Doing the math

Just yesterday a friend told me I was heavily influenced by my emotions, and I readily agreed. It's undeniably true. Given that fact, it's odd that when I sit down to make important decisions in my life, I turn to a good old fashioned pro-con list. The funny thing is then anylizing which decisions have made the important-enough-to-get-a-list list. A sample of the decisions that have so merited over the last few years: Going on a vacation with my brother, teaching middle school, taking a vacation by myself to a town I'd never been to, breaking up with a boyfriend, telling my parents about something I would rather hide from them, going on a mission, etc. The thing that I'd like to point out here is that some of these are emotionally-based decisions that most people would make with their feelings. What did I do? I sat down and made complicated lists--occasionally with different colors of pens, or I think once with a rating system (really important pro, slight con, etc. )to add more accuracy, and sometimes going back to make notes on the items on the list or to scratch out items that cancel each other out. While other people are out taking walks in the woods to acertain how they really feel, I am expressing my feelings as columns on a list ("what I want to do" is a pro, as is "what I should do," but "would hurt like the dickens" is a definite con).

Today I revisited an old decision to not do something I had desparately wanted to do, it's not important for the purpose of this blog to know what it was, but some part of me still thought that maybe the math would work out differently this time. I made the list and checked it twice. It took up two pages, contained three different sub lists, each with its own set of pros and cons, and even had a few paragraphs of further miscellaneous factors at the end. I looked at it, I read it out loud to myself. To my dismay, the pros and cons were of almost equal number on every list. All of a sudden I found myself with dilemmas. For a decision of this magnitude, how margin of safety did I need? 50/50 wasn't a safe enough bet, I thought. Besides, if you're going to make an emotional pro/con list detailing all the benefits and risks and effects you'd end up with, you have to make sure that you can live with each and all of the cons. One good con can knock out the whole decision.

But in one way, making all of the lists this morning did help. Looking at the neatly balanced columns, each filled with things I wanted and things I feared of weighty or slight import, I felt very justified in being confused everything I thought about it. Since satisfaction in this matter is denied me, I'll say Hurrah! for a little validation!

On an unrelated note, I dreamed that with a random boy in my ward and my father I went to this crazy new age hot springs resort with very modern architecture, stayed too late, nearly passed out from fear of heights on a "delicate lacy arch" (which is code for a high suspended stone walkway full of artistic but gaping and treacherous holes) and was noticed by a suspicious-looking fellow in a black jacket who proceded to throw his knife at me until he finally managed to get it lodged in my sweater (luckily not lodged in me) and I called 911 and reported him. Then I dreamed I visited him randomly years later and he was getting an enthusiastic divorce and was doing research about where he had gotten the blade, named Yorrick, in the first place. It turns out it had ties to the Chinese mafia. He was just showing me pictures and profiles of the people involved when the dream shifted.

I guess my dream makes about as much sense as my lists. :)

Weird Dreams

I think I was married. I'm not entirely sure about that part. But I'm sure that I was pregnant. If I was married, the father/husband had left me, not knowing that he was going to be a father; in fact, I'm not sure he would have known we were married. Hey, it could happen. So really, he hadn't done anything that awful, since he thought he was just breaking up with a girlfriend, not leaving his wife and the mother of his children.

But anyway, back to me. My sister-in-law and one of my sisters was also pregnant. We were wandering around together doing pregnant things (doctor's appointments, etc.). I remember being scared because my baby was going to come early and I was worried that he/she wouldn't make it. I remember trying to think of what I would name him/her. I also remember thinking about how on earth I was going to phrase the email to my former boyfriend/husband: Come home, you've got to come back into my life, you're going to be a father. And I remember feeling the baby's heartbeat... wow.

At this point the dream slowly started to disintegrate, because, probably shocked into practicality by my motherhood- and birth-related fears, I began to try and remember facts. How far along was I? My dream self asked. This woke up the logic part of my dream, and it had access to real memories, which were then taken through the filter of the dream into even weirder logic and memories. Hmmmm... the logic half said, let's see. Well, you were pregnant before your wedding, so that's why it was such a hurried, hushed up affair and why he doesn't know about it. My dream self was shocked. The shock woke up the logic half even more and gave it freer access to facts. Still trying to figure out how far along I was, I asked, How long ago was my wedding? That will give me a rough estimate of when to expect this baby and when it will be safe to have. Dutifully the logic half mused, You know, I don't think you're married at all. I have no memory of your wedding. So must not be married, you're just pregnant.

At this point, I remember being more shocked and a little sad, but very grateful to my family, because they were supporting me and hadn't said a thing about it the whole dream. Dumbfounded, I simply stared and thought for a few moments, with my hand on my stomach, feeling the baby's heartbeat.

But my dream self, assuming the responsibilities of a single mother, was more curious and logical than she's ever been. I agree, I don't remember my wedding so I'm probably not married, I conceded, but then, by that same logic, neither do I remember how I could have become pregnant, so how do you explain that? The computer-esque logic half replied simply: you're not. The dream obediently shifted and I suddently wasn't pregnant, had never been pregnant, except that my logic half and I remembered being pregnant. My scared little dream self was relieved that I wouldn't be bringing a premature baby into the world without a father or a husband, but I still mourned and cried because I couldn't feel the baby's heartbeat anymore.

So that's what I just woke up from. Let's just say I'm still kind of reeling, weirded out, and confused by that one.

Who needs roller coasters and illegal drugs?

This morning I saw my classroom. It feels a little bit like meeting a new roommate or a sibling's fiance. Although the place is new and unfamiliar, I am keenly aware that it will soon occupy an integral part of my life and thoughts. I stood there, trying to imagine how I would feel about the place a month from now, two months from now, six, a year. I imagine the expanse of freshly shampooed carpet filled with desks, the cupboards filled with my books and supplies, and the desks filled with students--shadowy forms now, but they'll soon have faces and goofy haircuts all their own. It was a little bit like writing the first entry in a brand new diary: The pages seem to house the spectres of the lines that will be written; It was a little bit like standing on an empty stage in front of an empty hall: The audience, props, lights, and excitement are almost tangible, depsite the black blankness of the stage. My classroom. Try saying it a few times to get the feel of it. My classroom. MY classroom. my classroom... My Classroom. It will soon give birth to lots of other Mys: My books, My desks, My computer, My bulletin board, My rules, My expectations, My problems, My test scores, My students...My students.

I'm headed off to Germany with a bookbag empty of homework and a head full of questions. I am a vacuum ready to absorb and combine and unify. Normally when I go on vacation I am full. Full of books, full of information to squeeze in and process in whatever corner of mental space I can find, and full of things I ought to be doing. But for the first time in a while, Tomorrow has a captial T for me. It's not a common noun, an ordinary thing already pre-planned and pre-filled and pre-ceded by days just like it. It's a proper noun, a title, a place, a state of being, a day that doesn't follow the basic pattern the majority of my days have followed for my four years at college. Tomorrow I go to Europe, and when I come back I start getting aquainted with my classroom. I'll ask it all of my questions and see what it says.

What I'm trying to say is that things are changing. My life and its basic pattern is adjusting drastically. I've been a student for eighteen years, ninteen counting preschool. I haven't not been a student since I was three years old. Now, connecting with the experienced non-student me (my inner three-year-old), I'm taking unsteady steps again, figuring things out again, making it up as I go again. I've got a lot riding on my inner toddler, but do you know what the nice thing about toddlers is? They're practically unbreakable. They can roll down the stairs, fall out of moving vehicles, scrape knees, skin elbows, get dirty, make messes, cry hard, and bounce back up to keep living. So now that it's finally time to be an adult, I'm going to fully release my inner child, catch it up quickly on everything of importance I've learned since I chained it to a desk, and let it play in a classroom of its own. Based on all of this, adulthood is only, afterall, childsplay.

this blog is not about you

I have a friend, and a good one. We've been friends for two years now. We met in weird circumstances, and he's one of the few people with whom I've ever bonded instantly. Our friendship has survived just about everything that usually kill these types of friendships: dating, dating other people, not talking for four months, different religions, not seeing each other for almost two years, completely different outlooks on life, etc. You name it, and we probably disagree on it completely. Yet we still call each other just to talk, and we always talk for at least two hours if we can manage it. He's still one the people with whom I feel the most comfortable, even though I know he doesn't agree with my entire lifestyle. Why are we like this? I have no clue. In fact, this blog isn't even about him.

This blog is about the fact that I have four hours worth of grading to do, but I don't want to do it. This blog is about the fact that I'm struggling to keep my eyes open, so it's not really fair to my students to grade their presentations right now, but I really don't have any other time I can do it. It's about the fact that I procrastinated grading their presentations yesterday so it's all my fault. This blog is about the cd that I'm listening to: Falling Into Infinity by Dream Theater. It's a cd that a friend gave to me in high school that I didn't like. I really like it now. This blog is about grammar (aren't they always). It's about how much I respect the students I TA. It's about the crazy stream of thoughts that is always going through my head. This blog is about leftover chocolate fondue on grahm crackers. This blog is about my friend, this blog is about someone else.

You know something? I don't think this is really a blog. It's not even a rant. It doesn't qualify as "blowing off steam," because I'm not actually writing about anything that's bothering me. It's not a tirade; it's not a sketch; it's not really worth reading. I think it's a sigh. This whole blog is a sigh. It's everything that goes into the sigh that you heave as you try and shut down the fire-hose of thoughts blasting through your mind and de-slump your shoulders and clear your mind as you turn to what you ought to be doing. It's that sigh.

*sigh*

the giddy grammarian

I sat next to him; it was very romantic. He had my complete and total attention. I was studying every nuance of his words, carefully weighing and assessing them. His first sentence had snatched my attention from reality like a hero snatches a damsel in distress from the jaws of death. In that moment, all I cared about was helping him achieve his dream. Unaware of myself, I leaned in closer to the source of the words. Instinctively, I reached out my hand and traced a smooth line beneath

a part of his sentence that sounded awkward. My face was only inches from the paper, and my pencil absentmindedly underlined the puzzling, fascinating words again. "Hmmm....this part doesn't sound quite right," I told him. "Yeah," he said. As I studied the sentence, flipping words around in my mind and trying possible variants, I realized I didn't remember what the author of the paper I was reading looked like. I glanced up quickly to remind myself. Oh, right. Blondish hair, nearly colorless eyes, nice smile. check. Back to the paper. Maybe if you changed the compound verb into a participle? beautiful. When the author of a paper is leaning over the paper, too, honestly evaluating my suggestion, and excitedly running his creative hands through the pile of words on the page. And when something I've said makes a rough path of a well-begun phrase smooth and the author laughs to find the blockage out of his way...I love it when I connect with a paper like that.

Let's be honest and girly for a moment (what else can I be in a pink blog?). By the end of the tutorial, I wanted him to ask me out. Not because he was stellarly good looking. I don't remember his name, although I asked him. And I don't remember that much about our conversation (although I remember clearly that he didn't put "spawned" in the passive voice, and that we eventually settled on the word "hatched" after checking two different thesauruses). And I didn't want him to take me in his arms, or to buy me a million roses. I wanted him to write to me. Because he had written the most interesting and compelling personal statement for his dental school application I had ever read.

I've noticed this about myself. Good writing is attractive to me. Incredibly. It's like a magnet, or maybe a black hole. I read a good point or well-expressed idea and I get all gooey inside. Machiavelli nearly spoiled me for other men after I read The Prince for the first time.

One of my favorite things about my last relationship was that sometimes he would read bits from his journal to me, or stories that he had written, and he was a good writer. Everytime I just wanted to curl up on his knee and purr while he read (like a cat, not a pole dancer).

Because let's face it, proclaim it, and celebrate it: good writing is captivating; it's seductive; it's sexy.

Things I Love:

writing in my journal

watching the sunrise

brushing my teeth

high quality chocolates

boxed chocolates

staying up past two a.m.

falling asleep on someone's shoulder

heartbeats

saltine crackers

pigs-in-blankets

alliteration

miso soup

hanging my favorite mirror

burning incense

burning candles

laughing

making people laugh

eyes

soft chairs

hard beds

people who can read chords and make up a piano part

jazz

old musicals

old memories

letting go of old grudges and feeling that part of you that's been clenched relax

learning new songs

clouds

stars

wind

rain

snow

shade

pine trees

gooey brownies

being able to cry when I want to

picking my nose when no one's around

keeping friends

looking at pictures of myself

thrift stores

discount appliances

beans

pizza

speaking quickly

going on walks

good poetry

people

planets

leaves

secrets

doing something right

a day well spent

a day well and gloriously misspent

intentional misspellings

hugs

original star trek episodes

feeling valuable

coming home

You were right

You were right about me. You really were. You saw everything that was wrong. I wasn't being clear, and I wasn't being fair. I must have driven you nuts. But you know something? I think I might have been right about you too. And I know that you drove me nuts. So you've walked out and I'm calling it a draw.