A June bugged

Idea: Sometimes the weight of nothing can be far greater than the weight of several somethings.

I feel oddly stressed today. I don't have any assignments due, I am happily (though anxiously) unemployed, and I have the house to myself. And yet I feel as though I am about to buckle under the avalanche of possibility that is abuzz in my brain right now. Does one make a to-do list when there is nothing that has to be done? I fear that my anxiety might drive me to it.

Why the hell am I so anxious in my current state of relaxation? This I do not know. I can do whatever it is I want to do, and somehow this realization has me more stressed than the days of yore when I had a million things to do that I would rather not do. I feel like I have all the time in the world and no time at all, as it is June 5th (happy 3 year, 7 month anniversary to Mike) and I have not really accomplished anything on my mental list of it-would-be-nice-to-do-that-when-I-have-more-time-this-summer list. 

What is on this superfluously hyphenated to-do list, you ask? Reading my stack of books, writing in this blog, gathering things together to sell and then having a garage sale, recording some of my songs, re-discovering my room that has become an artistic experiment in laundry, getting a tan, being crafty and finally doing something with my latest batch of dried flowers. And what have I done so far? I'm partially through my first book, To Serve God and Walmart by Bethany Moreton (great read btw...), and although I am still peeling from my last attempt at getting a tan, I seem to have gotten distracted by things that (while great fun) are not on my list. For example, going to the Margaret Mitchell house downtown and watching the entire first season of Drop Dead Diva on demand yesterday while sitting in my PJs and cooing at my kitty cats. 

So it appears that I need to focus if I want to accomplish all the things on my summer bucket list. I suppose I could take the summer camp approach and organize my days into neat little time brackets of fun activities. I could also poke myself in the brain with a grilling fork after three days of planned fun/relaxation after it hits me that my last year of college has turned me into a routine-loving, bankrupt-of-spontaneity-and-all-other-things-whimsical ninny. And that brings me to the alternative, which is to take one day at a time, set a goal, and if I don't get to it, OH WELL. 

So that is what I will do. Today's goal: endeavor to find the floor in my room whilst avoiding the inevitable temptation to take on various side-projects whilst dancing to the music of Artie Shaw in such a way that could only embarrass myself in public. 

Ready...GO!

A breaking wind

Idea: There's nothing like a beautiful day on a boat to put the wind back in your sails.


Every once in a while God does something to show us that He is listening. One such event unfolded yesterday against the backdrop of a sun-filled, breezy, warm-but-not-too-warm Savannah day. I went on a boat ride through the intercoastal waterway with Mike's grandma Elaine and his uncle Sean, and as I rode through the reeds with my hair pasted to my face and my butt stuck to the seat, I thought to myself, nothing could be so divine. 


At first my mind was cluttered with thoughts of all the snakes, gators*, and other creatures of the reptilian variety that could be lurking nearby. I kept my eyes peeled for such creatures, just waiting for one of them to slither out from the marsh and attack. But as we weaved our way closer to the main waterway, I became satisfied that my paranoia was unfounded, and I settled into the steady lull of the little fishing boat that carried me towards the open water. The wind felt good against my face, and my memory suddenly projected before me a slideshow of riding on my parents' boat on Lake Allatoona, driving the jetski on Lake Michigan, and paddling a canoe with Mike on a calm summer day. I remembered how much I loved boat rides, and how these memories had been diluted in the planned chaos of my undergraduate years. 


I found myself on a guided tour, with Sean narrating and Elaine excitedly pointing at all the sites: this is where my friend so-and-so lives, this is where the shrimp boats dock, this is my favorite house because it looks like an old southern plantation, this is where Paula Deen used to shoot her show (!), this is the bridge where I worked when I was eighteen...I smiled and nodded, but not in a courteous, uninterested way. This was a whole new world to me, a map of personal landmarks that was available by invitation only. I laughed through anecdotes of Elaine telling me about the time she went to see Elvis in concert, and about the time that Sean was left dangling off the side of this bridge because no one could hear him yelling at the end of his safety rope. With each chuckle I could feel my world getting a little lighter, and even a little brighter. 


For so long, stories like this one have ended with a sudden brain-jarring interruption that changed the course of the story from a daydream to a nightmare. Or they have ended with an exasperated sigh in acknowledgement of all the work I could have been doing  during this brief, fleeting moment of fun. But finally I have stories to tell that don't result in the urge to pop a depression-reducing SSRI or otherwise brain-altering pill. I have been praying for so long to get to a place where I'm not waiting for the bottom to drop out. And although I still feel that way occasionally, that feeling is getting farther and farther from my consciousness. I feel renewed, rejuvenated, reinvigorated. I feel hopeful. I feel like maybe, just maybe the thing I have been struggling for so long might finally be here: independence, joy, and the emotional security that comes from the conflation of the two.


*Yes, I realize gators don't live in saltwater marshes, but who cares when you're gliding through the reeds at a limp turtle's pace? Haven't you ever seen animal planet??

A good bye

Idea: Time moves slower when you are conscious that you are doing something for the last time. 


It was a day of lasts. My last day of class as an undergraduate. My last class at the University of Georgia. My last walk through campus as a student. My last whiff of UGA bus fumes on an already-sweltering day (Thank God). 


I have been reflecting a lot lately on my years as an undergraduate. They are not at all what I thought they would be. Then again, nothing ever is (nor should it be). I have struggled, muddled, and cuddled (thanks Mike!) my way through 2 universities, 2 majors (Psychology and Women's Studies...thank you for asking), 4 residences, and 4 years that read like the first line of a Dickens novel...it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Oh what the heck, I'll post the whole sentence:"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way." How's that for punctuation?? I digress...


My last walk to class was appropriately symbolic. I wore a sandwich board advertising the screening of a documentary some classmates from my Women's Studies (hereafter abbreviated as WMST) capstone course had put together to raise awareness about the impact of state-wide budget cuts on the UGA custodial staff (see link). I walked in the company of a few of my new WMST friends. I passed through the founder's garden on my way to Gilbert Hall, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Or was I just huffing and puffing from the uphill climb? In any case, it occurred to me that all of the growing pains of college had not been for nought; all the struggling and muddling (and cuddling) had transformed me into a passionate woman with a lot of spirit and a lot of spunk (Brits: read "gumption"). Suddenly everything slowed. Not because I was about to pass out from the heat. But because I realized that this was the last walk. Everything was more vivid. I could smell the flowers, I could feel the sunlight, I could hear the gentle whirr of the leaves in the wind. Everything looked more beautiful. And not the way it does when you are visiting a place for the first time and don't look hard enough to notice its flaws. But the way it does when you see the flaws, but decide to look past them anyway.


My time in college has been littered with the occasional heartbreak that comes from not getting it right the first time, ending friendships, and losing someone too soon. But it has also been littered with the joy that comes from new relationships, small (and not so small) triumphs, and lots of new knowledge. I am glad to be nearing the end of this chapter of my life, and I look forward to the next one with bated breath. But as I take a brief look back, I would like to note that I made it. Despite everything, I made it. And this is no small achievement. 


~AFP