Reflections

Categories Reflections

Reflections of a old woman

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What is it that makes me so melancholy when my life is so full? Do I miss the sweetness of my life for longing for the one thing that it lacks? Do I forget the pleasures of today pining for the treasures of tomorrow?

I have spent too many years in tomorrow, I know not if I can regain the todays I have. Years of longing dreaming, making dates and never keeping them. I was to have a house by 25, I knew it inside. But my todays never matched my dream of tomorrow, and now that is only a false hope. And the todays I lived got lost in the plans for tomorrow so that I do not know whether I have succeeded or failed. I can list my activities but cannot list my accomplishments, for everything I have done has fallen short of its intention. How can I regain today with pure hope for tomorrow?

Fallen, dismayed, dashed, diseased. And I become an old maid, not out of age but out of loss. For an old maid is only a woman who feels only the losses of yesterday and none of the future of today. I mourn the setting aside of my little girl dresses, but instead of taking up the gay young woman’s garb, I settle down to widow’s weeds. I act as if I had lost my life, when I have only just begun. If life is beads upon a chain, my first twenty have been forgotten while dreaming of the ones that would come.

But I will not remain in this state. I will only beg my Lord that He restore the years of the locust, that my life might not be unfruitful. I will only petition my Savior that He redeem my dreams. I will hold fast to my Beloved. But still my heart will ask, in peace and anguish both–I beg You, my Lord, a letter. A letter I might open with “Dearest friend” and close “Ever, affectionately yours.”

Categories Reflections

Listless

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I know that it’s the end of the school year because I’m listless. I’m not interested in watching a movie, in reading a book, in cleaning, in surfing the web, in cooking, in researching. I don’t want to do anything but I don’t want to be doing nothing. So I flit from thing to thing–reading a chapter of a book here, watching the beginning of a movie there, downloading a journal article and never reading it. I draw a picture just to see if I can and I’m discontent with the outcome but unwilling to change it. We’ve had too much rain to go outside, and none of my normal time wasters–spider solitaire or sudoku–seem interesting. I have cabin fever at the end of April and it’s driving me crazy.

I remind myself of Sunny in Lori Wick’s The Hawk and the Jewel. She runs from one escapade to another, never satisfied unless she’s doing something crazy. And as soon as she is discovered or she has been at her escapade for more than a week, she loses interest and is at a loss for what to do or how to handle herself. Her niece confronts her, telling her that she must stop running from thing to thing. She must find rest in God.

Is that my problem? Of course it is. It always has been. It is my always struggle. I must learn to rely on God, to rest in Him, to not have to have something else filling my time.

Lord, help me not to seek a “quick fix” in busyness. May I instead choose to enjoy each season of my life–the busy seasons and the boring ones. Instead of this restless energy, may I find rest in the midst of the times of not doing things. And may I find refuge in You in the times of overwhelming busyness. Teach me each day to rely more and more on You.

Categories Following Christ, Reflections

Scared if I do

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I’m scared if I do and I’m scared if I don’t. Last November, I knew exactly what to do this summer. I was going to Jacksonville. There was no doubt in my mind that that was the right thing to do. And then I got back to work at home and everything became muddled. I went back to thinking that the church needed me–I couldn’t leave. (Hello, Rebekah! Even our Pastor has gone on sabbatical! Why can’t you?) And I started to think that since my scholarship is on the way out the door, I can’t afford to give my summer to God. (Hello, Rebekah! Didn’t God promise to provide for you if you put Him first? He always has in the past.) And I started to think that if I went to Jacksonville, I’d have to grow. And I wondered if that was really what I wanted.

I’d convinced myself that I couldn’t do STP during the month of December. And then came January. I realized with startling awareness that all those excuses were the same excuses I’d been telling God before November–when everything became so clear. God had already roundly refuted those excuses. So why was I going back to them again? And so I knew that I must go to STP. I flirted with the application, thought about putting filling it out on my to-do list. I wavered, then my resolution grew. It was God’s plan. Just as I’d known in November, I knew now. I was supposed to apply for STP.

I hadn’t yet filled out the application when Jackie approached me tonight. She asked me to think about being a team leader. And all the questions that filled my mind threatened to make me rip up the application and say to heck with it. Can I really lead? Can I lead my peers? I don’t think they know what they’re asking. I’m not really that spiritual. I’m not sure that I’m really that good of a Christian. Can I really do it? Or have I just been really good at faking in the past? And what about leading anyway? I’ve never actually led anything at Navs before. Ever. Not really. I mean, I’ve given my testimony, served. I talk to people and participate in discussion and stuff. But I’m not a leader here. How do they even know that I have any potential–if I have any potential?

And what about getting away from a performance mentality? Would this put me right back into it? would this destroy my chances of taking time to spend with the Lord and with fellow believers instead of trying to be super-Christian and hold the church on my shoulders? And what about only being able to work a part time job? Lord, do You really provide? But I want to do it so much. Do you know how I’ve longed to lead? How frustrated I have been at having so many opportunities to serve–which I love–but never having the opportunity to truly lead. I want so badly to be able to live life with another person and help them to grow. I want so badly to learn to lead others into the Word. I want so badly to learn to empathize
for others–to weep when they’re weeping and laugh when they’re laughing. I want to be a leader. I want to learn it. I want to teach and be trained to do so. I want to lead and be trained to do so. I want to disciple and be trained to do so. But I’m scared to death to even try.

Are You really sufficient
When my cup can’t hold any more?
Are You really enough
When I’m empty?
When I sin
Are You still the One
Who ransoms?
When I’m lost
Are You still
the Good Shepherd?
And when I long
for a husband
Are you still my bridegroom?
Jesus are you?
Are you really enough?
How can I do this?
I’m dying inside?
Are you still my life?
I don’t feel it
Are you still interceding?
How I need it
Jesus, my Saviour
Jesus, my Lord
Jesus, my Lover
Jesus, my Life
I need it, I need You
Help!

Categories Rants, Reflections

A little bit of this, a little bit of that

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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 b3master@menterz.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.

Categories Following Christ, Reflections

Laying aside my plans

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I have everything to say and nothing to say. My world has been rocked but I don’t know how to say it. I am not what I was, but I cannot describe what I am. The unexplainable has touched my explanation and I am speechless. The God-plan has touched my man-plan, and my plan is naught. I wanted until I met the desire of nations, now my want is swallowed up in desire. My life is changed, I know not how. I only know that I have had an encounter with the living God.

How long has God been prompting me to lay aside my plans for His great call? I don’t know. The first I can remember is in July of 2002 when God spoke to me in a car on the way back from Omaha, “Rebekah, will you give me your husband?” Then in January of 2003, while I was spending time with God on a farm in Kansas: “Rebekah, I’m a wild God. You have a choice-your tame dreams or the wilderness with Me.” In March of 2005 my pastor approached me with the Scripture in Luke 10 of Mary and Martha. God spoke to me that I was distracted with much service, just as Martha had been.

I remember telling my youth pastor, when I was applying for youth council in 9th grade, that my life verse was Jeremiah 29:11–and that I liked it not because of the “prosper and not harm you” part but because of the part that says God has a plan. You see, I’ve always liked to be in control, but that verse reminds me that God is in control, not me. I wrote about my struggle to let God take control in a poem: Struggle

I don’t know when the breaking started, I only can think of the great hammer blow this weekend has been. I went to Main Event, only to hear a message the speaker wasn’t speaking. It wasn’t the small groups, the message, the songs, or the workshops. I don’t know how it was being spoken, but I heard it loud and clear. I must die to my plans.

God has been speaking to me to step down from a number of my roles within the church. I’ve been scared to death and been disobedient in my procrastination. I think that I can do something great for God and for others within my church, but my plans are nothing more than MYSELF. And myself has nothing to offer. My friend, Jeannette helped me see the error of remaining in that sin. And so I went to Main Event.

As I was packing my bags, I remembered the phrase that has been haunting my brain for years. “Always have a bag packed.” It’s a staccato in my mind. Over and over and over again. “Always have a bag packed. Always have a bag packed. Always. Always. Always have a bag packed.” And I have not. Almost three years ago, I stepped through a door made of tree branches. From the world I had known–the world of tame dreams, of a tame husband, of a tame life–into the wild. The wild had nothing to offer me except one thing–my husband and Lord, my Wild Man Lover was beckoning me to join Him there. And I stepped through the door, recognizing that my nice, tame life would be worth nothing if I were separated from the Lover of my soul–the Wild One who calls my heart. I followed Him to the next step, and then I sat down, unpacked my bags, and civilized the wild. I took on bondage as if it were freedom, and unpacked my bags to settle in for the long haul. I forgot that anytime my Lover and my Lord may part the Red Sea and call me back into the wilderness. I unpacked my bags.

Friday night, Drew Frazier mentioned the topic of our God being wild, untamed. And the memories flooded my mind. When I was deep in the throes of a tumultuous relationship, God calling out to me, persistently crying: “What about me? What about me? Do you really love Me with all your heart, soul and mind? Do you really want Me above all else? What about ‘Bob’? Do you love Me more than he? Why don’t you read My letters like you read his? Why don’t you spend hours talking to Me like you do to him? What about Me?” The jealous God, calling out my Name, determined to give His praise to none other. I remember the God that asked me to give up my dream of world travel, only to send me to Sweden. I remember the God that meets me when I least expect it. And I remembered my call to follow after my Wild Man Lover.

The next day, I went to an EDGE corps informational meeting. And frankly, I wasn’t really that interested. I don’t want to do EDGE–it would get in the way of all of my plans. I want instead to finish school and run my community center and do all sorts of wonderful stuff for God, and for others, and for myself. EDGE doesn’t fit into that plan. And God said, “Whose plan was that again?” And I had to hang my head and confess, “Mine.” “For I know the plans I have for you” declares the Lord. And I can only hang my head further and declare, “Yes, Lord.” I’ve been following my plan instead of running after Christ, living in my comfort instead of for His glory. And so, my plans must die.

I made my vow and declared it Saturday night. All of my ambitions, dreams, and plans are nothing compared to the greatness of knowing Christ. All of my serving, doing, and accomplishment are nothing compared to sitting at His feet. My goal cannot be to do something great for God or to do something great for others, or to be something great for myself. Instead, my one and only goal must be to chase after Christ and follow wherever He leads me.

Quite frankly, it scares me to death. What if He calls me to change my major? I didn’t choose it with Him in mind–I chose it with an earthly husband in mind. What if He calls me to not complete an internship–thus not actually doing anything with my degree. Will I have wasted five years of my life? What if He calls me to EDGE–and I never have a chance to see my community center dream come to fruition? What if He calls me to drop out of school? What if He calls me to work full time? What if He calls me to never marry? What if He calls me to marry? The difficulty is I don’t know what He wants me to do. Everything is up in the air. The only thing that is for certain is that I must follow Him. But I know that the only thing worth doing is following Him.

Lord, work in me to will and to do Your good pleasure. Continue to break my heart of the things that are not of Your heart. Continue to cleanse me of all that is unholy. And lead me, lead me, wherever You would have me go. You are my husband, and I will follow You wherever You go. You are my Lover, and I would not be separated from You. You are my champion, and I will not leave Your corner. For You, my Wild Man Lover, are the only one worthy of my life.

Categories Reflections

Growing Up

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I go through life, moving slowly along from childhood to adulthood, so quickly that I barely notice the time passing. Then one day I stop and find myself driving a car. Driving a car! Since when have I been old enough to do that? I am in control of a moving vehicle, capable of exacting horrible damage on anything it encounters. How did I get mature enough to do that? And I’m driving home, to where I live. Away from my parents’ house. I don’t live with my parents anymore. I’m an adult now. I’m wearing a business suit and pumps–and I’m not dressing up in Mom or Dad’s hand-me-downs. I’m an honest to goodness woman. I don’t have a child’s body anymore, I have a woman’s body. I’m not begging for a ride anymore-I’m in control of my own vehicle. I’m paying my own bills, signing my own papers. When I have a toothache, I can’t just tell Mom and she’ll get me an appointment. I need to make my own appointment. I buy my own clothes now. I wear makeup. When did I grow up? When did I become a woman? I’m not sure. Sometimes I wonder if I really have–I feel like a little girl playing house.

Categories Reflections

Body image

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You wanted to make me feel okay about myself when you told me only 2% of the population doesn’t have body-image problems. In reality, it made me doubt my self image. So I’m abnormal, huh? I’m weird because I accept my body and even like it? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I was lying–after all, by the numbers, I probably have a body image problem. Maybe my ankles are too thick, my belly too paunchy. Maybe I feel bad about my body because I notice the cellulite on my butt–or maybe I’m just a realist. I sure like my butt enough when it’s clothed. Or perhaps I’ve been repressing issues about the acne I’ve had for forever. But I don’t think so. The doctor was always more worried that I might be worried about it than I ever was. Or maybe I have bad body image because I recognized that I’m probably within 5 lbs of my ideal weight, but I know I don’t have very good eating or exercise habits. Does that qualify as bad body image? I don’t know. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m one of those freaks of nature who don’t have body image problems. Never mind that you just gave me a self image problem by classifying me either as abnormal or a liar. That’s okay. What matters is that I love my body, right? That is what you were trying to tell me. Right?

Categories Reflections

To be known

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To be recognized. To be acknowledged. To be known. What is it about being known that so enraptures our hearts? It’s intimate, not in a sexual sense but in the sense that it is familiar, comfortable. It makes one feel cared for, respected, honored.

It’s when somebody I met with once, talked with once, spent time with once sees me on the bus and stops to catch up–when she just as easily could be studying or reading the newspaper or staring into space as we normally all do. But she didn’t. She remembers me and she cares. I am known.

It’s when I’m walking on campus and see a familiar face. I know them, but I don’t know if they know me. Perhaps I’ve slipped under the radar screen and they mind me not. But then they raise their hand, acknowledge me with a wave–and I’m known and it feels wonderful.

It’s when I go to Bible Study and share my heart into what sometimes seems like the void, and the next day I have a couple messages on Facebook from my Bible Study friends asking how it’s going. And then someone calls to encourage me. I am known, and those that know me care.

It’s when I go to Greekside, feeling a bit out of place but so desperately needing a chance to worship with the body, and someone begs to sit next to me and asks me about life and prays for me. Then I feel recognized, cared for, known.

It’s when I’m sitting at the bus stop and someone stops to chat. He could ignore me–we don’t know each other well enough that I’d feel slighted if he did. But he didn’t, and it does my heart good. I am known.

Some have said that one of the greatest desires of a woman’s heart is to be known. I don’t know how I feel about issuing this as a blanket statement, but I do know that it holds true in my own experiences. That’s why when I was walking across campus today, not paying attention to anything or anyone, and someone called out my name, got my attention to say Hi, it made my day. Because it lets my heart know that I’m known.

Categories Reflections

On smells and me

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We have a closet in the basement of Love–our supply closet. It contains all of our chemicals, and our paper goods and trash bags. And it holds our clean cleaning rags. I love that closet, and occasionally dream of spending time inside it. It smells so clean–like sheets just out of the dryer. It makes me feel warm and cozy. I wish I could just sit on the floor and read, in the midst of that comforting smell. No one would knock on that door asking for assistance, no one would bother. I don’t have any projects in there that need to be completed. I don’t feel obligated to organize it or get it clean. Instead, it’s a little room, a refuge. I’ve never actually acted on my dream, but whenever I open the door to get a towel or some extra rolls of toilet paper, I indulge my senses by letting the door close behind me and breathing in the sweet silence, the blessed warmth, the heavenly odor. For just that moment, I’m a little girl again, wrapped in a freshly washed, cozy blanket. And that’s what I love.

To myself I’m surprisingly simple and remarkably complex. I understand my motives perfectly and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I do what I do. I could be simplistic and say that I desire the same things as everyone else–security, love, acceptance, variety within the bounds of comfort. But simplicity also demands that I have my own unique desires. I feel like a paradox to myself, which is perhaps why I so hate to be put in a box by others. And perhaps that’s why I desire so much to find a box that fits me. We laud dynamic characters in fiction, but my own complexity makes me want to be flatter. At least then I could be certain who I was. I could be “the shrew”, “the ingenue”, “the bombshell”, “the flirt”, “the femme fatale”, “the cowering miss”, “the wallflower.” Instead I am none and all. I hate and love, I am carefree and somberly involved. I am melancholy and joyful. I am organized and I am messy. I cannot identify myself, so I continue to search, to answer that great question-“Who am I?”

There’s something wrong with checking facebook at 3:21 on a Sunday morning. There’s something even more wrong with seeing that you’re not the only who’s doing it. It’s easy to become addicted. It’s easy to develop horrible sleep habits. This is how school messes you up. Either studying or partying keeps you up late, and then when you want to sleep you can’t. That’s where facebook comes in. It’s a time waster when you know you can’t sleep. It’s foolish but quitting seems impossible.

My bedroom smells like vinegar for some reason. Or maybe that’s the 409 I used to clean the microwave. One way or another, it smells funky. I luxuriate in smell. I don’t know why. It’s an odd phenomenon considering that I can hardly smell during most of the year. Allergies and a deviated septum keep my nose clogged. Yet I delight in what I can smell, or else it triggers me to obsessive cleaning. I love onions and I love to cook with them, but I hate how they make my hands smell after I’ve cut them. I smell my hands a lot. Right now they smell like 409–and it’s definitely not the same vinegary smell I’m smelling from the rest of the room. Odd. Maybe I should look into that.

Categories Reflections, Technology

Disconnect

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Technology is disconnecting our culture. Attached to one another by the endless cords of cell phones and wireless internet connection, we are rapidly losing contact.

People are talking but nobody’s listening–everyone’s on their cell phone. “Wish you were here,” we say tritely-but we don’t. If they were here, we couldn’t say good-bye because “I’m on my way to class.” Liars. And if they were here, we wouldn’t be able to surf the web while listening with half an ear. Or could we? A group of five at a table next to me bonds over something on the computer set prominently in the middle.

The telltale cords snaking down the sides of their faces tells me to be silent-they don’t want to talk. Lost in their own music, they have no need for others. They give in to the illusion that music can be made alone.

The internet has destroyed our last chance at interaction. I bare my soul to the void, and the void answers with nothing. Casually disinterested, my readers bite their lips and never call. After all, why should they? I’m not speaking to them. I’m speaking to no one, and no one answers back. We are all babbling heads with stopped ears, disconnected by the technology that binds us together.