1 comments, continued

Re Kelly's post:

You're right to point out that almost nobody is really that pleased with their own looks. But the catch is unfailing-- when people are kind and I start to feel a little safer, something happens to make my stomach plummet and I may even get that strange pain in my chest... possibly some joke that came across the wrong way, or a comment he surely would not have made, had he thought a bit more, and suddenly it's like I'm the only person in the world with this problem. You're right: the trouble is in our focus. The trouble is not that I'm believing the wrong people, but that I am believing people. The only one who's always, always, always going to know the truth about me is God.

Thank you for encouraging me on the "job dedicated to helping people" front. I am really shocked, over and over again, at the way some people love and even respect me. It will never make sense to me, but it gives me the push I need to take risks and do what I can. They see things that are hidden to me. I suspect that's how it's meant to be for all of us.

"You get lots of tickets when you talk." Ha ha. Thanks. :) Truth is, though, you do too. You're just a little less abtruse.

About the expectations and being myself... I'm learning. I just regress sometimes.

What drugs am I using? Primarily an ancient depressant known as REM.

Maybe you're going to have to get me into Lost. If we have that kind of time.

Things do change really fast, don't they? I've recently seen it in Jordan. Wondered where my little brother had gone. And God reminded me that I had made those same transitions and then some more. It helps me see the whole thing, including my own future, in... perspective. Yes, Jenny will probably have kids by the time I get married, if I do. And what you said about me being a mother-- I hope you believe that for yourself.

Funny, all those thoughts about planes are ones I've had.

Nice bit about comets. :)

I hope you'll excuse the raised pitch here but YOU DO NOT HAVE A BUTCH VOICE. Honestly, I have tried to wave away many an envious thought on the subject. I like your voice.

Thanks for not minding my singing too much.

"I swear, kids do not like me." = Almost verbatim what Justin always said before Brayden came. Now, freed from the death grip of fear because this is his own child, he's ridiculously loving and Brayden loves him ridiculously. When the baby is at our house and Justin's jingle comes on the radio, Brayden searches the room in excitement, eyes wide, head still wobbling a little bit. Don't you remember yourself in NY? Kids will like you if you talk to them. Maybe for a while (like me) you'll have to be in the right sort of situation so you don't feel awkward, but I know we can both get past that.

You are not too intellectual. Here and there your analyses may cast a long shadow that makes some people feel uncomfortably like a Dorothy Gale who just landed in Oz. There is nothing wrong with that. As long as you shun arrogance, treat people with grace, and choose to see the beautiful-mysterious side of things as well, your practical intelligence will be a blessing.

I mean, my somewhat analytical personality helps me. When I was a kid, a friend tried to tell me that "people who ride bikes are not as good at running." As though biking is bad for your stamina. I guessed she was telling me some distorted outgrowth of the fact that biking and running use different muscles. 'Cause I have to think about why stuff is the way it is.

"Don't confuse laziness with not constantly adhering to what everyone else things you should be doing." Thanks.

"You can't help but change. You are alive." You're right.

Permanently saddled with this

I really, really don't want torturous to be a word. I don't like it. It's like a person with a third leg.

I do enjoy the word tortuous. So free and graceful without that ridiculous "r".

But the ugly word has its own definition and cannot be discarded.

TORTUOUS: convoluted, tangled, involved

TORTUROUS: excruciating, ...SATAN

God's joke on us?

I promised to "keep in touch", and Kelly says "stories = keeping in touch", so here's a story.

Last week Jenny and I went to Shadyside Park to speedwalk the trails. While we walked we discussed a variety of things, not least, of course, the pressing topic of exercise.

And then somehow the conversation turned to types-- you know, things that attract us. I pictured Jason standing high over the stove and cooking something so peppery it should burn holes in their palates, and I asked her whether she'd always been into men who are tall and lean. She told me there were a couple of things she'd been into:

A. Tall skinny guy.

B. Rugged natural guy who looks like he farms.

C. Black guy. Dancing black guy, even better.

I was pleased to find out about that last one; it makes three siblings who have harbored the same quiet thoughts of rebellion.

We were taking a long curve where the foliage forms walls that hide the path ahead. Jenny told me how a friend had commented on her marriage to Jason.

"Brittney said, 'Well, you didn't get your hot dancing black guy, but you got your farm boy.'"

She was just beginning to clarify that while her husband has never actually lived on a farm--

A shirtless man appeared jogging round the corner in a blur of copper-brown glory. In relaying the story to our mother, Jenny described him as "sculpted". I can't confirm that, because I was looking at his face, searching in vain for an expression. His face was deadpan. As we passed him, my sister and I glanced at each other in disbelief, and then I cracked up.

"Manda!" she scolded under her breath, but she was smiling big and then she was laughing too.

I love the way Jenny laughs.

Erythraeum, pt II

I wait by the water and stare at the sea
The light on the water is glaring at me
Surprised when the breath of the desolate east
Treads dry on the edge of an unmoving sea
It shakes like it sees something coming
Or I'm making believe and it's nothing
This has got to be where I start losing my mind
I cannot really stare into something this bright
But in all of my dreams you are waking me up
So fall on the water that waits between us

I'm fine, why?

If you ask me whether I'm worried about something, I'll usually say no. I don't mean to lie. It's just I regularly cohabit with such a wealth of preoccupations that a little extra does not seem worth mentioning.

The fact is, I'm distressed by the size of my waist, the shape of my knees, the dryness of my elbows, the asymmetry of my eyelids, the angle of my forehead. I slave away over my skin and hair and eyes, and never feel very good about them at all. I worry that people loathe me for taking long, scrupulous showers and being a smelly lump of oil anyway. I know some people have one outfit, but I have a hard time appreciating my wardrobe because surely people disapprove when I have to wear the same shirt twice in one week.

I worry that I'm not worthy material for a job at McDonald's, let alone a profession in social work. I worry that if I need to make change for customers, I'll never get used to it. I'm afraid I'm going to be one of those grown-up kids who don't move out until they're kicked out. I know I'm going to cause a brutal car accident eventually. I wonder how each person will reject me in his own way when word finally gets around that I'm not good at anything.

I worry that I use too many words to make my point. I worry about insulting a professor by doing badly on a test. I wonder when my professors will confer with each other and finally give up on me, when the Dean of Students will stop smiling at me, when she will ask me whether I'm using substances or having trouble at home.

I worry that I'll never be mature enough to be married. I fear that my husband will love me a little bit. I wonder whether I'll really be able to stand up for myself or sacrifice for his sake. I worry that we'll have differing opinions about sex and that he'll be right. I feel sure most of what I cook will be burned or slushy or both, and he'll opt for Chinese takeout when he can.

I wonder how I could ever get through pregnancy and childbirth. As I watch parents, I say to myself, "What a lack of discipline!" and "When I have a kid, I'm never going to talk at him that way," and all the while my gut tells me that when the time comes, I will be Monster Mom.

I live a couple of minutes from an airport, but since I was a kid I've got a sick feeling when a plane passes low overhead. I worry that scientists will succeed in their attempt to impregnate a man. I wonder when a comet is going to crush one of our continents. I worry that communists will overrun the country and put a ban on mascara.

I worry that my voice is loud and nasal, and I worry that I irritate people when I speak softly. I wonder whether I should stop making jokes, since people don't get them. I worry that I talk too much, don't reveal enough, and don't listen well. I doubt I'll ever have a conversation with more than two people at once and walk away feeling good about how I handled it. I feel I should adhere more closely to others' expectations, and I'm horrified by my capacity for bootlicking, fakery and cultural absorption. I sometimes doubt anyone actually likes me.

I feel like I'm too boring for children, too slow for people my age and too frivolous for people who are older. I feel like a prodigal spender who doesn't know how to have any fun. I want to believe it when someone says I can do something, but it's so much safer to let people set all kinds of limits on my potential-- you know, just to avoid being cocky. I consider myself a hardened criminal in disguise, and when asked whether I've ever committed a felony, I scour the darkest recesses of my memory-- just to be sure.

Sometimes I think I'm the only person in the history whose personality has no upside. I worry that my part-time laziness is an indication of what truly lies beneath the corroding surface of my character. I fear my acts of kindness just keep me from realizing that I am completely selfish. I'm scared I'll never change. God help me.

Surprises

111. The house always looks and smells and feels so welcoming.
112. Soft water for the summer!
113. I got much better grades than I expected.
114. I think my professors feel bad for me. Actual... pity, not just a vague sense of sympathy, "Well, you're a nice kid"-- no, I can hear the distinct gurgling, "You wound the heartstrings I didn't know I had." And I mean, it's kind of a weird, uncomfortable feeling, to be pitied, and I don't know what I'm doing to cause it, but I can't deny it helps me out sometimes.
115. Mrs Reddick is so cool that I actually miss being in her class.
116. My second year of college was really good. It scared me.
117. I'm glad I went on that trip to West Virginia. It scared me.
118. I'm trying to get a second job, though that scares the heck out of me too.
119. Mother bought me flowers, and they're really big and pink and soft and smell so wonderful I want to eat them, and I think this is the first time she's ever got flowers for me.
120. She is so patient with me.
121. So is Sherrill. And he's so gentle.
122. Sherrill likes Brayden, and Brayden likes Sherrill.
123. I keep finding out that I underestimated the incredibleness of my brothers and sister.
124. Jason Power seems to be kind of a miracle.
125. I like my car a lot.
126. Dad called me to find out when I'd be coming home.
127. He wrote a sweet card to Jenny and Jason.
128. Marty talks to me like an adult.

Advice

Advice people have actually given me, and which I have come to appreciate

"Don't speed."

"Always, always, always look over your shoulder before changing lanes."

"When you pass a parked car, always watch for little feet behind it. One day, I assure you, you will be glad you did."

"Don't ever think about what it 'would' be like if you had just been given a different life, a different body, whatever it is."

"If the Spirit of God suggests that you hug someone, do it."

"People love you the way they want to be loved."

"Don't withhold a compliment because you wish it were you instead."

"Whatever assignment looks the most impossible, do that first."

"Don't try to make everyone happy."

"Don't file your nails into a point."

Memory #11

Once Stephanie and I stayed at her grandpa's house, which was actually really close to mine. When her mom dropped us off, it was nighttime and he was nowhere to be seen. There is something fun about being alone in someone else's house, especially one that is unfamiliar and dimly lit, so I was pretty pleased to be there.

We set down our bags and kind of stood there for a minute, then Stephanie started looking for the TV remote and asked whether I'd ever seen Dr Quinn.

I hadn't, and subtly indicated a lack of interest.

Her shock was excessive, I thought. But I still didn't really want to watch the show, and began listing other possible activities.

We watched Dr Quinn.

I wore my hat the next day-- my favorite hat at the time, a plain black one with the Nike logo in white on the front.

Her grandpa was... either cleaning out his garage, or getting ready to sell the junk it contained. Because old stuff becomes more interesting right before you discard it, we nosed around in the boxes during the afternoon. I found a bottle of bubbles and secretly wished I could have one of my own.

Then we took a ride around his large backyard. The lawn mower we were sitting on was quite close to the ground and not a "riding" mower, but it was big enough to hold two kids. It traveled at a mind-bending five or ten miles per hour. My hat fell off as we swung into a particularly sharp curve, and the mower mutilated it before I knew what was happening. I yelled out, "Hey!" and somehow we stopped in about twenty excruciating seconds, but by that time we were several yards away from the small, pathetic black lump in the grass. I ran to it, picked it up, and stared at the shreds for a few moments, then returned in silence to the hat mower.

Sneaky McSneakington

Things that fascinated little Amanda:

Secret symbols and signs. The flower in "Scarlet Pimpernel", for instance. Or hieroglyphs. Or hand gestures. I read a historical fiction about ancient Egypt in which a character (as I interpreted... I may have been wrong) placed his right hand on his left shoulder in a gesture of surrender or resignation-- like saying "Uncle". Long afterwards I felt more comfortable praying that way.*

Sneaking. I thought it would be great to be either invisible or very, very small, or maybe to become an animal of some kind, in order to sneak unnoticed.

Plain loaves of bread, which I associated with Palestine; and plain rice, which I associated with Asia.

Burying stuff. Like (I'm sure) practically every other kid, I buried stuff in my backyard. Had I found something already buried, I would not have been displeased.

Moats, drawbridges, and rope ladders that can be drawn up. Sherrill replaced the wooden ladder to my playhouse with a rope ladder, making himself even more a hero than before.

Sharks, tigers, hawks, other predatory animals and, to some degree, cannibals. It was more a sense of awe, less one of fondness.

Mud. Second best to clay. I tried making "Egyptian bricks" once, with mud and sand and dry weeds. It... kind of worked.

Flying or being able to swim underwater endlessly.*

Hidden passages and underground chambers. Yes, I mapped them out. Many of my dreams involved secret passages. For example: I was sleeping in the cupboard under the sink in some house and, when I woke up, instead of coming out, I went the other way and discovered a network of passages YAY.

Signet rings. I wanted one so very badly. I wanted to seal envelopes with it.*


*still haven't really given up on this one

Doors

Did you think you were meant for a room with no doors
We found you without ever knocking
We could never have made you or kept you around
Couldn't have everyone talking

Did it take you a moment to adjust to the truth
The human one that we have told you
When the dark flooded in and you felt the first touch
Did you really expect it to hold you

Complainish

I write a lot of happy stuff in here, which is the way I like it. But there's a time for this and also for that and whatnot. So here are some of the things I don't like.

I don't like it when someone magnifies an aspect of a person (one event, one characteristic, one behavior) until it eclipses everything else about that person-- especially when they successfully misrepresent that person to a gullible third party. Obviously I don't like it when people do it to me; I also get defensive when I see it happening to someone else.

I don't like it when someone uses a joke to humiliate, disparage, expose, or otherwise cut someone else down. Jokes are useful that way. You can use one to make your point, then disown it. It gives you the upper hand. The object of the joke knows that if he objects or tries to clarify, several people will turn to him with reasonable expressions on their faces, and they will tell him not to be so serious. And whether or not you mean a joke to harm someone, you can't undo it.

I don't like highly sexualized Latin pop/hip hop. Shakira. Fergie. I know it's weird to be so specific, but this one type of music seems to personify almost everything I grieve, regret, or fear in my life. It is to me perhaps what a giant ketchup-filled blender is to my mom... to George W, a huge walking military thesaurus... to Augustine, a throng of Manichaean students making out in a pear tree. And I don't even like the way the music sounds.

Personal preferences are natural, but I don't like it when men think they know how women "should" look, what they "should" wear, what "should" interest them (also applies to women with regard to men). That is idiocy at a tall and glorious peak.

I don't like sensing that someone is worried about me, or angry, irritated, or bothered about me-- and they say nothing. It's even worse when they start implying.

I don't like shopping for clothes. It takes a long time; it's complicated; it's disheartening; it's expensive and tiresome and I come out sweaty, my eyes red with what must be huge, boulder-like particles of dust.

And while I'm on the topic, I have a confession to make: When I'm around a man who is gay, I may feel (very uncomfortably) that my choice of clothing is under a harsh critical eye. Beastly of me? Yes. Stereotyping? Yes. I don't like stereotyping and it's even worse to realize that I've done it.

I don't like being a hypocrite. At times I criticize something and don't realize the irony until later. Other times I just sit miserably, under a cloud of obligation, and I condemn, fully aware that I'm condemning myself and that few others know about it.

I still don't like idle radio talk. It depresses the crap outta me.

Repentance

Where I am the cold is growing
Nights forget to wake the morning
One into another flows
Far away the sky is snowing
Distance makes it fall more slowly
Fall on faces no one knows
Thousand bodies in repose
Now the distance only grows

How it haunts me in my dreaming
Thousand saints beneath the evening
Lit by Your nomadic spheres
Call on winds to speed my leaving
Call on winds to leave me freezing
Now I have become my fears

A week full of epiphanies

SUNDAY
The geese think it's spring. Haha.
They don't have calendars.
Haha.

MONDAY
Crispin is a funny name.

TUESDAY
I'm finishing my second year of college already.
I missed my first class.
In my second class, I submitted a paper containing punctuation with which I do not agree. To please Mrs Reddick.
Success has its price.

WEDNESDAY
On careful consideration, it is amazing that I'm still alive, have all my faculties, and am doing okay in school.
Because of this miracle I was able to skip assembly, wake up at two this afternoon, have some chocolate for breakfast, stare at the computer screen, type a longish blog entry with my arms at the wrong angle, take the interstate, play my music almost loud enough to melt my ears, and threaten an angry goose at a close distance.

THURSDAY
I miss the smells of my house.
Courtney is a phantom suitemate. I think she comes into room 304 about twenty percent more often than I'm aware.

FRIDAY
I can't always predict a Kelly reaction.
If you are familiar with the geese that make frequent use of our sidewalks, think of the noises those geese make.
Now recall "the Abominable", if you are familiar with him. Think of him laughing-- the louder sort that often occurs in crowds.
In pitch, in quality, in salience--
SIMILAR NOISES, REALLY.
Aww.

SATURDAY
I have a lot in common with Winnie the Pooh.
If I were an animal, I would probably be either a bear or a goose. (More on this later.)

Like burrs or bee stings-- but mostly happier

Some things people have said that I will never forget:
(I will spare everyone by not stating the obvious themes.)

Of course I have a drawer for you.
Are you going to sleep tonight at all?
How can you not be able to do a cartwheel?
You know how a caterpillar has to disappear for a while before it becomes a butterfly?

Yeah, it was funny at first, but it's just annoying now.
You don't have to be a tomboy to be a nice person, Amanda.
Amanda, did you say to him what he says you said to him? --because that would be a very bad thing to say.
Like the shirt; hate the face.
[whispered] He says it's not a joke.
Will your mom homeschool me, too?

What exactly do you think you're doing? You two can go listen to the sermon or you can go to class.
I can see it. [i.e., Your ears make you look weird.]
It's just... the ponytail that bothers me.
He thinks you're cute.

I forgive you.
I hate it when they fight.
I already knew about it then. I saw you out the kitchen window.
I was impressed: she was really good with the kids.
I will never, ever, ever do it again.

No summer tan yet, mmm?
I'm so glad you're my daughter.
Wait patiently and I promise you'll get hips. And you really won't like them when you do.
I am privileged to know you.
No. She was always beautiful.

[alarmed] Does this have to do with me? Are you compensating for a missing father figure?
You're Carol's daughter? You don't... look like yourself.
I would have wanted to be your friend.
All my children have surprisingly small noses, considering.

I was joking, actually. I don't have a girlfriend.
If I was able to do it, you most certainly can.
[creepily] Hey there.
But Amanda doesn't need to see that. She's still innocent.
I pulled you over for speeding.
I'm proud of you.

You'll make a good social worker.
Her mom tells me she handled it like an adult.
I'm going to tell you something I haven't told anyone else, and you have to promise not to tell them.
Ha. Hahanghhghguhh.

Scintillating

111. My hair is getting long.
112. I can honestly look up to-- enjoy and respect-- both Jenny and Justin.
113. I am finally beginning to let go of certain fears, resentments, false desires and sins that have held me back for weeks, months or years because
114. God is incredibly faithful.
115. Brittany made sure I got one of the gift boxes from Jenny's bachelorette party, even though I couldn't be there.
116. I wouldn't trade my friends for anything.
117. There are points at about 1:30 and 2:58 and 3:37 on the song "Dismantle.Repair." by Anberlin that give me chills.
118. A Bit of Fry and Laurie, season one, episode five, at 21:50-- "What about Maureen Limp-Whippy-Pippy-Doh-Doh?"
119. Sherrill built me a playset in the backyard when I was little.
120. Courtney or Kelly playing Brain Age is really cute.
121. I still remember how pleased I was when my mother picked me up from preschool, and I told her about the finger painting we had done, and she smiled at me.
122. I think I more enjoy playing cards when I'm not winning, which is quite the good fortune considering the circumstances.
123. The sunset today was maybe even more gorgeous than usual. If it had been a flavor, it would have been... whatever flavor is best described as a spot of gold within a bright, warm magenta set on a perfect backdrop of purples and blues, chalky in texture but smooth and clean and full of sunny, gushing, scintillating life.

It was Seymour, actually

I was driving home for spring break, and I felt like a failure. To quote Rabbit: "My mornings are just not complete without at least one major catastrophe." I had wanted a nice day, the kind full of nonevents issuing soundlessly from a conveyer belt.

And then the person in front of me hit his brakes, and I did wild circles across two lanes of traffic. Somebody honked. I found myself in a ditch, somehow very alive, uninjured, and in such utter disbelief that I couldn't even be mad at myself.

And then I was standing outside looking at the wheels on my car, the mud and the snow, at people groaning as they passed, men emerging from tow trucks, police officers raising their eyebrows at me. And I was on my cell phone, talking to a new person every twenty minutes. I was scouring the map for "Nichol", "Bristol" and "Seymour", taking notes about where exactly I might be, adding insurance papers and phone numbers to the impossible mess in the passenger seat. I was sighing and huffing and making low growls.

Over an hour passed, and I was asking God to just be there, and I was wringing my hands in despair-- when suddenly I noticed the warmth of my hands and remembered how Brayden would clutch my finger. I remembered how he trusts the people who love him.

And I was okay.

Snowflakes keep falling on my head

101. Priston's crush on Courtney is really funny, as is Courtney writhing in feigned terror.
102. Shalmar reminds me of Sharon Binkerd. A lot.
103. I enjoy Kelly's lists.
104. Elaine cooked for us. Those green beans were remarkable.
105. My family seem to like me for some reason.
106. I think I sort of understand, now, how adults feel when they return to their parents' houses.
107. Even though Kelly long ago removed her scarves from the lamp in our room, one of the (five) lights is still pathological.
108. Mrs Reddick really cares about people.
109. The last time I saw him before driving to Michigan in August 2006, Dad cried.
110. Falling snow is so pretty.

Food of the gods

87. I really, really like oranges. When eating one, I almost believe I'm eating ambrosia, or nectar, whichever one is the solid and not the liquid, you know.
88. I have my hearing and my vision can be corrected with contacts.
89. Nails or no nails, or an annoying combination of both, I have ten fingers.
90. Chioma has a unique way of phrasing things. (It tends to be very funny.)
91. Dr Keller always smiles at me from his seat when I'm entering or leaving assembly, even when I'm too frazzled to properly acknowledge him.
92. Kelly usually has to talk herself into getting out of the bed to brush her teeth before she goes to sleep.
93. I'm going to see Barry again.
94. Jeeves books are so funny.
95. Water is so yummy.
96. Jason calls Jenny "Spanky".
97. Courtney braided Kelly's hair.
98. Courtney capitalizes the most random words.
99. I like watching plays.
100. Jeremy lets me sit upside down on the recliner in his room.

By this

John 13:35   By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.

I recall a time when this was easier to obey. Not that I had the beast mastered. But I didn't try to establish my devotion through Word and Deed of Astonishing Maturity. I had not yet learned to comfort myself with a plan to Do Something with My Life. I had a healthy interest in Having Friends, and a greater interest in Being a Friend. I felt it was important to talk with God before I left, while in the car, upon arrival, and at rough spots along the way-- and by "felt it was important", I mean that I generally did it, however poorly. I wanted to love better.

I'm not a different person now. I love better than ever, in some ways. I've just become... more watered down, submerged in other things. Not growing so fast. I guess there will be times when I'm slower than others. But I don't ever want to stop.

Memory #10

I think I entered a new stage in the process of maturity around the time I was ten. It was the winter after fifth grade, and I was at Crystal's house.

Her brothers and... some adult (her family were a little too complicated for my understanding)... were watching Beavis and Butthead on TV. I wasn't interested in the show. I really wasn't.

I felt a little self-righteous about it.

I knew it was rotten for me to feel that way at all. Imagine that a man, standing on the back end of the Titanic, looked down at all those poor, waterborne souls with pity. Imagine he felt another lurch beneath his feet, and imagine it drew his attention elsewhere.

It's the first time in memory that I was tempted to judge, and it's the first time I took responsibility for changing the way I was thinking.