous things in Word. Mostly, I use it to type, and occasionally, before I had a crash-course in Microsoft Publisher during my sophomore year of high school in an advertising and marketing class (Never. Again.) used it to do some pretty cool things by way of making posters and other things of that nature.
Excel? I'm about as clueless as they come and I'm not ashamed to admit it. There just hasn't been that much need for me to know how to use the little squares and things, and do calculations, and other stuff, and yeah, I'm going to say that I have no idea what I'm doing.
At this point in my life, I have stumbled, bumbled, bumped, jumped, and BS-ed my way through enough of Excel for me to make some graphs, do some tables, and understand a little about calculating things in there. I understand that the Econ department is a regular slave to the Excel gods, but do I look like an Economist to you? Nope. Probably because I don't have the patience to sit there and number-crunch all damn day. Which isn't saying that that's all that Economists do, but it's a fair share of it, to some degree. They have to - My Two Cities professor (the Economist) gets absolutely giddy over mass amounts of numbers.
I don't have an issue with numbers, but trying to format them into Excel is driving me up. The. Freaking. Wall.
And worse, it's making me feel stupid. Not to mention frustrated as hell. Especially because my hunch is that a majority of my lab grade - especially in Chemistry - is dependent on this information and the analysis provided by a damn computer program, and how well I can operate it.
Granted, I'm better now than I was say, this morning, but it's still a long way from where I need to be. I feel behind and incompetent, and I am really not a fan of feeling this way.
So, Louise. Get off your duff and get some help with this. Learn this.
And, oh inner critic of mine, would you suggest that I find the time to devote to learning the wonders of Microsoft Excel? Maybe between the time that I come back from teaching and then going to class, while I eat my breakfast? Or maybe when I'm just sitting around on my rear end because I don't have anything else to do. I've got plenty of time on my hands, right? Plenty of time and space to play with? Sure. And that's why I want to fall asleep halfway through my first lecture before my caffeine has a chance to kick in, isn't it? Why when I leave the room in the morning I don't have a chance to come back until at least after 5 on good days, and not until 11 on bad ones. Or ones more stuffed than usually.
That explosion right there is frustration, pure and simple. I feel better for having just unloaded that. Is the inadequate feeling still hanging around? Yeah, but it's a little muted now. Is there some hope in the picture? Always. And just by looking at what I've managed to accomplish with the physics lab in the time that I've spent, knowing sort of what I'm doing? That's better. And when you're struggling with something, better is really all that you can hope for, in some cases, and what you strive for in others.
Life is lived by experiences, and with experience comes knowledge. So, in my case, you gotta screw up and fall flat a couple of times before you learn to balance. Until the next curve comes and then you readjust. And you go along and keep readjusting, and wait until you think you've figured something out, and then wham - You're flat on your ass looking up. Then the cycle starts over again.
Once you understand this you're golden.
And really, nobody in their right mind likes to feel stupid. It's just something that happens, usually (hopefully) through no fault of our own devices. It's a crappy place to be, really, because your self-esteem and self-worth drops right through the floor. I'm not even going to attempt to say that I am impervious to this sensation because that would be a flat-out lie, and I try to do this thing where I don't lie to myself, or to others. (See previous post for the defining characteristic of this Sagittarius being that she has foot-in-mouth syndrome almost every time she says something.)
The reason that I feel stupid? Microsoft Excel.
I can do numerous things in Word. Mostly, I use it to type, and occasionally, before I had a crash-course in Microsoft Publisher during my sophomore year of high school in an advertising and marketing class (Never. Again.) used it to do some pretty cool things by way of making posters and other things of that nature.
Excel? I'm about as clueless as they come and I'm not ashamed to admit it. There just hasn't been that much need for me to know how to use the little squares and things, and do calculations, and other stuff, and yeah, I'm going to say that I have no idea what I'm doing.
At this point in my life, I have stumbled, bumbled, bumped, jumped, and BS-ed my way through enough of Excel for me to make some graphs, do some tables, and understand a little about calculating things in there. I understand that the Econ department is a regular slave to the Excel gods, but do I look like an Economist to you? Nope. Probably because I don't have the patience to sit there and number-crunch all damn day. Which isn't saying that that's all that Economists do, but it's a fair share of it, to some degree. They have to - My Two Cities professor (the Economist) gets absolutely giddy over mass amounts of numbers.
I don't have an issue with numbers, but trying to format them into Excel is driving me up. The. Freaking. Wall.
And worse, it's making me feel stupid. Not to mention frustrated as hell. Especially because my hunch is that a majority of my lab grade - especially in Chemistry - is dependent on this information and the analysis provided by a damn computer program, and how well I can operate it.
Granted, I'm better now than I was say, this morning, but it's still a long way from where I need to be. I feel behind and incompetent, and I am really not a fan of feeling this way.
So, Louise. Get off your duff and get some help with this. Learn this.
And, oh inner critic of mine, would you suggest that I find the time to devote to learning the wonders of Microsoft Excel? Maybe between the time that I come back from teaching and then going to class, while I eat my breakfast? Or maybe when I'm just sitting around on my rear end because I don't have anything else to do. I've got plenty of time on my hands, right? Plenty of time and space to play with? Sure. And that's why I want to fall asleep halfway through my first lecture before my caffeine has a chance to kick in, isn't it? Why when I leave the room in the morning I don't have a chance to come back until at least after 5 on good days, and not until 11 on bad ones. Or ones more stuffed than usually.
That explosion right there is frustration, pure and simple. I feel better for having just unloaded that. Is the inadequate feeling still hanging around? Yeah, but it's a little muted now. Is there some hope in the picture? Always. And just by looking at what I've managed to accomplish with the physics lab in the time that I've spent, knowing sort of what I'm doing? That's better. And when you're struggling with something, better is really all that you can hope for, in some cases, and what you strive for in others.
Life is lived by experiences, and with experience comes knowledge. So, in my case, you gotta screw up and fall flat a couple of times before you learn to balance. Until the next curve comes and then you readjust. And you go along and keep readjusting, and wait until you think you've figured something out, and then wham - You're flat on your ass looking up. Then the cycle starts over again.
Once you understand this you're golden.
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