I have serious issues with people whose blogs don’t have any method to their madness. I abhor blogs that are little more than “I did this and then I did this.” It’s like, “That’s wonderful, but do you really not have anything better to say?” And then there are the people who jump from topic to topic. I want to scream, “Focus! If you’d stay on topic maybe I could actually think about what you’re trying to say. As it is, you’re giving me a headache.” Consider this an apology. I’m going to do what I’ve always hated. This post will be disjointed and unfocused. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.
My favorite kind of guy is the kind who’s obviously in a relationship with someone–who doesn’t happen to be currently present. Everyone knows that he’s dating someone and he knows that everyone knows that he’s dating someone. It makes things so much less awkward. It’s clear that he’s dating someone else, so no one needs to conjecture that you’re interested in him because you hang around him. And she’s not there to act jealous and clingy.
I think I must be really flirty–or that maybe I give off “I like you” vibes even when I don’t necessarily “like” someone. I like eye contact. I enjoy talking to people. I like to hear people’s stories. I like to laugh. My eyebrows do weird things when I’m conversing. I’m not necessarily flirting or “in like” with someone. I just do that.
It always cracks me up when in the middle of a perfectly good conversation, a guy breaks off with a worried crease in his forehead and starts telling me about his girlfriend. And I think, “That’s wonderful, but what does she have to do with this conversation? I’m really not trying to hit on you. Seriously.” And then there are those that I can have good times with for awhile and then suddenly they’re gone and don’t talk to me and avoid eye contact forever afterward. And I think, “You’re okay. Believe it or not, looking at me will not somehow make you susceptible to my wiles. I don’t like you like that.”
So that’s why attached guys whose girlfriends aren’t around are my favorite. I can ask them to dance without fearing that they’ll think I’m interested. I can make eye contact and laugh when they say something that amuses me without feeling like I’m being considered a flirt. I can treat them like brothers without feeling that my actions will be misconstrued as thinking of them as something more than brothers.
I have a bag of onions in my car. They’ve been there for almost a month. Maybe someday I’ll clean them out. Maybe. It’s amazing the sorts of things I can accumulate. I have the case an AOL trial CD came in sitting on my desk. I threw the trial CD away promptly. But I kept the case. Why? I don’t know. I never really thought about it.
I can’t get warm. Barn Dance was marvelous but it froze me through. I’ve been home at least an hour and my thermostat is set to 76 degrees. And my feet are still frozen, my arms have goosebumps, and my legs are a ghastly shade of purple. Or maybe that’s just because of the dust. My snot was black. Disgusting. I should shower, get all the dust off of me. But I’m too tired. I’m weighing it in my mind. Maybe. Maybe Not. Can’t decide. Never can. I will by tomorrow morning.
Josh read one of my favorite quotes in his testimony today. “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.” C.S. Lewis. Mere Christianity is seriously one of the best books in the world. I should review it here sometime soon. Why is it that as much as we have seen that no experience in this world can satisfy our longing, we still think that it’s just because we haven’t done the right thing yet? Solomon said it was all meaningless, chasing after the wind, but we say, “I haven’t tried everything yet. Give me a while to try everything before I admit that You’re the answer to my longing.”
I cut myself twice yesterday while trying to cut out cards to use for Scripture memory. My medieval herb cutting scissors from Sweden are great, but probably not the best for cutting five layers of cardstock. My little wounds got dust in them and they hurt now. When will I stop hurting myself? I’m always burning myself while cooking, cutting myself instead of the croissant, and accidentally banging myself against objects I knew were present all along. Maybe I have a subconscious death wish or self-mutilation fantasy. I think that’s a bunch of baloney. I think it has more to do with my being scatterbrained and a bit clumsy.
Speaking of clumsy, you should have seen my group for the second set of square dancing tonight. My first group was getting along well–I was the one who made the most mistakes–and everyone else danced swimmingly (I’ve always wanted to use that word.) But that second set. We sort of threw together a group of people–coerced some into joining us, I think. And we were BAD (with all caps.) But we had a blast. And that’s what it’s about right? Not looking good or following the rules or whatever. I dance for fun. I always have. When it ceases to be fun and becomes work, I will quit dancing. Which I kind of doubt will happen in this lifetime–and as we all know, we will have glorified bodies in the next and won’t have to worry about the curse of toil–so Dance On, Baby!
Facebook is evil. My brother is on Facebook at his high school. He doesn’t have any friends yet. That’s sad. But then there are only twenty three people from his entire school on Facebook. I guess that’s justified. Facebook helps me remember names. But I have one person who I have no clue who she is or how she got on my list of Facebook friends. Mostly I know my Facebook friends okay in real life. But sometimes real life and Facebook get blurred. I sometimes wonder after adding somebody immediately after meeting them what our friendship in real time would have been like if we hadn’t been friends on Facebook. Would I even recognize them if I saw them? Or would I reintroduce myself–as I am sometimes in the habit of doing?
I like best when someone else adds me as their friend. It makes me feel special. I got invited to a party just a while ago! That made me feel really wanted. Of course, it was an invitation to the Barn Dance and was probably sent to everybody in the Navigators group, but still. Some days you just want to be wanted and even a Facebook party invitation makes you feel great.
Maybe I’m sick and that’s why I’m so cold. I definitely look flushed, but my heat is now set to 80 degrees and I’m freezing. I have a thermometer in my health aide kit, but I’m not sure if I want to use it. I can never figure out if I should list myself as a contact when I use supplies. I’m a bit of a hypochondriac (which, by the way, is particular segment of the abdomen in anatomical language.) Actually, I don’t think I’m as much a hypochondriac as I just wish I could have an excuse to get off the merry-go-round for a while and take some real rest. But I’m usually thwarted–until the day comes when I really can’t afford to break down. And then, break down is so much less comfortable than the “tune-up” kind of rest. Break down tends to be miserable, tune up is just peaceful.
I hate nasty notes. I don’t see why people can’t just go to each other nicely and fight out their disagreements like civilized folks. Choose your weapon, ten paces, and all that jazz. Instead they pick at each others’ eyes with anonymous notes of unparalleled venom. People should think before they write. If you want to hurt someone, at least let them know who their enemy is. Anonymous notes are the cowards way out–unless they say something like “I like you a lot and want to marry you someday.” Obviously, when it comes to love, cowardice is a relative term. The tendency of a lover is to foolhardiness, so any reticence is considered sense.
I should go down and write tomorrow’s menu on the board. Yogurt for breakfast. I don’t feel like cooking. I never do after Thursday. I hope that this cooking weariness will go away once I have my own home. If not, that might really stink. Even though I just prepared it despite my lethargy, I still don’t want to eat anything that I myself have cooked by the time Friday rolls around. It’s like my internal clock yells, “Friday night. Go out. Go out. You should not be eating at home. It’s a Friday night. It’s the night you go out. Go out.” And suddenly, Valentino’s across the way starts smelling awfully good–even though I just finished making my favorite egg drop soup. And I start dreaming of Lazlo’s artichoke dip even though I just finished making bread. It had better get better, or else I will be a poor, poor woman. Even with my most frugal cooking, I don’t think any budget can sustain two days of dining out per week “just because I’m tired of cooking.” No siree!
Anyway, sorry again about the rambling. No one should have to put up with that–and hopefully you haven’t–in which case you probably aren’t hearing my apology, having listened to my warning at the beginning. Just a sec. Why am I writing this apology? It’s basically pointless. So, this post wasn’t so much about anyone else. It was an entirely selfish post. It’s cathartic to not organize your thoughts. I didn’t know that until now. But hopefully I can find some other way to do it so I don’t scare my readers away.
Thing I want to put on my website eventually:
–Review of Mere Christianity
–Recipe for Egg Flower Soup
–Ephesians book study–so far, SOOOOOO super good!
–a dictionary of my own personal (marvelous) definitions like worldview: the basic framework of beliefs that defines how a person views the world. That was beautiful–even succinct. (I don’t know that that’s a word that has ever been used in reference to me before.)
Wow! I just don’t know how to shut up, do I? Here I go again. Honestly, forgive the grammar and the writing style and the everything else of this, because it seriously stinks. And if you actually read this entire post, drop me an email at my webmaster account email@example.com Then I’ll know to give you a cookie for being a true friend–who listens to even the most inane of my ventings.