When it rains...

Hello, Blogger. It probably feels as though I have abandoned you but I haven't. Truly. I almost nearly fell off the planet and that is why I have lost contact with you. Since the obis hasn't claimed me yet, I decided to inform you of my health and my instability on Earth.

I took a step back today and noticed that my life is great. It has poured. In my hurried state I am constantly under the impression that I am in a drought. The world is spitting on me and this spit has the ability to cause one to see the world through smog-colored glasses. No rain, just spit. It's a terrible way to live. This state of mind alters every situation and never for the best.

In my reverse walk my mind, for the first time in a long time, realized what I've been missing. I could finally see what that smog has been hiding. I got to see all the things that I miss from being in the midst of them. All of the great things that have been happening around me and here I am, drenched in planetary saliva and polluted glasses, too busy to notice.

My brother is engaged. My brain is still trying to wrap around this situation since last week he was saying that he was never going to get married. Or, was that twelve years ago? Anyway, I'm proud of him. He's found a girl that is willing to hang out with him for the next sixty years and there aren't many people who are fortunate enough to find someone who'll do that. I like him. I like her. And that's all that matters. Right?

I love the situations that my school is putting me in. All of my time is being spent in the place that I love most. I rarely have time to think and barely time to study, but I survived the first semester, and I intend to suffering the last three. Really, when one is immersed in homework and theatre as much as this, it's not surprising that one can't see the good, and pay too much attention to the bad. However, today is the day for looking from an outside angle and I have come to the conclusion that Catawba was a good choice. I have no other words on this topic other than going to Catawba has confirmed my suspicions: I love theatre.

To follow up on the last bit, I was cast in The Dining Room at school. It's going to be a great experience. I'm excited to work with the other actors and I can't wait until January 11 when we start getting our hands dirty. And in case there was any question: I love acting. If I could do it all the time, I would. Golly, I can't wait.

I was in Kentucky this past weekend to photograph a wedding. This is a pretty spectacular experience. There was some good, some bad, a mustache, but mostly an experience that I've never had the chance to face before. I also got to see some gorgeous land that the Carolinas do not possess. Without a doubt, I will be going back to Kentucky to further inquire about a barn.

It's strange how this all happened (basically) at once. So much good. Too bad that I could only see the bad. I should walk backwards more often. I am blessed.

I think I can. I think I can.

Coming to Catawba has thrown me into the theatre with full force; it's just a little more force than I expected. Lately, I've been spending more time in the theatre than in class or sleeping. So, for the past five nights I've been teching for Women of Lockerbie and I'll continue to tech every night until Saturday. It doesn't require me to do much; a lot of laundry. 

On top of my 10 hours working in the shop I've been here, the theatre, from 5:15-10:30, to make sure costumes are in order. But it's not just wardrobe, I'm also working on the upcoming show, The Last Journey of 6330. What is that? It doesn't sound familiar... you instinctively say. To answer your first question: It's about trains. A train. 6330. Now, for the second: that's because it's an original piece. The director, actors and other creative thinkers have come together to piece together railway stories, myths and music. We finally have a semi-script and it's still in progress. 

Along with wardrobe for Lockerbie I'm also trying to piece together multimedia for 6330. I've been in production meetings for the past 4 Wednesdays and they will continue until the show is up on it's feet and on the stage. Multimedia sounds kind of unclear, I know. I thought the same thing when I was told that, too. Here's a definition: during the show there are to be photographs and video clips of trains and all things related being shown as projections. I am to gather the photos, videos, and whatever else that is needed along with working the projector which is done through computer(?) To be honest, I'm still not fully clear on my job, that's why I'm meeting with the director tomorrow. But in the meantime, I've found some great photographs...

False! Black bears.

I'm going to overdose on The Office and I'm okay with this. The Office is brilliant. June, someone on my hall, has all of the seasons on dvd. It's amazing! When there's downtime, it's Officetime. This leads me to my next topic of conversation: Jim aka John Krasinski is waxy. Mmm. He's just... just so pretty.

So, I'm far enough into the semester to let you in on how I feel about my classes. So, lets begin, shall we?

Spanish: The bane of my existence. I have it every other morning for fifty minutes at 9 o'clock. The main reason why I don't like it is el profesor asks questions. I'm not good at answering. I can memorize, I can take quizzes, I cannot answer your spanish questions because I have no idea what you are saying. It's frustrating because I have to think about it. I can't just spit words out of my face in a language that I don't understand. I have never had any sort of spanish class before this one, so I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I've already had a quiz and test.

Movement: Yes, I'm taking a movement class. It's okay. I usually like it. There's a ton of homework; papers, worksheets... loads and loads of worksheets. However, I have to walk all the way from the dance studio to Ketner in under 10 minutes. It sounds easy, I know. Even though the campus is small, it's the two furthest points and that is the distance from the dance studio to Ketner. So, I'm usually gross from running around for an hour, then I have to truck it to Ketner for math.

Math: Oh, yes. Statistics. Math. I. Hate. It. So far it's not bad. But. I. Still. Hate. It. I have a test on Wednesday. (i hate it.)

Analysis of Dramatic Literature: My favorite class. I'm not being sarcastic. It's great. I love talking about the plays, even though some of them are crap. Gosh, I love literature. And I love that everyone else talks about them. It's just a good class. PS my teacher is awesome. He's a cool guy.

Lighting: This class is overload sometimes. It's hard but I'm trying. I think it will eventually click and it'll make sense, but right now my brain is rejecting the information.

Cafeteria food is gross. Catawba ranks 2nd for worst cafeteria food in the country. Gross. The only thing you can count on to be semi-edible are the potatoes and pizza.

I hang out a lot. It's the only thing to do. I play a lot of cards, massacre, play sardines in Ketner at unreasonable hours, play in the rain, have timed the sprinklers to know when they go off so I can go frolicking, invented pingponwallaball, watching The Office and doing a lot of stuff on campus. I'm also saving a lot of money. I walk everywhere so I don't have to spend money on gas. I haven't been eating out; I've been maybe twice, whereas in Charlotte I ate out a lot. 

I never have time to do laundry.

So, life is really busy. I work in the theatre almost everyday and I like it. I have tech coming up this weekend for Women of Lockerbie. It's a great show-- I'm very impressed by it. Now, I need to leave so I can play Uno.

Carmen.

I'm trying.

Pop Tarts are amazing. It doesn't matter how old someone gets, how could they turn them down? They can't. My dad bought me some and then he bought himself some. Pop Tarts are perfectly bad for the body but that doesn't seem to matter. Yum.

Life is terrific at this second. I found out that my Spanish professor's daughter had a baby so he was swept away to Minnesota. So that quiz that I was freaking out about is postponed. No class/quiz tomorrow, no class/quiz on Friday. It's a Labor Day miracle!

I had to read The Goat or Who Is Sylvia and it is the worst play I have ever read. Not only is the subject disgusting but the writing was just terrible and hard to follow. If anyone considers reading this, don't. Terrible.

I'm very sorry about this post. It's kind of boring but I'm going to try to get back into it. I've kind of ignored it. Even though I am quite busy, I'll see what I can do. 

Carmen.

Stress: the symptom of school

Tomorrow I have to clean the theatre. At 9 o'clock. Doesn't sound bad? Well, it wouldn't be bad if I hadn't been waking up at 8 every morning and going to bed past 12 every night. It's wearing me out. Then I might have a few moments to myself to shower and then I have to make an appearance at a party so I don't seem like a recluse. It's Saturday and there's no sleeping in.

This is a terrible way to introduce you into my life on a college campus. To begin: I've moved in. Made some fun friends (June, Kacey, Lindsey, Jaspen, Adam, Rob). Made some annoying enemies (Dr. Proctor, for example). I'm already stressed out. I've been thrown into the theatre world with full force and my school work was thrown with just as much speed. I started classes yesterday and I already have a book to read, spanish homework, work study in the theatre, a member of Blue Masque, doing wardrobe for Lockerbie, doing multi-media for 6330, and building for Urinetown. My life, as I know it, is over. And on top of it all I have to eat and try to be social. There have already been a few event and party invites. I don't know how I'm going to survive.

Since it's late, I'm going to stop there and, in the mean time, come up with a few constructive sentences and keep all you crazy kids updated. 

Carmen.

Nothing.

I'm so freaking cold. In my house, the normal temperature is a few differing from the outside. So, lately, its been 90 outside, and 85 inside. Maybe I'm exaggerating the innards temperature but that's how it goes; it's a little too warm for it to be comfortable. But tonight it's cold. Outside, it's lovely. It's the perfect summer night weather. What I'm trying to say, is that it's way to cold in this house. Geez, I just wasted so many words. I apologize.

Maybe I should be sleeping. I haven't been getting to bed 'til the A.M.'s lately and, in the long run, my body and mind won't appreciate it. Last night I didn't get home until two and didn't get to bed until three. It isn't healthy. But I was up late for a good reason. I went on a picnic. I feasted on crackers, cheese, and cherry limeade with my lovely friend, Heather. It was terrific. Picnic'ing during the summer at an unreasonable hour is something that everyone should experience at least once. We were even blessed with a summer rain that chased us to an awning and under a blanket.

The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. 

Can you speak 6 languages?

Carmen.

Dear Diary,

I'm leaving fairly soon for school and I'm excited to the thousandth degree. Currently, to prepare myself, I'm listening to some perfectly perfect music and checking facebook. I know I should be A) doing laundry, B) cleaning my room, C) packing, D) sleeping, or E) all of the above. I just can't resist the urge to drain my battery, both physically and computerly. 

Genette is doing a better job of doing what needs to be done. She has boxes piled in the hallway, on the steps, in the front room, in the kitchen, on the dining room table... Well, maybe it's not that bad, but I have to maneuver my body in an unnatural way to gain access to the bathroom. It's to be expected, though. I mean, its got to be hard transporting 24 years from one state to another. It's strange that she's moving. I'm not sure that I like it. When she stayed at school I was guaranteed visitation on breaks and during the summer, but she'll be in Virginia year long. Mom wants her to visit every 3 months, but I don't know if that'll happen. I might have to twist her arm to come home for my birthday. Tomorrow she leaves.

Oh... my birthday... the day I turn old...

When did I grow up? I mean, really. Geez... It kind of freaks me out. Scratch that-- it really freaks me out. My reasoning is kind of morbid, so I won't go into it, but... Ugh. I don't want to grow up anymore. I remember, when I was younger, thinking that those college kids were so cool, and so mature. Now that I'm here, I don't feel cool and my maturity is seriously lacking. Now I'm wondering if kids think that I'm cool and mature-- I don't think it's possible. I've never felt more unsure than I do at this point in my life. Will I always feel like this? The older you get, the more you realize that insecurities never leave even if your physical self ages. This is depressing.

Right now the thing that freaks me out the most is my brother. He has this girlfriend. They're pretty serious. Marriage keeps coming up. 9/9/09 keeps coming up. WHAT?!?!?! Bryon is 21. A year from now he could be married? If my brother is thinking about marriage at 21, that's just one year from where I am right now. That could be me. Just thinking about it gives me heart palpitations. Hah. That doesn't sound healthy, but it's the truth. Maybe I have a fear of commitment/the future. He's just so young... and a year is so soon... I could never imagine that. I'm going to finish school before I even pretend to think about marriage.

Marriage is a big deal. It's a commitment for the rest of one life to be with another, and that is huge. So, I'm willing to take my time. Feeling as unsure and immature as I do now, how am I supposed to know who I'm going to stay with forever? It's strange because I know a lot of people my age getting married. Actually, one got married today. Really, I don't think it's normal how much marriage freaks me out.

I'm going to stop talking about this. I'm exhausted and I don't want to have nightmares.

Carmen.

*Edit.

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." C.S. Lewis

When did we grow up? I mean, yesterday we were playing that game where we tried to poke each others' eyes out and now you want to get married? 

....how does that happen?

Spring Awakening is a delight. Brilliant. 

Carmen.

Father of mine.

The Lord of the Rings. I watch it maybe once a year. Maybe. When I do watch it it's always with my dad. My dad and I have the best kind of relationship. We share an understanding that isn't shared with my brother or sister. To be honest, I don't even know what that understanding is, but I enjoy it. I guess this understanding is what bonds us together. We watch Jurassic Park occasionally too, more than Lord of the Rings. I love watching it. Go ahead and brand a L on my forehead, I don't care. Its become sort of a running joke between us. If we ever want to spend time together we always watch Jurassic Park.

I like my dad because we don't have to talk. If I were watching Jurassic Park with my mom, she would inevitably start talking to me because she's seen it many times and I'm sure she's bored with it. Car rides are the same. I rarely like to talk and drive. I mean, if I'm riding along with someone I'd rather be silent. Even with my friends, I will fall silent and won't even realize it-- sometimes I have to try to make conversation when outside of the car conversation falls from my lips very easily. My life isn't that interesting and I don't really have much to share. I tell my mom this frequently and yet, if I ever get in the car with her the questions never stop and then she gets upset because I don't want to answer these questions. I just don't like to talk in the car. I think I get this from my dad. Whenever I ride with him there is always silence. Usually.

My father doesn't have much of a sense of humor. I mean, he can't really deliver a joke and when he does it's always cheesy. He gets this goofy grin on his face and I love this. I rag on him, he'll try to rag on me, and this is another sort of understanding we share. I also have this habit of getting my way when I'm with him. My family is under the impression that he spoils me-- and maybe this is true-- but it's that understanding that we have. Since I'm the youngest, my brother and sister were allowed to do things that youngsters weren't allowed to participate in. So they went on trips, accompanied by my mother, while I stayed home with my dad for part of the time and at a friends house while he was at work. He and I might go out for pizza, maybe get some ice cream-- and in my family this would be seen as getting spoiled-- but then again, everyone else was in Chicago or Ecuador, what else were we to do? To be honest, half the time it wasn't even my idea. I think my dad likes to spoil people-- I just so happen to be the one that's usually around.

Don't get me wrong, we have had our blow outs. Yelling matches at times. When I was younger, he would yell and I would cry. In my adolescence, he would yell and I would cry/yell back. This is something, however, that I appreciate: his fighting style. He and I could have a knock down, drag out fight and the next day it's over. Life is back to normal. Maybe this isn't healthy but I prefer it than sitting down and having a 2 hour conversation about our feelings. Because, usually, at the time, whatever we were arguing about was important, but when the next day rolls around, whatever we had yelled over didn't seem too important (it's true. It was normally about the state of my room or the candy wrappers that I left on the floor). 

He's quirky in the best ways and I enjoy him a lot. I hope he sticks around for a long while.

Carmen.

[*This blog is not what I had intended it to be at all. I started writing about one thing, but then this is what happened. I know it's random but I like the way it turned out.*]

Mm Bop to Deep Inside of You

Despite what the blogger tells you, it's actually 12:09am. And despite my usual "go get 'em" attitude at this hour, I'm exhausted. I bought a mac yesterday and, if you had been here, you would have witnessed awesome amounts of music loading. Maybe it's sad, but that's where my concern is before I leave for school. I'll be honest, though, all the Cd's I have=lame. I mean, there have been a few I've invested in recently (Across the Universe, Wicked, Rent... uh, is there a theme?) but most of my tunes I have lodged on the Dell downstairs--which is going to take a few hours to transport to the mac. So, as I'm going through my CD case, full of female christian artists and christian "rock" music from back in the day when I didn't have a clue about music, I feel as though I have grown. How does one go from Jaci Velasquez to As Cities Burn? I really don't know.

This blast from the past is slightly hilarious. Uh, Hansen. The Princess Diaries soundtrack. Avalon. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I still own these Cd's. But I feel they have made me a better person. The benefits to owning a crappy collection of music? 1. It shows growth. It shows you where I've started-- I mean, my taste could only get better. 2. If I ever need a Frisbee, I'll never have to look beyond my music collection. 3. I honestly can appreciate all types of music. I know the Christian, screamo, rock, country, punk, metal, oldies, jazz scene-- when one starts at the bottom, they have to experience everything to get to what actual music is. I didn't know what I liked, so I had to listen to everything. 4. I can look back to the days of my adolescence. It's kind of nice remembering I was a kid once.

So far the music I have on my beautiful computer is a variety of Cd's I've gotten through the ages. Lots of musicals (mentioned above), Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Beatles, classics from 1969, lovedrug, Simon and Garfunkel, Santana... What's to come? Coldplay, Train, Third Eye Blind, Chiodos, John Mayer, Dashboard Confessional, Haste the Day, Hillsong, Underoath, The Almost... And I only have two weeks to get it all together.


Goodnight, sleep well, and dream of very large women.

Carmen.

Hospitalized.

My sister made an obscenely delicious dinner consisting of spaghetti, Alfredo, and chicken. It's positively inspirational. And now that I am in a good place, with good food, good music, and no worries about tomorrow, I'll tell you my tale.

I hate the doctor's office. It's the wallpaper that matches the floor and the curtains. It's the confusing hallways that all look the same. It's the long waits. It's the paperwork. It's the child that escapes from my grownup body and the need for my mother to be there. It's the cold temperatures. It's the screaming kids. It's the coughing. It's the impersonal doctors. It's the popsicle stick that chokes me every time. It's the scale. It's the fear that maybe I'm sick. It's the possibility of bad news. I hate the doctor's office.

That doesn't stop me from going. My love for leaving outweighs my hate for the doctor's office and staying. My school requires a physical to be done.

The Great Mouse Detective is playing and all eyes are glued to the screen; young and old alike. My appointment is at 8:40am and I don't hear my name until 9:ooam. "Don't say it...!" Yells Ratigan, his body turning inward. "Sewer Rat!" Basil declares.

Height: 5'4 1/4"
Weight: ***
Blood Pressure: 100/58
Eyes: 20/13 (Susan, my nurse, who I would've preferred to be my doctor as opposed to that other woman, remarked with surprise, "Wow. You have, like, Super Woman vision." As if I didn't already understand, "You have really good eye sight.")

Even the paper thin gowns match the walls. A small curtain is supposed to make me feel comfortable. It doesn't. The security camera at my back exposes me to anyone with the ability to see. I turn my back to the camera and find the quickest route to the least amount of exposure. It couldn't have been more than 4 degrees in that room. I also received a bed sheet for "extra privacy". The only extra privacy I would like to use that sheet for would be to cover up that security camera.

A thin, repulsively colored cloth separates me from the rest of the room. My flip flops remain on my feet. I sit on the sheet of paper, which I always managed to rip when I was younger, and my feet dangle an inch above the stepping stool. I hate the doctor's office. As I sit, I wonder how many other woman have worn this same gown. A pregnant woman. Someone with cancer. A child. A healthy college student. Someone suffering from pain. Did they cry? Were they nervous? Was it normal? Were they wondering about all those other woman who would wear that same gown?

There's a knock on the door, "We might have made a mistake. You might be able to get dressed." I love hearing the word "mistake" when I'm only covered in a sheet with arms. Several minutes later this was confirmed by the doctor. This took up a great deal of the morning before we could move on. I dress, fold the extra privacy sheet and manage to fold the gown (which is very similar to folding a fitted sheet). Evidentally, there was no need for me to get naked. At this point it was almost snowing in there and I had to use the route of least exposure in rewind.

Vaccinations was the next topic after the doctor asked me about multivitamins, drug use and allergies. There was a lot of waiting involved; mostly waiting, actually. After I waited, saw the nurse, waited a little longer, saw the nurse again, waited a bit more, asked the nurse a question, then waited a bit longer, I finally got two shots in my upper arm and another in my forearm to test for tuberculosis. As Susan typed I looked to my left and saw a hamper with that scary bio hazard symbol. I wonder what kind of detergent they wash those gowns in. Imagine all the gross things those gowns have seen; what if they get washed in regular, ol' Tide? That's when I prayed that they got washed in a high-tech, double strength, disease killing, special hospital detergent.

The nurse, Susan, was very nice. She laughed at my jokes and was frustrated with the doctor which was just fine with me because I didn't like her very much. The doctor wore an ugly shirt, looked into my eyes too much and wasn't married. I want a doctor who is a bit homely, with maybe three kids. I picture her as a big woman, not fat, but motherly. Maybe she'll smile at my pathetic attempts to joke, because that is my only reaction when I'm nervous, and tell a few of her own.

Not only did Susan laugh at my jokes, but when she asked me, "What are you going to school for?" Her reaction to my response, "Technical theatre" was "Fantastic!" Whereas the doctor said, "Interesting..."

Three and a half hours later I have two Snoopy band aids and another appointment to discover if I've been exposed to tuberculosis. I thanked Susan and left.

I didn't notice that my arm was sore until I got home from work. It's so very strange that the entire arm can get sore from just a small object.


Carmen.

f(x)= stupid ideas

Read The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. Contemplate time travel and enjoy a great story along the way.

I have my last math class on Tuesday and this should provide some relief to myself; however, this being the last class means this is the final. You remember finals? It's usually at the end of the semester and the educational system thinks "hey, wouldn't it be a great idea if we gave students four exams on four different subjects all at once?" Of course you remember those feelings of failure and regretting all that procrastination you did. Who can forget the endless presentations about cardiovascular disease and Inuit art? What about, at the last minute, kissing so much butt that your lips hurt? Yeah. I'll be going through that on Tuesday.

Except the summer semester is a bit different from the usual fall/spring semesters. It's true, students don't normally carry a full load during the summer-- like myself, I'm only taking a math class-- which might cause one to think that just one class should be easy to pass. This isn't the case. I'm surrounded by people who don't have to study or turn in homework. When friends say, "hey, lets go to the beach" I have to check my schedule to make sure it doesn't clash with homework due dates or tests. It's hard trying to have a successful summer and a learning experience. During the normal semesters I'm in school-mode. I'm programed to stay stressed out, procrastinate, and then catch up with whatever I put off, while learning. It's how I get things done. But summer classes... I don't feel stressed so I tend to put my homework off. It moves so fast that I don't think I'm learning anything. And on top of it all-- it's math! My brain can only handle recreational literature during this time of the year, how am I supposed to process numbers?

I'm not really sure what we covered that first week and now my grade is going to be based off how much I remember from all the classes. Finals was a stupid idea. Summer class was a stupid idea. It's too bad, those are the only types of ideas I've been having lately.


Carmen.

Freshman aren't fresh.

Guilty pleasure: The Bachelor(ette). I can't help myself. I always tell myself, "No! It's stupid!" And then while I watch it I think, "Pfft... it's stupid." And then when there's a ring on the finger I think, "...stupid..." And yet I still watch it. I just get hooked and I can't stop. I know, I know, I'm a terrible person-- but you're stupid, so shut up!

I've had some issues this week with rooming. I will be attending Catawba College in August and this is crunch-time. This next month is going to suck because any last minute forms I need to send in, registering for classes, all of that great school stuff needs to be done. So, I received a letter telling me to check out my e-mail, rooming assignment, and important dates online. When I looked into where I would be living for the next year the only thing listed was "Woodson". Awesome, I know where I'll be staying. I search the web to look at pictures and measurements and then... What?! A freshman dorm?!

I have hardly any emotions other than sarcasm and anger. Guess which emotion I chose for this moment.

At first, I thought it wouldn't be that bad. But this was the crappy dorm. Then a terrible thought hit me: what if I had to room with a freshman. Let me set the scene for you, I'm 19. I get that I'm young. There are a lot of freshman who are only a year younger than I am. However, I haven't been a freshman in two years. I didn't like freshman when I was a freshman, how would I survive? How would she survive? I would kill someone-- and there's a high chance it would be my freshman roommate. What if I got stuck with one of those girls who want to live it up? Those girls who want to have a "college experience" and that type of experience is exactly what I don't want to experience. I like to sleep. I don't drink. I would cry if I ever got a C. Don't get me wrong, I like to have fun, but it's a type of fun that I've been perfecting since my freshman year-- it includes coffee and... that's just about it. Coffee.

Oh, no. I had a flash of the worst case scenario. What if it was one of those freshman girls who want to have a "college experience" and think they can act but can't. I've been surrounded by those since I've been in college and I can barely stand them-- what if I had to live with one? Many people won't understand my loathing for people who insist on acting even though they shouldn't be except for fellow theatre students who can act. I would have to suffer through butchered versions of Shakespeare's "To be or not to be". Endless nights with a talentless tortured soul.

I wouldn't have it.

I sent out an e-mail to the housing director. On Thursday. At 11:45pm. So basically, I sent this e-mail out on the 4th which means I wouldn't hear back from anyone for 3 days. That's an eternity if you think you're living with a freshman in a crappy dorm.

To make a long story slightly shorter-- I'm not staying in a freshman dorm with a freshman. I'm staying in an upperclassman dorm with a friend and sophomore, Kaylee.

[insert sound of contentment here]


Carmen.

The 1st Day of Summer.

Today felt like summer. Normally I'm too busy with work and school that I never have a summer day, but today I had one and I embraced it fully.

11- Woke up.
11:30- Ate honey nut cheerios with Sara, my roommate for the evening.
12- Watched the Cosby show.
12:30- Showered.
1:15- Had Starbucks/reading time.
1:45- Went to the dollar movie.
4- Went to Sycamore commons.
4:15- Fed the birds.
5:30- Went Target wandering (and didn't buy anything. Yay me!)

Sounds like a busy day and full of unaccomplished acts-- but that's not true! I set up an appointment for my car to get changed of its oil, did some math homework and only spent $2.71.

The best part is that it's Monday and it feels like Saturday.


Oh, why can't everyday be a summer day?

--Carmen

Boy-Girl

I'm going to try to explain a situation without giving specific details because this particular story isn't mine to tell. However, I did play a roll in this story and will share the part I played-- maybe I'll even show a little depth into the person that is me.

Alright, this is the time that I can't give details but need you to understand the circumstances. Imagine any boy-girl situation, the type of situation that makes one vulnerable to the other. Actually, make it a potential boy-girl situation, the type of situation that makes one extremely vulnerable to the other.

Now, imagine being the "potential". Imagine being the one who stopped an important and prolonged conversation to become even more prolonged. I was the reason for the "potential". I happened to be at the location that this pair happened to be at and I became the reason why this situation never took place. Or, at least I was the device that brought this situation to a halt. I had no idea that this was the case until after one half of the boy-girl left and the other half explained what was supposed to have taken place if I were not there.

Guilt. A huge conversation was postponed because I was there. It's kind of daunting knowing that I caused a friend to continue to be ill at ease. I'm making my friend work up the courage once more be willingly vulnerable.

But then, I was reassured by said friend that he/she allowed me to be the reason he/she didn't have this particular conversation. That he/she wasn't very practiced at being at this end of the table. He/She was looking for reasons to put this off.

Anyway, my point, the depth that I said I would share: I don't know if I could do it. I don't know how two people can go from one type of relationship and go to a totally different one. I remember the word "pansy" was used when discussing the outcome of the evening but, honestly, I would not have been the one initiating the conversation these two people were to have. It makes me nervous just thinking about it. I would have been a pansy, too, and I probably would have continued to be a pansy. Everything would have been a reason not to have this talk. Everything would have been a sign: the fact that it rained, seeing people I knew, a crow, a child wearing a blue shirt, that I stubbed my toe, that I woke up on the right side of the bed instead of the left, that my next door neighbor said "Good morning" instead of "how are you". Everything.

I've never been in a situation when I've had to be very vulnerable.

And when it comes down to it, this person could be judged for pulling up a chair instead of leaving, for allowing me to be the distraction-- but, it takes balls to be that brave. To even consider allowing ones self to be open to be hurt and not knowing what the other person may say deserves a pat on the back.

So, Congratulations, boy-girl, may another opportunity come your way and may I not be there.


--Carmen

I am not dead.

Blogger has not been apart of my life for quite some time and I should explain why.

Camp Quest aka Quest Ministries is my reason. I first attended this camp in '98 and now, in 2008, I am no longer a camper but have been promoted to "Camp Counselor". This is the greatest camp. It's true we don't have a zip line or a blob. There's only air conditioning in three cabins and the closest Starbucks is 15 miles away (I figured this out at 2am, in a cold sweat, with only Folgers to keep me company).

You meet the best people at this camp and, for those who are true to it, campers become counselors.

It is a Jesus camp and the best one around. Anyone, young or old, who need to get away and get immersed in God-- Camp Quest is the place to go. I love it. It's unfortunate it only comes around one time a year.

Camp has been over for about a week and I haven't felt the need to share much on Blogger-- but I have been persuaded because of this incident last night:

I'm taking a math class over the summer so that I can get my diploma. Last night I had a test in this very class and, too bad for me, I drank too much Gatorade and water so that by the time my test was over my bladder was about to explode. I hate using public bathrooms, but I would have regretted not using the bathroom.

The bathrooms at my school are nice. I was surprised.

I am about to exit the stall when I hear a girl's voice and then a male voice. Uh... um.... I was positive there was a triangle on the sign-- I always check-- was this a unisex bathroom? No... because the men's bathroom was right across the hall from this one. I'm bewildered, I don't know what to do.

There is a man in the woman's bathroom.

And the woman he entered with didn't have a problem with this. So then I start to think it was a woman with a very deep voice. And then I pray-- so hard-- that they weren't going into the bathroom to... not pee.

I flush just in case they did go in there... not to pee-- you know, to interrupt. To signal that they are not alone. I bust out of the stall and wash my hands; while doing so, in the reflection I see one set of feet, flip-flops, female. At the other end of the bathroom I see another set of feet, sneakers, baggy pants, not female.

I just can't get over it. It's just... strange.

I'm never using that bathroom again.

Oh, my.

I cut all my hair off in a rash and hasty way and I do believe I don't enjoy it.

Attack of the Anxiety

I feel late. That anxious and nervous feeling one gets when they over sleep, need to run out of the house, or call work to deliver the news; I have it. I'm not supposed to be anywhere until 5 and yet... I can't help but feel I should be freaking out and running around, frantic.

Kind of like when you put off that 10 page paper, for no particular reason other than not wanting to do it, and it's getting down to crunch time and yet, you still don't attack that paper. I have the miniature version of that. BUT the problem is that I have no ten page paper.

Am I getting anxiety attacks? I don't think so. There are a few people I need to call but... nothing to get nervous about. It's strange and I don't like it.


Carmen.

R.I.P.

I've lost the point.

Not "the point" meaning the main idea of the content, but the reason why I push the PUBLISH POST button. It may appear that I've lost all interest in blogger and from the readers standpoint, I would agree. But if only you could see how many drafts I've tucked away. On numerous occasions I've attempted to update my friend, the World Wide Web, about the ongoings of my life-- which, granted, isn't really worth getting updated on, but what are friends for?--and this isn't a rare thing. I used to do this all the time with ease. For some reason, though, the words that go onto this screen, I don't feel are worth the reading. I've lost the point.

In my latest saved draft I even talked about my lack of posting but even that didn't make the cut. My apology to the WWW was stored away. Why? I don't know.

This theme is the same with others. There are a few blogs I like to read and the blogs are from all different blogging sites (blogger, xanga, etc.). I refuse to comment not because I don't want to, but I feel that if what I have to share isn't relative, then what's the point? Who cares what I have to say about someone else's life? So these writers don't know that there is someone out there reading their thoughts (Kind of creepy, right? But doesn't it happen all the time? Someone comes across a blog and for some reason they keep reading and eventually become accustomed to checking, perhaps daily, on the life of this stranger. Well, at least this has happened to me. With a few people. All of these different blogs that I read all have different qualities that I admire; one is inspiring and always uplifting, another is Godly, one is baffling, and another I keep up with is just because he's an excellent writer.) and I feel strange if I, a total stranger, venture on to their site and say "hey, I wish you would keep writing. I like reading what you have to say."

These few Bloggers that I keep up with are all frequent posters except for one, which comes and goes, but they've recently stopped dead in their tracks. I might even say that there needs to be a RIP marker. The last post on one is April 21, another stopped the day after on the 22. Then May 19 and then the 29. What I'm trying to say is maybe I'm not the only one who has lost the point. Maybe everyone else is struggling to hit the button. Maybe the reason my point has fled is because it saw all the other points fleeing.

I wish mine would come back.

And just because I post this doesn't mean my point has returned. No, it just means I'm pretending that I have a point. Perhaps pretending will coax my point to return and bring some friends for those other Bloggers who seem to have lost theirs as well.

Truth.

"Some cultures are defined by their relationship to cheese." --Benny & Joon

Summer Schedule

My left shoulder hurts a lot. Why? I couldn't tell you. It's more like an ache but it's there and it is very irritating.

Today I had lunch with a friend and one of her friends. Sometimes I don't feel like myself and during lunch I didn't feel like myself. I felt extremely uncomfortable and I don't like that feeling. How many more times can I say feel? (that was a rhetorical question)

My days have been spent at the library, Starbucks or work. It's great. I sleep until 10 or 11, I shower, get some food in my belly and then either A) go to the library and read, B) go to the library and read at Starbucks, or C) go straight to Starbucks, do not pass the library, do not collect $200. The best part? When I start my math class it won't cut into my library time-- only my work time and though that isn't so great, I'd prefer that over my library time any day. This summer is going to be chill. Lots of reading. This might not seem like a good way to spend the summer and yes, I know, I look like a loser but I don't care. I have 9 months of reading to catch up on and I'm already 2 books down, 2 books 1/2 down and a library full to go. I fully expect the librarians to know my name by the end of the summer.

Tomorrow I don't have to work! Yes!

Um. This next statement won't make sense but I need to say it and I need you, Cyberspace, to hear it: I WANT TO SEE HIM WITHOUT A HAT!!! I NEED TO SEE HIM WITHOUT A HAT!!!!!!!!!!! Hm. Thanks, Digital Obis, for always being there to listen to me.


Carmen.

Down Towards the Healing

My body is finally starting to heal. That raw blister from the screw gun is no longer a gooey mess (sorry for the visual). My bruises are gaining color, but this is just a sign of it's inevitable return to pasty white. I'm not sore; that's great. It's cool that my body will take control and repair what has been broken/damaged.

I like the way my toes look after I remove nail polish. Really, nothing can beat clean, plain toes.

My stomach is hungry to the point of pain but I have no desire to eat.

I'm going to the library. I'm going to return the books I borrowed for my papers and pick up a book just for the love of it. Not because I need to do so, but because my eyes refuse to take in educational words and will only respond to recreational reading.

Mother's Day. I love my mom. What should I get for her....?

I love hitting the spellcheck button and have "No misspellings found" pop up.


Carmen.

Manic Depressive.

School is over but I still feel stressed and worried. Why? I couldn't tell you. Actually, I can a little.

• A friend is having a hard time. Things keep happening to him. I don't know what to say. I'm not good with advice, I can't volunteer anything, so I just sit there. All I can do is sympathize with him and all I can think to do is hug him. What do I have to offer? Nothing. That's why I'm down and out. I want to make him feel better. Things keep happening and I can't do anything.
• Pathetic Carmen Time: I'm single. I get in these bouts at times and I'm in one.
• Money is super tight and that is a huge contributor to my stress.
• I'm kind of jealous of a certain person's situation and I don't like this. I'm not the jealous type-- but this also has to do with those bouts I get at times.
• Stupid Facebook won't load!
• I'm stupid. Things happen and I don't take advantage of them.
• His voice is gorgeous.
• I'm stuck with a person I don't want to be stuck with. Ever.

Today I was feeling great. I was out of an exam in 10 minutes. I had my last exam today which means school is over. I don't have to do anything tomorrow except sleep and get coffee. I was doing pretty well but then somewhere it changed and I feel a miniature version of sadness. I don't like it and I don't know what to do about it.

Carmen.

Cleanliness is next to nothing. --Miracle Worker

CRAZY.

That's it. That is the word that explains this next week. Not just crazy, but capitalized and periodized (that isn't a word, by the way, in case you were confused-- but it's the only word that explains the punctuation). It doesn't require an exclamation point because this isn't a yell; it doesn't require multiple exclamation points because that is repetition of the worst variety-- it's like the people who thinks it's necessary to add extra letters, i.e. loveeeeeeeeeeeee. What? A silent e in repetition? What's the point? There is none. That is the exact reason why I no longer like chatting on IM because careless people throw an abundance of letters into words that make me angry and if this anger can be avoided, I avoid it.

I've been teching for Miracle Worker these past two weeks+ and today was the last show. The last show means strike. Strike is the destruction of three weeks of work. The stage gets torn apart with hard work and lots of anger. I love working with my hands. Sometimes I forget about this. I love the way I feel with a screw gun. I love telling inexperienced kids to take the flats to the truck. I love getting that one stubborn screw. I love that blister/sore I get on my knuckle from the removal of screws. I love the jello feeling I get after exerting too much energy. It's just great. Everyone should try it. Strike reminds me of why I'm majoring in theatre. If anyone wants to know why I love it, I'll invite you to the next strike and you'll see. There's a large chance that you'll hate it, but that's why you aren't majoring in production and design.

Tomorrow I write a five page paper on the geologic history of Loch Ness-- and yes, it is as interesting as it sounds.

Tuesday I take a health exam.

Wednesday I turn in the five page paper and present it to the class in five minutes.

Thursday I take Anthropology exam.

Friday I'm going to the beach in honor of no more classes. It was planned today and I fully intend to follow through.

Saturday-- Who cares because classes are over and I'll be free!!!! Er... at least until summer classes start.

Carmen.

This is the Sound of the Brain Dying.

Song of the Day: Do It Alone by Sugarcult

Just a couple more weeks and this torture I call school will be over. In the meantime, I would rather go to the rack than have to answer another chapter question, make a speech, and/or write a paper. These next two weeks will not be pleasant and I will be feeling that procrastination that I started at the beginning of the semester in the worst places. To make my attempts of getting away from those papers and assignments complete, I took on the position of Assistant Stage Manager at CP's Miracle Worker. Why did I do this? Now I only have a few hours in the afternoons to do my research for two presentations and a geology paper. What's even better is that not only do I have last minute assignments to turn in, I'm also getting little to no sleep since I've been getting home at 12 every night (and going to bed whenever I fall asleep doing three pounds of homework). If I didn't know any better I would think I was in the second layer of hell.

Yes, I have projects and papers and presentations and homework and then exams and Miracle Worker... Though thinking about this brings me down I look to the weekend and I'm happy! This week has lasted a month and I've been looking forward to this Saturday and Sunday since last Sunday. Really, this week hasn't been good-- but tomorrow I'll be going to Statesville for a To Write Love On Her Arms benefit/concert. It's going to be great. I get to hang out with people I like and listen to music that I [might] like. And then I have Sunday! I love Sundays. Truly. Surly. This is the one day I allow myself no worry.

Summer: I can't wait. Granted, I will be working and I have a math class to take but exciting things are going to happen. Cornerstone. Camp Quest. FCP. Greatness.




Everyday I attempt to live the life Jesus did. Usually it doesn't work. I have this thing. With people. I don't like them. There's one of these people in my class who I cannot stand. Cannot. This time it isn't just me-- no one else likes him. And I try. Really. Really. Really hard to not say things to him, about him, or around him because those things that I will say will not be what Jesus would have said. As I'm leaving class today he follows behind me and says something.

Can I be honest? I don't talk to him because I will punch him. I've said maybe three things to him this semester and all of them were sarcastically mean. I'm a terrible person, I know.

"Heading to work?"
"No." Why he is talking to me, I don't know. I was saving him by staying away from him.
"There's a rally for Hillary Clinton tonight-- you want to go?"

My whole body tightens. Who... who in their right minds would vote for Hillary? I am thoroughly offended that he would think I approve of her. I am also shocked that he has the nerve to ask me to go with him. Anywhere. Thirty million words popped into my head. All thirty million of them would have made him cry.

By a miracle of Jesus, all of those sarcastically-dagger laced remarks stayed locked behind my clenched teeth and simply, "No, I don't think so." Brilliant! I keep walking away from him, thankful that he wasn't in kicking distance. It's over. I keep walking.

"Oh, not a political person?"

WHAT?! WHY DO YOU KEEP SPEAKING?!?!? $*#) *$ @*&$ %&$#!!!!!!!

By another miracle, I kept my mouth closed and did a nod/shake and kept walking.

I'm ashamed. Really. This attitude I have towards some people is not good. The point is, I try. A lot. I have an internal battle when some people speak and sometimes sharp words come out. This little blurb of my life definitely doesn't put me in a good light and makes me sound like a heathen but I... I just need to say that I do try and I am sorry.


Carmen.

The Shallow End.

I'm under the impression that my mother still thinks I'm 11. What gives me reason to think this? Well, whenever my parents went out of town, they would always come back with a present. All through my childhood I can always remember when they would go out of town and come back with something for us ("us" meaning myself and my siblings). We, or at least I, would look forward to this. The benefit of my parents leaving was that we would get something small when they returned. The presents were never big, but small and exciting for a kid. We would all gather around, close our eyes, and let the gifts sit in our hands until we were given the cue of "Okay, you can open your eyes now." I can remember necklaces, beanie babies (because those were the coolest things. EVER.), a tea set, a shirt... Small things that only cost a dollar but were better than huge Christmas gifts because we didn't receive these gifts because of a holiday but purely because our parents loved us enough to think of us. A gift without reason.

This past weekend Mom went out of town to teach at a conference while I was at Catawba impressing the socks off of the Tech professors. Sunday morning, while I was still sleeping, Mom knocked on the door at 7am and said, "I have a surprise for you." This is code for, "Okay, you can open your eyes now." I unfold a napkin and what lay inside was a giant chocolate chip cookie. At 7am my mom had no qualms with giving me a cookie for breakfast. She got the cookie for free at the conference because it was left over. Does that make it not quite as special? No. She gave me the biggest cookie out of all the others that she brought home.

I called
because
I just
Need to feel you on the line
Don’t hang up this time
And I know it was me who called it over but
I still wish you'd fought me ‘til Your dying day
Don’t let me get away

I love coffee. This morning, after my math class, I went to Starbucks. I get an iced grande white mocha iced coffee. Monday mornings I look kind of gross because I don't see the need to shower for a math class. I mean, I would rather sleep an extra 15 minutes on Mondays and get clean after class.

Wow. I just made myself sound disgusting.

At this Starbucks there is a waxy, tattooed fellow. Today he spoke to me. Maybe I sound pathetic-- actually, I sound really pathetic-- but I do not care. It is impossible to find semi-waxy guys with tattoos who have a small piece of manners and shower at least once a week. To be honest, I'm not really sure if he is good looking because I'm distracted by his sleeve. Anyway, the point of my pondering is that I'm wondering if I should start showering on Mondays. Is the I-just-rolled-out-of-bed Carmen better than the I-look-clean-and-pretty Carmen?

Screw Clean-Carmen. I get an extra 15 minutes of sleep if I look gross.


Carmen.

If it's boring I'll just shoot them.

I am ashamed; I've let my blog go. It's been over a week. This could be a sign that I have had nothing to write about but life has been pretty busy-- not interesting, just busy.

I bought a Nerf gun. That's the best investment I have ever made. Someone informed me that I am a dork for buying a piece of plastic that only shoots 6 bullets with the nickname "Cheese-A-Nater" but I know that they're only saying that because they've never felt the way a Nerf gun feels in the hand and the happiness of battling two eight year olds in Sara's front yard.

A good part of this past week has been spent in worry. I found out about a scholarship opportunity that required me to go to Catawba this weekend. I later found out I needed to have a portfolio and grown-up things in preparation for this audition/interview. So, I threw that together and I felt very unprepared. Most of my week I was distracted with the fact that I'll be meeting people who are going my make my life heaven or hell, but when Friday rolled around I decided it wasn't a big deal. Sure, I want things to look nice but it's not like my education depends on it. What will I lose if I don't do a good job? Nothing. What happens if they like me? I get money. I only gain in this situation.

*A segment of my audition in reference to a hellish program Catawba puts students through*
Zink: A lot of students hate it but when they get out they're grateful for it. A student once sent me a bottle of wine from Italy in appreciation.
Me: So, you want to send as many people through this program as possible. Maybe someone will send you some cheese.
Zink: Yes, to go with my wine.

My Dad and I left at 7:30 Saturday morning, we got coffee and doughnuts, we drove to school, I got mints, then I interviewed and went home. It's about a 50 minute drive-- not bad-- it went by quickly. Since my audition was done so early, and we didn't have anything else to do, we did go home, slept, and then went back so I could see Tartuffe. That sounds crazy, I know, but that was the best nap I have ever had.

To conclude, all this school/education crap makes me feel old. And stressed out. But Nerf guns level it out a bit.


"You two are a pair of idiots." -Doreen, Tartuffe
Carmen.

Major Tom to Ground Control

It must suck to get drunk. It hit me this morning. An epiphany.

Last night I went to the Visualite to see this David Bowie tribute/benefit. [The Visualite has a great atmosphere. But I still like Tremont better] My ex-co-worker and a current co-worker was playing. Some of it was excellent. Some of it I slept through. One thing I did learn from this show: I can't handle more than an hour of Bowie. I ended up with close to 4 Bowie hours. Uh. Brain. Melting. I wish my (ex)co-workers would have told me they weren't going on until 11.

Anyway, there were some excellent musicians. I can't deny this. Also, Bowie is kind of amazing. I can't deny that either. That show, however, would have been a lot better if I were drinking like everyone else. Except it goes against my moral code. Oh, and it's kind of illegal.

I was exhausted in more ways than one when Sara and I eventually left. Maybe I'm becoming an old lady at an early age but 12:30 is the latest I can stay out without my eyes glazing over. I also tend to get really hungry that late. Sara and I stopped by McDonald's to fulfill our tradition of eating after every show. Food. Home. Sleep.

"It's 11... I need to go home." Uh... I roll out of bed, throw on a hoodie, ugly slippers that look especially ugly with my man-sweat pants and I drive Sara home in the rain. Coffee is the only thing on my mind. However, I feel bad getting coffee when I'll be going to work in just a few hours where I will have an unlimited supply of coffee.

And this is where the epiphany hit me. I'm already exhausted, I have a sleep-deprivation headache, why would I want a hangover on top of it? It's crazy. Why do people do that to themselves? And if I had to go to work on top of it... I just don't understand it. It would suck.

Reason 301 why I don't have any desire to drink.

This is absolutely not related to the concert but more important than the above. I saw Miss Peggy last night. Er, Mrs. Peggy. A woman I haven't seen in 8 years. It made me incredibly happy. She used to watch me and my siblings when we were young. I think I miss her. Now she has two kids of her own who are the age that I was when I last saw her.

My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought I'd need so many people

Carmen.

When The Sky Awakens.

On a day like today, everyone should be outside. Ironic that I am inside as I command all of you to venture outdoors. However, I got a healthy fill of the sunshine over lunch. Emily and I went to Penguin, got some hamburgers, chicken and fries to-go and sat at the park across from school. It was delightful. I would go so far as to say it was fantastic. I wish this weather would last forever. It put me in such a good mood.

I was in such a good mood, I doffed my I-woke-up-late clothes, took a shower, and now I feel twice as good as I did this afternoon with fresh legs and clean face. Life is so much brighter when the sun is out.


"That does not make me a beach."
Carmen.

Fortune Cookie Always Wrong

I have never really appreciated the sweet and sour of sweet and sour chicken until today. It's a refreshing alternative to my usual sesame chicken (which is scrumptious). What is also refreshing is only paying 5.50 for this meal. Now that is what I call scrumptious.

I finished a book today. Extremely British and very worth my 79 cents. This book also made me appreciate the hair that I have.

Easter. Church was awesome. I ate a years worth of chocolate and I'll be lucky I don't swing over the 700lb. marker from all the junk I consumed.

I always complain/update my school situation so here it goes: this week appears to be okay. There isn't anything major I need to be worrying about and I got an A on my math lab today (which makes me feel a little better about failing my last lab). Tomorrow I'm a little more ready for school than usual. I mean, there isn't anything due so maybe it can be a chill school day. Hopefully.


Carmen.

Snowballs Are Not Fun.

"Many lines of evidence support a theory that the entire Earth was ice-covered for long periods 600-700 million years ago. Each glacial period lasted for millions of years and ended violently under extreme greenhouse conditions. These climate shocks triggered the evolution of multicellular animal life, and challenge long-held assumptions regarding the limits of global change."

Uh...? What?

Snowball Earth. Evidently, at one point the earth was... a snowball. I have to read a 17 page paper about this theory for my geology class and my teacher expects me to understand it. Natural remnant magnetization? I should be flattered. I mean, she thinks I'm smart enough to understand this and, to be honest, generally I do. I get the concept and what happens-- but there are so many words. I've seen maybe two words with one syllable.

Something I have noticed throughout this paper is that scientists have extremely complicated names. Much too complicated. Kirschvink, Schrag, Mikhail Budyko, Sohl. On a couple of occasions I've mistaken Kirschvink as a scientific term. Imagine my shock and the clarity of this paper when I figured out Kirschvink is a person, not volcanic carbon dioxide emissions.


Carmen.

ps I'm in the computer lab at school and the guy next to me is looking at porn, just so you know.

Maybe pointless.

I have 9 holes in my head. To be more specific, in my ears, not including those two holes God put there to begin with. Well, I've barely had any issues with them. Sometimes though when I wake up in the mornings my right ear will be sore--not the entire ear but my uppermost cartilage. I'm almost positive I don't sleep on it the wrong way since I sleep the same way every night-- and this doesn't happen all the time. So, I'm kind of thinking that during the night I will mess with it while I'm sleeping.

Honey bunches of oats is one of my favorite cereals. It combines the perfect amounts of crunch and sweetness and grown-up-ness. It's just excellent.

I found the building that I want my dream house to look like.

Tomorrow I don't have to go to work and I don't have school. I almost don't know what to do with myself. I think I might sleep in. I'm planning on cleaning my car. I should study. I need to do laundry or I won't be showering and end up walking around in man-pants and a hoodie. I hope I'll be going to see As Cities Burn-- I think it might be sold out.

The Office. I miss it.


Your emotional nature is sensitive and strong.
Carmen.

A Photo is Worth a Thousand Words

Maybe they'll speak for themselves.

Bang. Bang.

Since I'm exhausted in more ways than one, I think I'll do another bullet-point! recap of the end of spring break.

• The beach was amazing. It's too bad I'm summing it all up in a couple of sentences. Maybe one day I'll elaborate. The most important words would be cloudy, shark teeth, dingle berries, demons, candy and vans, seagulls, freezing, nuttin' butt horseplay, and fun.
• Finally got a chance to drive my car on Saturday. That was delightful. We also experienced a classic thunderstorm, which would've been more excellent if I weren't stuck at work all night.
• Church. I like it a lot. Got to meet with my small group tonight and I believe I will like almost all of those ladies. The leader is quirky in an unusually good way. Even better, I think it'll be good for me.
• School starts tomorrow. I hate to end these bullets on a negative note but school is definitely not a positive one. I desperately, literally, actually, and figuratively don't want to go. I've never hated school as much as I do at this time. When did this happen? Normally school was a haze of automatic actions and involuntary thought-- I never processed all the bad things because than that would've put me in the situation I'm in right now-- and now I don't want to go. I used to like school in an odd sort of way.

Good night my friends. I hope there is blissful sleep to everyone and that your dreams are covered in floating islands, shining stars and flying to your next adventure.

Is it possible to get stuck in a dream? in hopes of getting out of school?

Carmen.

Happiness is a warm engine.

Bullet points!

• Finally got my car. It's got some issues-- but we'll try to resolve them. I can't wait to name it though. I think it's a boy.
• Leaving for the beach in 8 hours and I still need to shave. I don't even know if it'll be warm enough to get into the water. But who cares, it's the beach.
• Again, I'm talking about the car. Just to let the world know I love it already. It has an awkward locking thing going on and the gas needle is a little screwy-- actually, a lot screwy (this goes under the "issues" category of bullet point #1).
• I'm going to start volunteering at church and I can't wait! Who knew that 6am on Sunday will be the most exciting part of the week? Small group starts on Sunday, too. Good things come to those who wait.
• I feel like a terrible person because I'm not going to finish my math homework.

That's enough bullet pointing for now.

Carmen.

It's '09 not '07!

Well, that whole car thing is definitely causing lots of trouble. Monday was supposed to be the day I got it, Tuesday was the next day I was supposed to get it-- now, it seems I won't be getting it until Friday.

Paperwork is the product of the devil. Why is that? Because, currently, I own the car I just can't drive it.

I put a number on a check that is way more than I have ever put on any piece of paper and in return I get a piece of metal that is smaller than my cell phone. That piece of metal was great while it lasted. It was kind of bent out of shape, like the car, and fit in my hand like it was made for me. Even though I had the key, I couldn't drive it because I needed tags and proof that the car was allowed on the road.

I'm with my mom--because, to be honest, I can't do anything without her. It would've been a lot scarier giving that much money to these people if mom hadn't given the thumbs up--and we go to this hole in the wall where I'm supposed to pay more money to get another piece of metal and a piece of paper. I'm waiting with Mom for an hour and a half. There are a lot of interesting people the state will allow to drive, by the way; I think I was the only normal person in that building and that's saying a lot since I'm not really normal. Yes! We get to the counter. The woman has beady eyes, a hair cut that one only sees on older ladies and these glasses that were frightening. We give her papers and she has this look of horror, but doesn't say anything is wrong. She just cringes at the papers and there's a lot of silence. "Is there something wrong?" Mom asks after this woman contorts her face in three other configurations. "Yeah. Blah blah blah." It amazes me how this woman thinks I understand what she's talking about. The woman takes the papers to someone else and after 10 minutes she comes back to tell us she can't take the papers because the date of expiration on one of the papers looks like 2007 and not 2009.

Maybe I'm bias, but when the areas of writing on a piece of paper isn't any bigger than an eighth of an inch the differentiation between a 7 and a 9 is tough. However, there are ways to tell that it is a 9. First thing, 7's don't normally have a hump. Plus, it wouldn't make sense for the person to write 2007. It's just not logical. Why would they do that? It's a waste of time for everyone involved.

So, after standing in line, not getting that metal, going back to Amity to relay to them the entire story as to why we couldn't register the car, I then had to return the key that I rightfully paid for! Now, we can't get back to the hole in the wall until possibly Friday.

And that was my day. Well, not the entire day-- the last half I spent being emo, in my room with the lights off, listening to oldies and eating Easter candy. Oldies didn't really fit the mood-- sometimes there are the I am a rock/Cathy's clown/there goes my baby oldies, but yesterday all they played were she loves me/it's rainin men/sh-boom oldies.

Today is less eventful, I have to work with a 40% chance of rain.


And that's why they call it the blues.
Carmen.

What Rocks Think About

To be perfectly honest, I have no desire to write on this thing-- but I'm going to anyway. Maybe it's because nothing of interest has happened the past couple of days.

The car. Maybe it's more trouble than it's worth. I wasn't able to get it yesterday because of paperwork issues. Supposedly I'll be getting it today.

And that's all I have to say. Normally I could go on and on about nothing but today is different. I'm not feeling especially clever.


Carmen.

Hello? This is Cancun.

Spring break is something I've been looking forward to since, well, last spring break. It's not because I do anything especially amazing, it just rolls around the exact time I start slacking off. It's a week of boost and sleeping in and being kind of lazy. This spring break is going to be different though. This spring break is going to be busy. Tomorrow I will be purchasing my vehicle, Tuesday I will be putting the finishing touches on the car thing, Wednesday I will work, Thursday I will work, Friday I will be going to the beach, Saturday I will be working, and Sunday is church.

Oh, did I forget to mention that I will definitely have a car? It has air conditioning and wheels-- what more could I want? The world seems like a better place when one has a vehicle.

Harvard. Is. Good. I'm not speaking of the school, although I have heard it's pretty good, too, but Harvard the band. I saw them at Amos' and they have a great sound. I would suggest everyone support them. Amos' in general, I don't like. It's so clean. Tremont is the best. I like the dirty, security, emo type places.

Hah. I just bought emo/skinny jeans for 7 dolla. I know you are imagining me in skinny jeans and you're probably laughing, but I don't care. They are amazing. I understand why people wear them. Hah. They make me feel dumb but in the best kind of ways. They're great. I don't see how people can feel depressed wearing these pants-- they hold a power that I've never experienced.

I think this might be the longest period of time I've gone without blogging. It might be because I've finally started writing again. I'll end up getting bursts of inspiration and this causes me to neglect my poor blog and focus all my writing time on Microsoft Word.

This is a party without the people.
This is a show without the sounds.

Chad keeps turning down the idea of going to church. It makes me kind of sad. This "My Generation" thing has hit me hard and I can't let Chad not be apart of this generation. How can you start a new way of thinking when one has been thinking the same way for so long?


Carmen.

Hum a Tune.

If anyone wants to fill up on good music, I would suggest listening to Train-- the self titled CD. I find, that in times of 'rock out' need, I can plug them in and have myself a grand ol' time. Since I'm talking about them, I'll talk about them a little more. I remember the first song that I fell in love with, "Meet Virginia". I love Eggplant. The next song to love by Train was "Drops of Jupiter". Their music is just amazing.

More good music? Third Eye Blind. Good stuff. One of my favorite bands. I like their stuff because I imagine it's the kind that people remember. I mean, screamo isn't going to be the thing that people will listen to years from now, but Third Eye Blind is potentially potential classic.

Road trip music is another favorite. This includes Billy Joel, Phil Collins, Elton John-- good music.

I don't care what anyone says-- I love John Mayer. Not enough people play acoustic. I can tell you where I was and what state I was in when I first heard No Such Thing. Myles Palmquist knows how to handle a guitar as well-- but not for everything.

Coldplay is something I enjoy-- but only the older stuff. Parachutes. New=Crap.

Celtic music is off the chain. Tin whistles and bag pipes are the ingredients to a good time. Enya is something to keep in mind.

Dashboard Confessional, I believe, will still be a favorite in years to come. I enjoy their sound probably a lot more than I should.

Coheed and Cambria and Imogen Heap are amazing because they have a different sound.

Haste The Day and Norma Jean is nice for a hardcore mood.

Copeland, The Hush Sound, and Paulson are good'ns.

Eurythmics.

Musicals are amazing. Maybe it's just the theatre inside of me, but I love them.

Dr. Feelgood. I like only a couple of those songs.

Did I mention Train? Because the more I listen to them, the more I love them. They deserve to be listed twice.

Hold up my wings cause you are the sky
Paint me by numbers and don't ask me why
I am in bloom and you are perfume
And you are perfume and you are

I've always had a thing for Jim Croce since I was young. It all started with that cassette tape. Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown. Time in a Bottle. Good Morning America How Are You. Don't Mess Around With Jim. Goodness, I love him.

Music in general is pretty great. I love Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, The Sound of Animals Fighting, and everything in between.


My body is your body. I won't tell anybody. If you want to use my body, go for it, yeah. --We Are Scientists
Carmen.

Slacker 101

It's a brand new month, with a brand new week, and I'm starting it by not going to class. It's not of my own decision. Sometimes I'm pretty sure that cars have minds of their own. They toss around toxic fumes which end up affecting the outcome of not just the air I breathe, but my entire life. If the car doesn't want to start, than I can't want to go to class. This was the cars mood this morning. Or, it might be my Dad's mood-- he was the one who didn't give up the key to the car.

I'm glad I don't have to go to class. I haven't missed one. It's only math. This way I can sleep, do the homework I've been putting off since the beginning of the semester, clean my room (which looks like a laundromat blew up), actually do some laundry, watch a movie, figure out my finances and everything else I haven't felt like doing.

Although I am a little depressed about not attending class; my hair looks especially amazing.

Money sucks.


Carmen.

You smell those three armys of one?

Currently Listening to: Chiodos; All's Well That Ends Well

Sometimes I spray some type of perfume/anything that smells good into my hair. I'm not really sure why I started doing this. Good smelling hair is better than bad smelling hair, my psyche thought. But I realized I like doing it for the following reasons: A. Whenever I turn my head or fix my hair, I can smell goodness. Usually I forget that I did this and think "man, someone smells good" and then realize it was me :) 2. It is one of the greatest compliments. Whoever I hug will inevitably smell my hair and when other people know my hair smells good, it makes me feel like I smell good. But not overpowering. Sometimes a girl will walk by and you smell her. I like sharing my smell only with those I allow close enough to hug me. Just two things I learned I like about smelly hair.

Grouplink! Today was the day to find a small group. I don't like doing this. There are so many people, only a limited number of people in a certain group, not enough groups that meet on good nights-- but once I put my name on the list and Sarah said, "I'll call you to let you know if we'll be meeting this Sunday or the next" I immediately felt relief. All I have to do is show up. I'm excited.


I will be able to sleep at night.
Carmen.