Shining through

Things have been a bit overcast on the home front lately. The skies have been dominated by the bleak grey that just coats everything in its heavy fog. School and life have been surrounding us, trapping us in brick by brick.

Suddenly taking three classes that require substantive papers instead of finals seems like a stupid choice. Sure, if you spread the research and writing throughout the semester, things can be less crunched towards the end . Otherwise you're faced not with cramming and regurgitating knowledge during a 4 hour test, but endless sleepless nights of research and trying to pull words out of your brain onto the page. I'm not even going to touch on the joys of the continuous job hunt and the status of applications to other programs. I don't have the strength to go there.

Usually when one of us is busy, the other one can step up, take over and keep things running. However, when both of us are straining to get by, the system comes to a screeching halt. As busy as I am, I'm glad I'm not Zach right now. He has his Comp exams for his masters on Friday, and has been burning through 3-4 tomes a day trying to prepare. Oh, plus his big, final research paper. We can't pick up the slack for the other person, when we don't have any ourselves.

It's probably for the best that our power was out for part of the weekend, as the shoebox has definitely seen better days. Even tip toeing over the worst parts isn't sufficient to ignore the crumbs on the carpet. We've become adept at kitchen sink jenga - pulling out the dishes we need to clean and trying to stack the dirty ones onto the mountain without toppling everything. I can kind of pretend that the bathroom is clean, so long as I ignore the white spots peaking through the grime. Any hope of a healthy, home cooked meal has fallen by the wayside. Last night we mustered up the willpower to microwave instant oatmeal. I can't remember the last green thing I ate, other than a very unfortunate and quickly expelled piece of bread.

But, today I woke up to sunny blue, the pink of the blooming cherry blossoms kissing the sky, and things just felt pretty damn good. I sent of an application for a job that looks amazing, I made steps towards applying for a women in politics program that looks great. Things in one of my papers started to look a little clearer. Nothing major, but one step closer to the light of freedom.

I came home with a bit of a twinkle in my eye, a silly spring in my step as I walked in the door and pulled Zach up to dance around to "I am the walrus". We laughed at the state of our fridge, ordered some pizza to sustain us for the next few days, curled up with some cheesy tv. Finally breathing and smiling.

Nothing substantive has really changed. We're still stressed, still busy, still living in a bio-hazard. But I can see the sun, and for the moment that's all that matters.

Peeps Show

It's amazing that Peeps manage to survive in the sea of delicious Cadburry eggs and chocolate Easter bunnies that abound around Easter. Even with such stiff competition, there is something wonderfully iconic about Peeps. From the once a year thrill, to the bright colors and beady eyes, they are oddly appealing. Peeps aren't that great for actually eating, but for microwave experiments or acting out gruesome scenes with chick-romorphosized neon sugar gobs, nothing beats Peeps.

Here the Washington Post has an amazing gallery of peep dioramas - anything from classic movie scenes to little slices of DC. It's a great way of enjoying a little childhood pleasure, but without actually feeling obligated to eat whatever Peeps are made of.

Nicknames

Sometimes I complain too much on here. Sorry about that. There are some bloggers out there who can write beautiful, amusing prose about the lovely bits of life. I'm not one of those. Negative things are just funnier, not to mention easier to remember and write about. Sure, I generally appreciate in a subconscious way all the niceties of normal life, but being normal they just don't stand out in an interesting way. Despite my whining, I assure you that things are generally fine on my end.

In an effort to offer something entirely sweet and positive to the blogosphere, here is an adorable picture of a kitten and a bunny. Awww.

I'm not just posting a random picture of stereotypically adorable animals. There is a point (kind of). You see, sometime towards the beginning of our marriage I started referring to Zach as Bunny, and he started calling me Kitten.

In general, Zach and I lean away from the sappy sweet. Bunny was meant as a mocking nickname, making fun of the ridiculous bobo bear honey pie sugar bunch stuff others do. And mostly it was a way for me to tease Zach. Zach hated it, I mean really hated it. He would try other similarly ridiculous nicknames for me, but he could never come up with something that would make me groan rather than giggle. After a bit Bunny became a one word punchline, but somewhere along the line it morped into something sincere. Zach's attempt at a similarly gag worthy nickname for me settled down at about the same time, and I ended up as Kitten. We now refer to each other by those names almost as often as we use our real ones, and there is a genuine sweetness about it. (In the private comfort of our shoebox of course. We still have some standards.)

I suppose I view my blogging in much the same way. Most of it is negative and sardonic, but all in all I think there is some sweetness behind the acid, something fun and good about all the annoyances of life, it'll just take some time to find it.

Shoebox strikes back

Well, apparently I tempted fate by threatening to move out if we had another power or hot water outage this week. Since Friday we've lost power twice, once for almost 12 hours, and the second time at about 10pm for an hour.

Allright, you got me shoebox, my move out threat was just a bluff. You win this round.

Blog Dreaming

So last night I had a crazy dream involving people I've met on the internet while blogging. Yes friends, if we've engaged in mutual commenting action, last night you and I may have: blown something up, hid out in an old-west style saloon that morphed into a Star-wars style cantina, tried to read fortunes in a potato chip, been on a boat, talked to a lizard, and discussed why flying was impractical. There was also a dance number at some point. Costumes ranged from 80's style neon cowboy, classic film noir, relatively normal jeans and T-shirts with crazy hats, to steampunk sci-fi. A random squirrel also played a supporting role.

My head is Lady Gaga music video crazy. And I just might spend a little too much time blogging.

The Shoebox Attacks!

For as much as I complain about the shoebox apartment, I've generally accepted that we will probably stay here for the rest of law school. It's less expensive than most other places (at least in DC proper), it's in a nice neighborhood, fairly close to school, and is generally habitable. I haven't seen a single cockroach or other vermin while living here, and I am very grateful for that.

However. In the past month or so, we have lost electricity for almost a full day, twice. We've also lost hot water a few times, including today.

I really don't expect miracles from this place. I can deal with the occasional wafting scent of cigarettes. I've accepted the occasional moans of conjugal bliss that pass through our walls. I can find fun shapes in the peeling paint. I'm less afraid of the bathroom now. Some quirks have almost grown on me. I'm not horribly prissy or picky, I swear.

But I do have basic standards. More than a few hours with out internet and I get twitchy. When night falls I appreciate not trying to make my way about the apartment using a few tealights that are much better suited for ambient lighting than the practical. Quickly opening and slamming the fridge shut to avoid cold air leaking out and food spoiling doesn't make mealtime very fun.

But above all, do not mess with my nice, long, hot showers. I relish those 10 minutes of sinking back into the steam and letting go. They make me human. Trying to jump in and out of an ice-cold stream, staying just long enough to get most of the soap off is just not the same. Boiling pots of water for the saddest, shallowest bath ever is also not acceptable.

I don't want to deal with finding a new place to live. I don't want to deal with moving. I promise shoebox, I want to make this work. Be good to me, and I'll be good to you. But I warn you, one more strike in the next week, and I'm out of here. Got it?

Logo-tastic

So my law school gave me a free T-shirt today. Yay. I do so love seeing my 40k+ going to good use. And what better use is there than a low quality, baggy T-shirt that I may wear to the gym (assuming I ever actually, you know, go)?

No, the point of the T-shirt was to introduce our new logo. Because as a law school, we gain credibility not from the quality of our programs, staff, alumni, students and other things that have to do with the actual academic quality of our institution. We're clearly only ranked #45 or so because our logo looked like this:

I know, the mediocre genericness of it all is stunning. On the plus side, we are obviously a LAW school. You can tell, because we say so, twice. Once in GIANT letters.

So, in their great wisdom, the administration decided we needed something more unique, a little more flashy.

To their credit, I've never seen anything quite like this. Apparently I've been confused this whole time, and I actually attend a progressive pre-school. But at least it's a diverse pre-school. I know that all my classes have blue people, green people, maroon people, every color in the crayon box.We don't even discriminate against font mixing here (even though we really, really should.) Can't you just imagine how serious and professional a diploma with people pillars on it would look on a diploma?

Yes, there may have been a bit of a student uproar over that hot mess. Angry facebook groups, petitions, everything. I'm so used to my undergrad institution (BYU) where questioning the administration is tantamount to heresy, that I didn't expect anything to actually happen. But, students actually have a little bit of influence here, and that logo got tossed out. 

I wasn't sure what had happened in the process until I got an e-mail this morning promising free shirts in the lobby for the official logo launch. There was no image attached to the e-mail, so I wasn't sure what atrocity was going to meet me. Anything that requires T-shirt bribes can't be that good.

Fortunately I was greeted by something pleasantly generic. It just focuses on our schools main positive attributes (we're in DC!) along with an optimistic horizon type thing. And best of all, no crayon people and only one font. Now I no longer have to hide my future diploma in shame. I don't expect amazing design from my law school, but I'm glad to have my faith in their basic level of competence restored. (And yes, the free T-shirt really does help.)

Meltdown

I recently read an article that discussed how men being well, men, helped to cause the financial meltdown and how the greater presence of women could have prevented it. In general I tend to have mixed feelings about articles that seem to rely on gender essentialism and fuzzy biology. I do find the role of body chemistry and other biological factors in determining behavior fascinating, but I also find myself experiencing bad flashbacks to 2007 cracks about Hillary Clinton starting a nuclear holocaust after a bad case of PMS. (Although she's 62. I hope she doesn't have to deal with that anymore.)

Initial discomfort aside, the article did have a few moments that made me smile. In particular, the assertion that men on Wall Street act like women on their periods, constantly, not just once a month. (Higher levels of testosterone leading to greater risk taking behavior and less emotional stability.)

The financial meltdown suddenly makes much more sense. Today I would gleefully crash the entire financial system, purely out of spite. I've already had to restrain myself from punching Zach in the face, twice. Instead I just threw back a handful of ibuprofen, hugged the heating pad a little tighter, muttered threats against my stupid uterus and tried to avoid Hydeing out.

There really isn't a grand point to all this. It has just been a hideous couple of days.

The downside of all that emotional, sharing stuff

Last night while making dinner Zach and I started goofing of, teasing each other and generally horsing around. It started with a teasing comment here, a tickle there, and eventually escalated to me threateningly with a small glass of water.

Z- "You won't do that."

G - "What makes you so sure?"

Z - "Because if you do that, I won't get the chicken ready, and I know you well enough to know that one emotion will always win - laziness."

G - That's what we get for being one of those couples that talks to each other, shares things and gets to know each other."

Z - "Yes. It leads to nothing but emotional blackmail and manipulation. No positive repercussions whatsoever."

G - "That's it. No more namby pamby emotional sharing stuff for us."

Z- "I love you too, dear."

If we're going to be socialists who destroy America anyways, can we at least get a real bill?

I woke up this morning to find my facebook page inundated with messages about Congress ramming inappropriate things down our collective throats, killing babies, nuking the Constitution and apparently losing the Cold war 20 years after it ended and falling to the red devils. Yes, last night the House passed the Health care bill (or as Facebook tells me, America, freedom and democracy died last night.)

I'll admit, I was fairly excited. I hadn't been vigilantly following the health care bill for the past month or so; after months of exhaustive analysis it just got too frustrating to continually watch things swing around without ever moving forward. Frankly I doubted anything was ever going to actually happen. So as I munched on my morning toast, I happily moused over to CNN to see what had actually gotten passed.

What socialist delight would await me? A public option perhaps? Tough reforms for the insurance industry? Puppies for everyone? With all the outrage, it had to be something good.

Uhm, seriously? This is the lamest, mildest bill I've ever seen. The government is taking over health care the same way the government takes over food by requiring it to be safe and restricting our freedom to buy spoiled, salmonella ridden beef. The government isn't running anything. This is still an entirely private system, just with some very wussy regulation tossed in. This is barely health care reform, it's just incremental insurance regulation.

People. This isn't socialism. This is like the wild west finally getting a sheriff, only the sheriff is giving the outlaws a few years to shape up and some subsidies to help the bitter taste of law go down a little easier.

Oh, and that 73% of people hate the bill thing? Most lefties are probably in that number. This isn't what we want. I'm not nuts about the bill. I wanted a single payer system. Or at the very least a decent public option, you know, as a compromise. (You can use your beloved private companies, and I can get decent insurance, with low overhead, less stupid denials and still afford to eat!) 

I'm ok with this bill. I'm ok with making it illegal to deny coverage to domestic violence victims and others with preexisting conditions. I'm ok with trying to make healthcare more affordable and accessible through insurance polls, subsidies (sort of) and regulations.

I'm less ok with some other parts. I understand the reasoning behind fining individuals, but it bothers me that we're forcing people to purchase a flawed product without giving them a real alternative. I'm a little worried about unintended consequences too.

But overall this isn't really what I was looking for. It doesn't get to the heart of the problem, it doesn't fix or rework our already hodgepodge system, it just slaps on some more duct tape over the worst failings and adds a few new leaks.

Really, if even after all the compromises and watering down, we're still going to get screamed at for being evil, moronic, socialists and get no bipartisan support or even honest discussion (from members of Congress, not necessarily all individuals. For MoC, just saying lets start from scratch and do everything our way while calling names doesn't count), why couldn't we have just done a good, solid bill, the kind Democrats (you know, the ones who were elected by a huge majority to the House, Senate and Presidency by America in 2008?) actually campaigned on and wanted?

Manly meals (why does my pizza have a gender?)

When our pizza was served last night (why yes, I am stretching one event out into two blog posts), the server set down a fresh basil, mushroom, tomato onion pizza in front of me, and a rich pepperoni, sausage, kalamata olive one in front of Zach. Which would be fine, except that I'm the carnivore, and Zach is the one who understands that vegetables have a role outside of salads.

This happens almost every time we go out to eat. I have the manliest, meatiest thing imaginable, while Zach has something light and lovely. I dig into a juicy T-bone, he nibbles at a Caesar salad. Every time we are automatically served the other persons meal, every time we switch plates, and every time I get a little raised eyebrow or a smirk tossed in my direction.

I usually blush a little, or mumble something about feeling extra hungry that night. Like I'm embarrassed by or need to apologize for eating what I want or for not eating healthy. (Although come on, it's a pizza. The veggies aren't going to save it.) 

Am I crazy to think that this is a gendered thing? Most people don't look twice at a man eating a meat lovers special, but it's weird for a woman to, or for a man to chow down on a good salad. It's just food, isn't that kind of a stupid thing to be gendered? Is it because meat helps build big, scary muscles? Is being fat so scary and horrible for women (who of course must remain at sex-kitten perfection)that a less than healthy meal is taboo? Is red meat some sort of gateway drug for double x-chromosomes?

This isn't just a date night observation. I've been out with women and gone through the obligatory round of apologies and how I'm being so bad before ordering something a little more than dainty. It's kind of a weird, awkward ritual of policing food norms and assuring everyone that the hamburger is just a rare deviation from a life of dressing on the side.

I'm tired for feeling bad about food or going through exaggerated play acting to pretend like I feel bad. Here's my not-so dirty little secret: I like food, and I don't always feel guilty or naughty about it. I like meat and fat and cheese and deep fried things. They taste really good - moans and bedroom noises good. Sure, I don't eat like that all or even most of the time. I have no magic metabolism, and I put forth a decent amount of effort to keep my jeans zipping up over my already generous thighs and rolled stomach. Tonight I dinned on a very reasonable salad and grilled chicken breast with strawberries for dessert. That's the norm. I know that a delicious yet healthy recipe is worth its weight in gold.

But if I'm going to spend the time and money to go out, you better believe I'm going to get something because it will make my mouth happy. Next time I'm going to look at the server with a great big smile and no apologies as I reach for my plate.

The Return of 2 Amys

We first came to DC straight from our Oregon Coast honeymoon on a red eye flight. After 16+ hours on planes and in airports we finally managed to guide our cab driver to our previously unseen apartment complex. One excruciating hour of paperwork latter, we finally received the keys to our entirely empty apartment, and more importantly, its promise of sleep. Before collapsing into unconsciousness we managed to muster the energy to fish out the air mattress from our luggage and inflate it.

At about 4pm we finally stirred awake to an apartment devoid of anything except us, a few pieces of luggage, and the echos of our giant angry stomach growls. A quick Google search using pirated internet later and we found our way to a nearby pizza place, thinking that pizza would be the perfect, basic food for tired travelers craving a nice, normal meal.

Ha. 2 Amys was our first introduction to the fact that our corner of DC doesn't just do normal food. 2 Amys is a certified authentic Neopolitan pizzeria. It uses authentic ingredients, wood burning stoves, the whole deal.

In our exhausted, starving state it almost seemed cruel to have to decipher a menu using Italian words like rapini and cockles when we were expecting nothing more exotic than Hawaiian. We each ordered the item that we could best understand, and hoped for the best.

The first sighting of mana couldn't have looked as good as those hot, cheesy disks did descending on our table. After the first taste that none of the prior confusion mattered. We wanted to scarf the whole thing down in one gulp, but not savoring such deliciousness would have been a crime. It tasted amazing, the way food only can when you haven't eaten for almost a day. Their crust was thin and flaky, with little crispy black bits from the wood stove. The toppings were rich and flavorful, the mozzarella obviously fresh and creamy. It was perfection.

We didn't go back for a while, largely because I thought that there was no way it could actually have been as good as my feverishly starving mind had first experienced it. I was wrong. The second time, it was almost better.

It's still one of our favorite places to go out to eat. Even with 40 minute average waits to get in and a loud and crowded dining room, it's well worth it for that delicious pizza. When the weather gets warm, there is nothing better than waiting outside in the sunshine, chatting, people watching and eagerly anticipating that first bite.

We don't go out that often during the winter (it's such a pain to go anywhere in bad weather without a car), and even when we do, it doesn't always work out. With the return of Spring, I hope we can give date night a comeback, and I couldn't think of any place better to get things going again than 2 Amys. I was right, after the first bite tonight, it felt like falling in love all over again.

Flip Flop Feet

One of the only downsides to a wonderful day full of walking under the warm sunshine, is that warm sunshine means that I have to bring my flip flops back out into the light of day. A few years ago I splurged on a pair of Rainbows, and I've never looked back. They are comfy, and they let my feet feel free and happy. If I could, I would wear them everyday, and only the threat of frostbite makes me give them up each winter. I mourn when the first day comes that makes it clear that I've been wearing them for beyond what is prudent. For most of the winter my feet feel suffocated in their shoe prison, but once the sun shines, they revel in the freedom and joy of flip flops.

Yes I know, flip flops aren't "real shoes." I don't care. Until I have a real job or some other compelling reason to wear "real shoes" everyday, I'll continue to bask in flip flop freedom whenever I can. 

The only downside to flip flops, is that for the first couple of weeks, my feet have to readjust. It's not a pretty process, and I somehow manage to forget about it every year. So every year I bust them out and run around in excitement. And every year I end up with painful scabs and blisters between my toes. It's almost as though the Universe is trying to remind me that maybe I'm getting a little to old for this.

It's a Saint Patrick's day Facebook Miracle!

Yesterday was the kind of day that is so beautiful it makes the Angels weep a little. Bright blue sky, warm sunshine, just a hint of a breeze. After a long and horrible winter, things could not have been more prefect.

Except that I was in class, my back to the window, the little bits of sunshine reflecting off my screen mocking me. So, like any disillusioned student with internet access, I drowned my sorrows in a little harmless facebooking. The patron saints of facebook must have been looking out for me, because one of the first things I saw was a status update by the amazing Mindy - former roommate, bridesmaid, friend and person extraordinaire. Seriously, everyone who has ever known Mindy loves her to pieces, possibly because she possesses a dark magic, but probably just because she is so Mindylicious. The post just mentioned that she was wandering around DC, alone, for a few hours, did anyone have any suggestions for what she should do? I humbly suggested that perhaps she should meander around DC with me, she accepted and we were on.

I was more than a little excited. An excuse to skip my afternoon Wills class and be out in the sunshine would be good enough, but this was almost to good to be true. The second my morning class ended I practically flew out of the classroom, raced down six flights of stairs, ran onto a bus, frantically dropped things off at my apartment, threw random things into a purse and set off for downtown.

On the metro ride down, I finally had a few moment to be nervous. I haven't seen Mindy in almost a year and a half. Plus, I'm one of those bad friends who considers herself "keeping in contact" with old friends if I comment on a Facebook status update a few times a year. Sure, for the first half hour or so, there was a little awkwardness as we tried to catch up on where we were, but after that, its like the last year+ just didn't matter. We were chatting, and walking and laughing our heads off just like we did at 2am in our Provo apartment.

We didn't do anything to terribly exciting. It was too nice to be stuck inside even the best museum, so we walked. And walked. All over DC, past a horde of marble monuments, some random bales of hay in the Mall reflecting pool, the best monument ever (FDR, I love the water), the green white house fountain and other DCness. I'm a nerd, so I traced our route on Google maps. We walked about 4.5 miles over the course of about 4 hours. I'm a naturally lazy person who generally shuns physical activity, but even for me the time just flew by.

However, eventually it was time to head off on our separate ways, so we headed up to a metro stop. Where we proceeded to talk for almost another hour, even with commuters weaving around us (and one very drunk homeless man going out of his way to bump into us). Saying good by to such a great day almost seemed cruel, but we managed somehow.

Mindy, thanks for the great time. It was the best Saint Patrick's day ever. And now I have a go-to story the next time some one rags on how the internet keeps people apart. Clearly, this day was an amazing Saint Patrick's day Facebook Miracle!

Ethical Dilemas

Well my professor just plum forgot about the make up class, and showed up on time for regular class, thoroughly embarrassed to walk in and find a room full of irate students. I can't get too upset, everyone makes mistakes. Although, my mistakes have never resulted in 40 people waking up early to waste an hour of their lives.

On the plus side, she did show up in time to teach us why having sex with clients is bad (except in DC, because this town is full of repressed adulterers in suits. Also with the exception of my prof, the ethics committee in DC is all male).

Apparently this issue can "get really big" and sometimes "it gets really hard." And yes, the whole class giggled like awkward middle school students (complete with a few half-whispered "thats what she said"). Ladies and gentleman, the future of America's legal system. Just think, when you have a serious, personal problem, one of these upstanding, mature individuals will be paid huge sums of money to help you. (At least I hope the huge sums of money thing is true. Oh, and I totally laughed. Unintentional innuendo is funny, ok?)

Yes, these are the deep issues discussed in ethics class. We're also not supposed to lie (in certain scenarios) or blackmail clients or steal. Or pay the living expenses of a poor client to keep them going through the case. After all, we have standards.

No, we don't talk about actual ethical dilemmas. We talk about lawyer dilemmas. Real example: Say you're working a case where your medical expert finds that the plaintiff for the opposing side has a brain aneurysm that could kill him without treatment. Their medical counsel missed this. Should you save the kids life and tell him so he can seek treatment or should you keep it a big secret to help the case of your giant insurance corporation client? Save a life or duty to client? Yes, this is supposed to be a difficult dilemma. This is why people don't like lawyers. And why I hate this class.

The bitter taste of morning

This morning my least favorite class is starting an hour early, forcing me to endure its inanity for an extra hour, earlier in the morning, when everything is inherently worse.

Last night I was an idiot and set my alarm for PM instead of AM. Which is usually fine, as my bio clock generally gets me up on time for a 10pm class. It does not, however, get me up on time for a 9am class. I rolled over at 8am, went gee I still have time, rolled back, remembered I had to be up an hour early today, and torpedoed out of bed. I ran around my apartment like a madwoman. I tried to brush my teeth and do my hair at the same time, I threw random clothes on my back, and generally did evrything in my power to get out the door on time. I even missed breakfast, and I love breakfast. My frantic efforts paid off, the bus pulled up just in time for me to sprint on, and despite it all, I showed up on time.

Guess who still isn't here, almost AN HOUR after class was supposed to start? Oh, just the professor, the person who made us show up early to begin with. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

If she ever does show up, I feel perfectly justified using the first hour of her actually teaching to blog, and just generally I refuse to do anything until we get a break and I can get some breakfast.

Gee, I can already tell that today is going to be just super.

(This comic barely relates to the post, but Calvin and Hobbes do make me feel a little better)

Ides of March

This morning, as we were getting ready for the day, I crept behind Zach and mock stabbed him in the back. He dramatically collapsed to the ground in a faux death keel, while sputtering out "Et tu Brute?"

We're such nerds.

Happy ides of March everybody. Be careful, ok? If you see lions in street, run. (Although, that's just generally good practice.)

To know

I'm not a naturally religious person. I know some who are, people for whom God seems to come to them as naturally as breathing and a life without religion is as unthinkable as a life without air. 

As for me, most of the time I feel like a six year old who has started to get wise to whole Santa situation. There is something appealing about the story, you want to trust your parents and hey you did get presents last Christmas, which is almost like proof. But the whole situation is starting to feel fishy, there are some obvious discrepancies, plus Santa usually just seems to come up when the grown-ups are trying to make you be good.

It's not that I don't want to believe, I just can't keep one foot out all that doesn't make sense. It's not enough to believe, I want every piece to fit together perfectly, without any room for reasonable doubt. More than belief, I want to know.

Last night we weren't feeling up for our usual chapter before bed, so I just flipped through and read a random verse. I ended up at Ephesians 3:17-19

"...that ye being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge."

I can't quite get that verse out of my head. I don't know the love of Christ, not really. I've made it's acquaintance, we've said hi, but really knowing? Especially knowing beyond knowing, beyond reason, into the realm of murky faith that makes me squint and go "seriously? You want me to believe what now?"

I don't know how to know. So often religion feels like anything but love. It feels petty and harsh.The opposite of the wide, all encompassing love I want to be at the heart of it all.

I crave that love I've met briefly before, and that's why even with all the gunk that sometimes gets layered on, I can't let go of my church. Just like a kid who won't let go of Santa because whether it makes sense or not, something underneath the funky trappings feels good and right.

I wonder if I can't reach it because I insist on knowing, on having it all make sense? For that matter, I wonder why something that is supposed to be good and perfect so often isn't. I want the goodness, the love, but I don't know how to find it without denying part of myself and accepting things I just can't.

I want to know beyond knowing. I just don't have the slightest idea how, or why I have to go through any of this to begin with.

Nothing

I was a hermit today. I didn't leave my apartment, I barely left my couch. I did nothing, I thought nothing. I was a waste of space, oxygen and all those other ever dwindling resources. A nothing. Coincidentally, I have nothing to say today. No pseudo-insightful insights, no mildly amusing stories, nothing. Not even the willpower or creativity to finish off one of the 50+ drafts languishing in my blogger.

All I have to offer is a semi-amusing youtube faux-trailer of every Academy award wannabe ever. It's better than nothing, right?

Stalled in a start-up life

One of my favorite things about being a newlywed was how new and bright and shiny everything was. A year and a half latter, eh, not so much. We've broken a few plates, and chipped many of the remaining ones. A spatula snapped in half yesterday. Our Ikea dresser drawers are now held together with duct tape. Our pots and pans have the finish scrapping off, and our attempts to reattach the handle on our frying pan haven't been very successful.

Don't get me wrong, we have all we really need, probably more than. Frying pans don't really need working handles per se, they just making little things like moving it less hazardous. I know how lucky we are, how grateful I am to those who have helped us get to where we are. But I still want more.

I never used to feel this way. For most of undergrad I was fairly thrifty, especially in the housewares division. One of the nice things about sharing a run-down apartment with 5 other girls is that there isn't any pressure to build up and nice home-goods, everyone just sort of contributed what we had to the kitchen and we made it work. No one had particularly nice things (largely because with 6 girls using them, they didn't stay nice for very long). Besides, they wouldn't have matched the patchy linoleum and pealing painted cinder blocks.

That first shopping trip to create the apartment was exhilarating. We had boxes of gifts stacked up at home, and a solid handful of Bed, Bath and Beyond giftcards to begin, we came back with a loaded car and a receipt as long as my arm. Sure, it was a price-conscientious version of going to town; bargain waffle irons and economical dinnerware isn't the most exciting spree. But it was the first part of us putting our little starter home together. The shiny new beginning was intoxicating.

The thrill of a starter home is mostly gone now. I find myself clicking through the lives of people with coordinated furniture and solid cookware - a real, established home, a grown-up life. Alas, the life of full time students surviving on student loans and the kindness of family is still very much a starter life.

I know that the internet is the worst kind of perfection. It's like continually going over to your perfect friends even more perfect house, only she can blindfold you until you're at the best parts, and edit out any unpleasantness. But, even if what I want is really an illusion, I still ache for when (if?) that time in our lives is ever going to show up.

However, I'm no economist, but I do like the concept of trade-offs. We could both be working full time at halfway decent entry level jobs right now. We would probably live somewhere nicer and use those fancy paychecks for all sorts of shiny things.  But what we wouldn't be doing is this. Much as we complain, we both want to be in school. We love enveloping ourselves in new ideas, making that the focus of our lives for a few years. We want the freedom to take our educations and use them to pursue jobs that inspire our passions, not just put bread on the table. That is the life we really want, and that life just so happens to come with a period of broken frying pans and making do. I hope I can remember that the next time I break a dish or swear at the stupid frying pan for the umpteenth time.

Shake, rattle and roll (my life with epilepsy)

I've briefly mentioned epilepsy and seizures on my blog before, but I've never really explained them. Short answer - I have seizures from time to time. They suck, but I can deal with it (usually).

The long answer is, well, long.

History
For as long as I can remember my Dad has had epilepsy. One of my earlier memories is when I was about six, and Dad had a major seizure when he was home with just me, and my then 3 yr old and infant brothers.  I remember trying to help, trying to take care of my Dad and my brothers, but feeling scared and not knowing what I should do. Seizures have always been both a normal and a terrifying part of my life.

In high school, I started having spells where I would get fuzzy headed and black out. At the time I just assumed that  they were caused by me not sleeping well or my bad habit of skipping meals. I had a few awkward moments of passing out in after school drama rehearsals, and once collapsing mid-shower, but I didn't think too much of it.

The rare blackout and even rarer collapse kept up throughout college, but I always shrugged it off as the result of poor habits. In my junior year, the black outs became more frequent. And then the shaking started. I would start to feel weak and light headed, then an arm would start to twitch and jerk about uncontrollably.  Soon it wasn't just happening to my arm.

I didn't want any of this to be real, so I just tried to ignore it. When I collapsed into a seizure in front of my public policy class at the end of a presentation, winding up in the emergency room, I couldn't ignore what was happening anymore.

I had just started dating Zach when my hospital visit occurred. He was the first person I called, the person who came and picked me up, and took care of me for the rest of the day. At that time many of our dates ended with him holding me in the back seat of his car as I convulsed, trying to dodge stray blows and singing off-key to try and keep me calm. In some ways the seizures forced us to open up and trust each other with some of our more scary and real parts early on. We've learned how to deal with them together, and I think that forced interdependence helped us to grow close in a hurry. My seizures have plateaued for the time being, but coping with and understanding them has increased dramatically.


What it's Like
Epilepsy is caused by electrical signals in the brain misfiring, which can cause seizures. Essentially, it's like your body is electrocuting itself.

When my head starts to get fuzzy, I know one is coming. Everything is a bit out of focus, off by one degree; my brain just won't work. I'll try to read something, but each word takes several tries to comprehend, let alone put a sentence together, assuming I can remember that I'm trying to read something to begin with. In some ways this is the worst part, being physically fine, but unable to think or reason or understand through the static. I almost want the seizure to just happen so I can get my head back.

Gradually the fuzzy headedness will start to get worse, to the point where I'll definitely black out if I stand, and maybe even if I sit. Usually the shaking will start then. The seizure is always a little different. On good days, it will stay contained to my right arm, just that one body part lightly twitching, almost controllable. The pain will be minimal, I'll stay coherent and able to talk. I usually joke around to try to lighten the tension, and just wait for it to pass. I'm almost annoyed by the lack of pain with the small ones, that I can feel so fine, but still be out of commission on account of a crazy arm.

Sometimes having a seizure is more terrifying.  A few weeks ago I was feeling fuzzy headed, so I went into the kitchen to eat something (eating right can often help me feel less fuzzy). As I debated between an orange and ice cream, it sucker punched me flat on my back, the force almost crushing me and leaving me gasping like a fish out of water. Zach was in the next room, behind to door, with sound-blocking headphones. I tried to scream or yell or do something, but I couldn't control my mouth enough to get sound out.  The fear of being so alone and helpless was overbearing. I couldn't do anything, not even wipe away the pain tears staining my cheeks. I could almost see the pain coming of me in red hot waves as my muscles tensed and flailed so hard I thought they would break. With the panic of it all my shaking became half epilepsy and half hyperventilating fear. I was probably only alone for a few minutes before Zach realized I had been gone too long, came in and cradled me through the last few motions and tears, as I clung to him with all the strength I had, trying to find solid ground.

When it ends I feel weak, and stay in the fuzzy stage for a while as my body gradually works its way back to normal. Usually the whole cycle only takes a few hours, but sometimes they hit me in waves, like an earthquake with aftershocks and I'm out for a few days instead of a few hours. I usually only get them about once a month, maybe every two weeks, or so. More when I'm stressed or tired, and some weeks they seem never ending. But, sometimes they don't make so much as a peep for 3 months.
Most of the time epilepsy is just annoying. For a girl with an active mental life, taking that away for a few hours seems like a low blow. I hate the days when I have plans, but cancel on account of a little tremor that makes me afraid for worse. I hate sitting there in a fog, unable to do anything until my body just gets it over with. Sometimes its not the seizures themselves I dread so much as the way they can run my life. If I could have 1,000 bad ones in one day and get them over with and have my life back, I would.

Fortunately I've gotten better at dealing with epilepsy. I can generally tell when a seizure is coming, so I'll just try to stay home and lay low until it passes, unless I'm feeling stupid and stubborn. I've even been able to suppress them when they rise up in public, though I pay for the effort latter. It's a bit like a battle of wits and will between me and my epilepsy, and I'm starting to master the strategy. It sucks, but it I'm gradually learning how to have power over it, to ride the waves it throws at me.

Census stupidity

We got a letter from the Census today. Warning us that in one week we'll be getting the actual census. Are they seriously sending letters to people to tell them that they'll be sending another letter? That's prudent government spending right there.

I'm a good little liberal. I like most gov't programs. Schools, roads, libraries, welfare, the whole socialist shebang. I'm even ok with most taxes. I support the census, more information is an important part of getting the most use out of all those nice little programs. So can you please stop being idiots about how you run all these nice little ideas? When lefty me thinks the waste can be a bit crazy sometimes, you have a bit of a problem. 

I swear, if I'm ever working for gov't, my cynicism and easily swayed moral compass would be so hard to not embezzle a little. Hey, as long as we're wasting money, why not waste it on me? Oh look, just like that I've forever disqualified myself from public office. Ooopsie.

I was traumatized by TV - Thank goodness

My childhood was so much better than what kids today have. Largely, because children's entertainment back in my day was crazy awesome, emphasis on the crazy.

On a lark, I started watching bits of Labyrinth today. That is a hot, glittery pot of crazy.

My generation of girls got to jumpstart puberty with David Bowie and his err package. What do kids today get? The Jonas Brothers?

And Labyrinth wasn't the only ode to the crazy and dark. We had: The Last Unicorn, Beetlejuice, Gremlins, The Secret of Nimh, The Black Cauldron, Ferngully, Rock-A-Doodle, Power rangers, He-man and She-ra, Smurfs, The Brave Little Toaster, Thumbelina, Pee-Wees Playhouse and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Anastasia didn't have to many dark moments, but the very idea of a kids movies based on the Russian revolution is a bit sketchy. Those are just off the top of my head, I'm sure there is plenty more.  Supposedly sweet things like Care Bears and My Little Pony were clearly the result of a bad acid trip. Even PBS's Sesame Street had its moments (trashland, anyone?) Nothing was safe.

The world has become so drab, safe and Disneyfied. Even with pop starlets. We grew up with the hot imploding mess of Brittney. Miley's trying, bless her heart, but the girl just doesn't have the crazy in her.

Looking back, its hard to believe the dark and terrifying things my parents let or even encouraged me to watch. And my parents were the type who forbid Clarissa Explains it All and other Nickelodeon fare for fear of it giving me an attitude problem. Who cares if I can't sleep at night, so long as I don't talk back?

Really, I'm glad that I got to delve into some of the freaky things in life. We like to think of childhood as sweetness and light, but we forget that kids are naturally a little dark and gruesome. Sure, sometimes I played nice sweet games of house with my barbies, but just as often I came up with crazy stories of despots beheading other dolls, magical monsters alternating between viciously attacking the barbie dream boat and feeling sad because being called monsters hurt their feelings, or my little ponies caught up in loveless marriages. I don't think I'm alone in that. The world is terrifying and big and unknown for us as kids. It can be a little hard to deal with. I'm glad I had entertainment that let me explore the darkness with the hero/heroine and then guided me back to the light. It's good for kids to engage and learn how to deal with the crazy. At the very least, a little imagination never hurt anyone.

I suppose childhood today isn't all bland. They do get the genuine sweetness and imagination of Pixar, but we had the golden age of Disney Musicals, so that's a wash. I take that back. Start singing "Lets get down to business' or any other catchy Disney song in a room of 20 somethings, and half the room will start belting it out with you. We win. I don't know how they're going to grow up into decent people without that early dose of crazy nonsensical terror, but I wish them luck. Or they can just get Labyrinth on DVD. Either way.

That one time I got engaged on Int'l Womens Day

Happy International Women's Day everyone! Women are awesome. I'm awesome. I'd say more, but I've already fulfilled my feminist quota for the week here, so hey, did I ever tell you about that one time I got engaged on Int'l women's day? Well I did.

Zach and I started dating in mid-February 2007; by March 8, 2008 we had been dating for over a year aka nearly an eternity in BYU terms. Really, even if it had "felt right" or an angel had come down with a flaming sword, or whatever the reason is people jump into an eternal commitment after a few weeks of chastely dry humping, I don't think our pride would have let us seal the deal any sooner. As previously evidenced, I engage in a little "friendly" mocking of quicky engagements. The hypocrisy of being one myself would have eaten me alive. In fairness we actually hadn't been living in the same place during the summer and fall, as I had abandoned him for summer employment and then an internship in DC, but come winter term we were finally reunited in good old Provo.

Ah, and what grand times we had. I think we had been mildly terrified of actually dating in person after 8 months of  cell-phone and IM courtship. Surprisingly, everything just sort of fell into place, and we became a nauseatingly cute, attached at the hip couple in no time flat.

Not being entirely immune to the BYU matrimonial pheromones, and facing imminent graduation, we started broaching the "M" subject with increasing frequency. About a month in, "should" or "if" started to be replaced by "when."

Well, at least for me. Zach seemed positively inclined, but in general he's the type that like to think things over forever, and will not make any decisions until he has been 100% certain for a really long time. I'm a little more, well lets just call it "intuitive." I'd like to say that I patiently waited for him to be sure. That I realized that it would be best if he was as sure as I was, and pushing him would be stupid. I did, mostly. The only time I really lost my cool was when he started discussing grad school plans, and how maybe we could live together sexlessly if "we" decided not to get married quite yet. I think I was justified for a minor blow up over that. Well and the time we went out for a fancy symphony date for our anniversary, and he only went to one knee to tie his shoe. I was great for the date, but the next day I was a little bitchy. But, I got over it, and recommitted to being patient, respectful and less of a crazy person.

I was trying to be a good, sane girlfriend/human being, when Zach asked me if I wanted to go walk around Provo canyon Saturday morning. I had a hunch of what his real motivation might be, partially because I'm not stupid, but mostly because we only went to Provo canyon to make out more intensely and privately than was possible in our respective apartments. (My former roommates may not believe it, but we honestly did try to not be overly obnoxious lust bunnies. I swear.) Still, as part of my non-crazy vow, I tried to avoid fixating. 

When he came to pick me up on Saturday he had a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates for my roommates and I in celebration of our womeness for Int'l womens day/because he is a smart man. A few chocolates latter and we headed off to the canyon. Where we walked around. And walked some more. What we did not do was stop in any nice pretty spot. What he did not do was propose. We just walked, until we started walking back to the car, thereby killing my hopes and my dreams for one more day ( I sound like one of those crazy, Gollumlike must get a ring girls, don't I? Does it help that it wasn't so much a must get married as it was a being crazy about Zach and wanting to marry him now? Maybe? A little?)

A little before the parking lot he pulled me into a little grove of trees, got down on one knee, and said something. I'm sure I was listening intently at the time, but I have no idea now. I remember it being very sweet, and the phrase "Will you marry me?" was used at some point, but actual words, eh, not so much.

But the feeling, oh that I remember. It was like an explosion and a stillness all it once. Where all of my emotions were flooding and overpowering me with the force of it all, while I just stood there in perfect serenity. It was powerful and scary and perfect and right all at once.

While I don't remember his words, I do remember mine. I first responded with an exuberant "of course I'll marry you!" grabbing him into an embrace by his coat. While we were wrapped in each others arms, I tenderly whispered in his ear that if he was joking, I would "rip his spine out," because that's just the kind of sweet mood killing girl I am. And with that we were engaged.

We laughed and teared up, called family (My Dad's response upon answering the phone? "What do you want? When he finally let me share what was going on, after initial congratulations, he started talking about how he was so glad I didn't marry my ex. Which I suppose is kind of like giving approval.), began weeks of overly careful and analytical ring shopping, and just tried to take it all in for the rest of the day.

Best women's day ever. So far it's turned out to be a decent decision.

(Us, today)

Why feminism still matters

Quite a few of my fellow blog stalkers have probably already come across the recent Cjane post on feminism.  I tried and tried to come up with a rational, polite response, but couldn't come up with anything other than my head exploding a little. I'm not a total fluff blogger, but I do avoid showcasing my brain matter splashed all over the screen as a general rule.

I really, truly believe that most people who are not misogynists are on some level feminists in the broadest, most foundational sense of the term. And I definitely know that feminism still has an important role to fill in our world.

I'm not going to go into all the things feminism has done in the past (voting, property rights, etc). For today, I'm just looking at why feminism still has something to offer. (I'm trying to make this as concise as I can. This is by no means a comprehensive list or exploration.)

On its most basic level, feminism is the radical belief that women are people. In our world, they aren't. Men are people and women are women. Men=default, women=aberration. It's a bit of a trivial example, but there is a reason why a book or movie about a boy is just a piece of media for general consumption, but the same piece about a woman is suddenly just a chick thing. There is a reason why when picturing a lawyer or a doctor, supposedly gender neutral occupations, most people think of a man.

Some things aren't that trivial. Part of seeing women as people has to do with not seeing them as objects. Objects don't have to be treated with the respect and decency of people. Probably one of the most dehumanizing acts is raping or abusing another person. Officially our culture decries these acts, but unofficially our culture supports these acts by turning a blind eye, placing the blame or responsibility on women. In lesser ways, the way we treat women as purely sexual bodies from pornography on one hand to slut shaming immodesty on the other, also reduces people to objects. Feminism fights for women to be seen as people, not objectified and subjected to violence.

Feminism is needed so that traditional femininity and motherhood can be valued. Part of valuing women fully is valuing all the things that we associate with women. In all honesty, this is one of the ways early feminists really screwed up. They were part of a world that devalued the feminine, and in trying to raise women up they made the mistake of trying to open the doors to higher valued masculine avenues without simultaneously elevating the feminine. Taking care of another human being is an amazing thing. So is keeping a household running. So is almost everything that is associated with women, and devalued for that association. In a feminist world traditionally feminine fields like nursing and teaching would be paid fairly. Parenthood would be supported and championed by employers, society and people. Feminism values femininity, and points towards a world where it is valued and supported.

Men need feminism. Just as women are people, so are men. Shaming men into an arbitrary box of masculinity denies them the ability to be full people. Men should be able to take care of children or dance or express emotions or whatever, supposedly masculine, feminine or whatever. By knocking down arbitrary walls, feminism frees men from a stereotype of masculinity.

Marriages and families need feminism. I firmly believe that for a marriage to succeed, it needs to be a respectful, loving, supportive union between two partners who value each other as equal. By valuing the full person hood of men and women, feminism supports good families.

We all need women to be a valued part of the world. I don't necessarily believe that women and men are essentially different, but in today's world women live a very different experience than men, and the perspective they can bring to the table from that experience is valuable. When feminism brings women to the table, we all benefit.

And all this is just in America. The way women continue to be dehumanized to the extreme and worse in other parts of the world is beyond what I'm equipped to talk about here. Feminism hopefully has a large role to play in their futures.

I have a little 5 year old sister and I love her like crazy. She is the most amazing person to watch play, she will seamlessly alternate from tenderly rocking her doll to having the doll fend off a vicious attack from a three headed dragon. She does things just because she wants to, not because of who she was told to be. Right now, she is free to be a full person. I don't want her to ever be told that her dolls and pink dresses are stupid and girly. I don't ever want her to be told that she shouldn't play with action figures because those are only for boys. I don't want her to ever be afraid for her safety because she is a woman. I want her to always be as free to be her own person as she is today, and to be valued for that. In today's world, she won't be.

I believe in my sister and her humanity, and I believe in mine. That is why we need feminism.

 

(Faith at wedding, about 1.5 years ago)

Craving Cycle

 My diet is largely ruled by cravings. Usually this isn't too bad, most cravings are merely a general desire for either sweet or savory and it isn't to hard to find something not entirely horrible to fill that void.

However, from time to time, I enter a craving cycle. It begins with one particular food taking over my mouth and ruthlessly beating back any other desires. For as long as the craving lacks, I just want to shovel that sweet goodness into my mouth non-stop, at every meal. Everything else tastes bland at best and forcing myself to eat it is a chore. 

Right now, eggs are my food of choice. I continuously crave them. And with the versatility of eggs, its not nearly as monotonous as past cravings. Fried, scrambled, hard boiled, egg salad, faux mcmuffins, egg sandwiches, quiche and oh so much else, there is nothing they can't do.

The only problem is that the second stage of the cycle causes whatever food I binge on to become the most disgusting thing imaginable. It's like I've eaten my years supply of that food in the space of a week, and my body will not tolerate anymore until the quota as been reset, thus ending the cycle. I really don't want this to happen to eggs.

I like eggs, even before they attacked, they were one of my favorite food. They're delicious, easy and cheap, what's not to like? Gagging at the very thought of them for several months is not appealing. So, I'm trying to break the cycle by rationing down to one egg based meal every 48 hours. I'm not sure I can make it. I'm trying to cook some of my favorites, but all I want is eggs. It's going to be a long week.

Applying myself (in 250 words or less)

Well, I just sent off an application to my law schools clinic program* (specifically the Women and the Law clinic). And now I get to anxiously keep my fingers crossed and check e-mail even more compulsively than I normally do until they announce who is and isn't in.

I actually really want to do this, which coming from the girl who isn't involved in any extra law school journals, moot court or other such activities means something. And not just in the trying to pad my resume and give me a fighting chance in the upcoming law student grand melee fight to the death for the few jobs that will come into existence upon graduation way (good experience is like being armed with nun-chucks.) But, more than that, the program looks really interesting and the chance to actually work with real people and do real lawyer type things is tres appealing. Plus I'm a sucker for any program with the phrase women and the law. I do love the ladies.

However, to get into the program, I first had to spend a Friday filling out the application, which of course includes the standard awkward interview questions. I would think that blogging would have adequetly prepared for me to brag about myself in personal narative form. No, not so much. Blogging appreciates a self-deprecating wit that doesn't seem at home in a professional context.

What are my skills, interests or attributes that I feel will enhance your participation and the experiences of your colleagues and clients in the program? I really have no idea how to answer that. Skills wise I can turn a can of cheap tomato soup into something awesome with enough access to a variety of hot sauce and dried basil, my shower singing is almost enjoyable to listen in on, and I'm decent in bed. As for interests, I don't think my ability to delineate complicated television love triangles due to my excessive TV habit will come into play in a court room. (Although that would be the best case ever. I may or may not be interested in family law in the hopes that my melodramatic expertise can come in handy.) Attributes wise I can proudly say that to the best of my knowledge no one hates me, and I may be almost as funny as I think I am. I don't think any of those is exactly what they're looking for. I think I'm a  fairly decent human being, but there isn't anything specific about me that makes me the most perfect candidate ever. I'm just normal, but in a competent way.

I wish it was acceptable to just say "Look. We both know that most of my honestly unique attributes don't really matter all that much and the ones that do matter aren't unique. I'm reasonably competent, and while I may procrastinate, I always get things done. I'm a little awkward sometimes, but I generally can interact with other human beings acceptably. Bottom line, I may not be super sparkly and unique, but I'll do a good job. I care about this, and I care enough about my own time that I wouldn't apply if I didn't think I would be a good fit. So just give me a try, ok?"

They would probably get a better, more honest sense of who I am if I had written that instead of the bland fluff I settled on. Which is preciciely why those questions are so pointless and annoying. No one is actually going to answer honestly. A few people will have the perfect response that encapsulates their humanity into a few sentences, but most will be as bland and fluffy like mine.

Oh well. At least they didn't ask what my greatest weakness was, and I was spared from describing how I work too hard or care too much.



*What is "clinic" anyways? Well, just like med students learn how to be competent by practicing on people who need free services, young, adventurous and naive law students can try to figure our legal system out using real people in need of legal counsel as guinea pigs. Not that this is a big, scary responsibility or anything.

I love you, now leave me alone

I love Zach, and one of the reasons I am able to continue doing so is Wednesday. No, Wednesday isn't business time, it's me time.

Our living situation is greatly affected by our student lifestyle. One, we have a large amount of discretionary time, most of which is spent at home. Two, our lack of income means that we live in a studio, not so affectionately dubbed "the shoebox." Basically, we spend most of our time in a small, enclosed space with each other. Often times this is really nice. I generally like the guy and like spending time with him. this was a large part of the whole choosing to marry him thing.

At other times, things start to build up. It isn't anything personal; living in constant close proximity with someone, no matter how great they are, can just be an interpersonal overload sometimes. After all that close cuddliness, I start to feel like my personal bubble is slowly being smothered to death, and it's dragging my patience and good nature along with it. It starts with small things starting to feel like nails on a chalkboard. The way he takes a utensil I'm still using and plops it into the dirty sink water, even though a bread knife really doesn't need to soak and did I mention that I was still using it? Things that I normally overlook as unimportant, or at least can overcome with a deep breath and a polite reminder. But, the more we spend close and constant time together, the more the pressure of the small things builds until even a tender touch feels like a hot poker attacking what little personal space I've managed to preserve.

And then Wednesday swoops in and saves me. After my Wednesday, my defenses have recharged, and all minor annoyances bounce of my personal force field. I'm ready to be loving and close again for another week.

Fortunately, part of being students means that so far, Zach has had at least one evening class each semester. One blessed evening a week where I come home and the apartment is blissfully empty. I don't do anything too out of the ordinary. Just listen to music without headphones and other things that are generally considered rude when in the company of another. Even in the best relationship, you have to censor yourself a little around another person. Nothing major, but you are constantly aware of their presence and adjusting in subtle ways for the sake of the other. I need that one evening a week when I can just be. This semester, that class falls on a Wednesday. My sacred Wednesdays.

Well, they were my Wednesdays. For some reason, his evening class isn't going to be meeting regularly for the rest of the semester. Which means he will be home during that time. Which means I will not be alone. My  force field is officially dead. I don't know how I'm going to survive. Or, more accurately, how he is going to.

This morning, I woke up, ready to engage in my morning routine. My usually quiet, solo, building up the defenses to face the world routine. This routine does not work as a duet. It was a morning of barely restrained fury. He tried to talk to me while I ate, I tried not to  gouge his eye out with my spoon. He would get up to take a shower 5 minutes before my internally scheduled hair and make up time, I would silently try to scream my rage out. He would notice my building frustration and try to ask what he could do to help. I would take that as another assault on my precious alone time. There was nothing that poor man could have done. I just needed to be alone. And there he was, trying to help, but unknowingly committing the horrible crime of co-existing in my space.

It was only about 45 minutes, but I don't know how we lasted that long. We'll be together from 5pm on tonight. Heaven help us.

Spring Break: the prequel

Spring break is next week. Not that I'm going anywhere fun or doing anything exciting. So far our big plans include maybe going to the National Zoo and me trying to get Zach to go to the paint your own pottery place that I've been suggesting for about a year. I don't care if it is a cliche date, I want to make something pretty and play with paint. Really, if we spend Spring Break doing more than sleeping in and moping around the shoebox, I'll be fairly ecstatic.

Despite the less than exciting but predictable reality of break, what makes it truly exciting is what it represents -  one whole week of utterly free time. I could send out hundreds of resumes, deep clean the apartment, get started on all my upcoming papers, have wild and crazy adventures and still have plenty of time to laze about. Theoretically. Like how theoretically the Earth's core is inhabited by malevolent mole people, waiting for the right time to take their place as overseers of the top world. It's true, I swear! Theoretically, anyways. 

So, with all that coming up, why should I do anything this week? I have plenty of time to do the big things latter. Guess how much I'm getting accomplished this week? Somewhere in the neighborhood of zip, nada, zilch. Readings are being skimmed, papers and projects are getting tossed to the wayside. And it's only Tuesday.

This week is sort of Spring Break: the prequel. It isn't nearly as exciting as the main event, not much happens and it's kind of pointless. But boy-howdy, is it a great time suck. 

Ugly baby

What are you supposed to do when you meet an ugly baby? Come on, even the best baby really isn't that adorable in the first little bit, and the scary ones look like the love child of old man Benjamin Button and ET.

But after nine months of incubation and who knows how many hours of labor, you just do not under any circumstances insinuate in any way, shape or form, that that wriggly pink thing is not perfect. I get it. I spend 30 minutes making dinner and get annoyed at anything other than enthusiastic yums. After spending 9 months on something, a few generic compliments on the fruit of your labor is the least you can expect. Personally, I would want a statue of some kind and a theme song by Celine Dion, Bryan Adams or some other Canadian soft-rock power ballad diva type.

Statue and theme song not withstanding, clearly there is an obligation to say something. As babies really can't do much or have a discernible personality, that sort of leaves you with looks. Do you just chuck your integrity out the window? Make generic, non-committal positive noises? Go out into left field and say the kid smells nice? I just don't know what to say to a face like that.