rolly pollies

Reasons I would like to curl up in a ball and go to sleep:

1. I'm tired.

2. It's snowing outside. 

3. #2- and it's only October 27th.

4. Barnes and Noble Starbucks yelled at me again today.

5. I don't want to write my papers.

Reasons I know it will be ok:

1. Life is good.

2. God is good.

3. Microwave popcorn.

the walk

Danielle and I decided we needed to get "out" of the suburbs and take a walk since it is fall.  Beautiful weather and beautiful trees.

So we drove to the nearest forest preserve, because that is what suburbians do. (Which, being from small towns, we think is kind of weird but we were still excited about it.)  Also, we saw a lot of half dead baby snakes. That was also weird.

We enjoyed our little walk in the preserve, until our trail ended up by Portillos.

We'll have to find a better one... that at least ends up by some icecream.

dentyne

www.dentyne.com

I've been using a lot of public transportation lately.  I get to see a lot of ads, and I really like Dentyne's.  They are clever.

I went to their site to get the ads. I liked their site too.

Maybe I'll switch gum.  Goodbye, Orbit?

pick me

Really. I want to do this. Or rather, I want someone to do it for me.  Maybe without the people.  

my bed

I'm a little frustrated that my bed keeps breaking. I think it is happening for one of two reasons.

1. It wants to be like my dresser.

2. I should stop having so many boys in it (at once, at least).

verbal ability: chalk it up

From my homework:

"Based on their earlier acquisition of language and their subsequent advantage in language, some authors have speculated that females are biologically predisposed for greater verbal ability." (Gleason and Ely)

I suppose it makes me a huge nerd that I can't find time to read all of my homework because I can't SKIM it because I want to read ALL of it.  Not all of my subjects but human development class: yes.

I suppose blogging doesn't help either.

people

I love people. 

But they are so freaking different.  Which is part of the greatness, I guess.

The other day I got a coffee ready for a man about 2 people down in line. I put it on the counter and let the barista at the register know what was up. 

Next thing I know the guy is apologizing and there is coffee all over the floor.

He apologized profusely and insisted that we charge him for another coffee.  I felt so bad for this guy because he felt so bad.  I mean, today someone dropped their coffee frap and then they became really impatient when they had to wait for us to make a new one.  But this guy felt really really bad about spilling brewed coffee (the easiest thing to make/replace, and something we dump out every half hour) and wanted to come back there and clean it up after paying for a new one.

I stopped whatever I was doing. (Expediting? Dishes? I don't recall).  I told him that we spill coffee all the time. I told him he could probably get a job at Starbucks since he basically was a barista now.  

Then I told him it probably was my fault somehow.  Really, it could have been. All of my embarrassing stories happen at Starbucks. Ok, not all of them. But most.

leaving

She got up and fed her headache some coffee, like every morning.  She didn't have the grounds and coffee thing figured out quite right, or maybe she didn't even like coffee.  There wasn't really enough time to think about it.  Not sure what it was that was taking her an hour and a half to get ready every morning, she took slow steps down the stairs in her fuzzy slippers and turned on the shower.  

She got lost in the shower every morning.  I mean, the thing is a small white cube with one way in and one way out, but her thoughts ran fluidly.  Like the water, they could either sooth her or scald her.  There seemed to be no control over them.  They flooded her head.  

Differentiating between real life and thoughts hardly ever seemed to be a threatening problem, but often she wondered if they changed her actions in any way.  The conclusion reached was always that there is no real unit of measurement for that sort of thing, and then she'd just move on until the next day the thought surfaced.

As she finished lining her eyes with her "very black" eye liner she remembered a piece of her dream from the night before.  Always curious as to why it took sometimes days, sometimes minutes to remember a dream- she tried to recall it as much as possible.  Although it was pointless to try to figure out why there was a protective cow named Daisy in her dream, she would write it in her journal later that day.  Unless she forgot it completely- which often happened as well.

Her life wasn't pointless, right? I mean in a little bit, like every day, she would wash away the evidence of her addiction and put the mug in the dishwasher.  Her movements were as predictable as the fact that her roommate's alarm would go off as she walked out the door.  She would wrinkle her nose in jealousy, and no one would see it.  She knew that after she passed the house with the barking dogs, turned at the corner by the house with the sprinklers still going, the lady with the blazing red hair would mumble a good morning response.  And a few blocks down, as the man in the blue blazer passed, she would smile and it would go unacknowledged.  

She imagined it was going to be a disappointing day, with too much thought involved. Yet, just as she passed the man in the blue blazer, as a red leaf fell on the plate of cookies she carried to her grandma's dingy nursing home room, she knew it'd be alright.

Fo' sho.

magic eraser

Lydia had a magic eraser. 

She was erasing everything.

I told her if she erased the whole house I'd be pissed.

So she pretended to erase me.

Then I put her in a head lock.

Then she told me that her favorite part was the sound the eraser made when it erased things.

Which were the sound effects that SHE was making for the eraser.

I also got to hang out with Julie a lot today.

By a lot I probably mean about twenty minutes.

Twenty very precious minutes.

With some chocolate involved.

The chocolate is thanks one of my favorite parts of my birthday, a package from my parents.

I opened the package on Saturday.

But the individually wrapped presents inside? I opened those throughout the day on Sunday.

first presby

The vineyard isn't ours.

I went to First Presbyterian Church today in Arlington Heights. I really liked it a lot and almost got a little emotional because I hate church hopping and this means I MIGHT be able to stop! Yay.

I did, of course, get red when I walked in the wrong door and had to ask for help, to which a very nice man lead me through the confusing layout of their church (for newbies like me) which entailed busting through the sunday school circles starting to set up.  He then explained which doors would make it easier for me next time (after I asked).  

Today was world communion Sunday. The whole world intentionally took communion together today. (If your church didn't, you don't need to tell me.  Just play along.)  I like being connected.

The sermon was great. I am still thinking about it, which is my favorite part.  Despite the fact that I really was paying attention (thank you, coffee) I caught myself wondering how I would react if a huge dinosaur burst through the wall behind the choir.

Whoops.

dilemmas of life and sleeping

I am in my bed, covers on, head on my (lovely) pillow.

The problem is that I need to put on some pajamas, clean all the school stuff out of my bed, maybe change the laundry, and definitely wash my face/take out my contacts/brush my teeth.

I want to go to bed. I have to do the above things to go to bed.

I don't want to get out of my bed. I have to get out of bed to accomplish going to bed.

Gr.

a briefcase and a coffee

He was carrying secrets in his bag. One wouldn't think that they were so heavy but they were nearly taking off his arm with their weight.  He wanted to try to switch it to his other arm, but what if his bag spilled and his secrets were open for all eyes in the Metra station.  Surely it was better for his one arm to bare the pain, than him.  Not only him, I suppose, but his entire family. Yes, certainly better for his poor, tired arm.

He'd certainly never planned it this way.  When you are asked in grade school what your aspirations are no one says "Someday I am going to carry around my secrets in an unsuspsecting brown, tired looking briefcase knowing that I would choose some sort of arm deformity over letting anyone in on the secret."

I'm not quite sure if he knew he'd get away with it for this long.  I don't think he thought about getting caught, he just didn't know he wouldn't.  One of those things you can't quite explain, I suppose, like the beauty that is left because of pollution when the sun sets.

Andrew told me I should write short stories on my blog. This is an attempt.  My first.