Ah, the holidays. While most are either ecstatic about or bemoaning the time with or without families, I am currently neither. Granted, I am pumped to be home -- absolutely PUMPED. But like I've had to tell people at work time and time again, I don't really know where I'm from anymore. Even while lazing in this chair I've sat in for years (except when Mom, glasses perched at the end of her nose, relaxes in this same chair while examining the newspaper every Sunday morning that I can remember), sipping my amazing hot tottie and seeking my next adventure, I am simply bothered by the fact that I can't choose or feel a home. It's the most unnatural feeling in the world. I suppose that's a downside for travel for me -- I have certain people, places, memories that I love, but little feeling of permanence. Nothing feels settled, and while in the long run it's probably a good and necessary feeling, currently I just want to get up, go out, and get busy. Funny that while I feel this now, all I'll want when I'm back in Seattle is to get back to my parents to make sure they're doing alright and to my friends to ensure I haven't completely lost all sanity or social capability.
I feel so grateful and lucky that I have such amazing, fascinating people in my life that I always have something to look forward to when I decide to return from my travels. But I suppose I always want what I absolutely cannot have -- for the current moment, at least.
For instance, all I wanted today was to go to Denny Way on Capitol Hill and sled in joy at the snow that's lasted in Seattle for a week (a week?!). This is especially odd since I went to Seattle specifically for the MILD weather. Naturally, once I get there, the snowstorm of the decade hits, and I feel like I'm missing out while back South. But I was lucky to get out while I could! The snow absolutely shut Seattle down -- and I got two glorious days off of work due to it. All the arterial streets were covered, and by 9:00 AM on the first day I was out to observe the snow-covered damage. The winter weather didn't even deter some bikers, but it made it impossible for any buses near my area to run. Being detached from the world is great fun for a while -- you get to turn off the work phone, dance in the snow, huddle under warm blankets trying to warm up from said dancing in the snow, fix hearty, heavy foods, and have an excuse to be lazy -- until you have a plane to catch. My flight was too early to catch a bus to Seatac from downtown (not like it mattered, as the buses TO downtown from my house weren't running anyways), and the taxis weren't taking any reservations or promises to make it down the hill to my house. On top of that, most limo services were booked up. After calls to about 10 different limo companies, I finally found one that could pick me up at 4:00 AM and get me to Seatac in time for my 6:00 AM flight for $75 bucks. A low price, considering I would have had to drive otherwise and paid for parking, assuming I got to the airport safely. Everything at the airport went off without a hitch, though I can't say the same for many of my other Seattle friends. Kerry was scheduled to get to Boston on a red-eye Friday night, and didn't end up arriving until Monday due to bad weather alternating in Seattle and Boston. I guess living in the South is a blessing this Christmas!
Lexington has changed, and people have changed, but in good ways. I was giddy and acting as ridiculous as a tween on the midnight premiere of Twilight once I got to see old friends. I'm sure I hugged too hard and maybe awkwardly too long for some (and I would hug in the same manner if I had to relive those hugs!), but it was such a relief -- and so AWESOME -- to see fun, familiar faces. The typical activities ensued -- random gossip, beer drinking, song-singing, Rock Band, inside jokes, testing to see if our humors still match -- and laughing in relief when they do. A huge part of me wants to be back in Lexington NOW, while most everyone I love is still there. If something leads me back there, I know I will have no qualms returning. In this depressingly realistic moment, however, I realize there are few real options for me in the town I've come to love most.
My tenure in my current job is up in 6 months, and as such I am looking for options. I know I'm not quite ready to go back to school, though in the plan in my head it will definitely happen next year. I'm too scared to write about "the plan" here because 1) it makes it real and 2) said plan will feel too immovable. I guess there is a part of me that still likes that impermanence...
For now, I will continue to not-so-sneakily steal Dad's homemade sugar cookie dough and consider the possibilities. I also wouldn't be surprised if I took a late night walk around my old hood. That's the other joy of living in the South -- seeming safety.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Reeths.
The buses in Seattle make me laugh. Not because they are usually late, or because there is an advertisement for my workplace above the seats of every freakin' bus, but because of the Pemco insurance advertisements. Pemco is based out of Washington, and recognizing that the northwest (and certain parts of Washington and Seattle) is full of all kinds of stereotypes, Pemco took the time to point them out while saying "We're a lot like you -- a little different." Check it out! Note: My favorites are #15 recumbent bike commuter, #5 NW Male Action Figure, and #56 socks and sandals guy.
Apparently I'm attempting to assimilate myself into parts of this culture by attempting to bike to and from work. Perhaps it's a mix of the recumbent bike commuter and male action figure, except I'm female and ride a pretty normal bike. I planned to get this habit started earlier, i.e., when it was warm and sunny and August. But, due to a 2,600 cross-country trip where my bike had to bear the brunt of the bouncing car and weather, finally settling in a house where I could actually ride my bicycle home after work, getting that bike home after realize mid-ride that the gears couldn't stay fixed, thus ceasing my pedaling, and after 2 trips to a crappy bike shop to get my bike fixed properly (A new wheel, sheesh!), I finally had a fully functioning hybrid bike. Hoorah! Now I can be more green, but more importantly get up later to get to work, and get a bit of exercise in as well. Not only that, but it's like...a challenge to get to work, something to push through that I absolutely MUST do once I've started in order to get to work on time. That's the kind of stress that I don't really mind. The downside is that I could be a bit more smelly during the day and I have to give a bit of let time to allow me to change into uniform at the office. No big deal though, right? It takes just as long to get there by bus!
Well, let's just say that I have a new respect for bike commuters.
After strapping on my backpack and a last swig of coffee, I was ready to see what the open road had in store for me -- at least, for the 3 miles to work. Dressed in tennis shoes, tight workout pants, layered tops, ear warmer, and with headphones stuck in my ears, I dragged my bike down the front stairs of my house, mounted, and was off. (I have to say that the biking "look" is not particularly attractive, but it keeps you warm in cool, rainy weather.) For about 4-5 blocks, that is. Did I ever mention that the hills here are absolutely killer? Granted, I'm definitely not in the best shape of my life, but going up 5-6 blocks of pure hill is incredibly pressing, especially if it's early in the morning and you were expecting a little more of your atrophied muscles. I had to walk at one point just to catch my breath and to avoid a vicious uphill part. However, there is one awesome part of the commute -- flying downhill! I was just sad that it ended as quickly as it did. Save for a couple of pant snags on the gears of my bike, it was a pretty successful ride.
The end of the day wasn't so kind to me. I managed to get out of the office by 6:00 -- practically a record! But as I unlocked my bike from its space behind the building, I noticed that it rained today and left my cushy seat all wet. Eww. I ended up tying a grocery bag around the seat to keep the seat from giving me a wet print on my bum. No worries -- I was still hyped to go! Sadly, my ride this time would not be as fun. My butt was a bit sore from the morning ride and, due to the rain, a slow pace, and a dip in a curve that I didn't expect, I managed to wreck. The bike fell on its right side (not the gears!) and I managed to hop off before I went with it. A bit humbled, I righted the bike and walked it up to Yesler on the sidewalk before trying to mount it again. A police officer came up to me and made sure I was okay - which I was. But as I walked a bit further and tried to pedal once more, I noticed the gears were locked. Of COURSE my bike didn't work anymore! All it apparently wanted to do was stay in the shop. I fiddled with the pedals, gears, and chain for a bit before giving up and deciding to walk it home. I couldn't really see what was going on in the dark anyways, and all I could tell was that the chain was stuck in one of the back parts of the bike. The next block down I decided to give it one last look, and after resetting the chain on its proper path, I was able to coast most of the way downhill towards home.
I think I'm going to try and bike twice a week, just to the office and back and on weekends if I'm going to a destination that's close by. I had planned on biking to West Seattle, which is a good 10 miles from my house, but I think I'll just leave that idea on the back burner for now. Right now I think I'm doing fine just learning how to conquer the smaller hills and traffic that Seattle has to offer. Also, in case I don't post again before traveling home for Christmas, I want all you Lexingtonians to know that I will be in town starting on the 20th and ending around the 23rd or 24th, and then back from the 29th through the 2nd. I hope to see all of you soon!
p.s. the title is how my co-service leader spelled "wreaths" on our Outlook calendar. Seriously. He deserves some internet mocking.
Apparently I'm attempting to assimilate myself into parts of this culture by attempting to bike to and from work. Perhaps it's a mix of the recumbent bike commuter and male action figure, except I'm female and ride a pretty normal bike. I planned to get this habit started earlier, i.e., when it was warm and sunny and August. But, due to a 2,600 cross-country trip where my bike had to bear the brunt of the bouncing car and weather, finally settling in a house where I could actually ride my bicycle home after work, getting that bike home after realize mid-ride that the gears couldn't stay fixed, thus ceasing my pedaling, and after 2 trips to a crappy bike shop to get my bike fixed properly (A new wheel, sheesh!), I finally had a fully functioning hybrid bike. Hoorah! Now I can be more green, but more importantly get up later to get to work, and get a bit of exercise in as well. Not only that, but it's like...a challenge to get to work, something to push through that I absolutely MUST do once I've started in order to get to work on time. That's the kind of stress that I don't really mind. The downside is that I could be a bit more smelly during the day and I have to give a bit of let time to allow me to change into uniform at the office. No big deal though, right? It takes just as long to get there by bus!
Well, let's just say that I have a new respect for bike commuters.
After strapping on my backpack and a last swig of coffee, I was ready to see what the open road had in store for me -- at least, for the 3 miles to work. Dressed in tennis shoes, tight workout pants, layered tops, ear warmer, and with headphones stuck in my ears, I dragged my bike down the front stairs of my house, mounted, and was off. (I have to say that the biking "look" is not particularly attractive, but it keeps you warm in cool, rainy weather.) For about 4-5 blocks, that is. Did I ever mention that the hills here are absolutely killer? Granted, I'm definitely not in the best shape of my life, but going up 5-6 blocks of pure hill is incredibly pressing, especially if it's early in the morning and you were expecting a little more of your atrophied muscles. I had to walk at one point just to catch my breath and to avoid a vicious uphill part. However, there is one awesome part of the commute -- flying downhill! I was just sad that it ended as quickly as it did. Save for a couple of pant snags on the gears of my bike, it was a pretty successful ride.
The end of the day wasn't so kind to me. I managed to get out of the office by 6:00 -- practically a record! But as I unlocked my bike from its space behind the building, I noticed that it rained today and left my cushy seat all wet. Eww. I ended up tying a grocery bag around the seat to keep the seat from giving me a wet print on my bum. No worries -- I was still hyped to go! Sadly, my ride this time would not be as fun. My butt was a bit sore from the morning ride and, due to the rain, a slow pace, and a dip in a curve that I didn't expect, I managed to wreck. The bike fell on its right side (not the gears!) and I managed to hop off before I went with it. A bit humbled, I righted the bike and walked it up to Yesler on the sidewalk before trying to mount it again. A police officer came up to me and made sure I was okay - which I was. But as I walked a bit further and tried to pedal once more, I noticed the gears were locked. Of COURSE my bike didn't work anymore! All it apparently wanted to do was stay in the shop. I fiddled with the pedals, gears, and chain for a bit before giving up and deciding to walk it home. I couldn't really see what was going on in the dark anyways, and all I could tell was that the chain was stuck in one of the back parts of the bike. The next block down I decided to give it one last look, and after resetting the chain on its proper path, I was able to coast most of the way downhill towards home.
I think I'm going to try and bike twice a week, just to the office and back and on weekends if I'm going to a destination that's close by. I had planned on biking to West Seattle, which is a good 10 miles from my house, but I think I'll just leave that idea on the back burner for now. Right now I think I'm doing fine just learning how to conquer the smaller hills and traffic that Seattle has to offer. Also, in case I don't post again before traveling home for Christmas, I want all you Lexingtonians to know that I will be in town starting on the 20th and ending around the 23rd or 24th, and then back from the 29th through the 2nd. I hope to see all of you soon!
p.s. the title is how my co-service leader spelled "wreaths" on our Outlook calendar. Seriously. He deserves some internet mocking.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Country roads, take me home.
Ever since my emergency room excursion, I've found myself a bit more lethargic. I don't think it's just the percosets talking either. It's not just that I'm trying to figure out what to do next year, or the 50-60 hour weeks wearing on me this time. I finally put my finger on it today while walking to the last farmer's market of the year on Capitol Hill.
I'm nervous about going home.
Of all feelings, I did not expect this. Ever since really seeing what my job is about, I've wanted to escape back to familiarity and warmth of home. For the past 5-6 weeks, I've become pretty acclimated to life here -- getting up before the sun rises and after it sets, performing a delicate waltz with my roommates in our tiny kitchen during meal times, remembering how often my most-traveled buses stop, gasping in awe at Mount Rainier on clear days, being able to walk down the street to get anything I need, and feeling busy and tired, but lucky most days. It's a completely different type of exhausted, one that perhaps a lot of Americorps volunteers experience -- if I don't do this work, no one will. It's simultaneously distressing and motivating.
My half-day on Wednesday was AWESOME, as most half-days are. However, like most days at my job, I managed to stay later than usual. By 2:00 I was back home, preparing myself for a run, shower, and packing for the long weekend ahead. More than anything, I felt excited about going home. As I began my run by Lake Washington (another blue-skied day -- I think people exaggerate about the amount of rain here!), my cardio system wheezed at me, and I immediately regretted putting work and my weakness for free pastries above my running routine. I need to get back in this healthy habit. Eventually I prepared for my plane ride by having just enough beers while packing to easily put me to sleep long before my 3:45 AM wake-up call. Kerry drove me to the airport in exchange for use of my car this weekend, and by 5:10 I was through security and preparing to board my plane for Dallas/Fort Worth.
Maryville was not as comfortable as I remembered. No one was waiting for me as I bolted past security around 3:30 PM. Disappointing, but my plane was early and my ever-frugal parents don’t want to park at the airport for long periods of time, because that would mean having to pay something to the parking people after leaving the terminal. This isn’t meant as a dig against them, but I think it probably does explain a lot about how I learned to live. At any rate, after the slight disappointment, I headed down to baggage claim and waited for my luggage to come around. It even felt surreal standing there, because I got the distinct feeling that someone from my plane was continuing to stare at me – again, something I’m not too used to feeling (though, perhaps I should.)
Life, naturally, got even more ridiculous as I waited. All of a sudden, none other than Mike Finney popped around the carousel, heading towards security. I remember shock, embarrassment, and a bit of anger towards the heavens for whomever was pulling this trick on me. I’m sure this also registered on my face – picture the jaw drop, the unsure peer, and then a reassuring smile -- it would be nice to see Finney, considering I hadn't seen him in...wow, years? Still, the first person I see when I touch down at home after a long time away HAD to be an ex? Really?! Luckily, the encounter was less than awkward, but unfortunately was a bit insulting. After commenting how cool it would be to work in an airport (I have always had an affinity for them, ask me about it sometime), he simply said, “Wow, you’re still a dork.” And laughed his raucous Finney laugh. The proper response would have been, “Wow, and you’re still in Maryville”, but alas, in true Corey fashion, I thought of the comeback ten minutes later than appropriate. At least he left to serve the needy travelers of the airport Ruby Tuesday before my Dad came striding in with a white rose and big smile – finally, a face I was excited to see!
As Dad and I drove down Alcoa highway, same as I always have since we moved to Maryville in 1996, I felt a surprising wave of emotions crest over me. Home is huge – in the sense that it is so spread out. There were vast amounts of perfectly good land not being used in some form of development. The chain stores – O’Charley’s, Cracker Barrel, Panera, Chili’s – felt impossibly far away, practicably unreachable. I didn’t have to look up to see clear skies. All the while, I’m chitchatting with my Dad about random occurances in the past few months in Maryville that don’t actually have any significant bearing on the place, such as newly paved turn lanes, but this was actually the kind of small talk I missed.
We entered the house through the garage and familiar laundry room. Mom ran to greet me with a huge hug and grin. I don't think I've ever seen her so excited! And me? Absolutely overwhelmed with everything. This was not what I remembered, or rather I guess, what I expected. Even the kitchen felt vast, much like the town did as Dad and I drove in. After exchanging pleasantries with Ross and Christin, who were busily preparing sides for the ensuing meal, I crept to the nook between my room and bathroom and allowed myself a short cry. I couldn't put my finger on what exactly I was crying over -- joy? confusion? the weight of everything I've done/thought/felt these past 4-5 months? Relieved, exhausted, hungry, and absolutely bewildered at my guttereal reaction, I calmed myself and sat down to dinner with my closest family. Over a new mac + cheese recipe and Dad's homemade bread, all the unpleasantness went away as we chatted about absent grandparents and various recent pop culture phenomena (Quantum of Solace, Twilight, and Sarah Palin.) My world softened and I could once again feel free to be myself -- at least, the self I am while I'm around family -- and that is definitely a more comfortable persona.
See, this is what positively baffles me. I wanted and knew I needed a change in my life -- one of the huge reasons I moved to Seattle. But once I came back this weekend, I felt as if I could be myself once more. Isn't that the same person I was?/am? trying to change? However, haven't I also said before that my current line of work is forcing me to change in ways I don't desire? So, was my shock in delight of finding out my past self still exists, or the realization of regression to my unwanted past self? Perhaps, even more sadly, could it be a bit of both? And I thought culture shock could only occur if you visited another nation!
Overall, however, my trip home was awesome. I soon settled in and got to see Jessie, one of my best childhood friends, as soon as she was done with dinner as well. We also hung out in the thriving hustle and bustle of downtown Maryville, where we visited 3/4 of the local bars -- one of which was hosting a 40th birthday party, which we awkwardly walked in on. Oops. UK won its basketball games, and I got to see my sneaky uncles hide a fifth of Jim Beam in their jackets as they entered Neyland Stadium for Fulmer's last game. Overall, it was a great trip home, and I was sad to leave my friends and parents, but not so much the place. I wonder if the same will hold true for Lexington in three weeks...
I'm nervous about going home.
Of all feelings, I did not expect this. Ever since really seeing what my job is about, I've wanted to escape back to familiarity and warmth of home. For the past 5-6 weeks, I've become pretty acclimated to life here -- getting up before the sun rises and after it sets, performing a delicate waltz with my roommates in our tiny kitchen during meal times, remembering how often my most-traveled buses stop, gasping in awe at Mount Rainier on clear days, being able to walk down the street to get anything I need, and feeling busy and tired, but lucky most days. It's a completely different type of exhausted, one that perhaps a lot of Americorps volunteers experience -- if I don't do this work, no one will. It's simultaneously distressing and motivating.
My half-day on Wednesday was AWESOME, as most half-days are. However, like most days at my job, I managed to stay later than usual. By 2:00 I was back home, preparing myself for a run, shower, and packing for the long weekend ahead. More than anything, I felt excited about going home. As I began my run by Lake Washington (another blue-skied day -- I think people exaggerate about the amount of rain here!), my cardio system wheezed at me, and I immediately regretted putting work and my weakness for free pastries above my running routine. I need to get back in this healthy habit. Eventually I prepared for my plane ride by having just enough beers while packing to easily put me to sleep long before my 3:45 AM wake-up call. Kerry drove me to the airport in exchange for use of my car this weekend, and by 5:10 I was through security and preparing to board my plane for Dallas/Fort Worth.
Maryville was not as comfortable as I remembered. No one was waiting for me as I bolted past security around 3:30 PM. Disappointing, but my plane was early and my ever-frugal parents don’t want to park at the airport for long periods of time, because that would mean having to pay something to the parking people after leaving the terminal. This isn’t meant as a dig against them, but I think it probably does explain a lot about how I learned to live. At any rate, after the slight disappointment, I headed down to baggage claim and waited for my luggage to come around. It even felt surreal standing there, because I got the distinct feeling that someone from my plane was continuing to stare at me – again, something I’m not too used to feeling (though, perhaps I should.)
Life, naturally, got even more ridiculous as I waited. All of a sudden, none other than Mike Finney popped around the carousel, heading towards security. I remember shock, embarrassment, and a bit of anger towards the heavens for whomever was pulling this trick on me. I’m sure this also registered on my face – picture the jaw drop, the unsure peer, and then a reassuring smile -- it would be nice to see Finney, considering I hadn't seen him in...wow, years? Still, the first person I see when I touch down at home after a long time away HAD to be an ex? Really?! Luckily, the encounter was less than awkward, but unfortunately was a bit insulting. After commenting how cool it would be to work in an airport (I have always had an affinity for them, ask me about it sometime), he simply said, “Wow, you’re still a dork.” And laughed his raucous Finney laugh. The proper response would have been, “Wow, and you’re still in Maryville”, but alas, in true Corey fashion, I thought of the comeback ten minutes later than appropriate. At least he left to serve the needy travelers of the airport Ruby Tuesday before my Dad came striding in with a white rose and big smile – finally, a face I was excited to see!
As Dad and I drove down Alcoa highway, same as I always have since we moved to Maryville in 1996, I felt a surprising wave of emotions crest over me. Home is huge – in the sense that it is so spread out. There were vast amounts of perfectly good land not being used in some form of development. The chain stores – O’Charley’s, Cracker Barrel, Panera, Chili’s – felt impossibly far away, practicably unreachable. I didn’t have to look up to see clear skies. All the while, I’m chitchatting with my Dad about random occurances in the past few months in Maryville that don’t actually have any significant bearing on the place, such as newly paved turn lanes, but this was actually the kind of small talk I missed.
We entered the house through the garage and familiar laundry room. Mom ran to greet me with a huge hug and grin. I don't think I've ever seen her so excited! And me? Absolutely overwhelmed with everything. This was not what I remembered, or rather I guess, what I expected. Even the kitchen felt vast, much like the town did as Dad and I drove in. After exchanging pleasantries with Ross and Christin, who were busily preparing sides for the ensuing meal, I crept to the nook between my room and bathroom and allowed myself a short cry. I couldn't put my finger on what exactly I was crying over -- joy? confusion? the weight of everything I've done/thought/felt these past 4-5 months? Relieved, exhausted, hungry, and absolutely bewildered at my guttereal reaction, I calmed myself and sat down to dinner with my closest family. Over a new mac + cheese recipe and Dad's homemade bread, all the unpleasantness went away as we chatted about absent grandparents and various recent pop culture phenomena (Quantum of Solace, Twilight, and Sarah Palin.) My world softened and I could once again feel free to be myself -- at least, the self I am while I'm around family -- and that is definitely a more comfortable persona.
See, this is what positively baffles me. I wanted and knew I needed a change in my life -- one of the huge reasons I moved to Seattle. But once I came back this weekend, I felt as if I could be myself once more. Isn't that the same person I was?/am? trying to change? However, haven't I also said before that my current line of work is forcing me to change in ways I don't desire? So, was my shock in delight of finding out my past self still exists, or the realization of regression to my unwanted past self? Perhaps, even more sadly, could it be a bit of both? And I thought culture shock could only occur if you visited another nation!
Overall, however, my trip home was awesome. I soon settled in and got to see Jessie, one of my best childhood friends, as soon as she was done with dinner as well. We also hung out in the thriving hustle and bustle of downtown Maryville, where we visited 3/4 of the local bars -- one of which was hosting a 40th birthday party, which we awkwardly walked in on. Oops. UK won its basketball games, and I got to see my sneaky uncles hide a fifth of Jim Beam in their jackets as they entered Neyland Stadium for Fulmer's last game. Overall, it was a great trip home, and I was sad to leave my friends and parents, but not so much the place. I wonder if the same will hold true for Lexington in three weeks...
Saturday, November 8, 2008
be safe, you say.
It just occurred to me this afternoon that I eat pluots. Not just that I eat them, I suppose, but that I bought them somehow knowing that I would like them, even though I've never bitten into a plum or apricot separately. I thought to myself, "hmm. Pluots. Sounds good." and put them in my Trader Joe's basket next to the usual groceries. But this is such unusual behavior for me, and not just because the word "pluot" sounds non-sensical, like something I would have made out of a mud puddle in 3rd grade, but because I bought something to eat that I had never tried before.
This thought pounced on me as I entered Verite and ordered the usual - a drip coffee and chocolate cupcake, no matter the flavor of icing on top. Fumbling through my clutch, I realized I didn't have any cash and didn't meet the $5.00 credit card minimum. This kind of situation always makes me embarrassed, mainly because I just inconvenienced my barista friend who I usually engage in friendly, but non-stimulating small talk (how are you, local music, nightly plans, etc.) After admitting that I could only pay by card if he would let me, he leaned over with his cute Metro smile and told me not to worry about it. But I am worrying about it, because since WHEN do I get things for free?! I've never been disposed to natural banter, and even my close friends would not describe me as approachable or charming, but apparently having an affable coffee time friend pays off every once in a while! Unfortunately, he filled my diner mug all the way to the top, not leaving any room for my usual splash of half and half. No worries, I thought, as I sipped my coffee black...and LIKED it. Really, what is this (my?) world coming to?!
My post-college life has changed dramatically. Little did I know 5 years ago that I would NOT be in graduate school or at a well-paying job. I definitely didn't think I would be involved in child protective services situations, or would be drinking wine and beer cheaper than I found in college. (Yes, it gets worse than PBR and Five Oaks.) And while I always pictured myself living far away from home, at least for a little bit, I never thought it would be quite like this -- single in a city known for dreary weather, trying to walk as much as possible in said dreary weather, usually in Timberland boots and horribly baggy pants, without any idea of what to do AFTER her year in uniform. As I wonder what I should do next year, my thoughts follow like Esther's in The Bell Jar:
I have to move on before I find myself too emo and self-depreciating. It's only cute and thought-provoking to a point.
We had a service day today that made me realize why my program is needed in a place like Seattle. We gathered about 30 Young Heroes in Seward Park -- a pretty good turnout, considering the heavy rain during most of the morning -- and planted native trees and shrubs as a part of the Green Seattle Initiative ("GSI"). GSI is basically a partnership between the Cascade Land Conservancy, Seattle Parks + Rec, and the City to restore 2500 acres of forest to Seattle by 2030. Most of the actual work will be done by volunteers like the Heroes we brought out. Like most middle school groups, the Heroes are incredibly diverse in terms of interests, maturity, etc. While we have to stop some kids from throwing dirt in each other's faces, we have to also provide the opportunity for some kids to talk about issues that they otherwise may not feel comfortable discussing. For instance, on Halloween night there was a shooting near Garfield High School -- a little less than a mile and a half from my house -- in which a 15 year old died and another was critically injured. Youth violence is climbing in the city, and lots of residents are attributing it to gangs beginning to permeate from California up to here. However, the boys that we talked with while planting western red cedars and the like insist that the boy that was killed, "wasn't like that." Finnigan (name clearly changed) carefully, but with an infuriated tone, cited that Quincy stood up for him in the cafeteria at middle school and that he was a good kid. All these people attributing him to the gangs just seemed to be an impossibility for him. All this just came out with no other reasoning, to me, than the simple fact that we were there for him. Granted, there are lots of youth programs in the United States, but few that are so focused on both the well-being of the community and empowering youth within it.
On a personal note, it seems that November has become the month of injuries for me. The day after Halloween, I was invited by a few friends out to a corn maze in Snoqualmie, just a 45 minute drive north of Seattle. The rolling hills and farmlands, as well as the occasional strip mall, reminded me so much of Kentucky. Once we found the corn maze, it didn't take long for mischief to occur. Jake began to snipe the rest of us by hiding in the stalks and hurling ears of corn in our general direction, which mainly ended up landing in puddles and splashing mud on our rolled-up jeans. We all took part in the fun, despite the immaturit of it all. It reminded me of Ross and I's fights with super soakers back in the woods of Franklin, Tennessee. This was nostalgic and all up until Tai came around the corner and pitched an ear right at my face, causing immediate tears, laughter at the ridiculousness being slapped with an ear of corn, and a black eye that is still evident today. Here is what I looked like directly after the assault by corn:
This morning I was attacked by something I expected even less than an ear of corn in my face. I began my day by walking to our PT (physical training) site for the day near our office. After chatting with Kerry and others, I felt a discomfort that made me think that I just really had to pee. After village circle at 8:15, I began to search for a bathroom. After team circle at 8:30, I was in some serious abdominal pain. During PT, I realized it probably wasn't my bladder, and that any kind of physical movement didn't affect the strength of the pain in my lower right side. It was appendicitis -- I was convinced. By 8:45 I was rushing to the nearest bathroom and soon realized that, just as I thought, it wasn't my bladder. Joe tried to convince me to take some Tylenol to make it feel better, but we weren't talking a headache or sore calf muscles here -- we were talking a sharp, stabbing sensation. In my torso. I knew we had to take the company van to the emergency room. By 9:00, the pain made me nauseous and pretty irritable towards the admitting nurse in the ER. After the RNs poked around my left arm for a suitable vein for an IV, they gave up and had to search for one in my right. All this time, I'm clarifying my mom's phone number for the admitting nurse while she tries to give me back my insurance card while I'm on the freakin' gurney in the ridiculous "hello, here's my entire backside, enjoy the view!" hospital gown and yell, "what am I supposed to do with this right now?!" Timidly, she put the card back in my uniform jacket pocket and left the room. Then, I vomited into a handy mass-manufactured-for-hospitals barf bag. I continue to squirm and moan, cursing my vestige of an organ until 10:00, when the room was emptied, until 10:15, when I pushed the call button (even though I told myself that I was just being a wimp) and yelled, "I need the pain meds!" By 10:40 I had intravenous anti-nausea medication and some kind of pain meds that made my entire body feel numb while a burning tingle began in my hands. Soon I was texting my friends, wanting to document the experience fully, and called my Mom to tell her about the wooziness of my medication. In the background, I remember hearing Joe's laughter. Soon enough, I was out. Periodically, a doctor would come in a grab me for a CT scan and a pelvic ultrasound (which, if you really want to know the gritty details of, you should investigate on Wikipedia), while I threw up from the motion sickness of being transported from room to room...on a gurney. People also kept asking if I was pregnant of all things. I wondered if this was Jeffrey, my infamous twin that grew on thyroid last December and had to be drained. By the time 3:45 rolled around, the doctors eliminated appendicitis and kidney stones and figured out I had a "large, complex ovarian cyst" on my right ovary about 6 centimeters in diameter -- which is apparently pretty fucking big. My roommate Cortney attributed the pain to, "a testicle being squished. hard." My other roommate, Jaime, had one rupture on her when she was 24, and said that it literally is the worst pain any woman can ever feel. Right now, I'm just grateful it didn't rupture and that my oxycodone/acetaminophen mix is working just fine.
Luckily, I have tomorrow off (woo Veterans!) so that I don't have to take yet another day off of work. The downside is that I don't get to go hiking as planned. I'll never say no to mint tea and chocolatey pumpkin bread, a heating pad, and all the movies and TV shows I can watch!
This thought pounced on me as I entered Verite and ordered the usual - a drip coffee and chocolate cupcake, no matter the flavor of icing on top. Fumbling through my clutch, I realized I didn't have any cash and didn't meet the $5.00 credit card minimum. This kind of situation always makes me embarrassed, mainly because I just inconvenienced my barista friend who I usually engage in friendly, but non-stimulating small talk (how are you, local music, nightly plans, etc.) After admitting that I could only pay by card if he would let me, he leaned over with his cute Metro smile and told me not to worry about it. But I am worrying about it, because since WHEN do I get things for free?! I've never been disposed to natural banter, and even my close friends would not describe me as approachable or charming, but apparently having an affable coffee time friend pays off every once in a while! Unfortunately, he filled my diner mug all the way to the top, not leaving any room for my usual splash of half and half. No worries, I thought, as I sipped my coffee black...and LIKED it. Really, what is this (my?) world coming to?!
My post-college life has changed dramatically. Little did I know 5 years ago that I would NOT be in graduate school or at a well-paying job. I definitely didn't think I would be involved in child protective services situations, or would be drinking wine and beer cheaper than I found in college. (Yes, it gets worse than PBR and Five Oaks.) And while I always pictured myself living far away from home, at least for a little bit, I never thought it would be quite like this -- single in a city known for dreary weather, trying to walk as much as possible in said dreary weather, usually in Timberland boots and horribly baggy pants, without any idea of what to do AFTER her year in uniform. As I wonder what I should do next year, my thoughts follow like Esther's in The Bell Jar:
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
I have to move on before I find myself too emo and self-depreciating. It's only cute and thought-provoking to a point.
We had a service day today that made me realize why my program is needed in a place like Seattle. We gathered about 30 Young Heroes in Seward Park -- a pretty good turnout, considering the heavy rain during most of the morning -- and planted native trees and shrubs as a part of the Green Seattle Initiative ("GSI"). GSI is basically a partnership between the Cascade Land Conservancy, Seattle Parks + Rec, and the City to restore 2500 acres of forest to Seattle by 2030. Most of the actual work will be done by volunteers like the Heroes we brought out. Like most middle school groups, the Heroes are incredibly diverse in terms of interests, maturity, etc. While we have to stop some kids from throwing dirt in each other's faces, we have to also provide the opportunity for some kids to talk about issues that they otherwise may not feel comfortable discussing. For instance, on Halloween night there was a shooting near Garfield High School -- a little less than a mile and a half from my house -- in which a 15 year old died and another was critically injured. Youth violence is climbing in the city, and lots of residents are attributing it to gangs beginning to permeate from California up to here. However, the boys that we talked with while planting western red cedars and the like insist that the boy that was killed, "wasn't like that." Finnigan (name clearly changed) carefully, but with an infuriated tone, cited that Quincy stood up for him in the cafeteria at middle school and that he was a good kid. All these people attributing him to the gangs just seemed to be an impossibility for him. All this just came out with no other reasoning, to me, than the simple fact that we were there for him. Granted, there are lots of youth programs in the United States, but few that are so focused on both the well-being of the community and empowering youth within it.
On a personal note, it seems that November has become the month of injuries for me. The day after Halloween, I was invited by a few friends out to a corn maze in Snoqualmie, just a 45 minute drive north of Seattle. The rolling hills and farmlands, as well as the occasional strip mall, reminded me so much of Kentucky. Once we found the corn maze, it didn't take long for mischief to occur. Jake began to snipe the rest of us by hiding in the stalks and hurling ears of corn in our general direction, which mainly ended up landing in puddles and splashing mud on our rolled-up jeans. We all took part in the fun, despite the immaturit of it all. It reminded me of Ross and I's fights with super soakers back in the woods of Franklin, Tennessee. This was nostalgic and all up until Tai came around the corner and pitched an ear right at my face, causing immediate tears, laughter at the ridiculousness being slapped with an ear of corn, and a black eye that is still evident today. Here is what I looked like directly after the assault by corn:
This morning I was attacked by something I expected even less than an ear of corn in my face. I began my day by walking to our PT (physical training) site for the day near our office. After chatting with Kerry and others, I felt a discomfort that made me think that I just really had to pee. After village circle at 8:15, I began to search for a bathroom. After team circle at 8:30, I was in some serious abdominal pain. During PT, I realized it probably wasn't my bladder, and that any kind of physical movement didn't affect the strength of the pain in my lower right side. It was appendicitis -- I was convinced. By 8:45 I was rushing to the nearest bathroom and soon realized that, just as I thought, it wasn't my bladder. Joe tried to convince me to take some Tylenol to make it feel better, but we weren't talking a headache or sore calf muscles here -- we were talking a sharp, stabbing sensation. In my torso. I knew we had to take the company van to the emergency room. By 9:00, the pain made me nauseous and pretty irritable towards the admitting nurse in the ER. After the RNs poked around my left arm for a suitable vein for an IV, they gave up and had to search for one in my right. All this time, I'm clarifying my mom's phone number for the admitting nurse while she tries to give me back my insurance card while I'm on the freakin' gurney in the ridiculous "hello, here's my entire backside, enjoy the view!" hospital gown and yell, "what am I supposed to do with this right now?!" Timidly, she put the card back in my uniform jacket pocket and left the room. Then, I vomited into a handy mass-manufactured-for-hospitals barf bag. I continue to squirm and moan, cursing my vestige of an organ until 10:00, when the room was emptied, until 10:15, when I pushed the call button (even though I told myself that I was just being a wimp) and yelled, "I need the pain meds!" By 10:40 I had intravenous anti-nausea medication and some kind of pain meds that made my entire body feel numb while a burning tingle began in my hands. Soon I was texting my friends, wanting to document the experience fully, and called my Mom to tell her about the wooziness of my medication. In the background, I remember hearing Joe's laughter. Soon enough, I was out. Periodically, a doctor would come in a grab me for a CT scan and a pelvic ultrasound (which, if you really want to know the gritty details of, you should investigate on Wikipedia), while I threw up from the motion sickness of being transported from room to room...on a gurney. People also kept asking if I was pregnant of all things. I wondered if this was Jeffrey, my infamous twin that grew on thyroid last December and had to be drained. By the time 3:45 rolled around, the doctors eliminated appendicitis and kidney stones and figured out I had a "large, complex ovarian cyst" on my right ovary about 6 centimeters in diameter -- which is apparently pretty fucking big. My roommate Cortney attributed the pain to, "a testicle being squished. hard." My other roommate, Jaime, had one rupture on her when she was 24, and said that it literally is the worst pain any woman can ever feel. Right now, I'm just grateful it didn't rupture and that my oxycodone/acetaminophen mix is working just fine.
Luckily, I have tomorrow off (woo Veterans!) so that I don't have to take yet another day off of work. The downside is that I don't get to go hiking as planned. I'll never say no to mint tea and chocolatey pumpkin bread, a heating pad, and all the movies and TV shows I can watch!
Friday, October 31, 2008
recent decisions
1) if McCain is elected, I'm pretty set on joining the Peace Corps.
2) non-mobile babies should not wear any other costumes than the classic pea pod:
because a) putting different "ears" on (cat, bunny, devil, etc.) does NOT constitute a costume and b) it is by far the cutest little kid costume, despite the "I promise, I'm not poopy right now" look on the infant's face.
3) I want to be involved with politics, if only to prevent this from ever coming to fruition.
Corey
2) non-mobile babies should not wear any other costumes than the classic pea pod:
because a) putting different "ears" on (cat, bunny, devil, etc.) does NOT constitute a costume and b) it is by far the cutest little kid costume, despite the "I promise, I'm not poopy right now" look on the infant's face.
3) I want to be involved with politics, if only to prevent this from ever coming to fruition.
Corey
Monday, October 27, 2008
Leaves were falling, just like embers.
Fall here is not like any Southern fall I've experienced. Instead of turning from green to drab brown in the period of a couple of weeks, which my forester father blames on the dry years we've had recently, the trees seem to take their time, phasing through all the appropriate hues of yellow, orange, and red. Because this is the Pacific Northwest, green is still around with the bushes and the persistent conifers. Even though most of the locals warn of the coming winter gloom and cloudy days, the past few weeks have been filled with clear and mostly sunny days, leaving Mount Rainier open for all to see. Coming across the West Seattle Bridge back into Seattle after a hard day of work at Denny to see Rainier popping up majestically in the distance, the cranes of Harbor Island that look exactly like orange brachiosauruses, and downtown Seattle from across the sound and the harbor is a view I'll never get used to or tire of. Needless to say, this is the most beautiful fall season I may have ever experienced.
The Byrds said that to everything, there is a season (I suppose I should also attribute this to the Bible, but personally the Byrds are more appealing.) Fall is typically the season of change, as signaled by cooler temperatures, transforming leaves, the beginning of a new school year, Election Day, and more. While I doubt that any more change takes place in fall as opposed to any other time of the year, it seems that I am much more aware of these changes in me. This only occurred to me as I was driving to church yesterday morning, and serendipitiously the pastor spoke of change in his self-titled Election Sermon. Apparently it is tradition in some New England churches for the pastor, reverend, whatever, to preach about elections in some form or fashion before any major election. My Northwest Rev. Jon Luopa also felt the need to expound on elections, change, his recent trip to Transylvania, Erik Erikson, Richard Rorty, Cicero, and the need for greater caring throughout the world. I'll try to summarize as concisely and clearly as possible:
This election year seem to be all about change -- one candidate is calling for the status quo, as typically does the candidate's representative political party, while the other party and its candidate espouse change. Historically, this has always been the case. However, at this point more than any other in arguably the past 30 years, this country and the world are going to experience more change than ever before. What most of the world is hoping is that we will grow with this change and learn from our past mistakes, much as adolescents do. Erik Erikson defined these different stages of growth, and adolescence is known as the period of identity crises and the development of the superego. (I'm generally a skeptic for psychology and especially for putting people in phases, but for take of this piece lets just assume Erikson's stages are somewhat accurate.)Unfortunately, the rest of the world (as Erikson's adults) sees the United States in such a stage -- they love our pop culture, our independence, and general culture, but could do without our selfishness, insecurity, and lack of caring for others. One Transylvanian got in a conversation with Luopa about the election, and commented that most Americans don't realize that we are not just electing a new President, but also a world leader. Our foreign policies, economy, and legal system affect the global population -- and here most Americans are worrying about if we will ever be able to retire comfortably, or focusing on putting millions of dollars into banning marriages of love. No wonder the rest of the world finds us wasteful and self-absorbed. Erikson's next stage of growth is adulthood, which is mainly defined by the phrase "caring for others." In order to reach adulthood, one truly needs to learn what it means to care for others -- physically, mentally, emotionally, economically, psychologically, and so on. For the past eight years, the US has made it clear that it does not want to reach out to the rest of the globe. The opposite of caring is neglect, and as a nation, we have neglected the world for years through basically ignoring genocide in Darfur, allowing children even in our own nation to die of starvation, and much much more. We must soon realize that we are not a nation with bars, a gated community unconnected from other nationalities. Though we have neighborhoods that are supposedly protected, how much does that wall really keep the realities of the outside from permeating through? We have to realize that we are a part of a global community, and we are only a small part of it. Even the Roman general Scipio, almost 2,000 years ago, noted in a dream that he recalled to then Emperor Cicero, that individuals and nations are but a speck in the timeline of the Earth and the universe. This is certainly as true now as it was then. If we ever are to grow into a nation that acts as adults in caring for one another, human being to human being, we must elect leaders, and most importantly, become leaders in our own communities, who truly care.
I hope this summary did his sermon justice, because it was by far the most moving and persuasive piece of writing I have ever heard. It seems though that this event is only a chunk of many different experiences I’ve had for the past week where I find myself saying, “I want to stop right now and just write and feel this moment.” It’s as if I’m filming different scenes for a story – a foggy sunrise at rocky Cama Beach, my boss accidentally rolling the shoe of our service partner with bright Disney-red paint, progressing from nights where the sun never really sets to mornings where it seems it will stay black and gray all day, the Americorps launch, where one speaker noted, “Dreams may be delayed, but they cannot be denied”, traipsing around Capitol Hill, Madrona, Madison Park, and the CD for the best coffee and pastries in town, viewing the east side of Lake Washington from Madrona Park on a clear day, raucous laughter and impaired walking 25 blocks in the middle of the night to the nearest bus stop home, hearing the adorable and awkward beginnings of friendships between the middle schoolers in my program, my attempts (sometimes in vain) to make connections with people on the opposite side of the US than my heart – and somehow, someway, they will all come together to produce something beneficial and much needed in me, something unnamed that I came here to find. For me, fall is simply the acknowledgement of my new escapades, and no matter how much I try to fight it, some things about myself and the life around me are going to change. This is not a new concept to me, but it is the first time I've cognitively noted any acceptance of this fact, which is a step in a personally uncharted and untroubled direction.
But enough of that. For now, I shall entertain you with this very silly picture of myself as Sarah Palin and my roommate Kerry as Bjork, for a recent Halloween party. No full body shot, but I do have the typical older-lady updo and bangs sweep, as well as a lapel pin! (Do your best to ignore the slightly off-kilter glasses. Perhaps that’s how you know I haven’t turned into a true, straight-laced Republican.)
Peace,
Corey
The Byrds said that to everything, there is a season (I suppose I should also attribute this to the Bible, but personally the Byrds are more appealing.) Fall is typically the season of change, as signaled by cooler temperatures, transforming leaves, the beginning of a new school year, Election Day, and more. While I doubt that any more change takes place in fall as opposed to any other time of the year, it seems that I am much more aware of these changes in me. This only occurred to me as I was driving to church yesterday morning, and serendipitiously the pastor spoke of change in his self-titled Election Sermon. Apparently it is tradition in some New England churches for the pastor, reverend, whatever, to preach about elections in some form or fashion before any major election. My Northwest Rev. Jon Luopa also felt the need to expound on elections, change, his recent trip to Transylvania, Erik Erikson, Richard Rorty, Cicero, and the need for greater caring throughout the world. I'll try to summarize as concisely and clearly as possible:
This election year seem to be all about change -- one candidate is calling for the status quo, as typically does the candidate's representative political party, while the other party and its candidate espouse change. Historically, this has always been the case. However, at this point more than any other in arguably the past 30 years, this country and the world are going to experience more change than ever before. What most of the world is hoping is that we will grow with this change and learn from our past mistakes, much as adolescents do. Erik Erikson defined these different stages of growth, and adolescence is known as the period of identity crises and the development of the superego. (I'm generally a skeptic for psychology and especially for putting people in phases, but for take of this piece lets just assume Erikson's stages are somewhat accurate.)Unfortunately, the rest of the world (as Erikson's adults) sees the United States in such a stage -- they love our pop culture, our independence, and general culture, but could do without our selfishness, insecurity, and lack of caring for others. One Transylvanian got in a conversation with Luopa about the election, and commented that most Americans don't realize that we are not just electing a new President, but also a world leader. Our foreign policies, economy, and legal system affect the global population -- and here most Americans are worrying about if we will ever be able to retire comfortably, or focusing on putting millions of dollars into banning marriages of love. No wonder the rest of the world finds us wasteful and self-absorbed. Erikson's next stage of growth is adulthood, which is mainly defined by the phrase "caring for others." In order to reach adulthood, one truly needs to learn what it means to care for others -- physically, mentally, emotionally, economically, psychologically, and so on. For the past eight years, the US has made it clear that it does not want to reach out to the rest of the globe. The opposite of caring is neglect, and as a nation, we have neglected the world for years through basically ignoring genocide in Darfur, allowing children even in our own nation to die of starvation, and much much more. We must soon realize that we are not a nation with bars, a gated community unconnected from other nationalities. Though we have neighborhoods that are supposedly protected, how much does that wall really keep the realities of the outside from permeating through? We have to realize that we are a part of a global community, and we are only a small part of it. Even the Roman general Scipio, almost 2,000 years ago, noted in a dream that he recalled to then Emperor Cicero, that individuals and nations are but a speck in the timeline of the Earth and the universe. This is certainly as true now as it was then. If we ever are to grow into a nation that acts as adults in caring for one another, human being to human being, we must elect leaders, and most importantly, become leaders in our own communities, who truly care.
I hope this summary did his sermon justice, because it was by far the most moving and persuasive piece of writing I have ever heard. It seems though that this event is only a chunk of many different experiences I’ve had for the past week where I find myself saying, “I want to stop right now and just write and feel this moment.” It’s as if I’m filming different scenes for a story – a foggy sunrise at rocky Cama Beach, my boss accidentally rolling the shoe of our service partner with bright Disney-red paint, progressing from nights where the sun never really sets to mornings where it seems it will stay black and gray all day, the Americorps launch, where one speaker noted, “Dreams may be delayed, but they cannot be denied”, traipsing around Capitol Hill, Madrona, Madison Park, and the CD for the best coffee and pastries in town, viewing the east side of Lake Washington from Madrona Park on a clear day, raucous laughter and impaired walking 25 blocks in the middle of the night to the nearest bus stop home, hearing the adorable and awkward beginnings of friendships between the middle schoolers in my program, my attempts (sometimes in vain) to make connections with people on the opposite side of the US than my heart – and somehow, someway, they will all come together to produce something beneficial and much needed in me, something unnamed that I came here to find. For me, fall is simply the acknowledgement of my new escapades, and no matter how much I try to fight it, some things about myself and the life around me are going to change. This is not a new concept to me, but it is the first time I've cognitively noted any acceptance of this fact, which is a step in a personally uncharted and untroubled direction.
But enough of that. For now, I shall entertain you with this very silly picture of myself as Sarah Palin and my roommate Kerry as Bjork, for a recent Halloween party. No full body shot, but I do have the typical older-lady updo and bangs sweep, as well as a lapel pin! (Do your best to ignore the slightly off-kilter glasses. Perhaps that’s how you know I haven’t turned into a true, straight-laced Republican.)
Peace,
Corey
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
quick October update
Most mornings I wake up as late as possible -- note, it's still dark outside up here at 6:45 AM in October, though I felt like it never got truly black here in July and August -- and the first thing I do is pick up my computer and do about a ten minute check of my blogs and New York Times opinion columns. Once I realize how slow my computer is, I get up, turn on the coffee maker, and pour myself some cereal. The recent delicious find, and cheapest find at the nearby Grocery Outlet, is Wild Animal Crunch.
It has vanilla and chocolate-swirled goodness shaped in the form of bears, turtles, and some other 4-legged animal. Yes, I bought the one with the meerkats in the front, in part due to my past obsession with Meerkat Manor.
I usually crawl back in my nice, warm bed with my delicious cereal in hand and read all the websites that loaded during my absence. Monday morning, I came across this image:
I slowly chewed on the sweet, crunchy mush substance in my mouth and felt kind of guilty. That cat just looked so much like the meerkat on my cereal box, and now I was eating the manifestation of its wild animal posse in sugary rice form. Monday morning guilt trip!
I want to be writing more in this blog, but logging 56 and 60 hour weeks doesn't allow for much else to be done. I will say that I'm taking a french class, got my bike road ready, gained a space heater in my room, am learning more street slang than I ever imagined existed, played basketball with a bunch of male co-workers, went solo to a Ben Kweller concert, and am exploring my future opportunities. Hopefully I'll go hiking more this weekend and I'll have more relevant pictures to post, but for now my bed is my favorite cuddle buddy.
It has vanilla and chocolate-swirled goodness shaped in the form of bears, turtles, and some other 4-legged animal. Yes, I bought the one with the meerkats in the front, in part due to my past obsession with Meerkat Manor.
I usually crawl back in my nice, warm bed with my delicious cereal in hand and read all the websites that loaded during my absence. Monday morning, I came across this image:
I slowly chewed on the sweet, crunchy mush substance in my mouth and felt kind of guilty. That cat just looked so much like the meerkat on my cereal box, and now I was eating the manifestation of its wild animal posse in sugary rice form. Monday morning guilt trip!
I want to be writing more in this blog, but logging 56 and 60 hour weeks doesn't allow for much else to be done. I will say that I'm taking a french class, got my bike road ready, gained a space heater in my room, am learning more street slang than I ever imagined existed, played basketball with a bunch of male co-workers, went solo to a Ben Kweller concert, and am exploring my future opportunities. Hopefully I'll go hiking more this weekend and I'll have more relevant pictures to post, but for now my bed is my favorite cuddle buddy.
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