If it's Beating, I'm Breathing

I am not oriented toward the world of science at all.  My ability to regurgitate the information and facts I learn is an extremely difficult task for me.  I didn’t do very well on my first Psychology and Biology tests. (At least, not as well as I would have liked to do.)

It’s hard for me to focus on what is being taught and said, especially when it’s early in the morning.  Coffee doesn’t help at all, and I never get to bed as early as I want to.  Which means a lecture has to be sufficiently interesting for me to actually get anything out of it.

I’m a note taker no matter what.  Yesterday I was a vigorous note taker during Biology.

I was fascinated.  Absolutely fascinated.

My professor gave a lecture on the heart, and I was mentally present for an entire hour and twenty minutes.  I couldn’t believe that something the size of my fist could be so strong and enduring. 

To demonstrate, the professor had us open and close our hands to simulate the heart taking blood in and pushing it out.  Then he asked, “How long do you think you can do that?”

Most of us lasted 15 seconds until we could feel the burn in our forearms. 

There are so many things that impact the beating of our heart.  So many things have to happen in order for it to work right.  And somehow all of them do, for 24 hours every day. 

Blood receives oxygen in the lungs, flows through the heart, and flows to the rest of the body through arteries and veins and then capillaries.  Did you know working out too much is just as bad for your heart as being a couch potato and eating junk food all day? 

I was suddenly extremely in tune with the fact that my heart was beating.  I could feel it in my chest, in my neck, in my legs and my hands. I understood how it was working.  I was thrilled to be learning about something vital to my existence.  I now knew that the beating of my heart was due to the opening and closing of the semilunar valves.  (I feel like a bit of a nerd saying that.)

I was so excited I had learned about the heart I could have given an entire lecture on it during lunch.  However, I’m not sure my friends would have been as thrilled to hear about it as I was. 

I do have one more question about the heart though.

Who came up with this? à

It doesn't look anything like that.

Monday Moments: Backwards

Monday mornings are always a bit of a challenge.

Rolling out a bed never fails to be an obstacle and once I get going, things move rather slowly.  I probably open and close drawers several times before I actually pull out what I’m going to wear.  (Planning outfits would prevent this problem but I’m always worried that by the next morning I’ll have changed my mind anyway.)

Today I pulled out a blue shirt that I’ve owned for… probably forever.  I remember buying it at the store with my Mom and, due to the fact I’ve hardly grown, it still fits and it’s not worn out enough for me to get rid of. 

I noticed it had one black dot on the tag.  For a second I couldn’t remember why someone would have put one black dot on my tag but it quickly came back to me…wow, this shirt is old. 

When my mom used to do everyone’s laundry (years and years ago) she had no ideas which clothes belonged to which child, which makes sense considering there are 5 of us.  My clothes had one dot, child #2 had two dots and so on.  I can’t believe I’ve had this shirt since that time of my life.  I’ve been doing my own laundry for a pretty long time which means it’s probably from middle school and I’m currently in college.  That’s a little embarrassing. 

Then, unbidden, I remembered something else funny about my clothing from when I was younger.  When I was learning how to dress myself my mom would draw little arrows on my underwear that would point upward toward my bellybutton once I put them on.   It helped me figure out whether or not I had put them on the right way.   

I can’t even express how many times I put my underwear on backwards, regardless of the arrows, and how many times other people in my family put things on backwards as well.  Dresses, t-shirts, pants, underwear… it was always a problem.  My brothers were pretty good at putting things on backwards and inside out.  This is probably partially due to the fact we all learned how to dress ourselves at a very young age—it would have been impossible from my mom to dress all of us one by one in the morning. 

There’s a certain day I remember very clearly.  I was riding my scooter on the sidewalk behind my house and looking at my brother, who was on a scooter in front of me.  We were in elementary school at the time and he had his shorts on backwards.  The back pockets were in the front and the fly was in the back.  (How he managed to consciously do that I’m not sure).  Before I knew it I was doubled over in laughter at how ridiculous he looked.  I couldn’t tell him without laughing, and he ran back into the house to turn them around. 

I was talking to my friends on the way to breakfast this morning and I asked them, “Did you guys ever put your underwear on backwards when you were younger?  Or other clothing in general?”

Apparently they didn’t.  Apparently my family is the only one who ever had an issue with it.

#mondaymoments

From Dust to Dust

“The years go by like stones under rushing water.  We only know when it’s gone.”

-NEEDTOBREATHE

“Weep not for me, for in Glory I wait for thee.”

-Anonymous

I took a God walk today.  I grabbed my Bible, threw on some comfy clothes and exited through the back of the dorm.  I had a feeling I knew where I was going, I’d been there once before (not very long, and totally a different story) so I wanted to go back again.

I’m not sure why I was instinctively driven there.  Maybe because I knew it would be quiet and because I knew I would be alone.  I knew that the wind would be my only companion, and God if I could somehow find him.

I know that it seems silly that I would have to go find God.  He’s omnipotent, but it feels like I’m actually setting aside time for him when I talk a walk and plan on meeting him somewhere, like I would meet a friend at a coffee shop on a summer day. 

Except today was no summer day, and I was sitting among graves. 

Cemeteries give many people the heebie-jeebies but I find that it’s a place where I can sit and think among a hundred people who already understand what happens after death.  I know what I’ve been taught, but I can’t help wondering about the validity of it.  All I know right now is that when I have God, I have peace.  When my emotions are raging he is what settles me and puts me back on track.

That’s why I went there.  So I could talk to God among a group of people who already know the truth.  It’s a strange way to be comforted, I know.

I picked my way through the gravestones and among the grass while listening to trees that sounded like a creaky porch swing as they blew in the wind.  A few loose leaves were tripping on the ground and rustling in the grass.  Birds were singing and the wind was brushing against my back, picking my hair up from its warm place against my neck and touching my face, cooling my nose. 

I could finally think.  And there were so many things to think about.  My Bible remained tucked under my arm as I continued to walk and take in my surroundings, breathing in the Seattle winter air.

I sang Be Thou My Vision quietly to myself and found a place to sit.  I opened my Bible to Psalm 23, one of my favorite Psalms when I was young and it remains so.  “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.”

He restores my soul.  Sometimes I need to take time to breathe and remember where my breath comes from.  He is the one that has the power to take it or leave it.  He is the one that has the power to truly love and heal me.  I continued to read through the Psalms, since they were the prayers that I couldn’t seem to find and put into my own words. 

I turned through Psalms mindlessly, occasionally watched at the wind flipped pages, not in the mood to stop it from doing so.  Then I read Psalm 90:3-6. 

You turn men back to dust,

saying, “Return to dust, O sons of men.”

For a thousands years in your sight

are like a day that has just gone by,

or like a watch in the night.

You sweep men away in the sleep of death;

they are like the new grass of the morning—

though in the morning it springs up new,

by evening it is dry and withered. 

That verse directly correlated with the song I had been listening to by NEEDTOBREATHE.  These days will soon be over, I will be gone before I know it.  I will be just one more among these graves.  Yet while I’m alive, I’m extremely blessed.  I’ve been given the power to love. 

It turns out the cemetery was exactly what I needed.

Time to think,

Reflect,

and let myself come full circle once again.  

My Flower Memories

When I was a freshman in high school I saw dried flowers hung on a wall at a friend’s house.  Her mom had dried them and was keeping them around for decoration.  I was captivated.  I wanted to dry my own flowers and keep them for a bit of sunshine on a sad day.

So I started drying all of the flowers I received on my birthday, from various celebrations, from shows at school, on Valentine’s Day…any flowers I received were dried and placed on the bookshelf in my room. 

Eventually they started to pile up, but I enjoyed their preserved presence too much to throw them out.  At the same time some of the memories from certain bouquets were like a thorn in my side.

Remember whom those were from?  Remember what happened after that?  Remember what was said to you?  Remember this, remember that…. Remember? 

It took a strong emotional force to finally make me get rid of flowers after a certain point.  Letting bouquets of flowers sit in my room for months provided beauty, but also hurt at the same time.  In a way they were just piles of break ups, dates gone wrong, and dances that ended in tears. 

Looking back I wonder why in the world did I keep some of them around so long?  

I should have thrown them out the moment it was over.  But I didn’t because I cared too much about when everything was going right, and I remembered too easily all the times that went well.  At one point those flowers were everything, and then just around the corner they weren’t anything but I didn’t know how to get rid of them.

I especially remember throwing out a certain bouquet.  I had told myself many times, get rid of it already, you don’t need those flowers anymore, but I never walked over to pick it up and carry it to the trash can.  I don’t remember exactly what happened that made me march into my room one day and purposefully carry them to the dumpster in the garage, but I did.  And once I threw them out, I felt lighter.

If I remember correctly I ended up throwing out the rest of the bouquets that had been resting on my bookshelf as well.  I wanted a clean slate, I needed to start over and collect new memories, memories that would hopefully be happier and easier to look at. 

However, the cleaning process happened again about a year later and I once more cleared away all the flowers I had collected.  I didn’t want to keep them around anymore.  That time it was a little easier though, because I was getting ready to leave for college and start a completely new life.  I wasn’t going to leave a bunch of dead flowers around that wouldn’t mean anything to my sister. 

Now that I’m here I’ve started drying flowers again and hanging them from my dorm room ceiling by the window.  There’s not really a better place to keep them.

I have a bouquet from Pike Place, a bouquet from when my Dad visited me and took me out to the best dinner of my life (which you can read about in the blog post Eating Happiness) and a bouquet of roses from when my boyfriend and I made our relationship official. 

 I am fond of them, and I am fond of their memories.  And looking back I was fond of all my other flowers at one point too.  Which makes me realize, no matter what flowers I end up throwing out I’m sure I’ll get new ones that mean just as much, maybe even more.

I just hope I won’t be parting with the ones I have anytime soon.  

The Flicker

Procrastination is a college kid’s best friend.

Tests?  Don’t study.

Paper?  Don’t write it.

Reading?  Just leave it. 

I’ve been doing a fairly good job of doing things on time this quarter, and using my time wisely as well.  But the snow week threw me for a loop though since I didn’t have any time structure to my day whatsoever.  Which means a lot of what I should have been doing didn’t get done. 

Last night I had to study for a psych and bio test that would occur within the same 3 hours of each other the following morning.  Of course, the best thing to do was play some intramural volleyball instead of studying how I should have.  I did end up studying later, but taking a little bit of a break was good.

We rounded up a meager 4 players, the bare minimum you can have to play a game, and headed down to the gym.  When we reached the bottom of the hill all of the lights along the street, in the buildings, and in the dorms flickered. 

Off.  On.

We paused for a second and continued walking.  Then it happened a second time and the world became dark for probably 30 seconds.  Yet, it felt like a couple of minutes instead because being caught in utter darkness is a bit nerve-wracking. 

The corner we were about to turn suddenly seemed to posses someone lurking behind it, waiting to spring out and grab us.  I reached toward Taylor and held tightly to her arm.  Thankfully the dorm at the top of the hill was still lit, allowing us to see where we were, but half of the campus had gone completely black. 

The power came back on and we continued to walk, nearly forgetting what had happened even though it had caused our hearts to skip a beat.  The world isn’t nearly as scary when there’s light. 

What I was thinking then emerged out loud and I said, “Imagine how scary the world would be if we didn’t have any lights as soon as the sun went down…” 

I didn’t like being caught in the darkness, not even for half a minute.

I belong in the light. 

The world belongs in the light.

I’m just really glad God made the sun.    

Unexpected Nostalgia

Today I’m dressed as if I’m two years old.  Ok, not really.  But I am wearing overalls, which just so happen to be some of my favorite apparel.  In Seattle you can pretty much get away with anything.  Plus, any outfit that looks weird can just be considered “hipster”, and that definitely works in my favor on the days where I randomly mix a bunch of things up and wear them.  Most of the time I’m a simply a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.

Yesterday, my UCOR class was talking about forms of art and someone said that people are artistic with the way that they dress.  That definitely doesn’t apply to me.  I hardly care what I wear, as long as it fits and I can run around in it.  I also have to wear clothes that I’m not afraid to get dirty because I’m a rather messy human being.  It’s not worth buying a $50 shirt if I’m going to spill ketchup on it and ruin it during lunch. 

Today I walked down to Gwinn alone to eat before I started my day.  People kept asking me where my twin was (since it’s Twin Day for homecoming week) and I told them I didn’t have one.  Half of me wishes I had said she’s in class so that people would have tried to find someone all day that looked like me. 

But I didn’t say it.

I ended up talking to a few people and then I found a spot to sit and eat.  I tend to wander around Gwinn for a little while before I decide what I want to eat.  Today I spotted grill cheese sandwiches and french-fries and knew that was exactly what I wanted. 

I grabbed a sandwich, loaded some fries on the plate and then added some ketchup on the side.  To top it off I filled a glass of lemonade.

Now I was eating like a two year old as well, instead of just acting like one. 

I suddenly remembered when grill cheese sandwiches and french-fries were the only things my siblings and I would eat when we went out to dinner with our parents.  We survived on grill cheese when we took a family vacation to Yellowstone one summer.  And we always asked for a glass of lemonade, never water. 

Before I knew it I was having nostalgia to the max.  As an 18-year-old college student, I was sitting in my college cafeteria longing to be young and eat grill cheese, french-fries, and drink lemonade all the time. 

Those times have long passed—but that doesn’t mean I can’t take time to enjoy one of my favorite meals of all time every once in a while.

There are some things I won’t ever grow out of.  

Full in a Good Way

I didn’t like the food here first quarter, and I still don’t like it.

If anything it got worse after I spent a month at home with my Mom’s wonderful dinners on the table every night.  Then I came back to…Gwinner.

People get what we call the “Gwinns”.  It’s a legitimate problem. 

Because of this, all of us take every opportunity we get to eat off campus, especially if it’s a home cooked meal.  College kids are easily bribed and swayed by food.  When I was invited to eat home cooked chicken-pot-pie at someone’s house I immediately responded with a YES. 

My friend David made it with another girl from our dorm.  They went out and bought all of the ingredients and spent the midafternoon making a fantastic meal for us.  As if home cooked wasn’t good enough, it was also organic and the crust was made from scratch.

Food heaven. 

After we all sat down we stared at the steaming food and hardly knew what to do.  It’s amazing how a couple weeks back at college can make you forget what it’s like to have a normal family meal.  Yet instinct kicked in and we quickly began dividing it up and making sure that everyone had food before we ate.   

Then…

Silence.

“I guess the fact no one’s talking is a good sign,” David said.  We laughed.  It was beyond good.  The chicken, the carrots, and potatoes, and the crust seemed to melt in my mouth.  Even the salad was top notch. 

The best part about it was the fact we only had to pitch in a few dollars each for the cost of the food.  (Which reminds me I should probably do that if I ever want David to cook for me again…) 

Once people finished I said, “I’m doing the dishes!  The cook never does the dishes, that’s a rule.”  Everyone ended up helping anyway, which was good, because the process is always much faster with many people instead of one. 

The night ended with cups of tea, a few card games, and much laughter.

I felt full in a good way for the first time since I had been back.  

Rants about Coffee, Snow, and the Sun

What better place to write than in a coffee shop?  Typical Seattle.

Today the sun decided to show its face and it was the perfect day to take a walk down the street to Tully’s, which is just far enough to make me feel like I’m escaping the SPU bubble.

This week has been crazy with the snow.  I’ve had no routine and no motivation to do homework—not to mention I’ve been surrounded by white walls that look like they want to swallow me.  (9 days of no class and hardly any chance to get off campus doesn’t serve me well.) 

My dorm room has turned me into someone that belongs in a crazy house.  I hadn’t reached the point quite yet where I wanted to bang my head against the wall but I was pretty close.  I ended up throwing a baseball indoors in the lounge with a couple guys from my brother floor last night because we didn’t have anywhere better to go and we needed to be active.  Just imagine us throwing a baseball with several huge glass windows waiting to be broken and some vending machines.  There are countless ways that simple game of catch could have gone wrong, so thank goodness nothing was shattered in the process. 

The best part were peoples’ faces when they walked through the lounge and saw what we were doing.  Priceless. 

I think I’m safe saying everyone has been restless.  Extremely restless. 

When the sun slowly peeked out from behind a cloud today my spirit immediately rose.  The sun wasn’t supposed to appear until next Friday, and when I found that out yesterday (meaning I would have had to wait for a week) I just about died.

But today God humored Seattle and let the sun shine.  I kept telling everyone I was ready for the snow to be gone and people kept saying, “But you’re from Colorado, you’re supposed to be used to this!”

Touché.  But it snows in Colorado and then the next day the sun comes out.  I’m not used to having the sun gone for three months straight. 

So now here I am, contentedly writing in a coffee shop and repeatedly looking out the window to check that the blue sky is still there.  Who knows when I’ll see it again?

Hm, I should probably start writing that paper I came here for in the first place.    

Snowpocalypse

This week I’ve been living in an uncanny winter wonderland.  It hasn’t snowed this much in Seattle since 1985, and no one knows what to do about it.

I’ve loved every second of it, especially since I’m from Colorado and 4 inches of snow in Colorado isn’t enough for us to even begin thinking about a snow day.  Try four feet and then we’ll talk about it.  Here, the Seattle governor has declared a state of emergency. 

Everyone here knows how to drive in rain, but once you throw slush and ice into the equation it’s a different story.  Not to mention Seattle is full of hills that are 30 to 40 degrees steep, which turns them into awesome sledding hills and danger zones once they’re covered.

The hill that everyone climbs to get to my dorm has become a sledding hill during the past 2 days.  People have been sledding in laundry baskets, large Tupperware, on trays from Taco Bell, and even “watch your step” signs that they stole from inside the dorm.  People have also had massive snowball fights that involve 50 or more people from all over campus. 

Basically, it’s been a huge party.  I haven’t had school in 6 days now, and if school gets cancelled for tomorrow I’ll have had 9 days off when I go back to class.

Yesterday I bundled up and went out to go sledding.  I ended up getting soaked but it was worth it in every single way.  As my friend Sarah put it, “If you put Elisabeth on the 6^th floor and snow on the bottom, a record will be set for the fastest a person has ever gone down 6 stories of stairs.” 

Since words hardly convey the joy of snow, I’ve decided to share pictures to continue the story.

The ends of a snowball fight that occurred below my window, making it impossible to study because all I wanted to do was watch! 

The hill in the bottom left of the picture is where everyone has been sledding for the past few days, not to mention accidentally slipping down while trying to walk to dinner.

Me with two of my closest friends at school taking some time to enjoy the snow!
 (Photo credit to Taylor M.H.E.) 

The graveyard behind SPU, covered in a beautiful and peaceful layer of snow.

I fogged up the window and drew some love.  What a beautiful day!

We Danced the Night Away

SPU weekends are often full of having nothing to do, which helps to explain why so many people go home.

There’s always the let’s watch a movie approach, but people get tired of that one pretty quickly.  I just finished The Hunger Games yesterday, which means that I currently don’t have a book to read and, if you know me well, I normally always have a book to read.  (By the way, there is something extremely unsatisfying about finishing a book on a Kindle because you can’t slam it shut with a sense of finality, but that’s a topic for a different time.) 

Next there’s the let’s play FIFA and 2k12 approach, which applies mostly to guys.  I tried playing 2k12 last night and I lost by 60 the first game and 50 the second game, which definitely leaves some room for improvement and I’m not really sure I care about improving.

My friend Googled “things to do when you’re bored” and lists of things showed up.  One of them was try swallowing your tongue, and it only took me 30 seconds to figure out I couldn’t. 

Point of the story is… everyone was way past the point of general boredom. 

So I immediately snagged the opportunity to go swing dancing when I found out a group of people were going.  My boyfriend, Will, was thrilled about getting off campus and definitely wanted to go, so we both ran back to our rooms and got dressed. 

Then we were off, driving into an unpredictable snowy Seattle wonderland.  It snowed yesterday for the first time since I’ve been in Seattle and, though most of it didn’t stick, people were afraid to go out.  It was as if a giant famine hit the city and left no survivors—our car seemed to be one of the only ones driving anywhere.  Seattle is beautiful when it’s glossed over with snow.  It’s frozen in time like a picture.  After we got out of the car I felt like I was walking through a world that didn’t exist.

Seattle doesn’t cope well with snow though.  In fact, it freezes over fairly quickly and with the amount of hills that it possesses, travelling or going out in general isn’t always the smartest idea.  We definitely witnessed a few people slip on the sidewalks while we were trying to find the Century Ballroom where we would be dancing.

We finally did, on the second floor of a building, and we walked in to be greeted by couples moving in a flurry of motion.  Swing dancing has many different styles and I’m sure at least 10 (maybe more) were present in that room.  Once you learn you start to develop your own, which means there are slightly different variations for every move and every step.

But the basics aren’t difficult and I spent the first 15 minutes or so teaching Will the simple step-step-back step-step-step-back step movement for our feet that would allow us to dance and then add on extra movements.  He was confused at first but caught on quickly and then observed the other people on the dance floor to see if he could learn what they were doing.

Spinning me proved to be a small obstacle and then we were doing the windmill and an arm slide (I’m not sure what else I should call it) and he was tipping me back at the end of every song.  He was determined to learn all of it in one night, which is impossible, but we agreed that we would definitely go again.

3 hours passed way quicker than they would have had we been sitting back at SPU trying to figure out what to do.  It seemed as if the night was over before it started.

We literally dance the night away.

I love that I can say that.  

Presenting the Kindle Sock

There are several blogs designated to the purpose of sharing craft ideas.

My blog is not one of those.  But that doesn’t mean I won’t share something that is very easy to make and more practical than paying $20 for in a store.  (And it only took 2-3 hours to make.) 

People have made things like this before, which made me think that it wouldn’t be too hard for me to make one for myself.  I didn’t follow a pattern, but I applied basic crocheting techniques instead to result in a “kindle sock” as my boyfriend called it. 

I was calling it a kindle case, but kindle sock just sounds cuter, better, and warmer. 

Enough with the words,

I now present the Kindle Sock! 

A Special Occasion

I got my laptop last May when I graduated from high school.  I was absolutely thrilled and thankful that I would have one for college and, hopefully, for many years after that.

At first there was no way I would even consider sticking something to the surface that wouldn’t come off very easily, which meant I definitely had no desire to put stickers on it.

After having my laptop for several months and noticing that many of my friends’ laptops had stickers on them I started to consider the idea of collecting a few of my own and making my computer a bit more personal. 

But what was I going to put on it?  What was something that I would absolutely love and not look at a few years later and ask why in the world did I think sticking that on my computer was a good idea? 

My first idea was a Colorado flag.  My roots would always belong there no matter where I went and, considering I already have a giant flag on my ceiling, adding a Colorado flag sticker to my laptop wouldn’t hurt. 

Last night I was sitting in my room studying (well, attempting to) with my best friend.  She kept cracking jokes and showing me things on Pinterest, and I couldn’t resist laughing.  I didn’t care that she was distracting me, I would rather talk to her than read any day.    

I told her the idea for my computer sticker and how I wanted to find a Colorado flag.  Before I knew it she got this really excited look on her face, jumped up, and said, “Wait here!  I’ll be right back, I have something for you.”

Then she was gone. 

I was a bit confused but I opened my book and tried to read anyway—I hadn’t even read a sentence when she reappeared, grinning, with her hands behind her back.

“This is for you!”  She handed me a teal sticker of the Seattle skyline, exactly like the green one she had on her computer.  All I could say was, “No way!  No way!” over and over while I laughed.  I couldn’t get over how cool and absolutely perfect it was. 

She sat next to me while I put it on my computer and gently advised me how to do it correctly without ruining the sticker. 

Once it was in place she said, “I had been saving it for a special occasion, and this is definitely one.” 

Gosh I love her.  

Someday I'll Have a Book

Last night I was reading for my UCOR class.  It was late and I had endured a rather emotionally tiresome day, but I was quickly able to immerse myself into the book and pick up where I left off in the storyline.

Before I knew it I was along the seashore chasing seagulls, admiring the beach houses, and painting.  I was standing in a room walking through sculptures and taking part of an art show.  I was there, or I might as well have been. I had fallen into the pages and become a part of story.

It’s as if the words were coming out of the page and dancing before me.  My imagination has always been this way, which is why I love to read.  Reading a good book is way better than watching a five star movie, that’s simply how I function.

The other day I watched Lord of the Rings for the first time.  So far I’ve only watched the first movie, but I was thrilled to discover that Bilbo Baggins’s home is exactly as I had envisioned it when I read the book.  I love it when the world I read comes alive and is transformed how I see it.  Which is also why it’s hard for me to read a book and watch the movie—it will never match up exactly. 

Anyway, last night I was reading and captivated by the story.  I loved that the author spent the time to create a world that I could step into.

Which made me realize, this is why I want to write.

I want to write so that other people can step inside a world that has been created by me, planned and executed with a certain style, transformed into something beautiful and moving. 

I can’t wait to get to that point.  I simply can’t wait.

However, I’ll have to wait and take general requirements before I get to take all the classes that will count toward my major.  But that’s not going to stop me from writing all the time.  I’ll write no matter what classes I have.   

Someday I’m hoping I’ll have 300 pages of something that people will want to sit down and read from start to finish.

Someday I’ll have a book. 

P.S. One of my best friends just came in a exclaimed, “You’re blogging again! Yay!”  (I feel the same way; it has taken far too long for me to find a captivating idea that I feel compelled to translate into words.  I’m glad I’m back.)  

Two Worlds

I’m back in Seattle (I have been for a few days now) and I haven’t had much to write about.  Funny thing is, I’m a firm believer in making myself sit down and write everyday because I need to keep the creative juices flowing.

But lately I haven’t been able to write a word, and I haven’t felt like writing a word.  And I’m not sure if it’s writers block or what it’s been.

Mostly I think I’ve been pondering the difference between the two worlds I’ve come to know—how easily they ebb and flow, begin, end, and then pick right back up where I left them.  Except I know that when I’m gone my family is changing and when I’m not at school the skies in Seattle will continue to shift and the rain will still fall.  (However, if there’s anything I hate missing, it’s a sunny day in Seattle.) 

These days I’ve been back have consisted of me getting myself together, setting into class, and organizing the notebooks and deciding what time I will set aside for blogging, studying, creativeness, socializing, sleeping, eating… you name it. 

Today it’s raining again and I’m sitting where I always do when I write, looking out the window at the world of gray and green, watching people walk around with their umbrellas. 

I’ve found that I’m comfortable transferring between the two worlds.  I love them equally and differently.  I do not dread them or despise the change.  Rather I embrace it.

This quarter will be interesting. I’m taking a psychology class, a UCOR class (required for freshman), and human biology.  Two of these can be considered science classes, and I swore off science the end of my junior year in high school.  Ironically, it now dominates my schedule. 

But I have extremely charismatic and passionate professors.  So far the first two days of classes have been interesting and I’ve paid attention.  The only thing I doodled was a star (an amazing feat, I must say).    

Which leads me to one of my biggest fears:  what if I actually like science?