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| ...and then when I get kissed I will turn into a princess.
That's a weird thing to say, but blog rhymes with frogs, and you know how I feel about rhyming, friends.
So last night one old friend asked me to start blogging (he offered to pay me, believe it or not) and then this afternoon another friend suggested that we all blog -- dialogue -- diablogue? yes. That is what I would like to call it.
Rules for xanga, proposed by Amy:
1. No getting sucked in. That is to say, I don't have to record every thougth I have on here. This is not a comprehensive summary of my life. I have a life. It happens all day as I go about my business and interact with people and create things. Xanga is a part of my life, but only to the extent that it proves to be edifying.
2. No super-confidential information. This is the internet, friends! Anyone can find us and suck our e-blood and somehow find a little life in it. Don't allow yourself to be the distraction that keeps the webbies from living their own lives.
3. Be funny. Funny = smart. And true laughter is a sign that the heart and mind and body are connected, in spite of the valiant efforts made by our culture to sever them.
4. Don't let blogs take the place of letters.
Now I have to go do things.
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| "Do not bring us the gospel as a potted plant. Bring us the seed of the gospel, and plant it in our soil."
I'm marking gobbets for my history of Christianity tutorials. The students in my groups are brilliant... and I am feeling blessed today to be at Regent, and to be given the privilege of discussing the things of God and the things of the world as they intersect in human history.
Prayer tonight. I'm really excited. I'm going to pray. That is a big deal. To ask the creator of US to heal US! I'm excited. Back to work.
Also, Elly comes home tonight.
Welcome home Elly.
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| I used to get myself pumped up about life by xanga-ing, or otherwise, live-xanga-ing.
Today I'm at the Regent Library, and we have the study room checked out for three (3) hours. Elly, Lisa and I. Convenient for me, the people I like the best are my friends.
Now I'm borrowing from another student's iTunes, listening to Don and Lori Chaffer's Old Stuff. My goals in the next few hours need to be in line with my life vision, which I am still working out.
Okay, be faithful with that which with I have been entrusted:
1) prepare for tutorial tomorrow, and for Thursday tutorials.
2) read Gonzalez' Story
3) Stibbe's Spiritual Gifts book?
4) think about what Andrew and I should cook tonight.
5) listen to Sigur Ros as we do all this.
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| Not a bad combination. It's 9:24 and Styx is beckoning me, "Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me." okay. I'm in. Jenson has his blue guitar and is rocking out, I have my coffee and internet access. And I'm wearing my mom's beads around my neck and turquoise and later this afternoon is the promise of "out to eat" and "date with Lisa" and possibly "the beach". "I'm so tired of losin', I got nothin' to do and all day to do it...Is it any wonder I'm not a criminal?" Thank you Styx. I've got too much time on my hands. Maybe I should write music. | | |
| Perhaps that is silly. A silly question. Of course I'm alive.
But I've just read some of my xanga posts from the past two years. I feel a strange sense of loss. I can't go back there. It's not that kind of loss. I wouldn't even want to be anywhere else right now. Where would I be? and doing what? I am excited about my life in Vancouver.
Perhaps I feel wasted here in some ways.
I'm not "doing" what I want to be doing. What is that even? I don't know. But I know I'm not doing it, because I'm not really doing anything. Reading. Hanging out. Nannying. Waiting for the next thing. As usual, I am afraid of the next thing. As usual, there's no other choice but to walk forward.
But I am crying because I am remembering that my life is complex. This year I've managed to flatten myself into one dimension or something. My every situation and circumstance of 25 years had compounded together into one "ginormous" (i kid you not --- it is now an official word in "the" dictionary -- because "they" said so.) sphere of myself that was absorbing me like the geometric big/small things that haunt you in what I call "sick dreams". (anyone? i really hope that resonates, because it's the perfect simile to me. like, when you have a fever and "you" are enormous and infintely increasing in size, and then "you" shrinking, painfully small. Those are miserable dreams.)
Anyway, it used to be that I couldn't get away from myself because I lived with the people I had given myself to, shared myself with, over many years. I moved to Vancouver alone. I spend a lot of time alone. When I'm not alone, I'm aware --sometimes sad -- that my relationships are temporary. Are they? Or perhaps it is true that all relationships are temporary and I have been set free from the romantic illusion that there are these eternal bonds of friendship between people. Everyone else has always been willing, even eager, to move and grow and know new people and do new things. Perhaps now I've just joined them. I can't fight against being transient. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Even if I "settled" somewhere, everyone else would be cycling in and out around me. What's the difference?
Yet I'm healthier now. I think that is true.
Just that Vancouver sucks for going out. City life is kind of a non-event.
That's okay. Because I'm going out tonight with a boy... | | |
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