Midterms and Musings

I feel rather cheerful at the moment. Whoo-hoo for that, long may it last!
Let's see...fun news, fun news...

I learned I am not able to an honors thesis in the major of my choice, but that's not very fun. Hmmm... Was noch? (Yes, that's German. As I tell everyone, French is for amusement and frustration, German is for everything else, and Italian is me trying and failing to speak Spanish.)

It's almost Halloween, and that means candy-corn! I can't believe you haven't heard of candy-corn; shame on you. Well, the Happy Dinosaur won't be visiting you. I will be a cute little kitty for Halloween. I'm told it fits my personality.

Anyway, I finished my last midterm exam today; now I can breathe for four days before I begin working on the next run of papers and other delectable assignments. Poo. (I whine; it's not that bad.)

My computer arrives on Friday! I'm so excited for a New Toy! So excited that...I speak in exclamation points and elipses. Oops.

I have been making lists. You all know how much I love lists. I have one of my more interesting classes this afternoon, and then I get to go wrangle small children who are much better behaved than I first thought. I'm really liking the Happy Dinosaur. Perhaps I should include him more often. (I have so many random photos saved on my computer; you have no idea, Reader.)

I am wearing pigtails today, since it started out cold and now it's warm. Hurrrrr. These in-between seasons require three or four changes of clothes a day. Good thing I am flexible with my wardrobe. None of my professors would approve of the way this post is structured; I hope none of you are newbies to me, otherwise I'll scare you off with my wackiness. But...I am just so wacky right now!

Let's see, was kann ich auch sagen? (I miss German, but not German class, hahaha.) The clock in the belltower is chiming two...two...two... Once the holiday season arrives they set the chimes to play hymns and carols; my favourite carol is either Silent Night or Do You Hear What I Hear. Yes, I am this person that won't sing carols in December, but sings them in May instead. Shush. I'll do as I please.

I received, via email, a lovely surprise the other day; a commission I'd ordered months ago from a Polish artist who does phenomenal ink work. I can't post it here (and besides, I'm still enjoying having all of my characters together at last) for copyright reasons, hers and mine. But now that I mention it, I'm not sure I've given my little rant/spiel about my novel. Yes, I have written a novel. No, it's not finished (and somehow, I don't think it ever will be. Sighhh). Perhaps I shall write about it when I have nothing more to say on another random topic.

My computer battery is driving me insane. In other news.

Tootles! I'm off to find something else to do.
WolfGrrl

Universal Mysteries

...are based in mathematics.

Yes, I realize there are math geniuses out there (or even people for whom math makes sense). I always joke that I am not a math person. It could be because (as my mother believes) I resign myself to failure and so fail. It could be because I'm used to Excellents in other subjects, and I am below my own standard in maths.

But, for whatever reason, math mystifies me.
And I'm not even taking a math class involving NUMBERS.

Logic, for those of you who have not had this experience, is a discipline where English sentences are transcribed into a symbolic language for the purpose of a) preserving the truth of the argument and b) determining the validity of the argument. It can be fun on a basic level and mind-bogglingly complex on a higher level.

I have my final this Thursday. Help!

When I apply myself and descend into a state of rigid concentration, my brain relaxes and I click along through the problems just fine. Sometimes, however, stupid things happen. I flunked my last exam because I copied a problem down wrong, flipped the parts of others, or just flat out got lost doing my derivations (think Geometric proofs).

I cannot afford for these stupid things to happen this time.

Grades and GPA aside, I want to do well in this class. Balancing that is the strong antipathy I have towards studying. Logic is a skill, not something you can memorize and regurgitate (or BS, as I usually do for my other exams). I hate studying; for years I've managed to scrape good grades without much studying (if you put me in a library cubicle, I read the graffitti others scrawl on the desk).

Logic works in odd ways for me, which heightens both my confidence and fear. I can stare at a problem for hours and be completely confused, only to figure it out in ten seconds the next morning. I can unravel complicated sentences without even thinking about it, only to get lost in simple ones. My brain has decided that, rather than be helpful and organize itself in a way that makes sense, it shall do as it's always done and cheerfully disregard order in favor of fun.

Thanks, Brain. Thanks so much. I love you too.

I don't really know what the point of this post is. Beware math? Take Logic as a throwaway course? Our brains are smarter when we don't control them? (That's a terrifying idea.)

Maybe everyone could just wish me luck on Thursday? I'd appreciate it.
WolfGrrl

The Horse Ran Away with My Apple

I think this is a case of mixed metaphors, but it makes for a hilarious title, so whatever. Normally one would say "Putting the cart before the horse" or "Upsetting my applecart." Well, what happens when the cart you put before the horse is full of apples? The horse runs away with your apple, of course!

I'm sorry I haven't been that active on here lately; I haven't even got a creative excuse (I went scuba diving with my boyfriend near St. Bart's and was attacked by a whale shark and have been recovering in a Swiss hospital). I have summer school, which I feared would both upset my applecart AND be a case of a cart before a horse, but it actually seems to be going well. Motivation is somewhat lacking, but I blame that on the languid heat of summer and my cat.

To play along with the random theme of mixed metaphors, I think I shall relate a cat story. Once upon a time there was a black witchy cat named Bella, who was obsessed with water. Having chosen a preferred human to harass, she then joined that human in the bathroom every morning in order to leave little brown kitty paw prints all over the (once-clean) tub. Miss Bella would wait, patiently or impatiently, for her human to emerge from the tub before jumping in herself. She also discovered that batting a toy duck around in the tub makes a GREAT noise, and is guaranteed to distract her human and allow her to escape into said human's bedroom.

This cat has not run away with a fiddle; she took my heart in her little black paws, but I was kind of prime for a theft of that sort. "The cat ran away with my heart" is more of a Hallmark card sentiment than a metaphor; she did run away with my St. Patrick's day necklace, and with the $2.00 bouncy ball I received for Christmas. 

My boyfriend has also run off with my heart, but he can't go very far without me (hehe) because I'm almost positive I've got his in return. (Yeah, we're cutesy. Deal with it.) He calls me a kitty, mostly because I am perpetually yawning and I sleep either all over the bed, or in a tiny little ball.

If my cat tries to eat everything I eat, and I am a kitty who adores fruit, maybe my mixed (pureed) metaphor should be "the cat ran away with my apple." I have lots of toy horses from my little-girl phase, but I don't have many cats. I collect toy dogs. I have eight so far, ranging in size from one that fits in the palm of my hand to one bigger than I am. But I digress. I am avoiding my Logic reading.

Oh, that's the call of the black witchy cat.

Ciao, peeps,
Wolfgrrl

Helping Hands

Instead of lying in bed listening to my heartbeat and not sleeping, I think I'll write a post about hands.

I, like most people, take my hands for granted. I expect them to function properly and become very upset and anxious when they don't. There are many hands in my life, both real and metaphorical, but they all have something in common: I need them.

I need the hands that are my family and friends as much as I need the apprendages on the ends of my arms. Friends and family are things I take for granted; failsafes I depend on without really stopping to consider how often, or even why.

While I was lying here not sleeping, I was imagining moving into my apartment. Independence is something that comes to everyone at some point in life; some of us grab it, others of us have it foisted upon us. I am slowly and carefully grasping the reins of my individual life, and finding that (no surprises here) I like having the power to direct my little bit of the world. But back to apartments. As I imagined where I would put my table and chairs, if I would get a cat or a dog, where guests would sleep and what kind of food I'd keep in the pantry, it occurred to me that all of those things involved someone else. A helping hand. A friend or family member.

My hands are necessary for daily life. I am a writer; I need my hands, and I protect them the same way a surgeon or a musician does. I draw. I drive. I cook and hold things and lift children. I had to have someone point out to me how much I use my hands when I talk to help mimic the flow of my thoughts. Without my hands, I would be crippled. Without my friends and family, I would be crippled.

Helping hands are a part of life. In my post An Angel on My Shoulder I talked about how I believe in angels because I feel protected. Some of my angels are very, very close to me: they may not always know who they are, but I do. I love them and need them, as I need my hands.

This post is slightly incoherent; apologies, it's been a busy day. But these are some of my thoughts, incoherent though they might be, and what else is a blog for but to receive (and maybe organize?) the thoughts of its author.

Et maintenant, Bonne Nuit
WolfGrrl

Waiting

I am not usually an impatient person. But sitting in a waiting room - for anything, whether it's something I want to happen or something I dread - brings out my worst tendencies. I am a person who doesn't like to be kept in suspense. For any reason, good or bad.

Right now I'm parked in a very sketchy room somewhere on campus, trying to keep myself entertained. Thus - blog. Let me rant about how much I dislike sitting in a chair too tall for me, so that my feet dangle (even in heels) and fall asleep, instead of focusing on how many butterflies are crawling down my throat into my stomach. Ugh.

I am doing something for a friend. Doing the best that I can, and I hope that counts for something, karma-wise. I know I haven't brought a seraphic attitude to the proceedings today, but I am aggravated. I feel as though several individuals involved took advantage of me and left me reeling from too little (or completely wrong) information. I don't mind offering my help, but I prefer to do so on my terms, and most definitely not under any kind of compulsion. I barely know these people. I owe them basic decency and cooperation, but they have, in some instances, asked far beyond the bounds of acquaintanceship. (Gripe, gripe, gripe.)

Maybe I'll delete this post once I reach the end. Who knows? I can feel my headache coming back, which makes me annoyed with myself. WolfGrrl, remember your maturity. Breathe. Just breathe. I am thinking of something else, something pleasant. White shores, blue skies. Cool breezes. Sunbeams. Shoes. Dogs and cats. Hell, I'll settle for thinking about food, although my stomach is complaining and upset.

Life often involves waiting, and if decisions present themselves at the moment of their choosing, not mine, I can't expect waiting to be any different. I need to learn to wait, not just when I want to, but when I need to. I can tell the same story four hundred, five hundred times to the same engaged little girl. I can read "Give a Mouse a Cookie" thirty-four times in one afternoon. I can climb stairs over and over; I can wash dishes over and over. I can wait. I have been waiting my whole life.

How can you be impatient and patient at once? What is the qualifier of patience? Some days I can stand in line for hours; other days, I can barely tolerate a minute.

Hopefully this post is not too intolerable. Pardon my rant - I am cranky and trying to suppress it. That never seems to go well, but I'm not feeling big enough at the moment to let go of my petty grievances. If I did, I'd have to confront how scared I am.

WolfGrrl

the Nightmare

I want to tell you a story.

Thirty minutes ago, before I was woken by the natural violence of a thunderstorm, I had a dream. It began, as most of them do, in an ordinary time and place - in this case, walking back from Franklin Street with a group of friends.

We were doing all the things we usually do: talking, laughing, bickering. In the midst of all the hilarity, I noticed something. Certain individuals on the street were being abused. Passerby would spit on them; ignore them; force them to step off the sidewalk onto the street. A girl I know from school (not a friend) raced by yelling something. It's been a long time since I had violent (and I mean violent) dreams. I hope this doesn't mark a return.

The girl I knew was screaming about gays. Specifically, a more profane version of "Off with their heads." My friends didn't react beyond our conversation turning towards Gay Rights. (I'm sure this is a combination of my roommate and Amendment One. But still.) I, however, was horrified and enraged.

As a non-combative person in real life, my behavior in the dream was bizarre enough that it frightened me. I had no fear. When the scenery changed and I was coming out of class, I witnessed a beheading. By guillotine. It took place in one of the more famous locations on campus, a fountain students (and faculty) like to wade in. I saw the crowd first, asked what was going on, and heard the cheer and saw the flash of a pale watermelon splattered with gore. Right then I felt nauseated. No one noticed.

The rest of my story consists of little moments like that; the disentegration of society as I knew it. I was accosted in the bathroom by the same girl I'd seen on Franklin Street, demanding that I join her in prosecuting the filthy unnaturals. I took her specifically what she could do with that (and herself). But she was far from the worst.

I visited a friend, and heard some of the most abusive language ever, directed at LGBTQ individuals. I called him on his BS - asked him what the f*** he was saying. He said he'd sit next to me and say it, so I could hear him better. I punched him. I had no fear.

I remember, above all, lacking fear and being full of rage. I am a champion of "Live and let live." I don't want people to ask me questions, and in return I'm hesitant to broach anyone's privacy. But in this dream I was so enraged by the violence directed - campus-wide, even by staff and administrators - at the LGBTQ community that I acted. I called people on their crap. On the bus; crossing campus; in the dorms; in the showers and the toilets and the locker rooms. I fought, and for a non-combative Teacup Human, I did a damn good job.

What frightened me, above all, was how normal it seemed. I like to think I live in a pretty tolerant city, and that I attend a famously tolerant university. But this dream was a dark reflection of that world and a literal wake-up call. I can't describe to you what I felt in this dream: fury, fear, sadness, confusion, disgust. The words are too thin to capture the depth of those emotions. I was transcendent. I was not afraid to die, and I came very close several times: a mob of students and faculty with knives and guns, and the Franklin St. Girl, who was prepared to shoot me if I didn't join her cause, right there in the bathroom, surrounded by seven or eight other girls I recognized.

There was no question for me which side I stood on - something I find incredible. In this dream, this nightmare, this world-that-could-be, I stood up for something I felt was wrong...and I did so honestly. Selflessly. (I won't toot my own horn after this, I promise.) But Reader, imagine what the world would be like if more people had no fear. I fought a football player for God's sake. And I won. For me, this was definitely a nightmare (someone always dies, usually me). Yet at the same time, in a creepy, twisted way, this was a dream of personal emancipation. It was a reflection of who I've come to be inside, and who I may eventually be outside. I am timid; I am conflict-shy. I am live-and-let-live.

But I don't have to be. My temper is an ugly thing; so ugly it frightens me. In dreams, there are no rules, and there is no fear. It's only when I wake up that I'm afraid. I'm blessed that I don't live in fear. I have. I might do so again, one day. But this...this is progress. I can see the cracks in my world, the facade of gentility and reality. My roommate fights for the rights of those who can't defend themselves. I should be so lucky to have someone that passionate championing me.

Be me, Reader. Be brave. Stand up for the ones who might otherwise die. You've only got your life to lose; the rest is collateral damage. We live and love, but neither of those are meaingful without some investment. Be the Teacup Human who told a thuggish football player to shut his f****** mouth and sit down. (Find a better way to phrase it though.) Be the Teacup Human who grabbed a girl in the dorm restroom and said to her, "This is not you. I know you. I don't like you, but I know this isn't you. Think about what you're saying, then try to say it while thinking."

Please, please don't let our world become this. Don't let people die by La Guillotine. Once was enough. One long, bloody execution was enough. It was my nightmare; don't make it any more of a reality.

WolfGrrl

EMS

Exhaustion Meets Stress. It should be a musical. Or a horror show. Or a diagnosable condition.
Geez.

I'm too tired for this.
I will post again when exams are finished and I've moved back home and slept for a year. Maybe in 2012.

WolfGrrl

Potluck Friendship

The sign of a good friend is not, as they are finishing their last lap of a two-mile run, to stand on the sidelines and yell "Run Forest, run!" at the top of your lungs. Besides amusing everyone within hearing range and making a total fool of yourself, you also annoy the crap out of your friend by doing this.

It was pretty fun though.

My therapist is always telling me to list good things about myself, and then she gets mad at me when "friend" isn't on there. Honestly, (as the above example should illustrate) I'm not all that sure I'm a good friend.

Oh sure, I listen when someone's having a bad day and I try to understand what they need from me to feel better. I worry about my friends and I laugh with them (and when they're being stupid, at them). I am fierce in their defense and forgive them anything, but I don't see these things as being particularly special. Maybe this has to do with my terror of being a burden: in my life, I want nothing so much as to make those around me happy (obviously I don't care about making neo-Nazi plagiarists happy).

Despite all this however, I seem to have little trouble making friends. Sometimes it takes me a while and sometimes I meet people and we just click. Who can say what governs the mysterious alchemy of friendship? It's like the food in the dining hall: sometimes it's fulgy as all-get-out, and sometimes you strike pure culinary gold. (Only without the food part, obviously.)

Right. I think it's fair to say that my brain has checked out for the day. Off to fight with my computer over James Bond. I want to watch Daniel Craig shoot people, and the computer apparently has parental tendencies and thinks Bond films are bad for me. Either that, or it's a radical feminist disguised as technology.

Oh Lord...
WolfGrrl